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When I hug both of my boys at the same time I get this overwhelming feeling that I am holding the entire world in my arms… like I’m holding pure, raw love as if it were a tangible, touchable thing…and I never want to let go. Even with simple moments like hugging them goodbye in their preschool classroom…. or if I’m stepping out to run a few errands, I never leave the house without hugging and kissing them and telling them I love them. Never…
…because they are my entire world. They are tangible, touchable love.
(This is what has been playing over and over in my head for days now… so I wrote it down )
I became a stay-at-home mom in August of 2004. Dramaboy was 3 months old. I had gone back to work for a day or two after my 12-week maternity leave and I hated every second of it. The job sucked before I had Dramaboy and it sucked worse after. I was put on probation for something, probably too much personal time on the computer as usual and I told them, you know what, I quit anyway. Have fun. Bye.
Of course I had discussed this with hubs before quitting, just to make sure he would be ok going to one little old income for the family. I guess the rest is history. The past 4 years have been a blur. I have a hard time recalling the boys as babies, other than the fits they gave me. I feel like I have wasted almost every second of those 4 years because I didn’t use my time wisely. I didn’t scrapbook. I didn’t play with them more. I didn’t give them the best mom that they deserved.
I hate myself for that and nothing anyone can say will change my mind. I hate the mother I gave to my boys because they deserved better. I hate that I need anti-depressants just to funtion normally. I hate that I have a temper and yell or bark at them. I hate that I’m impatient with them. I hate it all.
Lately, as if you couldn’t tell, I have been on a deep, introspective trip. I’m living in the past. I’m regretting the things I did or didn’t do. I’m feeling guilty. I’m hating myself for not making the most of my free time with the boys and without. I’m the cliche for regrets and realizng things too late.
You have seen my post things about my wicked ways before. And, you have seen me post things about self-love and accepting who I am. My about me page talks about my epiphany that “I am who I am” and I’m ok with that now. But what it doesn’t say is that I’m only ok with who I am 50% of the time. This is a never-ending journey I guess. Just when I think I’ve got it all figured out and can accept myself, I fall off the deep end again.
Living in the past sucks. I know better; I know I should look forward and just keep going… keep trying to do the right thing. But that is easier said than done. I want to blame my dad for everything. I want to blame him for making me so screwed up. I want to blame him for moving us around so much that now I’m a restless soul. I want to blame him for my intense NEED for change…. not a DESIRE for change, a NEED! I can’t stay happy. I can’t be satisified. Just when I think I have gotten everything I want, I get restless again. I get jealous of everyone else because I think they have what I want.
When I get like this I forget the good parts of me. I feel like the bad negates anything good that is within me. I’m selfish and self-centered. I am uber forgetful and therefore constantly let people down. I’m not a good mother…. not every day anyway. I’m flaky. I’m impatient and restless. With traits like that how am I supposed to feel like a good person? And, even when I am having a good day I feel like it’s just a facade; like I’m being phony because I know the real me…. the ugly me. I feel like it is just a matter of time before I start letting people down again.
My heart isn’t fake. That much I know. I have a big, giant and loving heart and I wear it proudly on my sleeve. But dammit if I don’t keep letting people down…
I know I have a blessed life. But if I have all these amazing gifts, like my children, my husband, the roof over my head and even the damn loveable but uber-psychotic dog, why am I so dissatisfied? Why is the grass always greener? Why do I want something different? Is it just because moving and change has been engrained in me since birth? Do I just need a change of scenery?
That’s fine if I do, but I have a family now and I will DAMNED if I do to my kids what my father did to us! I want them to have stability in their lives so that they do not grow up and become adults and end up with my issues. I am greatful that I’m so adaptable and can deal with change… I love that about myself, but at the same time it created this constant NEED for change; this constant feeling of restlessness.
Whenever I hear about someone living in the same house for 50 years or working the same job for 30 years my eyeballs roll back into my head! All I can think is, “OMG! I WOULD GO NUTSO!”
When I begin to go down this dark road in my head, everything else gets affected too. Today, I realized that the inevitable has happened to me. I have lost my identity.
I have been a SAHM for 4 years and I’m going through what many at-home moms go through. Everything I am is wrapped up in my kids and my husband. My children cannot go 5 minutes without saying “mama!” in a way that means they need something. I’m not kidding. I hear that maybe in excess of 150 times a day. It is to the point where I wither away inside at that sound of “mama” because I can’t take it anymore. I feel like they are going to need me forever; like they are never going to be independent.
I used to look at families with babies and just smile and oogle and think, “oh how sweet! They must be so happy!”
You know what I think now? I think, “Heh! SUCKERS! Just wait till the little shit starts walking and talking! HAVE FUN!”
When did I become so friggin’ jaded?
I look at families now with older kids, 7, 8, 10… whatever, and I think, “OH I CANNOT WAIT FOR THAT! The boys will be more self-sufficient and I might actually have me-time!”
