Remember when I said most of my blogs come on the heels of some sort of chaos? How's about an emergency 911 call? That counts, right? Totally. My sweet baby girl, Kaia, recently turned 2. While we have been fairly lucky to avoid the "terrible twos," she has her moments of absolute monstrousness. Last night was "one of those days." It was a little chaotic at bedtime. We had been gone all day, so we came home and nearly tossed Mikko straight into bed, where he was still displaying his immense displeasure. Kaia was playing with my locked blackberry, an attempt to keep her occupied and not yelling for 15 minutes so her brother can fall asleep. It's a work phone, so I keep it locked at all times rather than let my two-year old call clients and courts. Suddenly it beeped. It was a beep I'd never heard before, which to be fair, is not that uncommon when a two-year old is playing with an electronic that she's too young for...happens with my laptop all the time. So I walk over and notice that a call had been placed and quickly hit the "end" button as I realize, slowly, that the disconnected call was "EMERGENCY SERVICES." Great.
So a few minutes later, a nice lady calls and confirms that we're having an emergency. We are not. She takes my information and says she'll advise the officer that we do not need him to stop by. He does anyway. I apologize. She laughs and says, "It happens all the time." Officer comes. I made Kaia apologize ("Sorry Offdider") and tell her that he has real work to do. He did tell her he liked her Dora jammies, which didn't really strike the fear of dialing 911 into her as I had hoped talking to a strange man with a gun would. She spent the rest of the night alternating between "Sorry Offdider" and "He has to go to work. He has real work." So that was a SWEET end to a busy weekend full of tantrums and madness.
This morning I woke up to my sweet, yet strange, little girl again. I bumped my elbow (expletive) and Kaia asked me if I had a boo boo. Now where the hell did she hear that nonsense? "Boo boo?" I can handle "owie," but "boo boo?" I'm sure I rolled my eyes and said, "Yes, Kaia. Mommy has a boo boo," while I gagged a little. Then she asked if she could help and offered to kiss it. Aw, melt. Boo boo it is, kid, and candy for dinner. So a little later, we're outside and I see a rainbow. Well, if she's all boo boos and kissies, maybe she'll love rainbows and unicorns too. So I pointed it out and she said, "I see it! I see the car, Mommy." Me: "No Kaia, rainbow. See it up there in the sky (pointing)?" Kaia: "I see it! I see the bird, Mommy." Me: "Nevermind." We came inside to play pirates.
Monday, June 6, 2011
Sunday, May 22, 2011
Lacking material??
My blogs tend to come on the heels of some sort of chaos. As such, I haven't had much to say lately. Don't get me wrong, my house is always chaos. I have a 1 and a 2 year old...what else could it be? BUT, some of that chaos just isn't funny. It's downright ugly. And since every mom in the world thinks their kid is the cutest, smartest, most wonderful creature on earth, I won't bore you with how awesome my kids are....and funny. Well, maybe I will a little. I just moved baby Mikko into the nursery with big sister Kaia. Let's keep in mind that "baby Mikko" turns a year old this week and "big sister Kaia" just finally caught up to him in diaper size. With the new arrangement, Kaia decided they MUST play in Mikko's crib. The next twenty minutes go as follows: Mikko stands up, holding onto the railing. Kaia tugs him down. They roll around a bit, Kaia finally outmaneuvers Mikko and straddles his back like a horsey, all the while chanting, "Giddy up, Mikko." Repeat. Strange kids.
But really, the funny stuff is always the ugly stuff right? I know my kids are cute, but your kids are cute too, so for every story I share, you've got a match. Try to beat the two nights of hell I enjoyed after moving the cribs into the same room. We're limited in space in this joint. It's a 2 bedroom condo with a loft. When we moved here, it was Kev, Kailey and I. We had LOTS of space. Then we had a baby. We adjusted and it was alright. Then we had another baby. Shit.
So our mini Harry Potter slept in Mommy and Daddy's closet, which worked pretty well except for every time we needed to get stuff out of the closet, which was pretty much every day. So for nearly a year, I've been dying to get my closet back. On a random Wednesday night, when Kev was off to a choir concert, I decided it was the night. Why would I do it on a night when I was solely responsible for dismantling the crib, moving it from room to room, reconstructing the same crib, AND putting the kids to bed? Who the f knows! I had decided "it was time." Whatev. The first tuck in wasn't nearly as bad as I expected. In fact, with the horsey rides, it was downright funny.
