"...Like yesterday when you added the wet laundry from the washer to the almost dry diapers in the dryer. That made me so mad."
"Yeah but I separated the diapers after everything dried."
"After I told you to."
"But I did it"
"yeah, but I thought about the ten minutes it would take to sort the diapers and that made me mad. Then I thought about telling you to do it and that made me feel like a nag. And feeling like a nag made me mad."
He giggles.
"Uh huh. See, I want to see this as funny. I know I'm being insane. But I can't even see this as a little funny. Even though, theoretically, insanity is very funny."
"What do you want exactly?"
"I want you to be me when I'm at work"
"I promise you I will never be you."
"Shut up"
"It's like you want everything to go exactly perfectly when you're gone, but you also want everything to go insanely wrong when you're gone."
"No. I want everything to go perfectly as long as you do things exactly the way I do them. And the second you deviate even an iota..."
"The house implodes."
"Right. And I come home to you, Tallulah, and Moxie sitting on the curb with big puppy dog eyes and a charred square where our house used to be. And I get to say, 'What did you do wrong?'"
"Yep. And then Moxie would start howling. I can see it; it could be a comic titled 'What happens when you don't do it my way'.
He giggles. And, finally, I do too.
Wednesday, July 23, 2008
Monday, July 14, 2008
Baa! Moo! Mommy!
I pumped 4 ounces today! Yay me! I’m a milk making mama! I have this sense of pride and accomplishment, even though I stored my lunch in the ice packed milk storage bag of my breastpump and placing my pumped milk next to my container of yogurt makes me feel funny. All I need is a single serve of goat milk cheese and I can line up the lactating moms in my bag: cow, Kellie, and goat.
On the subject of lactating. Yesterday I was in the shower with Tallulah (she insists on joining me if she knows I’m taking a shower. I generally allow it since bathing frequency is low on our list of priorities. We use the smell test or the “two days since fingerpainting, but you’re still painted blue” method of bath determination.) and she was having a discussion about breasts—hers are small but they’ll be bigger when she’s grown like mine, probably when she’s eighteen. Everything is going to happen when she’s eighteen, according to Tallulah. Then she takes a swipe at mine and gives them a squeeze. “Let’s make milk come out, Mommy.” Ok, I giggle.
At this point, you are rolling your eyes and/or getting grossed out. And, honestly, so was I a little bit. It’s like making a funky colored booger or a poop shaped like Elvis. Interesting, but not exactly something you want to think about too much. Or share. But hanging out with a four year old who thinks everything made by the body is Fascinating! And Exciting! warps the mind. So I shot some milk at Tallulah who promptly squealed and yelled, “Oooh! Milk on me!”
We were still giggling about it when we exited the bathroom and Kent wanted to know what was so funny, so we told him. He immediately rolled his eyes and shut down the conversation. “That’s gross. I don’t want to know.” And this annoys me. Who is he to say my body is gross? My body is Fascinating! And Exciting! Sometimes it’s easier to hang out with the four year old.
And I’m giving him a hand mirror for his scrotum.
On the subject of lactating. Yesterday I was in the shower with Tallulah (she insists on joining me if she knows I’m taking a shower. I generally allow it since bathing frequency is low on our list of priorities. We use the smell test or the “two days since fingerpainting, but you’re still painted blue” method of bath determination.) and she was having a discussion about breasts—hers are small but they’ll be bigger when she’s grown like mine, probably when she’s eighteen. Everything is going to happen when she’s eighteen, according to Tallulah. Then she takes a swipe at mine and gives them a squeeze. “Let’s make milk come out, Mommy.” Ok, I giggle.
At this point, you are rolling your eyes and/or getting grossed out. And, honestly, so was I a little bit. It’s like making a funky colored booger or a poop shaped like Elvis. Interesting, but not exactly something you want to think about too much. Or share. But hanging out with a four year old who thinks everything made by the body is Fascinating! And Exciting! warps the mind. So I shot some milk at Tallulah who promptly squealed and yelled, “Oooh! Milk on me!”
We were still giggling about it when we exited the bathroom and Kent wanted to know what was so funny, so we told him. He immediately rolled his eyes and shut down the conversation. “That’s gross. I don’t want to know.” And this annoys me. Who is he to say my body is gross? My body is Fascinating! And Exciting! Sometimes it’s easier to hang out with the four year old.