WTF? A few years ago I could not imagine my babies getting any older and I wanted to keep them young and helpless forever! Now I’m thinking, when do they leave for college?
Everyone who knows me knows that my boys are my life. I would die for them and I would die without them. That doesn’t even need to be said, but undoubtably someone might read this and think, “Shit, you don’t deserve to be a mother…” If anyone is reading this and thinking that then either A) you are not a mother yourself and couldn’t possibly understand or B) you are just a fucking idiot and way to pious to be reading this blog.
Now, with that little disclaimer out of the way, lets get back to my self-hate trip…
Hubs seems to think that I do have a lot of freedom even though I feel like I don’t. It’s all about perception I guess.
He seems to think that my once-monthly girl’s night out is enough to keep me happy.
He seems to think my 2 hours of freedom Monday through Friday should be enough to keep me happy.
He seems to think that being a student is enough to keep me from losing my mind.
Hm, right. Once a month… once every 31 days (give or take) I get to go out and have fun, adult converstation with my friends. It IS amazing and I cherish that one night every single month. So yes, I will give him that. However, it does NOT make up for the other 30 days of being strapped to my children for 24 hours a day.
The 2 hours of freedom daily? Right… those are spend doing homework or running errands. Not exactly fun me-time. However, I do revel in those 2 hours of peace without hearing “mama” 800 times.
The student thing? Heh. That doesn’t even desever a retort. Just a good old F/U will work.
I am not trying to be greedy here. I’m not asking for a GNO once a week or more time during the day to myself. I’m not asking for money to go shopping each month to buy the latest fashions (even though I do hate my current waredrobe). I’m not asking for anything. Number one, we don’t have the money for me to take a yoga class or a pottery class like I would love to do. Number two, I can sympathize with my husband because he gets up at 5:45am every day to go to a job that he HATES. Our entire survival hinges on his income. He has the weight of the world on his shoulders so why should I be asking for anything?
We can’t do everything we want to do because we each have 2-ton weights on our shoulders. He doesn’t get me and I don’t get him. But, I try to get him. I do empathize with him. I listen to him. I support him. What do I get in return? I get sarcasm. I get retorts that make me feel like my gripes aren’t worth anything. I get guilt trips. Thankyouverymuch.
Somehow I need to find me again. I need to find inner peace.
Now it’s time to pick up the boys from school and resume the chaos.
Don’t bother checking your calendars, it is not really a full moon.
What I mean is that my boys have decided that it is fun to moon me. DramaBoy started it. He would get out of the shower, run through the house naked and then bend over, spread his butt cheeks and say, “LOOK MAMA! HA HA HA HA HA HA!”
WHO TAUGHT HIM THAT!?
Now, the other one likes to do it. Only now they just pull their pants halfway down and show me their tiny asses and laugh like mad men and then run away. I suppose my laughter doesn’t help the situation and in fact encourages them. But seriously, what else am I supposed to do? It is funny. I really do try to tell them to stop and that it is inappropriate but generally I have to leave the room to laugh first.
I am guessing I will have a note sent home from their preschool in the next few weeks either expelling them or suspending them. They are both in the same class so I can just imagine them teaming up to moon their classmates.
Maybe I should draw smiley faces on their butts next time and send them to school. That way, if they do moon anyone their asses will smile back. Now that’s good stuff right there.
Or maybe, just maybe I should I act like a real mother and totally condemn this horrible and offensive action and ground them both. Heh.
They will grow out of this right? **
** On record as the dumbest question ever asked in a public forum.
If my husband says, “they don’t do that with me” one more friggin’ time I’m going to mummy wrap his ass in duct tape and stick his head in the toilet for an extended amount of violent swirlies and then leave him outside for the skunks and raccoons to play with.
The kids go everywhere with me, sans doctor appointments. I don’t really feel like corralling their asses as I have a doctor who’s elbows deep in my nether regions or while needles are stuck in my arms. Hennyway, when our day calls for running errands to the store, post office or whatever, they are in tow. Literally. In. Tow.
Lolligaggin’ is the word of my life. Think, Bull Durham and the coach’s “lolligaggin’” speech. I live and breathe it.
Lets go back in time and trace the roots of running errands with children.
First, we have stage 1: Prideful and Fun
When my first son was born, life was easier. He was tiny and sat in an infant carrier that went from car to stroller in one easy move. I proudly shopped with him, as a first time mother, because pushing him in the stroller was like a new status symbol to me. Look at me! I have a newborn! I’m so cool now! Even when DramaBoy splatter-pooped through his clothes AND infant seat and onto the floor of the Cingular store, I was still proud. Scrambling to clean it up coyly, but proud.
Then, he grew out of the infant carrier and had to be put in a carseat. Outings got a tad tougher but still manageable. He would go from the carseat and either placed in a stroller or in a cart. And I was beaming even more because he was now completely visible to the onlookers who oogled at him and asked how old he was and commented on how good a baby he was. Sometimes my head would get stuck in doors.
