As parents, we look forward to all those amazing moments when our child accomplishes something new . We snap photos of the first smiles, document rolling over, first steps, and first words. We make charts and give rewards for learning to use the potty and following the rules. We cry over first days at school and first kisses. Frankly, we're downright nuts about milestones.
You know what milestone this Mama could live without? Toddler bed. The toddler bed, and all associated milestones, can suck it. Mikko first climbed (read: fell) out of his crib at about 15 months old. I was NOT ready to move him to a safer, yet more escape-able toddler bed at that time. I counted myself lucky when he stayed put for another 10 months. But judgment day was a coming.
A few weeks ago, Mikko decided to try again. Man, was he successful. He climbed out and climbed out and climbed out and climbed out again. I gave up and converted the stupid crib to a toddler bed. At least if it's a bed, he might climb back in, right? Not so much.
In fact, not so much that half of Mikko's sleeps have ended with me retraining the kid. Like for real. Here's a little taste for you: Mommy brings both kids to bed. The method of transportation is often a horsey back ride (sometimes a dually, which frankly this old body can hardly manage with the combined 55 pounds of small people up there). I plop both kids in one of the two beds and sing lullabies until they screw around so much that I separate them. Upon separation, I sing loudly from the middle of the room...you know, to keep things fair. I sing one last Broadway show tune, after I've said "this is the last song" three times, and I kiss them goodnight. Kaia says, "Mommy, now say, 'Mikko don't get out of bed." Alright, little mama. "Mikko, don't get out of bed." Mikko says, "Okay, Mommy." Sweet, right?
Here ends all sweetness about nighttime at my house.
Act I. Minutes after I've been lulled into thinking that maybe the little beasts have just gone to bed without a fight tonight, I hear giggling. I let it ride for a few minutes, but eventually go in to find all of the lights on. I forgot to turn the lamp off with the knob instead of the wall switch. Dammit. Kaia startles, still sitting in her bed (she's the good one in this tale) and lays down immediately. Mikko turns and runs into the attached playroom (closet), which is also bathed in light. I see that the three thousand stuffed animals that Kaia must have next to her bed on the floor are piled in Mikko's bed. The kid couldn't lay down there if he wanted to. I toss animals back into their corner, get suckered into one more song, kiss both kids and tell Mikko to stay in bed. "Okay, Mommy."
Act II. This time a crash brings me into the room. Entire collection of Cat in the Hat books lay on the floor. I pick those up. I kiss Kaia and remove the books Mikko has tossed in her bed, on her head. (Now I'm contemplating trying to rhyme this whole blog post a la Dr. Seuss, but I don't have the vocabulary.) Anyway, Mikko dashes back to the closet. I put him back in bed, turn off the light, and tell him to stay in bed. "Okay, Mommy."
Act III. Big sister upstairs says she just heard Mikko turn on the closet light. This time he hadn't had a chance to do any damage. I say, "No. Mikko, in bed. NOW!" By say, by the way, I mean roar. I notice Kaia's sleeping and shut my yap. I kiss the boy, tell him not so nicely to keep his butt in bed and get up to leave. "Okay, Mommy."
Act IV. I promise this can't go on much longer.... Repetitive banging, so I go in. Mikko has both tricycles out of the closet and next to Kaia's bed (not sure how he managed that without a sound). Apparently, he wanted her to join him on his nighttime ride. Amazingly, she slept through his offer, despite the noise of him ramming the front tire into the bed frame over and over. I remove the bikes from the bedroom. Mikko whines for his bike. I whine for my sanity. I tuck him in and can't remember if I told him to stay in bed or not. He probably said, "Okay, Mommy."
