I was on the bus on Thursday, and there was a woman with her son on the bus, too. He was maybe like 8 or 9 (or something. I have no idea how you tell these things). And it was rush hour, and it was crowded, and he was looking out the window and asking her about things, and she would respond, and I had a total mini panic attack. I realized Oh My God — someday, I will have to have REAL CONVERSATIONS with my son. I will have to answer questions. I will have to TALK to him. Now, it’s so easy — there is soooper cute incoherent babbling, and I pretend it something profound, and I respond. However, someday, I will have to really converse with him — and I don’t mean the 1,000 question phase of ages 3-5 or so, where you have to answer “why is the sky blue” (Thank you, Adler Planetarium, for preparing me with the answer!), and a million other “whys” after that, where I will probably eventually become more religious than I usually am and say “Because God said so.” And give him a cookie to distract him. I mean the part later, where he’s like a real person and I have to talk to him like a real person. Not just the hard questions like “What’s that guy doing with a sleeping bag and a bottle near the bus stop?” but just the day to day banter and chatter. OK, friends, I am now in training. Consider yourself warned. When next you see me, I will be all up in there with the chatter conversation-keeping-upping, instead of my usual grunts and glazed expression. Look out!
It’s not the liquor I miss….well, maybe it is March 7, 2009
This is a great piece from the New York Times about the responsibilities of being a mother. One responsibility in particular — the sobriety part. It’s kind of a buzz kill. My favorite is the last paragraph (which I will quote here, for those of you who don’t have time to follow the link on a beautiful Friday afternoon)
“So it’s not the alcohol I miss. It’s the immaturity. The selfishness. The wasted days frittered away recuperating from the wasted nights. It all turned around so quickly. I wasn’t prepared to be this person. A person who can clearly recall all the events of the night before. Who can be the designated driver. Who can go to a work party without apologizing the next day. This must be parenthood. I would toast this milestone, but I have pears to puree.”
I was actually just thinking to myself the other day that I would like to be depressed. And then I kicked myself — what? Why in the world would I like to be sad? I realized that it wasn’t the being sad part that I wanted, but rather the excuse to lie in bed under the covers and pamper myself. Once I realized that even if I were depressed, I would never be able to sit around feeling sorry for myself ever again because I have a small person to take care of, the allure of depression faded quickly. But being hungover accomplishes the same thing, with a much more fun cause. Plus there’s all that hangover food — Taco Bell and McDonalds that somehow doesn’t seem wrong. I ate a Quarter Pounder with cheese yesterday on my way home from a late program, and I decided that eating at McDonald’s is like having sex with your ex-boyfriend: you know you shouldn’t, but it feels so good. But, then immediately afterwards, the self-loathing begins.
But, I digress. If you have kids, read the article — I bet you’ll relate. Unless you were a real stick in the mud beforehand, too. If you don’t have kids, read the article — hopefully it will help you understand why I can’t make it to happy hour on a Tuesday, but you’ll understand that I really do want to. I’ll have a very small glass over some goldfish crackers in your honor.
Seriously? I have to CLEAN, too? February 27, 2009
I just read this article in Slate.com. The article describes a study (a small study, I must say) of kindergartners and their reading skills. Seems like a pretty run of the mill study, right? Probably it tells you to, say, read to your children, have books around, read yourself, etc.
Nope. It tells you to have “an ordered home.” I am screwed. Or, more accurately, Darwin is screwed.
The article does make the point that “ordered” does not necessarily equate with “spotless,” which is encouraging. However, on a morning when I couldn’t find my work ID for a while, because I didn’t put it in it’s “proper spot,” and then couldn’t find it because I couldn’t find the clothes I had just worn yesterday, “orderliness” is a little worrisome. The article points out that perhaps mothers (there were no fathers used in the study. Go figure. Even the author’s husband leaves his shoes in the front hall — a pet peeve of mine — so if your house isn’t orderly, perhaps the MEN should be getting a few questions about it!) Anyway, perhaps mothers who have an orderly household also have better “executive functioning” — if you have the ability to keep the dirty laundry from overtaking your closet, perhaps you also have the ability to keep a set bedtime routine, even if your child does not want to brush his teeth. Ever. (and, sometimes, you resort to turning on the TV just so he will sit there slackjawed and you can brush away, even if it means he is watching The Family Guy. It’s a cartoon, right??).
But, this explanation is still not very helpful, as I cannot plan my own life, let alone some other person’s. However, I was happy to see that it may be that orderliness only becomes a factor only when kids are older, when the basics are in place with a healthy relationship with books, etc. And, they also think that “warmth and responsiveness” can factor in, as well. So, maybe if I just dial up the warmth and responsiveness, it can make up for the fact that I can’t find the other half of the banana that Darwin started eating last night. It’s got to be around here somewhere…..
Why you should not ask your toddler to “just hold this apple for Mommy” in the grocery store February 25, 2009
Because he will gnaw on it in the store...