Stage 2 – Morning sickness and baby management
Then I got pregnant again. DramaBoy was only 8 months old. This was planned and wanted but trying to function with daily nausea and a baby to take care of equals hell. Errands began to take longer or just not get done at all. DramaBoy wasn’t even crawling yet so my nauseated ass was forced to carry him everywhere or pick him up and move him to where I wanted him to be. Going to stores was actually easier than being at home because he was confined to a stroller or a cart and had some scenery to look at to keep him happy. Plus, it was fun interacting with him at the stores and pointing out new things and seeing his new curiousity peak. I would practice the sign language with him and play peek-a-boo while waiting in the register lines. At home he was either on a blanket on the floor, in his walker or in a pack-n-play with the same white walls staring back at him. Baby Einstein was a lifesaver.
Stage 3 - Double Dooty
Then Monster came. And so did the double bohemeth stroller. DramaBoy decided he would finally learn to walk ONE MONTH before Monster was born. This meant that up until he was 15-months old my fat, pregnant ass carried him everywhere still. After Monster was born, going to the store was a bit easier because I wasn’t pregnant anymore but, a bit more difficult because now I had 2 kids and a giant double stroller to manage. Instead of buckling one child into the carseat I had to buckle two. This took longer. Then, I had to coordinate myself well enough to get one child out of the car first and then go around to get the other and then buckle them both into the double bohemeth stroller. Or, if it was a store with shopping carts then Monster was in his infant seat in the cart and DramaBoy was either in the cart or walking with me.
Oh, and Monster liked to scream, all the time. He was not a good baby in public, like his brother was.
Many times I found myself, post-partum, walking around on one-hour of sleep (holy fucking colic Batman), standing in line at the store with a screaming baby and a cranky toddler praying to God that the cashier would hurry the fuck up and let me GO HOME!
This stage continued through Monster’s baby days and DramaBoy’s toddler-dom. Running errands went from fun, to somewhat fun, to work. Monster would ride in the front of the cart and DramaBoy in the basket of the cart or they were both in the double stroller. This left very little or zero room for the items I was shopping for. Creativity and strategy became key in our outings.
Stage 3 could also be called - “Dear God In Heaven I have to lug my two boys into a dirty public restroom along with my purse, diaper bag, shopping bags and possibly a kitchen sink I picked up along the way and then change one diaper while trying to keep the older boy from sticking his hand in toilets and not letting baby boy roll off the changing station!”
Stage 4 - Double Carseats, Double Trouble, Double Clusterfuck.
Rain or shine, cold or hot, getting two toddlers into the vehicle, sitting down in their carseats, buckling them in with the elaborate 5-point harness system for each and then doing everything in reverse order EVERY STOP YOU MAKE just became hell. I would get soaked in the rain, or freeze in the snow or swelter in the heat when putting them in their seats. This stage morphed right into the current stage we are in…
Stage 5 – Fuck! I have to take both kids to the store with me.
This is the stage where I will strategically plan our route before leaving the house so that any stops which don’t require the kids getting out (ie: drive through banking/prescriptions) are done first or saved for last in order to minimize the in and out of the vehicle. Then, the stops that require us to get out are done in an order that makes it as easy as possible so I’m not taking them out of the car every 10 minutes. The sit/stand stroller is in back of the car for stops that don’t have shopping carts and I get to listen to two boys fight over who sits in front and who gets to ride on the sit/stand part of the stroller. Getting them into the car is easier only because they are completely self-sufficent in that area and, DramaBoy happens to be in a high-back booster that uses just the seat belt so it’s one-click seating. While I’m doing that, Monster is usually buckling his own 5-point harness and I simply tighten it and we go. However, there are often times where I’m barking “GET IN THE CAR FOR GOODNESS SAKE! YOU ARE NOT AN INVALID SO WHY DOES IT TAKE YOU FIVE FREAKING MINUTES TO STEP UP ONTO THE SIDERAIL AND INTO THE DAMN CAR AND FOR THE LOVE OF GOD GET IN YOUR SEAT AND SIT DOWN! THE FRONT SEAT IS FOR ME NOT YOU AND THE DOME LIGHT IS NOT A TOY YOU BEASTS!!!!!!!” Then we get into the stores.
DramaBoy wants to ride his lazy-ass in the cart but Monster HAS TO WALK! Monster is the worst lolligagger I have ever seen. We don’t even get halfway through a store without me throwing him in the cart with his brother because listening to them fight and hit each other and pull shit off of the shelves is better than yelling “FOR THE LOVE OF GOD HURRY UP!” every 10 seconds. At least I can move through a store at my pace when they are both in the cart. But that doesn’t mean anything, really. See, we have to stop and see the fish first, EVERY TIME we enter a Walmart. And, “can I have a toy for being a good boy” is always asked as we are getting out of the car before I have even had a chance to rip my hair out in the store from them fighting and touching everything. And even though I have asked them 5 minutes before leaving the house or the other store if they have to pee and they say no, they always have to go in the middle of our rounds when we are in the very back at the store, the farthest point from the restrooms possible. Oy. The beaming, proud mother has been replaced by the frazzled, dazed shell of a woman that once was…
A quick trip to run in and grab something is always turned into a large production and generally takes an hour, instead of just 5 minutes. And when I get home and start ranting about the snail-speed of Monster and how long it took us to get in and out and husband gives me that,“They don’t do that with me” line, well, refer back to paragraph one. In the meantime, I am going to start saving my errands for after he gets home from work when the kids are SUPER excited to see him and literally climb all over him before he can even get out of his work clothes and he is begging for mercy and reaching out for me to help him. Heh. See ya sucker, I’ll be at the store, alone.
