Yo. Under Construction.

June 3, 2010 at 6:08 pm (Uncategorized)


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That tornado running through Party City today? Yeah. That was my kid.

September 3, 2009 at 8:56 pm (Uncategorized)

Yes.  Today my kids were those kids.  Those kids who were practically out of control.  And I was that mom.  That mom who let her kids run wild in a public place.  Only I wasn’t by myself.  I was with another mom.  And her kid was just as unruly as mine.  Not that that makes it any better.  

Today I saw Sunshine totally devolve from that sweet, quiet, respectful kid that I often suspect is actually older than her birthdate would suggest; into a whining, petulant 4 year old.  All in the interest of doing exactly what her friend was doing.  I saw mob mentality in action.  And no matter how many times I told her to lower her voice or to come back to me, she did not listen.  I practically had an I will not be ignored, Dan moment, and she still didn’t listen.  
I can’t believe that I didn’t drag her puny butt back home.  I can’t believe that I didn’t cancel the joint birthday party that we were out shopping for.  I failed her today.  And it’s too late to go back.  I will not get that little opportunity for a lesson back.  At least not for a while.  Because it will be a while before I take her out with me again.  And we will most certainly not be accompanied by a friend.  
I’ve been listening to the controversy surrounding the man who slapped a 2 year old in Walmart because she was crying.  And when it comes to crying 2 year olds, I think that there is very little that you can do.  And, not knowing most of the circumstances, I think the best that mother could have done would be to finish her shopping as quickly as possible and leave.  Because a 2 year old will not necessarily understand leaving, and because leaving is probably what they want most of all.  And that would be rewarding the behavior.  (And just an aside… if that man had slapped one of my kids?  Well, let’s just say that he wouldn’t be walking away, and he would be minus a set of balls.   No one hits my child.  I don’t hit my child.)
But my kid was 4 not 2, and she was acting like a turd.  And so was I.  It was my responsibility to leave.  I’m usually so hypersensitive to those around me.  I have no idea what I was thinking. 
I’m not going to beat myself up over it anymore though.  Sunshine and I had a long talk about how she didn’t have to (AND SHOULDN’T) do what a friend was doing if it was wrong.  And what proper store behavior looks like.  And what will happen if I ever see her behaving like this again.  And that she’s tremendously lucky that I didn’t cancel the birthday party.  
And I hope she got the message, because next time?  Next time, I will not be ignored. 

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August 28, 2009 at 6:21 pm (Uncategorized)

I have this one really intense memory.  Well, if you ask my Mom, she’d tell you that I have lots of memories.  That I’m practically an elephant and peanuts are my favorite snack.  And I do.  I have a fabulous memory for all things associated with my childhood.  Now the location of my husband’s keys, or perhaps what happened 20 minutes ago, those memories aren’t so strong.  

Anyway, I’m digressing.  Back to this memory.  I was just a bit older than Sunshine is now.  And I believe we were living in Charleston.  My mom was getting ready for a bunch of ladies to come over to the house.  Probably the ladies she worked with, but I’m not certain.  I really wanted nothing more than to be with my Mom in the kitchen, and I happened upon this wonderful idea of cleaning the sink.  I could make it beautiful, and I could be there in the kitchen with my mom.  Maybe if I were useful, I wouldn’t get relegated to my room to play.  
So clean the sink I did.  Scrubbing.  Bubbles.  Hot water.  I remember being so proud of myself, exclaiming to my Mom that everyone would see how beautiful the sink looked, and that they would know that I cleaned it.  She completely agreed with me, and didn’t fail to tell everyone who came that it was I who cleaned the sink.  
That memory came flying back to me tonight as I was cooking dinner.  Sunshine got up on her stool and suggested that she could clean our sink.  She put all her heart and soul into cleaning that sink, much like I remember doing myself.  And she was so proud of herself when she looked at the finished product.
And because we don’t have anyone coming over to our house tonight… I’m telling you all.  Sunshine was the one who cleaned the sink tonight.  She worked so hard on it, and she is so very proud of herself.  And so am I.  

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See One, Do One, Teach One

August 27, 2009 at 3:19 pm (Uncategorized)

To My Wonderful Husband?  Boss?  Partner? (Damn.  It gets confusing when some of those lines get crossed.)