I had Mikko down first and despite his habit of screaming for upwards of 45 minutes, he was quiet pretty quickly. He woke up when I brought Kaia in, but magically (I say magically because it happened somehow and it most certainly wasn't anything I had done or I would have done it again the next night to save myself the 2 hours of INSANITY), he went back to sleep without much fuss. Then he proceeded to wake up 4 more times. The best was the 4:00 a.m. wake up when he screamed bloody murder for an hour. You know what time I'm not ready to get up? 4:00. I fell asleep every 4 minutes between outbursts. It wasn't pretty. Thursday was So. Much. Worse. (See reference to "2 hours of INSANITY" above. 'Nough said.)
Tonight, after a weekend with the grandparents, they just went to bed. Seriously. Mikko went down, no screaming. Kaia went down without waking Mikko or any "Mooooooooooooommy, Moooooooooooooommy, Mooooooooooooommy." Amazing. So, the thing is, it's just not that funny to be miserably tired and have actual problems like wickedly unsleeping babies and it's equally not funny to have sweet little angels who just go to sleep when I want them to. You know what is funny? Stuff that my husband does and says. Fixing that after he reads this, though, would again not be funny, so I guess I won't go there either. Love you, honey. :) For what it's worth, I sincerely doubt he reads this.
But really, the funny stuff is always the ugly stuff right? I know my kids are cute, but your kids are cute too, so for every story I share, you've got a match. Try to beat the two nights of hell I enjoyed after moving the cribs into the same room. We're limited in space in this joint. It's a 2 bedroom condo with a loft. When we moved here, it was Kev, Kailey and I. We had LOTS of space. Then we had a baby. We adjusted and it was alright. Then we had another baby. Shit.
So our mini Harry Potter slept in Mommy and Daddy's closet, which worked pretty well except for every time we needed to get stuff out of the closet, which was pretty much every day. So for nearly a year, I've been dying to get my closet back. On a random Wednesday night, when Kev was off to a choir concert, I decided it was the night. Why would I do it on a night when I was solely responsible for dismantling the crib, moving it from room to room, reconstructing the same crib, AND putting the kids to bed? Who the f knows! I had decided "it was time." Whatev. The first tuck in wasn't nearly as bad as I expected. In fact, with the horsey rides, it was downright funny.
I had Mikko down first and despite his habit of screaming for upwards of 45 minutes, he was quiet pretty quickly. He woke up when I brought Kaia in, but magically (I say magically because it happened somehow and it most certainly wasn't anything I had done or I would have done it again the next night to save myself the 2 hours of INSANITY), he went back to sleep without much fuss. Then he proceeded to wake up 4 more times. The best was the 4:00 a.m. wake up when he screamed bloody murder for an hour. You know what time I'm not ready to get up? 4:00. I fell asleep every 4 minutes between outbursts. It wasn't pretty. Thursday was So. Much. Worse. (See reference to "2 hours of INSANITY" above. 'Nough said.)
Tonight, after a weekend with the grandparents, they just went to bed. Seriously. Mikko went down, no screaming. Kaia went down without waking Mikko or any "Mooooooooooooommy, Moooooooooooooommy, Mooooooooooooommy." Amazing. So, the thing is, it's just not that funny to be miserably tired and have actual problems like wickedly unsleeping babies and it's equally not funny to have sweet little angels who just go to sleep when I want them to. You know what is funny? Stuff that my husband does and says. Fixing that after he reads this, though, would again not be funny, so I guess I won't go there either. Love you, honey. :) For what it's worth, I sincerely doubt he reads this.
Sunday, April 17, 2011
Mommy Guilt
Unless you're a superhero, no mistakes kind of mom, or, I suppose, a complete deadbeat mom, you suffer from "mommy guilt." Every mani/pedi conjures cost comparisons between your pampering and their Pampers. Every night out is tempered by the possibility that they'll wake up and realize you're gone. Hell, sometimes I even debate buying myself a cupcake and eating it in the bathroom, so that I don't have to share it and just the THOUGHT makes me feel guilty.
Today, my two year old took "mommy guilt" to a whole new level. Yesterday, we joined my beautiful sister-in-law-to-be and the rest of the family to enjoy some Mexican food in celebration of her birthday, albeit a month or so late. Kaia was delighted to find a place mat and crayons for her to color with. Let me start this by saying that I'm all for encouraging creativity. I'm even more for bribing a kid at a restaurant into good behavior. But deep down, I HATE crayons. I'm a little Type A and like to be in control of what my kid plays with. I hate crayons because they get color on stuff other than the paper that I've designated. I hate little toys because Mikko will put them in his mouth. I hate noisy toys because I have to listen to them. Anyway, back to the crayons...