…Febreezed yourself… like when someone is at the door and you haven’t had a shower and the Febreeze is the quickest way to ensure you don’t completely offend the person at the door by your smell? – I have
…driven around all day going from resale shop to resale shop looking for a nice, vintage water pitcher because your husband broke your $.50 ceramic garage sale pitcher that you absolutely ADORED and you finally found one at the last place you visited but were too cheap to pay $8.75 for it? – I have
…written a love letter to a total stranger in your blog where you told him you would dry hump him because he listened to a certain song? – I have
…gone to get up out of your chair quickly only to find your left big toe was stuck in the ties at the bottom of your capris when your leg was tucked under you and then fall, hard and flat on the floor, in front of your male friend/neighbor who was visiting and subsequently tear the ties on your capris right off? – I have
…stopped your bike too fast and fell on your ass right in front your other neighbor who was coming home from work? – I have
…accidentally driven past the giant food menu/speaker where you order your food and subsequently drive up to the pick-up window all of a sudden realizing you must have passed the order speaker only to be met by a confused teenage boy who is trying to figure out what your ordered and how the fuck you passed the GIANT ORDER MENU to begin with? – I have
...farted in your cubicle at work only to realize that it really stinks and you pray to God no one comes over to talk to you because they will know you dropped a serious ass rocket and you will forever be mortified and 2 seconds later your co-worker or boss show up to ask you a question and you just want to die? - I have
…been so embarrassed by the sounds coming from another woman’s ass in the bathroom stall when she is taking a poop so you quickly leave the bathroom so you don’t have to see her or make eye-contact? – I have
…honestly tried licking your own elbow because the email you just got says it’s impossible? – I have
...sung along to a song in the car so badly that you made yourself giggle, and then all out laugh at the atrociousness coming out of your throat? – I have
…been laying in bed alone and wound up scaring yourself so bad with your imagination that you had to sleep with the light on, as an ADULT? – I have
…run out of Dr. Pepper and needed one so bad that you threw your kids in the car in their pajamas so you could run up to the nearest gas station and get yourself a giant 32oz fountain DP only to find your youngest son pissed himself along the way because you didn’t put a pull-up on him first. Stoopid Dr. Pepper. – I have
And one final note… I have not heard back from my newest stalkee. He has not replied to my love letter yet so I have either succeeded in creeping him the fuck out, or, he is waiting the usual 2-day guy rule to contact me and wisk me away to a private island where we will have mad passionate talks about the Godfather while listening to this…
“I get my kicks above the waistline, sunshine”
I am becoming way too intimate with the public restrooms of the stores I visit, when my children are in tow.
DramaBoy has been potty trained for sometime now. We can generally get through any store without a trip to the bathroom. Monster, however, is learning and peeing in the toilet every day much to my joy. In fact, he learned so quickly that I actually take the major parental risk of leaving the house without a pull-up on him… but I do have extra shorts packed, just in case.
Today, we ventured out to run several errands and our first stop was the health food store. See, I have discovered (thanks to the Today show and some Internet research) that the sulfates in shampoos are nothing more than sudsing/lathering agents and actually dry out hair thus causing frizz. Since I already have a dry texture to my hair that responds incredibly poorly to humidity, this subject touched a rather large nerve in me. The trip to the health food store was to find a natural shampoo that did not contain sulfates.
You would think that after 4 years of child-rearing, literally and figuratively, I would know that this could not be a simple run to the health food store. But, dammit, nothing was going to stop my mission to find that perfect new shampoo which, by the way, better live up to all of my expectations or else I’m going to ram my foot up someone’s ass.
I pulled up in front of the store and proceeded with my usual mama speech prior to releasing my children from the seat belts. “You both better behave and listen to me when we are in this store. This is not a fun store, mama just needs one thing and then are leaving. Got it?”
A I heard a the expected and collaborative “Yes ma’am” and we were off to find my new shampoo.
We got into the store, I started surveying my prospects and Monster says, “I have to pee!”
Fear rushed over me because I didn’t see a bathroom anywhere in this tiny little store. Then, as if on cue, DramaBoy says, “I have to pee too!”
I run up to the front counter with both tiny bladders by my side and I ask what I thought was definitely a “no” question.
“Do you have a bathroom in here?”
“SURE! Right through that door back there and to the left!”
“OH THANK GOD!”