And I’m giving him a hand mirror for his scrotum.
Sunday, July 13, 2008
The soundtrack of my life
Mommy? Mommy?
Wahh! Wahh!
Mommy? Mommy?
MOOO-OOMMMY!!!!
Mo-ommy! Mo-ommy!
Honey? Honey?
MOO-OOMMY!!! NOW!!
Wahh! Wahh!
Mommy? Mommy?
MOOO-OOMMMY!!!!
Mo-ommy! Mo-ommy!
Honey? Honey?
MOO-OOMMY!!! NOW!!
Saturday, July 12, 2008
Post Traumatic Ranting
I am able to think more clearly today than yesterday. I apologize for the rant. I keep having mild panic attacks about going back to work. How will I parent effectively? How will I maintain our household? Where’s my to-do list?
What I was trying to make a point about yesterday, but was sidetracked by my anxiety, was how differently I approach working from my husband. I have mad amounts of stress and guilt attached to my working. Moxie is up all night? It’s because I work. Tallulah having a temper tantrum? She misses her mommy. The dishes undone and dirty laundry piled up? I can’t get to it because of work. Which is not exactly fair to any of these scenarios. Tallulah has been known to have a temper tantrum or two (or million) even before I started back to work. And the laundry has been known to pile up, even when I was a devoted housewife. And Moxie… no, Moxie has been perfectly reasonable and even-tempered. Even now she is perfectly reasonable and even-tempered. She sleeps more during the days when I’m working and then stays awake at night for quality nursing and mommy time. She even eats less during the day when a bottle is the only option. Which is perfectly reasonable unless, of course, I insist on sleeping, too, as well as working.
But I am racked with guilt and internal conflict. I need to balance my time. I need to give each child personal attention. I need to keep the household managed. I need to make sure there is enough food, laundry, diapers, and whatever else our family needs even when I am not there. And then I need to call frequently to make sure everything is running smoothly.
My husband, on the other hand, leaves in the morning and returns at night easy with the knowledge that if there isn’t food in the house, I will go get some. If the laundry has piled up to the point of no clothing or diapers, I will wash some. If the children are edgy and need new stimulation, I will find them something to do. And when he comes home, he is happy to see us. He doesn’t attribute my bad mood or the children’s cranky attitude to anything other than a passing phase or mood. He does what he can to calm and cheer us up, then moves on to the next activity.
He is a genius.
He is infuriating.
Why do I not possess this skill? Why do I make myself crazy, panic-stricken, and stressed? Is it hormonal? Some feminine gene that stays inactive until my egg is fertilized, then bursts to life with motherhood? Because I swear I wasn’t crazy like this before kids.
What I was trying to make a point about yesterday, but was sidetracked by my anxiety, was how differently I approach working from my husband. I have mad amounts of stress and guilt attached to my working. Moxie is up all night? It’s because I work. Tallulah having a temper tantrum? She misses her mommy. The dishes undone and dirty laundry piled up? I can’t get to it because of work. Which is not exactly fair to any of these scenarios. Tallulah has been known to have a temper tantrum or two (or million) even before I started back to work. And the laundry has been known to pile up, even when I was a devoted housewife. And Moxie… no, Moxie has been perfectly reasonable and even-tempered. Even now she is perfectly reasonable and even-tempered. She sleeps more during the days when I’m working and then stays awake at night for quality nursing and mommy time. She even eats less during the day when a bottle is the only option. Which is perfectly reasonable unless, of course, I insist on sleeping, too, as well as working.
But I am racked with guilt and internal conflict. I need to balance my time. I need to give each child personal attention. I need to keep the household managed. I need to make sure there is enough food, laundry, diapers, and whatever else our family needs even when I am not there. And then I need to call frequently to make sure everything is running smoothly.
My husband, on the other hand, leaves in the morning and returns at night easy with the knowledge that if there isn’t food in the house, I will go get some. If the laundry has piled up to the point of no clothing or diapers, I will wash some. If the children are edgy and need new stimulation, I will find them something to do. And when he comes home, he is happy to see us. He doesn’t attribute my bad mood or the children’s cranky attitude to anything other than a passing phase or mood. He does what he can to calm and cheer us up, then moves on to the next activity.