So, Kaia has been gripping a crayon in each hand pretty much non-stop since yesterday. She slept with one in her little mitt on the drive home from Madison. Last night she cried when I wouldn't let her bring them to bed. This morning she drew all over her Dora and Boots in the car on the way to the store. (I might have made a less than polite comment about the genius who let a 2 year old have crayons in her carseat they day before.) Needless to say, she's developed an extreme interest in coloring. So, despite my annoyance at a "ruined" book, Dora's new swimsuit design and the little shavings of crayon I'm finding all over the house because she likes to dig her tiny fingernail into the crayon as she wanders with them in her tight pudgy grip, I agreed to color with her this morning.
I drew a green Elmo and then she asked for a bigger green Elmo. I got a little overzealous in my attempt to give her a great big green Elmo and snapped the green crayon in two right before her little eyes. I'm astonished that she didn't cry. I immediately told her I was sorry. (By the way, she has tons of crayons, but these were the new and oh-so-special free restaurant crayons.)
I kid you not, she carried that half crayon around ALL DAY. She must have reminded me about breaking the crayon while drawing the big Elmo a hundred times. Her: "Mommy, you break it." Me: "Yes, honey. I broke it. I'm really sorry." Her: "Mommy, you break it . . . big Elmo." Me: "I know, sweetie. I broke it while I was drawing the big Elmo. I'm sorry." Her: "Mommy, it breaked. You break it." Me: "Jesus, kid, give it up already." I'm kidding, I took my beating like a champ and apologized every time, secretly hoping that she'd eventually get bored with it and I could throw the damn thing away. Not my luck. She cried for her colors before bed yet again. I guess that means another day of mommy guilt for me tomorrow. Worst. Mom. Ever.
And yes, the half green crayon is safely stored in a place of honor among the other, lesser loved crayons.
Today, my two year old took "mommy guilt" to a whole new level. Yesterday, we joined my beautiful sister-in-law-to-be and the rest of the family to enjoy some Mexican food in celebration of her birthday, albeit a month or so late. Kaia was delighted to find a place mat and crayons for her to color with. Let me start this by saying that I'm all for encouraging creativity. I'm even more for bribing a kid at a restaurant into good behavior. But deep down, I HATE crayons. I'm a little Type A and like to be in control of what my kid plays with. I hate crayons because they get color on stuff other than the paper that I've designated. I hate little toys because Mikko will put them in his mouth. I hate noisy toys because I have to listen to them. Anyway, back to the crayons...
So, Kaia has been gripping a crayon in each hand pretty much non-stop since yesterday. She slept with one in her little mitt on the drive home from Madison. Last night she cried when I wouldn't let her bring them to bed. This morning she drew all over her Dora and Boots in the car on the way to the store. (I might have made a less than polite comment about the genius who let a 2 year old have crayons in her carseat they day before.) Needless to say, she's developed an extreme interest in coloring. So, despite my annoyance at a "ruined" book, Dora's new swimsuit design and the little shavings of crayon I'm finding all over the house because she likes to dig her tiny fingernail into the crayon as she wanders with them in her tight pudgy grip, I agreed to color with her this morning.
I drew a green Elmo and then she asked for a bigger green Elmo. I got a little overzealous in my attempt to give her a great big green Elmo and snapped the green crayon in two right before her little eyes. I'm astonished that she didn't cry. I immediately told her I was sorry. (By the way, she has tons of crayons, but these were the new and oh-so-special free restaurant crayons.)
I kid you not, she carried that half crayon around ALL DAY. She must have reminded me about breaking the crayon while drawing the big Elmo a hundred times. Her: "Mommy, you break it." Me: "Yes, honey. I broke it. I'm really sorry." Her: "Mommy, you break it . . . big Elmo." Me: "I know, sweetie. I broke it while I was drawing the big Elmo. I'm sorry." Her: "Mommy, it breaked. You break it." Me: "Jesus, kid, give it up already." I'm kidding, I took my beating like a champ and apologized every time, secretly hoping that she'd eventually get bored with it and I could throw the damn thing away. Not my luck. She cried for her colors before bed yet again. I guess that means another day of mommy guilt for me tomorrow. Worst. Mom. Ever.
And yes, the half green crayon is safely stored in a place of honor among the other, lesser loved crayons.
Monday, April 11, 2011
A case of the Mondays
Every Monday I go to my office and mope about not being with my babies. Don't get me wrong, they're monsters that I need to get away from sometimes. But they're also sweet and silly and I just KNOW I'm missing something awesome by being someone in addition to Mom for several hours.