And off we sprinted to the back so they could relieve themselves.
DramaBoy and Monster step up to the toilet after I told them not to touch ANYTHING … read: DO NOT TOUCH THE LID OF THE TOILET OR PUT YOUR HANDS ANYWHERE NEAR THE TOILET! JUST PEE AND AIM WELL!
Monster and DramaBoy stood at the toilet and both attempted to pee, but apparently only one succeeded. Then it was time to wash hands and get the hell out of there before either of them touched anything. Easier said than done.
Back in the shampoo isle I’m still reading labels and narrowing down my choices. Then, I hear Monster mutter those words, “I have to pee again!”
“WHUH! Didn’t you just go?!” I retorted.
“I have to pee again!” He repeats as if I didn’t hear him the first time.
Back through the stock-room door we go and back into the bathroom. Monster takes his stance again and after a few seconds, much to my horror, I see pee flying straight up and over the side of the toilet splashing onto the floor, all over his feet and of course the seat. It was actually comical… think of that diaper commercial where the father is at a dinner party and takes his infant son into the bedroom to change him and pee shoots out all over the furniture and ceiling. Needless to say, I’m mortified.
Remember, we are in a health food store so they don’t have ANY paper towels in this bathroom. None. They have a non-working hand dryer though. I have no way to clean this mess up. Monster managed to finally pee the rest into the toilet but not before making a giant puddle on the floor and all over his feet.
Stoopid me thought that having boys would be WAY easier to deal with public bathrooms. Yeah….
Monster’s shorts, feet, flip-flops, toilet seat and floor are now drenched in pee. I contemplated on telling someone so they could clean it up, but I was way too embarrassed. So I ran out like a dog guilty of eating your entire Thanksgiving dinner. Real smooth.
I found my shampoo, paid for it and left quickly but just waiting for a clerk to run out of the store after me claiming that my son had completely defiled the bathroom and that I need to get in there and clean it up or they would dump wheat-grass shots over my head and roll me in tofu. I shook it off and took another risk and decided that Monster needed to be changed now, it couldn’t wait. Screw the wheat-grass and tofu threats! So in the parking lot right outside of the store I changed Monster’s shorts to the spare pair I had and put a damn pull-up on the kid because we still had places to go. The next time someone goes into that bathroom they are going to know exactly who did it. There was only a couple of other people in the store, without kids. I am pretty sure they don’t get many requests to use the bathroom. I wonder if I can be banned for this?
Whoever said having kids potty trained was easier is a gynormous tool.
So, yesterday I was, um, indisposed in my mother’s bathroom. As I was reading an article in Good Housekeeping on how to reduce debt I discovered that the toilet paper was gone. This is always a frightening discovery once you are already stuck on the commode.
Luckily, since I’m a huge proponent of toilet texting and just the general fact that my cell phone is almost always on me (nowadays anyway), I had my cell phone with me in the bathroom. Don’t judge me and don’t ask to use my phone, OK?
I made a phone call to my mother, 25 miles away at the hospital.
“Um, ma? You are out of toilet paper. Where can I find more?”
“Where are you?”
“I’m in your bathroom.”
“Well, check under the sink or the cabinet over the toilet.”
“I did, it’s all gone.”
“Then there is more in the hall closet.”
“I can’t get to the closet.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m in your bathroom?”
“Are you on the toilet!?”
“YES! That is why I had to call you to see if you had an secret hiding places for spare toilet paper in your bathroom!”
“Good lord!” she erupts into laughter. “Well, call Ann then! Have her get you some more.”
“Duh! Good idea, thanks. Bye.”
Ann is my step-dad’s mother who lives with my mom and step-dad. She was in the livingroom. So I called her on the house phone.
“Hi Ann, can you do me a favor? Could you leave me some toilet paper outside of my mom’s bathroom door? She’s out and I’m stuck.”
Again, a large eruption of laughter thankfully followed by a merciful supply drop of toilet paper.
Whew!
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DramaBoy’s birthday is on Wednesday. Grandma Ann was asking him how old he is going to be.
“I’m gonna be 5.”
“No you aren’t, you are going to be 4 buddy!” I told him.
“No, I don’t like 4, I want to be 5.” he replied seriously.
So there you have it, he gets to pick his age now. I personally don’t like being 32 so I want to be 25. See how easy it is?
______________________________________________________________________________________________
On a serious note, my step-dad has had a setback. We were hoping he would be moved to a regular room yesterday, however, that didn’t happen.
They did a CT scan and found some hydrocephalus on his brain. I think that is basically water on the brain, but in his case I think it was spinal fluid. So, they had to put the drain back in his head to drain this fluid out.
But, before they were going to reinsert the drain they found his legs to be very very swollen which is a tell-tale sign of the blood clots in his legs. Once again they were faced with two problems that work against each other…. blood clots and fluid on the brain. Treating the clots with blood thinner would have potentially resulted in another massive brain bleed. Not treating the clots and simply draining his head would result in severe discomfort from the swollen legs and probably other problems.