He is a genius.
He is infuriating.
Why do I not possess this skill? Why do I make myself crazy, panic-stricken, and stressed? Is it hormonal? Some feminine gene that stays inactive until my egg is fertilized, then bursts to life with motherhood? Because I swear I wasn’t crazy like this before kids.
Friday, July 11, 2008
working mom blues
I know, I know. It's been forever since I've written and even now I shouldn't be sitting down to the computer because there are groceries strewn around on my kitchen counters and my to do list is so long and I have a writing deadline for MOMMY Magazine but I can't do anything else until I write because I can't get past how HARD this is. THIS. This working and parenting and having two children and a baby and... Ok, I need to slow down and explain.
Here's my husband's work day:
7:30. Wake up, take the baby and Tallulah if she's awake and willing downstairs. Do some Gung Fu. Make breakfast for the whole crew. (he takes the kids when they wake up so I can get some non-child groping sleep time. I do the nighttime parenting because of the nursing and by dawn I'm ready to throw some baby heads out the window. Thoop. That's the sound I imagine they'll make as they fly through the air.)
8:30 Make sure I'm awake, get ready for work. Either get out the door by 9 or go into the studio around 9.
Lunchtime- make some lunch, tidy the kitchen, help me put kids to nap if everyone is home.
5:00 play with kids while I make dinner.
You can see that my husband is awesome-- awesomely participatory, engaged, and an equal partner with the family and household. So it's not a lack in him, but a crazy in me that my work day is so significantly different from his. Example:
8:00- wake up after 15 minutes of boob tweaking-free sleep time. Take a shower and get dressed before going downstairs since Moxie and Tallulah will jump me when they see me.
8:15- go downstairs. Scarf breakfast while nursing the baby and mentally tabulating how many bottles/diapers she'll need for the day.
8:30- check diapers. Find most of them in the dryer (we use cloth). Pull them out of the dryer and put them together ready for use, lay the cloth wipes next to them for easy husband access. Make one bottle, put in fridge, and leave formula or frozen milk on counter for easy access/defrost with empty bottle. Check fridge for lunch items for Tallulah. Holler out what there is for lunch to Kent and Tallulah OR write out lunch options and post on fridge. Think what a good idea it would be to make pictures of lunch options so Tallulah can choose for herself and request items from Kent at lunchtime. Look at clock.
9:00 freak out that I am once again not getting out of the house on time. Give Tallulah and Moxie hugs and kisses. Tallulah clings. Spend an extra 5 minutes talking to her about the awesome day she's about to have with daddy. Daddy lures her in the house with talk about a trip to the bookstore. My heart breaks. I like the bookstore!
9:30 get to first client (I do home health nursing and schedule my visits. Sweet gig for my mental state)
10:15 leave first client. have four more people to see in the north part of town. Plan to stop at home in between the north and south part to nurse baby. Try to guess what time that'll be. Try to guess when she'll have a bottle so I can time it just right to nurse her in between clients and I won't catch her sleeping or just having finished a bottle. Get stressed out about time management.
etc. etc.
I know it's my head that is sabotaging the work schedule. If I could leave the house and leave family stuff behind, the work would be fine. And little things wouldn't bother me as much like coming in with the groceries and wanting to throw Moxie in her highchair with a snack so she doesn't scream at me while I run in and out of the house. So I throw a handful of chopped fruit on her highchair tray a half second before I notice that her tray wasn't wiped down when she was last taken out of it and there is unidentifiable sludge crusted on it with three ants having a party in the middle. Shit. I know that wiping down the tray before taking the baby out of it is crucial to our well being, but Kent hasn't gotten to that yet in his learning curve. Shit. So toss the old fruit, chop more one-handed while Moxie squirms in my arms and groceries melt in the car, wipe down the tray, throw new fruit on it and put Moxie-- finally-- down.
I'm tired I'm tired I'm tired I'm tired I'm tired.