It's something I think I'll never completely come to terms with, the dichotomy of my current state of being. I am both professional and parent. Although it exists seemingly seamlessly in my male counterparts, all the lawyer mommies I know struggle with the guilt, the time constraints and to find a pair of nylons that isn't stuffed with toys or tied around a teddy bear's neck like a lasso. Well, that last one might just be me... And while I love my kids more than life itself, I know I'd never want to give up what I consider the "real" me for mommy me. I guess I should just be thankful that someone paved the way for me to go to work and still have kids and stop expecting to find comfort in my dual life.
I feel a little like a double agent. Inevitably when out on one of our weekend morning marathon grocery shopping trips, someone will give me the pitying look that is reserved for people with too many kids to handle, and offer to open the door, help me out with my purchase, take my cart, etc. Once someone even offered to hold a kid for me. I always laugh and say we're fine. We are. Don't these people know I fight battles for a living? Kids? Pshh, easy. On the other hand, I go to work and listen with absolute understanding when parents talk about their battles with kids, with their spouses, with their finances...I always nod somberly and want to say, "I totally understand suffering. I have a 2 year old and a 10 month old." Okay, not the same, but I get chaos. I get complicated. I get feeling like you might actually fall asleep standing, as you're rocking a screaming 10 month old who is trying to grow so many teeth that you feel he should have been required to make you sign a waiver for engaging in this type of activity (mothering)... Okay, that last one might just be me too.
While for the first time in my life I've found something I feel I am just naturally good at, I wonder if I'll ever feel completely settled in this life. Perhaps it's perfection in chaos. I'll never feel so content that I stop having to make effort and yet I got constant reaffirmation that I don't suck at life in the slobbery little kisses and the rare moment of quiet when I have completely fulfilled all of their needs. The kids, not the clients. The clients are never content and it would be an ethical violation for them to pay me in kisses. Thankfully, the kid stuff always trumps the client stuff by the end of a Monday.
It's something I think I'll never completely come to terms with, the dichotomy of my current state of being. I am both professional and parent. Although it exists seemingly seamlessly in my male counterparts, all the lawyer mommies I know struggle with the guilt, the time constraints and to find a pair of nylons that isn't stuffed with toys or tied around a teddy bear's neck like a lasso. Well, that last one might just be me... And while I love my kids more than life itself, I know I'd never want to give up what I consider the "real" me for mommy me. I guess I should just be thankful that someone paved the way for me to go to work and still have kids and stop expecting to find comfort in my dual life.
I feel a little like a double agent. Inevitably when out on one of our weekend morning marathon grocery shopping trips, someone will give me the pitying look that is reserved for people with too many kids to handle, and offer to open the door, help me out with my purchase, take my cart, etc. Once someone even offered to hold a kid for me. I always laugh and say we're fine. We are. Don't these people know I fight battles for a living? Kids? Pshh, easy. On the other hand, I go to work and listen with absolute understanding when parents talk about their battles with kids, with their spouses, with their finances...I always nod somberly and want to say, "I totally understand suffering. I have a 2 year old and a 10 month old." Okay, not the same, but I get chaos. I get complicated. I get feeling like you might actually fall asleep standing, as you're rocking a screaming 10 month old who is trying to grow so many teeth that you feel he should have been required to make you sign a waiver for engaging in this type of activity (mothering)... Okay, that last one might just be me too.
While for the first time in my life I've found something I feel I am just naturally good at, I wonder if I'll ever feel completely settled in this life. Perhaps it's perfection in chaos. I'll never feel so content that I stop having to make effort and yet I got constant reaffirmation that I don't suck at life in the slobbery little kisses and the rare moment of quiet when I have completely fulfilled all of their needs. The kids, not the clients. The clients are never content and it would be an ethical violation for them to pay me in kisses. Thankfully, the kid stuff always trumps the client stuff by the end of a Monday.
Tuesday, August 31, 2010
Unrelated mommy musings
I started this blog months ago and rarely use it. I think I've written three and published one. But today I feel like I need to get some things off my chest and what better way than a blog no one reads? This way, it goes out there, but no one ever has to hear it.
So let's start with this...I love the zoo. Today I saw a headline about a tiger jumping a 12 foot fence at the zoo. Wouldn't you? Who wants to be caged, gawked at and fed food they don't eat in the wild? It's just not right. You know what else isn't right? Television, internet, video games...blogging. What happened to the days when being outdoors was a joy and we didn't need some form of constant entertainment?
I wish I could go to Africa and see animals in the wild. I'd eat what was available from the earth, I'd fear the wild because, well, it's wild and I would marvel at it and revel in it because it's beautiful and real instead of manufactured and marketed.
I'm sad today.