Last night they decided to balance it as best as possible by inserting the drain into his back (between some vertebrae) in order to drain the fluid without invading the brain again and giving him limited doses of blood thinner to reduce the clots. The clots cannot travel to his heart or brain because the screens that they put in place, which is good. So, now, the spinal fluid is being drained out of his back and it essentially creates a suction where the fluid will then drain from his head and down his spine and out the tube.
Apparently this means he will still be in ICU for at least another 5 days. The trend continues, fix one problem and another arises to complicate things. Despite this, he is doing well and actually eating solid foods. His sense of humor is lingering in there but he tired and still a bit cranky.
I cannot go see him anytime soon because I am getting a cold. I haven’t seen him since his breathing tube was still in. So I have not seen him conscious or talking yet and I’m really disappointed about that. Hopefully I will get to see him by the end of this week though. I’m not even sure he knows I’m here yet. His visitation has to be kept low and to immediate family only because if he sees unfamiliar people that he doesn’t see all the time he has to try too hard to process that information and it’s not good for him. I will never forget the last time I saw him. The look in his eyes will be ingrained in my head forever. He looked stunned, confused, baffled and pitiful because I think he was trying to figure out why I was there. I don’t think he has a clue that I flew down here for him. I want the next time I see him to be easier for him to process.
Today was and still is (since it’s only 3:32pm) an odd sort of days. It’s Mother’s Day (Holla! to all the mother’s!) today, May 11th, in the year of the rat, 2008.
So, how was your Mother’s Day? Good I hope. Hopefully all of the mother’s were showered with gifts, free time, ALONE TIME, pedicures, manicures, any-cures, chocolate, big breakfasts and lots of gift cards for clothing or massages.
Now that my pleasantries are out of the way, let’s begin with my own Mother’s Day events…
Sometime in the middle of the night, or the very wee hours of Mother’s Day, it began to rain. It rained, and rained, and rained some more. The rain did not stop until this afternoon. It was also incredibly windy. However, this was actually great news to us because we spent all day yesterday landscaping the retaining wall that follows the length of our house. We planted 9 shrubs, well actually, 2 lilac shrubs, 2 Alberta Spruce’s, 2 butterfly bushes and 3 burning bushes. They desperately needed rain, and lots of it since they were freshly dug out of the ground at a nursery and then planted in our yard. Needless to say, we welcomed the 12 hour downpour. The wind, not so much.
This is where it gets interesting. This is where you begin to get serious insight, as if you haven’t had enough already, into the mind of me.
Earlier in the week, hubs asked me what I wanted for breakfast on Mother’s Day. I didn’t ask for blueberry crepes or Belgian waffles. I didn’t ask for scrambled eggs and bacon to be served to me on a silver platter in bed. Rather, I chose my favorite, on-the-go, weekend breakfast that I like to enjoy once in a while… A Dunkin Donuts breakfast sandwich – sausage and egg, NO CHEESE, on a toasted bagel. Sadly, such as my life, I was looking forward to my breakfast of choice all week long. I love those damn DD breakfast sandwiches.
We awoke this morning and I begrudgingly told hubs that he didn’t have to go out in this weather to get my silly breakfast while secretly thinking to myself, ‘you better damn well say you are still going or I will shove pencils in your ears and then jam into your brain!’.
He said he would still go so tragedy was avoided.
He returns with my treasured breakfast in hand along with a yummy French vanilla coffee for me and 25 munchkins for my two evil munchkins to whom I gave birth to thus bestowing me my Mother’s Day rite of passage.
Then, I hear the words that no mother should ever, EVER have to hear on Mother’s Day when it involves the breakfast she has been looking forward to all week long…
“Oh no honey! They gave you a croissant instead of a bagel sandwich!” he yells from the other room.
For a second or two I really thought he was kidding, knowing how serious I am about food and it being exactly like I want it (think, Sally in When Harry Met Sally, only Sally would shoot the person who messed up her order). But, he was not kidding.
I was deflated. I was sad. My breakfast was ruined. He tried to offer up suggestions like…
“Take mine! You can take off the cheese!” he offered sweetly.
“No thanks, the cheese won’t come off, and you didn’t get sausage.” I rebutted like a 3-year old who was just told that his birthday cake didn’t turn out and that they would have brownies instead.
“Well, is the croissant that bad?” he asks.
“Yes, it really is. The toasted bagel makes the whole sandwich pleasurable. I don’t want the croissant.” I said back. “It’s ok, just nevermind. I know it’s not your fault.”
Then, I stood in the kitchen lost, confused and debating my next step.
I throw my shoes on and tell hubs emphatically, “They are NOT ruining my Mother’s Day breakfast! I am taking it back so they can fix my order dammit!”
“Are you serious?” he asked, completely baffled.
“Hell yes! I have been looking forward to this all week long, I am not settling!” I yelled back.
“Your a nut. Oh I went to the DD in the Heights.” he told me.
“Ok, be back soon.”