And Moxie is adjusting to my work schedule by sleeping a lot when she's with Kent during the day and not eating much so she can nurse and play with mommy all night when I'm home. Which, hello awesome smart baby and goodbye any mommy rest. And I've been going to bed early this week due to the lack of sleep time which is why I can't write and I shouldn't be writing now because Moxie finished her fruit so I threw Cheerios on her tray which she's never had before and she doesn't even have any teeth so it's only a matter of time before I try out the new rules for the Heimlich (did you know back patting is in again?)
Oops, sure enough, gotta go....
Here's my husband's work day:
7:30. Wake up, take the baby and Tallulah if she's awake and willing downstairs. Do some Gung Fu. Make breakfast for the whole crew. (he takes the kids when they wake up so I can get some non-child groping sleep time. I do the nighttime parenting because of the nursing and by dawn I'm ready to throw some baby heads out the window. Thoop. That's the sound I imagine they'll make as they fly through the air.)
8:30 Make sure I'm awake, get ready for work. Either get out the door by 9 or go into the studio around 9.
Lunchtime- make some lunch, tidy the kitchen, help me put kids to nap if everyone is home.
5:00 play with kids while I make dinner.
You can see that my husband is awesome-- awesomely participatory, engaged, and an equal partner with the family and household. So it's not a lack in him, but a crazy in me that my work day is so significantly different from his. Example:
8:00- wake up after 15 minutes of boob tweaking-free sleep time. Take a shower and get dressed before going downstairs since Moxie and Tallulah will jump me when they see me.
8:15- go downstairs. Scarf breakfast while nursing the baby and mentally tabulating how many bottles/diapers she'll need for the day.
8:30- check diapers. Find most of them in the dryer (we use cloth). Pull them out of the dryer and put them together ready for use, lay the cloth wipes next to them for easy husband access. Make one bottle, put in fridge, and leave formula or frozen milk on counter for easy access/defrost with empty bottle. Check fridge for lunch items for Tallulah. Holler out what there is for lunch to Kent and Tallulah OR write out lunch options and post on fridge. Think what a good idea it would be to make pictures of lunch options so Tallulah can choose for herself and request items from Kent at lunchtime. Look at clock.
9:00 freak out that I am once again not getting out of the house on time. Give Tallulah and Moxie hugs and kisses. Tallulah clings. Spend an extra 5 minutes talking to her about the awesome day she's about to have with daddy. Daddy lures her in the house with talk about a trip to the bookstore. My heart breaks. I like the bookstore!
9:30 get to first client (I do home health nursing and schedule my visits. Sweet gig for my mental state)
10:15 leave first client. have four more people to see in the north part of town. Plan to stop at home in between the north and south part to nurse baby. Try to guess what time that'll be. Try to guess when she'll have a bottle so I can time it just right to nurse her in between clients and I won't catch her sleeping or just having finished a bottle. Get stressed out about time management.
etc. etc.
I know it's my head that is sabotaging the work schedule. If I could leave the house and leave family stuff behind, the work would be fine. And little things wouldn't bother me as much like coming in with the groceries and wanting to throw Moxie in her highchair with a snack so she doesn't scream at me while I run in and out of the house. So I throw a handful of chopped fruit on her highchair tray a half second before I notice that her tray wasn't wiped down when she was last taken out of it and there is unidentifiable sludge crusted on it with three ants having a party in the middle. Shit. I know that wiping down the tray before taking the baby out of it is crucial to our well being, but Kent hasn't gotten to that yet in his learning curve. Shit. So toss the old fruit, chop more one-handed while Moxie squirms in my arms and groceries melt in the car, wipe down the tray, throw new fruit on it and put Moxie-- finally-- down.
I'm tired I'm tired I'm tired I'm tired I'm tired.
And Moxie is adjusting to my work schedule by sleeping a lot when she's with Kent during the day and not eating much so she can nurse and play with mommy all night when I'm home. Which, hello awesome smart baby and goodbye any mommy rest. And I've been going to bed early this week due to the lack of sleep time which is why I can't write and I shouldn't be writing now because Moxie finished her fruit so I threw Cheerios on her tray which she's never had before and she doesn't even have any teeth so it's only a matter of time before I try out the new rules for the Heimlich (did you know back patting is in again?)
Oops, sure enough, gotta go....
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