Thursday, July 3, 2008

Man Cold - March 2008

So, my dh, who is the greatest husband of all time, came down with a cold last weekend. Although to hear it from him, he's the first person who's ever had one this bad. I can't really complain, but I will anyway, since he's been coping well with my recent and ongoing sever depressive episode like a champ. That said - what gives? Do all men shuffle around in their jammies and slippers for extended periods of time mumbling to themselves and coughing loud enough for everyone within ear shot to interpret their misery as being on the threshold of death? Do all men lie down for extended periods of time on any flat surface nearby? I want to say, though I have not, Buck-up little cowboy - take your medicine, put on your shoes and keep moving. Of course, since I have harboring these uncharitable thoughts, I myself have come down with a bad cold. Serves me right, I suppose. Buck up, little cowgirl.

Post script:

A month or so after this post, I got sick, very sick - and coughed and hacked (and peed my pants) and wheezed and sneezed with cold chills and hot sweats. It lasted for days and days and then a week, and then two. Suddenly, I had so much more compassion for my husband and vowed, that I will never again complain about how miserable he acts when he feels so bad... until next time, at least.

What do SAHM do all day??? from DCUM, 02/15/07

From DCUM in response to the question: What do Stay at Home Moms DO all day?
Friday, February 15, 2007

I make lists of the projects I will do when my kids go to school. I referee epic battles. I take a zillion pictures and print none of them. We go out everyday to somewhere - and scour our-kids and gocitykids over a hot cup of coffee each morning that the boys are not in preschool. I make "practice runs" to places like the grocery store and buy only an item or two.

I remember how much we wanted children and how long it took us and how much it "cost" us in emotional energy and money - and all the shots in the ass and the dr.'s appointments. I pass out my "mommy business card" to anyone who will take it - and urge them to get connected with other moms. We go to the car wash, whether it needs it or not. We look for construction sites and hang out there. We visit the fire stations, each and every one in the county... We look for emergency drills being conducted by the county and hang out there, too.

I clean house and tidy-up with my helpers. We all have spray bottles and rags and we have a couple of vacuums and unbreakable (almost) plates. I throw dinner in the crock pot with my helpers. I go to the appliance store and get giant card board boxes and bring them home to the living room for as long as they last. I talk to my mommy gal pals on the phone while the kids are napping - and read dcum and mona and the other 1/2 dozen list serves that deluge me. I run my two roombas over and over again. I hide in the bathroom and pretend I can't hear what's going on elsewhere in the house. I read them a dozen books (or two) and cuddle with them at every opportunity. I "fix" things using scotch tape and batteries.

I worry about my kids' education and how to combat the negative influences that will impact them. I ponder what it would be like not to be home and feel grateful that I am. I remember my career and don't miss it. I remember be trim and fit and do miss it.

Knowing this special time before "real" school, and soccer practices and video games and television and sleepovers and driving lessons, and proms and SATS will be gone in the blink of an eye, I get down on the floor and play trucks and trains and cars and I finger-paint and stamp and hand out big rolls of scotch tape and big boxes of band aids to the boys, just to see what they'll do with them.

Wednesday, July 2, 2008

For the love of all that is Holey - DCUM December 7, 2007

To: dc-urban-moms-list@mailman.dcurbanmom.com
> Date: Friday, December 21, 2007, 7:41 AM



I am either going to shoot myself or starting drinking at breakfast! I know parents of twins
(and more) around the world have successfully potty-trained their kids without doing either, but I feel like I am going to lose what is left of my small mind.

John and David declared on Tuesday that there would be no more diapers. Fine. That was our plan for the holiday break, since we are masochistic freaks who like to do all the hard things over the holidays – think losing the pacifiers, dropping some nursings, etc.

My problem is, it’s not the potty training that is driving me over the edge, I can clean and sanitize and redress with the best of ‘em – it’s managing my hell boys…

I bought four different potties at various consignment sales, with the theory that we could start by having them scattered about the house like candy from a piƱata. Naturally, they only like one of them, so they spent Tuesday pushing and shoving each other off the favored
throne, or simply dominating said throne (and thereby their sibling) by refusing to get off of
it…

Fine. So, I went out and got two matching potties Wednesday and that seems to have solved that problem. Each child, however, likes to have "company" while doing their deeds, which leaves the other child to either wreak havoc elsewhere in the house (think kitchen – think mess), run off with the toilet paper and unroll the whole thing to get to the tube within
(which then becomes "unusable" because his royal highness on the throne wishes to unravel his own paper), or to stand in the bathroom and antagonize the crap (so to speak) out of the one who is dutifully sitting.

Or, while one is dutifully sitting, one will go elsewhere in the house to have a sneaky pee or a sneaky poo, aka "accident." Or, wholly unrelated to one being on the potty – one will be doing the tantrum thing somewhere in the house and need immediate attention to prevent serious
self-inflicted bodily injury, and the other will arrive on the scene to investigate, while making "that face" and "that sound" that indicates that a poop is in progress.

When one is left to do his business solitaire, whilst I attend to some other emergent crisis, he manages to either screech until I return, or proceed in silence to find something in the bathroom that he has no business doing, like removing the lid from the back of the john, breaking into the "childproof" cabinet under the sink, or dispensing enough hand soap into the sink with water to make the bubbles overflow ala Great Falls with 6 tons of Dawn dumped in upstream.

And the friggin’ dog (an 85 pound Sheppard) keeps joining us in the bath room…and vomited all over the rug in the boys room – yes, the dry-clean only sheepskin rug which I promptly threw in the washer.

And the boys insist on being entirely naked while learning this new skill…

I am not an inattentive parent and I have a house the size of a cracker-jack box and I am running as fast as I can back and forth. I realized recently that my primary methods of "parenting" these first three years have been containment, elevation (of off-limit things) and deception (gee, I have no idea where your cow bells are, sorry). Sadly, those techniques seem inappropriate in this venue.

Please, someone, throw me a bone and tell me I’ll make it til Saturday when my husband is on-duty. Other than straight jackets – what else can I do that won’t win me a referral to CPS?

I have yelled more in the last three days than in the last three years combined and am concerned about by place on Santa’s list as we approach the big day.

Advice, commiseration, and a stiff drink are all welcome…not necessarily in that order, of course.