...and continue in the parking lot...
...until it looks like this, and you don't have an apple for your curry dish.
Ummm… February 12, 2009
File under “no duh”:
I heard on the news this morning that the woman who had octuplets “dreams of going back to her life before children.”
Octuplets! Good gracious.
Calgon, take me….to work? February 6, 2009
I do not have what it takes to be a stay at home mom. Never has that been more abundantly clear than this week. Often, on weekends, I think to myself “Ah, wouldn’t this be nice every day? I’d take a nap. Darwin and I would read books and count how many plums the hungry caterpillar ate on Wednesday (3, for the record), watch sign language videos that — while he didn’t absorb any actually communication tools, he would invariably laugh when the grizzly bears came on, and sit in my lap sucking his thumb and being cute. And then I would put random things on my head and pretend to sneeze to make them fall off. What a nice way to live.”
Those thoughts are on the good days. Monday was not such a day. Exhausted from our Superbowl party the night before (thank you to everyone who came!), and having just dropped off the cat to the vet to get her teeth cleaned, I wasn’t quite sure what to do with a fussy, inconsolable boy. Maybe it was because he isn’t used to our house any more. Maybe it was because his sleep and eating schedule was thrown off entirely by traveling hither and yon and cleaning and cooking for the party. Maybe it was because he was getting over yet another ear infection. Maybe he was just in a bad mood. Who knows. But the kid was markedly unhappy. He raises his arms to be picked up. I pick him up. He cries and wants to be put down. I give him milk and sweet potatoes, thinking he’s hungry. Milk on the floor, mouth wide open, but not for sweet potatoes, just for crying. I put him down to nap in his Pack and Play and take a shower. When I turn the water off, I still hear the screaming (and, incidentally, so do the neighbors, I bet). Sigh.
Then, it’s off to a sick child appointment at the doctor because Darwin had a fever Monday morning, so I worried it was another ear infection coming on. Indeed, there was something going on in there, but whether it was residue from the LAST infection, or a new one beginning, was undecided, so no antibiotics. Just another copay, and another naptime missed.
The cat, however, DOES get antibiotics. After the pediatrician, we went to the vet to pick up said feline after her teeth cleaning. I thought that we’d just be in and out and on the road to the ‘burbs, but no, this is a good vet, a kind vet, a vet that wants you to fully understand the procedures they have done to your beloved kitty, so there is a long talk with the vet tech about what’s been done, what you are to do from now on, and what to look for. So for half an hour, I was in the vet exam room with a grumpy toddler who wanted to turn on and off every light switch in the place, who thought that the doorstop should have been a light switch and was highly displeased when nothing happened when he poked it, and who really wanted to play with the ceramic cat hanging on the wall which looked very breakable. We finally compromised with turning the x-ray viewing screen on and off — all this while the vet tech is trying to explain how the cat had diseased bone that they took out, created a new gum flap, and put in “bone graft crystals.” (No one can cure the common cold, but they have bone graft crystals for my cat). I’m to give her antibiotics twice a day, and pain meds twice a day, too. Something tells me that she will not smack her lips and open up wide for her antibiotics like Darwin does.
While we were flipping on light switches, and I was trying to listen to the vet tech, keep Darwin entertained, and plan out how I would load both the cat and the child into the car without leaving Darwin alone in a vet’s office or alone in a car, thereby attracting the attention of DCFS, I found myself having a very strange thought: “If I can just make it through today, tomorrow I can go to work.” I can’t imagine I ever had that thought before childbearing. Why would you? Before a child, work takes you AWAY from alone time. It INFRINGES on your schedule and REMOVES your autonomy. But, after a child, work is the only time I get to check my email when I’m less than half asleep, or drink a cup of coffee without thinking “Can Darwin reach this and get scalded?” I can put that cup of hot coffee ANYWHERE! Such freedom! And, sometimes, I even close my eyes for several moments at a time, without the expectation of opening them to a child who has somehow in those few moments managed to open up the laundry room and ingest 4 gallons of Spray N Wash. It’s a little slice of heaven, work.
And now, I will be cutting back my hours and not working Fridays. I know that this is a good thing. I know that spending time with my child will be beneficial to him and to me, and will forge a stronger bond between us. I just wish that I could have had Fridays off BEFORE I had the baby.
No pressure January 28, 2009
I have this huge post written — in my head. It will not be posted today. But, I did just come across this great article on Slate, telling you something you totally already knew. That your behavior influences and teaches your kids how to behave, much more than just telling them what they should and shouldn’t do. But it’s worth pointing out — especially for me, and especially now that Darwin is starting to really see thing and process them. Time to start at least realizing when I curse out other drivers, or drop an F-bomb. Sigh.