Act V. Okay, seriously, I'm done. Light's on, I go in, and put the child back in bed. He will NOT lay still. Seriously, it starts with kicking his feet, walking them up the wall next to the bed, running them back and forth across the crib sides, bouncing them on the mattress...and that's just the kid's feet. I lay my right arm across his lower body. Feet cease moving, thank god. Then he starts with his arms. He rubs his eyes, he runs his hands through his hair, he pokes his finger in his ear, he puts his thumb in his mouth and pulls it out with a popping sound, he throws them up above his had, he swings them back down by his sides, he flails them around. I take both of his arms and hold them still with my left arm. Then the freakin' hands start. He went as far as to wiggle his fingers to keep himself awake. I had to literally stretch my fingers over the top of his fingers to make him be STILL. And the little dude starts blinking his eyes!!!!! I swear to god, this might have gone on forever if it wasn't 10:00 at night. Thankfully, the blinking led to the droopsies. Those eyes drooped for about 90 seconds before he drifted off to sleep.
Why does my kid hate me and why would anyone want to give their kid the ability to freely get out of their bed? My darling husband suggested that maybe Mikko will sleep in tomorrow. I laughed in that way that lets someone know how utterly stupid that thing that they just said is. Now I have to go to sleep because Mikko's brand of "sleeping in" will include a 6:15 a.m. wake up call, at best.
Tuesday, July 10, 2012
Sunday, May 27, 2012
Yes...this actually happened
So, it's taken me a long time to blog about this. You know how there are those experiences in life that are so unbelievably bad, but that you know will be funny later? They are moments that you can hardly believe didn't result in the death, or at least serious injury, of somebody or perhaps the maiming of really expensive electronic equipment? They're the stories that you almost don't call your best friend about because it was really that bad and you don't want to admit it, but you just KNOW she'll think it's hilarious?
Welcome to my Thursday afternoon. See, my mother-in-law graciously watches my 2 and 3 year olds on Thursday afternoons for me. I bring them over, put them down for their naps and when she comes home, I'm free to go to work, pick up our teenager or just have a few hours to think clearly. On the Thursday in question, we arrived early because I had some things to arrange in the kids' rooms. I set them up in the living room with an episode of Caillou. I knew I'd be up and down the stairs a few times and since my 2 year old was going through a "Mikko do it" phase, I thought it best to gate them in the living room lest I come back to the top of the stairs to a tumbling toddler with broken limbs.
I had some things to get out of my car, so I snuck out through the garage door we had come in. Bare foot and empty-handed, I ran out to my car, got the things I needed, and came back to the garage door. As contained as my kids might be in the living room, that wouldn't stop them from trying climb the stone fireplace, crying because they couldn't see me or any number of other things I hadn't wrapped my head around before I decided to go back outside. I got back to the door, turned the handle and found that it's locked. No, seriously. I locked my two toddlers inside a house that I couldn't get into. Let that sink in for a moment or two. Yup, two toddlers. In a house. Alone.
I only panicked for like 3 seconds before I started trying to figure out how the eff I was going to get back into that house. I pretty quickly set aside smashing a window because I thought my in-laws would frown on that approach. I frantically dug around for the spare key that had been moved since the last time I used it. Finally, I gave up and ran around the house to the window where I could at least see the kids.
I didn't want them to get scared, so I tried not to sound as freaked as I was. Although my cell phone was locked in the house with my kids, I had my work phone in the car. And I used to think it was a bit frivolous to have two cellular telephones to keep my personal and professional life separated! I grabbed that and called Kaia over to the window, through which she could just barely hear me. She came when I knocked, thankfully. I had her go get my phone and come back. There was an amusing exchange where I tried to call her while shouting through the window explanations as to how to answer the iPhone. She finally answered, while looking at me outside from her spot at the window, and I asked her to try and push the gate over. I figured if there was a way to get them to the garage door, I'd talk her through opening the garage door and letting me back in. It was an ingenious plan until she replied, "Not right now, Mommy. I'm watching Caillou," and just like that she put the phone down on the window sill and turned back to her show. By this time, my 2 year old had realized I was outside. He thought it was a super game of peek-a-boo. Unfortunately, every time he went to hide, I frantically knocked at the window trying to get his attention back. That kid is a tornado and I couldn't imagine the damage he might be doing. Thankfully, he liked peek-a-boo enough that nothing was broken or colored on. I did have to coax him down from the entertainment center at one point, but he hadn't knocked down the tv yet. After Kaia's show ended, and I wasn't there to start a new one, she came back to the mommy-at-the-window show. She wanted me to put a movie in. She kept bringing DVDs to the window and asking to watch them. I kept telling her I couldn't put them on . She got bored with that and decided to stack them in front of the window until my view was blocked. I had to pound on the window to knock them down so that I could see what I had no control over and she just kept putting them back up. Awesome.
