Archive for the ‘motherhood’ Tag
July 01 2011
1.) At noon, pick up the mound of toys that had been dumped out during the morning.
2.) An hour later, hear those toys being dumped out yet again.
3.) Then some more, into a massive, mixed pile.
4.) Before dinner, pick up the 2nd round of those familiar toys while silently fuming.
5.) In the middle of making dinner, hear those toys dumped out AGAIN.
6.) “REALLY, guys! You’ve got to be kidding me! Didn’t I JUST put these away? Can you at least help clean this up?” No one helps to clean it up.
7.) Sit down to eat dinner but are unable to enjoy your meal because you keep cursing those stupid toys in your head. After dinner, throw the 3rd round of toys in their bins.
8.) 10 minutes before bedtime, hear YET ANOTHER pile of toys dumped out AGAIN.
9.) “Oh, FOR CRYING OUT LOUD!”, you declare to no one in particular. Pick up while swearing and telling each stupid little toy that you hate it, you really, really hate it, you stupid piece of crap. Yeah, I’m talking to you. I can hear you, you know. What? What’s that? Oh, you think so? You better shut it or I’ll pop your stupid head off.
10.) Go to bed and dream of creative ways to dwindle the pile of insolent toys. Many of which may involve fire.
June 23 2011
“Pillowcase?”, Abby requested.
“What do you want the pillowcase for?”, a fair question I thought.
“Um… on feet”, she said as she took apart the pillow herself.
“No, you’re not wearing the pillowcase. It could get dirty, and that’s what you sleep on.”, I explained.
“No?”, she questioned, clearly understanding what she wasn’t supposed to do.
“No”, I replied sternly.
A devilish smirk rose from the corner of her lips as she disappeared into her room, emerging again a few minutes later stuffed inside the purple jersey case like a potato sack. Gathering dirt from the floor exactly as I told her not to do. This is where, if I had more leverage, she would be fired for insubordination. Respect my authority!
“Ghost! Boo!”, Abby instead declared in merry victory.
Circumstances aren’t entirely important, because this discussion is repeated about a hundred times coming 3 opposing directions, wherein you have a small glimpse of my day. I tell them not to do something, the kids do it anyway. I have a saying that it’s “like talking to air”. Wasting my breath. Abby, however, is now at the age where she’s testing her boundaries, thus testing me. Same stuff, different day. It’s like she doesn’t listen on purpose. So bizarre for an almost 3 year old, I know. I should get used to it, you don’t have to tell me. But it doesn’t make it any less exhausting.
June 17 2011
I slept with Yo Gabba Gabba last night.
Kinky, no? No? How about exciting? Thrilling? Disturbing, perhaps? It was actually none of those. Maybe a little disturbing. But mostly, pokey.
Most nights, Buzz finds his way into bed with me. I have enough room, so I don’t really mind. It makes the king-size feel not quite so big, especially since he tends to take up most of it. Except he sometimes brings his toys along as well. Hard, plastic action figures that find themselves in unexpected places. Last night, it was two of the guys from Yo Gabba Gabba. Plex and Toodee, since we’re now on a first name basis. Who ended up poking me in areas No Gabba Gabba should ever be.
It’s the most action I’ve gotten in years.
In the name of honesty, though, it’s not just Yo Gabba Gabba. I’ve been to bed with all sorts of different guys. I don’t want to brag, but even some superheroes. Spiderman, the Incredible Hulk, a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle, GI Joe, a Hello Kitty Pez dispenser. There was once a Ben 10 villain that had two sets of spikes protruding from it’s back. They’re all fair game. And really uncomfortable when you roll onto them in the middle of the night.
That’s right, I get around.
June 10 2011
Pregnancy alters many aspects of a woman’s shape. Some, we’re prepared for. We’ve all heard stories of sagging and flabbing, so while we may fight against the odds, we also come to accept the possibility. The more confident amongst us even find strength and beauty in what their weight carried, wearing their 9 months of stretched skin with pride. While I can’t say I’m thrilled with the body I’ve acquired these years post-pregnancy, I am in awe of it. In both good and bad ways.
But it’s the other changes of a less physical nature. The kind that no one bothers mentioning ahead of time, making it your very own personal surprise.
Like underarm body odor.
Before my first full-term pregnancy with Jedi, I never had to wear deodorant. I would at times, for an extra measure of protection, but it wasn’t a necessity. I swear, they just didn’t smell. It was a blessed thing in hindsight. Because since, if I should fail to remember to apply deodorant, I’m immediately reminded of my blunder come one raised arm later when the depths of a burning stench, not unlike a skunk in a mode of defense, tries to escape. In other words, I stink. And God help us all.
There is no beauty in body odor.
Now, with the heat of summer comes sweat. And with the first bead of sweat comes an aroma all my own. Where every time I catch a nose-cringing whiff of myself, I’m once again reminded of the eternal joys of pregnancy.
June 09 2011
It has taken me all day to write a blog post that usually takes 10 minutes.
I’ll let you in on a behind-the-scenes secret; My posts are not carefully considered, researched vessels. They’re our stories, usually in 300 words or less, and for the most part write themselves. I edit, of course, trying to spin our mundane into a tale enjoyable to read. But at my best, I can churn a week’s worth of entries in one sitting.
Which is why it’s absurd to take 2 hours for a single poorly-worded paragraph.
I’m unsure if it’s from the time of year, all three clamoring for attention in the heat of an early summer, or if my kids have really just been especially needy this week, but I can’t sit down long enough to gather a cohesive thought. There’s a kid in my lap, or in my face, urging one of a million actions that are of utmost importance at that particular point in time. I try to argue. Can I just finish this sentence first? This one sentence that I’ve been battling out of the keys with such resistance. But in acceptance of defeat, I close my laptop and settle in for yet another telling of Curious George Flies a Kite instead. That crazy monkey.
This. Life. It is where my blog posts come from anyway. There is nothing to write about if I don’t live it. I sometimes get too caught up in documenting.
So it took all day, literally from morning til night, to complete an entry, finally saving it to drafts once the kids are in bed. It should have been a penned work of genius. Except I spent all that time just to scrap it at the last minute and write this instead.