I think I’m ready to quit.  I think I’ve tried really hard to help you.  I was somewhat understanding when you demanded that I get letters out on a Sunday morning.  Because hey, even though the Post Office is closed and those letters won’t get sent until Monday morning, they absolutely must be ready on Sunday-freaking-morning.  OK.  So maybe I wasn’t all that understanding.  But you get the point.  You did finally concede that it was probably the wrong time to get them out.  But only after I sent you a few passive aggressive murderous looks while typing away on the computer, listening to the children run wild, and thinking about the nasty breakfast dishes that were awaiting me while I worked on your letters.  
But this?  This is just downright obnoxious.  You ask me complete a relatively important task, but you only give me part of the information required.  You want me to figure it out on my own.  Because apparently it’s important that I keep my brain functioning.  Which would be fine.  If I had four hours to figure it out on my own.  Four hours where I wasn’t listening to one or both of my children yell that they wanted to play games, pee on the floor, pee in the potty, eat an ice cream, or just to please, please, please put down the computer because they hate the computer.  But frankly, I’ll be damned if I spend so many precious hours on a project that you will toss when I show it to you because it’s not what you wanted.  It’s called training, dude.  And I could use a little bit of it.  I don’t throw my kids off the deep end to teach them how to swim.  
And honey, if you want a letter.  Say L-E-T-T-E-R.  If you want a form.  Say F-O-R-M.  No more of these amorphous emails.  Clarity.  That’s where the law is headed.  Embrace it.  Practice it.  Love it.  For the love of God, and your tired, slightly overwhelmed wife.  
Seriously?  I don’t want to quit.  And I do want to help.  But I’ve got two active kids, a house that doesn’t clean itself, breakfasts, lunches, and dinners to cook, laundry to do, school meetings to attend, carpool to do all by myself (because YOU conveniently planned early meetings all week).  I just don’t have the time to figure out what you want.  Just freaking tell me.  Spell it out.  I know you’ve got a ton of work to do too, but we’ll be a bigger help to each other if we aren’t resentful.  
OK. Rant over. 
This was the first week of school.  Hallelujah.  Sunshine was ready.  I was ready.  I think that I must have repressed the memory of what school mornings could be like though.  And it’s not over arguments about clothing or hairstyle.  Sunshine and I?  We just move at two different rates of speed.  And I hate to be late.  
We’re turning Ladybug’s world upside down.  Last week it was the sippy cups.  They’re gone.  Every single one of them.  Really, she just got in the habit of losing them, or hiding them for me to find later, usually still filled with congealed milk.  But we’ve been freed.  And Ladybug has been tethered to the kitchen table.  Well, she is if she wants something to drink.  This week though, it’s the diapers.  If I’ve any hope of Ladybug being ready for school in January, it’s time.  Of course these changes are exponentially increasing the amount of mopping and laundry I’m doing.  Fabulous.  No matter what I do I create work for myself.  

First day of school goodness.  Sunshine is thrilled to go.  Ladybug wants to go so badly.  Soon.  

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I so knew this was going to happen. And I have a bruise on my butt and a knot on my head to prove it.

August 19, 2009 at 12:20 pm (Uncategorized)

I knew this was going to happen.  A little background perhaps.  I have two small children, one of which who is learning how to use the bathroom.  It’s messy business, raising children.  Consequently, our little bathroom downstairs, the one all of our guests use, often smells like I have two children who use the bathroom.  I hate it.  

A little while ago we were staying with some family who had a delightful pomegranate oil with reed diffusers in their bathroom.  It smelled so good.  Surely something like that could improve our little bathroom.  Right? 
But I knew it.  The kids could never leave it alone.  As I was purchasing one, watching the saleswoman scan the UPC code, I knew its days would be numbered sitting on the top of the commode (which by the way is one of my least favorite words in the English language).   But such was my desire for a pleasant smelling bathroom that I bought it anyways.
So yesterday it was placed in the bathroom, and proceeded to work its magic.  The bathroom was smelling just delightful.  Such a lovely combination of pomegranate and mango has never been smelled before in our house.  I knew it was too good to last.
And I was right.  I knew it.  I heard one of the two little mischief-makers fooling around in the bathroom.  And I heard some glass fall to the floor.  Forgetting that there was a lot of (expensive) oil in said glass container, I ran into the bathroom and… wait for it… I totally bit it in the oil.  My feet went up, my rear went down, my head slammed onto the floor.  So there I was: bruised and covered in pomegranate mango oil.  And now my bathroom?  Well it reeks of pomegranate mango oil just about as much as I do.  And the floor?  Well lets just say that I’m still slipping everywhere.  
The moral of the story?  I don’t think I can have nicely smelling things until my children have left the nest.  Sigh.  It’ll be a while.

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