I decided to go to a different and much closer DD and exchange it because, really, are they going to know the difference? Probably not. So, I get around the corner from my house and I am stopped by a train, a really really slow train. This is not unusual. At that point I figured that this is merely a sign that I should go to the actual DD that hubs went to, for some reason. I flip a u-turn and head off to the other DD, 5 or 6 miles away, the one hubs said he went to.
I get there, finally, exchange my sandwich for the proper one and I’m on my way, without issue.
As I head back home, once again I come the tracks by my house, only I’m on the other side of them than I was before, and guess what, that train was STILL there, after 20+ minutes! Now, I can’t get home that way, and I’m only a block from my house. To make matters worse, I can’t take the other shortest route because when it rains heavily the road floods and they close it. So, now I have to take a long, LONG way home. All because of a seemingly retarded and forever long train. The words, “so close and yet so far” come to mind.
Are you following me or have I lost you yet? This is why I told you to grab your secret decoder rings. Duh.
Finally, I arrive home. Hubs had been freaking out because I was gone so long and he thought I had been in an accident. And, as luck would have it, I was wearing his rain coat and his cell phone was in the pocket, too. So, he had no way to reach me, or me to reach him. So, he said he plugged in our land line (we never use it anymore) just in case. I apologize and then went into my story of why I was gone so long.
He had a look of confusion on his face while I was telling him my saga but I forged on. He finally spoke up and asked me why I was taking those roads and how did I get stuck by the train because I should have been going another direction.
“Well, you told me that you went to the one in the Heights, so I had to go that way goober!” I said, with a severe “duh” tone to my voice.
“The one by Jewel you freak not South Heights!!!” he said condescendingly.
“OH!!!!! I was wondering why you would go all way to that other one when there are two DD’s right near us! But, that one you went to is NOT in the Heights ass!! It’s in Olympia Fields!” I yelled back, vindicated, sort of. “Don’t say ‘the one in the Heights’ bro, the one you went to is not in the Heights!”
I realize none of you know where I’m talking about. All you need to know is there are 2 DD’s very close to us. One is a good one and one is a bad one. The one hubs went to is on the border of Olympia Fields and Chicago Heights, but it is in Olympia Fields and that is the “good” one. So, when hubs said he went to the one in “the Heights” I immediately thought of the one my SIL loves, which is about 6 miles from our house. The other 2 are a mile or less from us.
The moral of the story is that my breakfast was almost ruined and I acted rashly to the situation and drove 12 miles out of my way to fix the situation when in reality, all I needed to do was drive a mile up the road, and back. I still, of course, blame DD for this entire mess because had the fucks in the drive through actually paid attention then all of this confusion and needless driving could have been avoided. Fuck you very much Dunkin Donuts.
In the end, it was worth all of the trouble because dayum I enjoyed that sandwich, more or less for the effort it took to get more than the actual taste. But, it was still very yummy.
Flash forward a few hours and my neighbor calls me and asks to borrow one of our cars. Um, okay??? She lost her key to her van and her husband was already at church with the kids and in 10 minutes the kids were going to put on their Mother’s Day concert so she had to get there. So, she ran over and grabbed my keys and headed off. How could I say no to a mother, on Mother’s Day when it would have meant missing a special concert in which her children were singing. Luckily, she also happens to be a very dear friend, too. It was just a request that I was not expecting.
Well, the day was already incredibly odd, so why not add another piece to the puzzle.
Flash forward a little while later and I’m doing laundry. I had just poured myself a nice, cold Dr. Pepper into my favorite cup and put the lid on and began to sip my carbonated pleasure. I drink my DP with 4 ice cubes in a plastic, thermal coffee mug because, yes, it really does taste better to me. And, the lid keeps it colder, carbonated longer and just that much sweeter as I sip it through the small little hole. My DP is just not worth it if I cannot fully enjoy it. Again, think Sally in WHMS. My quote in my sidebar is from that movie… very fitting.
Anyway, I set the mug on the dryer and began taking clothes out to fold them. Once that was done I began to throw the clean, wet clothes into the dryer. Just then, one of my tanks got wrapped around my mug and toppled it over and a lot of DP spilled onto the floor onto some clean, wet clothes that I had dropped in my fury to try and save the DP. Because, after all, the DP is the only thing that matters.
Now I had a small pile of clean clothes that I must rewash. But, the sad, sad and completely truthful part to this story is that I was way, way more pissed about the loss of about 1/2 of my DP than I was about having to rewash a few articles of clothing. Clothes can always be rewashed but once DP is lost, it’s lost. Gone. Forever.
Okay, in retrospect, after writing this out, I guess the day wasn’t that odd. I guess it just felt that way to me. So, this is actually an incredibly boring post, but, nonetheless, you still get a frightening glimpse inside of my high-maintenance head.
Your welcome.
My head is filled with a lot of things that are weighing me down. Normally I would spill them out here, for the world to read in hopes of getting some nice words of encouragement.
Not this time.