LATER — you know, maybe this modeling thing starts out earlier than I ever thought. My mom (who was in town to take care of Darwin because he has yet another ear infection and bronchiolitis and is on antibiotics and one of his ear tubes came out and we have to have surgery again, but that’s a post for another time) and I went to visit Julie and her kids, and it was really interesting to see the difference. Now, keep in mind that Julie is a “doer.” If there’s a couch she wants, she buys it, and if they don’t have it in stock, she picks another one. There’s no hemming and hawing about whether this couch’s armrest is too high to take a proper nap, or whether that other couch over there has a better curve on the front of it. She sees a couch, she likes it, and she DOES something about it. Her kids, also, “do.” They learn sign language. They draw. They know what a sheep says. Darwin, on the other hand, seems to just sit back and observe — even with a 3-year-old racing around the living room pretending to be a ferocious bear, and another 15-month-old squealing and running back and forth, Darwin just looks around at everything and takes it all in. He doesn’t seem to get scared, but he also doesn’t seem to rush in to participate. It seems as though he may be, well, thinking too much about things to DO anything. I have no idea where he gets it.
Progress! January 24, 2009
We are one step closer to actually getting a permit! Given it is the first step, but the journey of thousand miles, etc etc. We finally found the correct letter to send to our neighbors and the alderman, and sent it on Jan 2. We sent them certified mail, so that they would sign the little green card thingies and send them to the architect, who would then take them to the zoning board. After a few weeks and several calls to post offices (the PO lost the alderman’s letter), all the green card thingies are accounted for and turned into the zoning board. NOW we just have to wait 15 days (15 business days, of course) to give them time to file a protest, and THEN we will hopefully get the stamp of approval. THEN we can turn in all our paperwork for the permit. THEN we can wait to get that, and THEN we can start tearing it up. If only Chicago politicians and zoning boards would just take bribes to speed things along. But you know how un-corrupt they are….
Firsts! January 13, 2009
We have had a few firsts recently. Not all of them particularly good, actually, but firsts nonetheless.
Darwin is climbing a lot more. He has learned, after many attempts, to climb onto the couch by himself. He gets super excited when he gets up there, and giggles and stands up and stomps his feet, etc. The problem is that he does not know how to get DOWN by himself. Usually, we’re right next to him anyway, being crazed paranoid parents and thinking that he’ll concuss himself from a 1.5 foot fall. So, when we’re there, Darwin usually just launches himself off the couch onto us, usually knocking us over. The climbing up does create a problem, however, when one wants to, say, urinate. That kind of thing happens in another room, and the whole time I’m peeing I have visions of Darwin launching himself off the couch into the coffee table or something, and if I’ve had an especially lot to drink and excrete, I have time to plan out my route — from the bathroom, I get the phone (just in case), then I can staunch the bleeding and call 911 at the same time. All moms do this, right?? It’s not just me??
Darwin also has like 18 teeth or something. That’s weird, right? It seems like a lot, compared to the other kids around. He has no real words yet, but a jillion teeth. Maybe his teeth are getting in the way of his speaking, because they just pop up so suddenly. Yeah. That’s the ticket.
In addition, I have a personal first, or at least first in a while. I was wondering why I was so grumpy lately, and crying about stupid things (like when the 10000 Maniacs song “These Are Days” came on, and I cried because we all used to be so happy and carefree in college. I didn’t even LIKE that song in college. Sheesh.), or why my face was so broken out, why I feel so fat — I know you’re catching on already, but I sure didn’t. It has been 2 years since Aunt Flo came to visit, and I can’t say as I’ve missed her all that much. But now I am back in the land of the ovulating. Lucky me. Guess it’s a good thing I got real birth control at the last doctor’s appointment.
And, again about me, I am finally doing something that does NOT make me feel old. I am addicted to Twitter. I have no idea what I’m doing, but I have asked a pro football player about the OSU game, found out what Lance Armstrong’s last ride was like, and also just learned that a truck carrying 43,000 pounds of cheese overturned. I have a problem. At least it is a problem that can be contained in the 2 hours I am awake after I get home and put Darwin to bed.
I grow old, I grow old… January 2, 2009
It’s a brand new year. And looking back, I realize I am old. The top 5 reasons (in really no particular order) listed below:
5. I find myself before photos saying “Oh, who cares if my hair isn’t brushed” because no one will be looking at ME in the picture anyway, and it’s too much trouble to try and find any hygiene products like a comb, lipstick or clothing without drool.
4. This new year’s eve, I watched the Chicago countdown. Sober.
3. During said countdown, I saw the video of people at the Metro, and was glad I wasn’t there, because it looked too hot, too loud and like there was no place to sit down.
2. I have said, on several occasions, “No thanks. You guys go ahead to the movies. I’d rather just read my book and go to bed early.”
1. I was very excited about a Christmas gift of an electric toothbrush.
Not to mention that I spent more money in 2008 on babyproofing supplies than on beer, I think.
Renovation update — plans approved! We just need receipts to come back from the neighbors and alderman saying they got the letter letting them know that we’re renovating out house, and we can actually knock down some walls!