So let's start with this...I love the zoo. Today I saw a headline about a tiger jumping a 12 foot fence at the zoo. Wouldn't you? Who wants to be caged, gawked at and fed food they don't eat in the wild? It's just not right. You know what else isn't right? Television, internet, video games...blogging. What happened to the days when being outdoors was a joy and we didn't need some form of constant entertainment?
I wish I could go to Africa and see animals in the wild. I'd eat what was available from the earth, I'd fear the wild because, well, it's wild and I would marvel at it and revel in it because it's beautiful and real instead of manufactured and marketed.
I'm sad today.
Sunday, August 22, 2010
A low point
I was going to eat some leftover breadsticks tonight, you know, "once the babies [were] in bed." I lost my appetite hours ago now....
It would be too long a story to start at the beginning, so I thought I'd start at the bottom. Rock bottom. No, this isn't some tragic story. Rather, it's a look at the hilarity that is my life now. Let's start with this: I have two children. A baby girl, 18 months, and a little boy, 3 months. Why would someone have children so close together you might ask? Sheer stupidity - not that we were stupid to choose to have two children so close together, but because we were too stupid not to be more careful not to. So, my evening, my moment of absolute madness and my trip back from the crib, literally....
My daughter is teething. I have no idea how many teeth she's getting or whether they're the dreaded 2 year molars or just the dreaded tooth like every other tooth that she's ever gotten so far, but she downright sucks right now. She's the sweetest happiest girl in the world until she's an absolute monster. So for days, months really, we've been battling her for sleep. She only wants one nap and only for an hour and a half, but boy she doesn't want to sleep at night either. So after we put her down, my husband went in to soothe her (believe me, he didn't ask or I would have said "hell no") and came out with her screaming at a 10 instead of the 7 she'd started at. I decided, "What's one more night of chaos?" and I went in.
All. The. Way. When I couldn't get her to lay down, or sit down for that matter, I climbed into the crib with her. It's a move I've contemplated before. I've considered whether I'd stumble when climbing in. I felt confident. I've considered our combined weight (worse now that I'm lugging 10 pounds of "baby weight" from my most recent pregnancy). I've even considered how I would explain the broken crib if we did, in fact, exceed whatever weight limit it might have. Thankfully it didn't break because I hadn't worked that all out yet.
And I realized I'd hit rock bottom as I was laying in the crib with her, taking up most of the space, and thinking I just might sleep there tonight. That's when she straddled my stomach, giggled and began bouncing up and down. Wow did that jog me back to reality. This was a bad idea. Not only that, but this was a moment I would never admit to anyone. Thank god no one reads what's on the internet....
Move over designer duds, Mommy's got a bathrobe to hang in this closet...This is me becoming "Mommy."
It would be too long a story to start at the beginning, so I thought I'd start at the bottom. Rock bottom. No, this isn't some tragic story. Rather, it's a look at the hilarity that is my life now. Let's start with this: I have two children. A baby girl, 18 months, and a little boy, 3 months. Why would someone have children so close together you might ask? Sheer stupidity - not that we were stupid to choose to have two children so close together, but because we were too stupid not to be more careful not to. So, my evening, my moment of absolute madness and my trip back from the crib, literally....
My daughter is teething. I have no idea how many teeth she's getting or whether they're the dreaded 2 year molars or just the dreaded tooth like every other tooth that she's ever gotten so far, but she downright sucks right now. She's the sweetest happiest girl in the world until she's an absolute monster. So for days, months really, we've been battling her for sleep. She only wants one nap and only for an hour and a half, but boy she doesn't want to sleep at night either. So after we put her down, my husband went in to soothe her (believe me, he didn't ask or I would have said "hell no") and came out with her screaming at a 10 instead of the 7 she'd started at. I decided, "What's one more night of chaos?" and I went in.
All. The. Way. When I couldn't get her to lay down, or sit down for that matter, I climbed into the crib with her. It's a move I've contemplated before. I've considered whether I'd stumble when climbing in. I felt confident. I've considered our combined weight (worse now that I'm lugging 10 pounds of "baby weight" from my most recent pregnancy). I've even considered how I would explain the broken crib if we did, in fact, exceed whatever weight limit it might have. Thankfully it didn't break because I hadn't worked that all out yet.
And I realized I'd hit rock bottom as I was laying in the crib with her, taking up most of the space, and thinking I just might sleep there tonight. That's when she straddled my stomach, giggled and began bouncing up and down. Wow did that jog me back to reality. This was a bad idea. Not only that, but this was a moment I would never admit to anyone. Thank god no one reads what's on the internet....
Move over designer duds, Mommy's got a bathrobe to hang in this closet...This is me becoming "Mommy."
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