In that past when I have written out my inner demons I have typically gone back awhile later to re-read the skeletons I bared. Each time I have felt like an idiot, a crazy person and worse, an outsider. I don’t want to do that this time.
I don’t want to feel stupid. I don’t want to be a downer and fill up a post with dark and dreary shit. People don’t need to read that. And, despite not really caring what people think of me anymore, part of me still doesn’t want others looking at me like I’m weird.
No matter what, writing out my thoughts or keeping them inside and wishing them away, I will still feel like an outsider. Always.
This feeling haunts me almost every single day. I just don’t fit in anywhere. No, this is not a pity party. This is just the truth, the deep truth about me. I don’t fit molds, I don’t fit into cliques and I don’t fit the norm.
Have any of you ever longed to just be normal and just blend in with the rest of the world?
It seems I’m a contradiction. I want to stand out and be noticed, I want to be worthy of good attention and make people laugh. I want people to remember me, for good things. But, sometimes I just want to blend into the background and not stand out as “that weird girl”.
Before I continue on with this madness that I said I didn’t want to air, let me leave you with one last thought…. just so you know how odd I really am.
I actually think about my eulogy… often. I want to be remembered a certain way and I want people to really see me and my heart and my love. I guess I’m afraid that it won’t happen and that only a handful of people would ever even attend my funeral… like I would not really be missed.
I fear death, because I don’t want to leave this world too early… but more than that, I fear leaving nothing behind. I fear not being remembered or loved or missed.
But, that is only a portion of how I feel.
Just pretend I’m sitting on a metal chair, in a dingy gray room with one bright light over my head while the mother police interrogate me by banging fists on the table, throwing things and speaking a 1/2 inch from my face with gritted teeth and a few flecks of spit hitting my cheek until I confess my sins.
In all actuality confessions would spill out of me with some fondue and a glass of wine…. or, just having a blog. There really isn’t a need for Law and Order confessionary tactics.
That is neither here nor there, though. Mothers all have things that we like to keep secret for fear of looking unfit and ruining their perfect image. I mean, lets face it, motherhood IS a competitive sport. Goals are scored on the playgrounds, supermarkets and shopping malls.
When a mother sits on the playground bench chatting with her other mother friends. Another mother is sliding down the slide with her kid and playing in the sandbox… SCORE! The sliding mama – 1, chatty bench mamas – 0.
A mother walks into the store and her child immediately throws a fit because he can’t ride in the special video cart. Another mother walks in with a child the same age and he passes those evil money hungry machines without so much as a glance… SCORE! Tantrum mama – 0, Non-tantrum mama – 1.
Everyday is a competition for moms. Who found the greatest deal on Gap and Carter’s clothes? Who has the cutest diaper bag? Whose stroller is the best? (Oh lord, don’t EVEN get me started on stroller envy. That is an entirely different post.) Who packed the healthiest snacks for her kids? Who has the cleanest house and still manages her kids well? Who came up with the best theme for her kids party? Honestly, if poker can be an Olympic sport, so can motherhood.
The competition is so great that sometimes mothers are reduced to bumbling sacks of tears who spew nonsense to their husbands while they simply nod and smile. Some moms even have to medicate themselves… pharmaceutically or with alcohol. Either way, it’s fun.
Since I’m on a crusade to change the world I figured I would make a small contribution to the motherhood sports league (MSL) by confessing some of my motherly sins.
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My son had Goldfish® for lunch today.
I drove 100 yards from Lowe’s to the Target right next door without buckling my kids into their seats.
I have left Monster in his crib for an hour after his nap because I’m not ready to deal with him. I have also put him to bed for the same reason.
I took a Thomas the Train away from DramaBoy that I found out was recalled because of potential lead in the paint, but gave it back to him because I didn’t know what else to do with it.
My 3 year old is still not potty trained. It’s a work in progress. Ok, I’m lazy, too.
Television. Enough said.
I yell too much.
I still let swear words slip in front of the boys.
If we aren’t leaving the house, I usually don’t even bother dressing the boys, they just stay in their jammies or t-shirts all day.
I passed Monster to his daddy on the train the other day and said “Take him or I’m dropping him off at the next stop” (after enduring 45 minutes of being kicked, slapped and pinched).
Toenails sometimes get very long because the battle isn’t worth the victory.
Cereal for dinner… enough said, again.
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If you need more confessions, wait a week, I’m sure I’ll have more.
Mommy confessions are like poop… we all have it, we all hold it in sometimes and we all feel better when we let it out.
I am well aware that my confessions make me sound like trailer trash, but that is only one side of me. I just haven’t made the list of things that would make other mommies jealous! MUWAHAHAHAHAHA!
Ok, in honor of my first decent post (it is decent, right???) in like, forevah, speak up. Confess something in your comments. Tell me your sins. Daddies too! Share your dark side with the internet. You’ll feel better. Besides, once every mother realizes that ALL mom’s have hidden confessions maybe the competition will ease up….
…Naaaaaah! NEVAH!