About 25 minutes after I managed the ridiculous, my mother-in-law came home to save the day. I rushed in and hugged them both. They were, of course, oblivious. They went down for their naps like normal and I opened a bottle of wine before 4:00 p.m. I called my mom and she said very helpful things like, "You know, this is probably the worst thing you'll ever do as a parent" and "At least you will probably never do it again." I should hope so...and not. My sister laughed. My husband pointed out that I should carry a purse (I don't)...because normal, not paranoid people, carry their purses from the house to the car every time they have to run out for something silly? Oy.
It was a rough one with a happy ending. So, today's lesson is that no matter what bumble-headed idiocy you might have committed today, I bet you managed to avoid locking yourself out of a house that you've locked your children into. Take some solace in that. You've got me beat.
Welcome to my Thursday afternoon. See, my mother-in-law graciously watches my 2 and 3 year olds on Thursday afternoons for me. I bring them over, put them down for their naps and when she comes home, I'm free to go to work, pick up our teenager or just have a few hours to think clearly. On the Thursday in question, we arrived early because I had some things to arrange in the kids' rooms. I set them up in the living room with an episode of Caillou. I knew I'd be up and down the stairs a few times and since my 2 year old was going through a "Mikko do it" phase, I thought it best to gate them in the living room lest I come back to the top of the stairs to a tumbling toddler with broken limbs.
I had some things to get out of my car, so I snuck out through the garage door we had come in. Bare foot and empty-handed, I ran out to my car, got the things I needed, and came back to the garage door. As contained as my kids might be in the living room, that wouldn't stop them from trying climb the stone fireplace, crying because they couldn't see me or any number of other things I hadn't wrapped my head around before I decided to go back outside. I got back to the door, turned the handle and found that it's locked. No, seriously. I locked my two toddlers inside a house that I couldn't get into. Let that sink in for a moment or two. Yup, two toddlers. In a house. Alone.
I only panicked for like 3 seconds before I started trying to figure out how the eff I was going to get back into that house. I pretty quickly set aside smashing a window because I thought my in-laws would frown on that approach. I frantically dug around for the spare key that had been moved since the last time I used it. Finally, I gave up and ran around the house to the window where I could at least see the kids.
I didn't want them to get scared, so I tried not to sound as freaked as I was. Although my cell phone was locked in the house with my kids, I had my work phone in the car. And I used to think it was a bit frivolous to have two cellular telephones to keep my personal and professional life separated! I grabbed that and called Kaia over to the window, through which she could just barely hear me. She came when I knocked, thankfully. I had her go get my phone and come back. There was an amusing exchange where I tried to call her while shouting through the window explanations as to how to answer the iPhone. She finally answered, while looking at me outside from her spot at the window, and I asked her to try and push the gate over. I figured if there was a way to get them to the garage door, I'd talk her through opening the garage door and letting me back in. It was an ingenious plan until she replied, "Not right now, Mommy. I'm watching Caillou," and just like that she put the phone down on the window sill and turned back to her show. By this time, my 2 year old had realized I was outside. He thought it was a super game of peek-a-boo. Unfortunately, every time he went to hide, I frantically knocked at the window trying to get his attention back. That kid is a tornado and I couldn't imagine the damage he might be doing. Thankfully, he liked peek-a-boo enough that nothing was broken or colored on. I did have to coax him down from the entertainment center at one point, but he hadn't knocked down the tv yet. After Kaia's show ended, and I wasn't there to start a new one, she came back to the mommy-at-the-window show. She wanted me to put a movie in. She kept bringing DVDs to the window and asking to watch them. I kept telling her I couldn't put them on . She got bored with that and decided to stack them in front of the window until my view was blocked. I had to pound on the window to knock them down so that I could see what I had no control over and she just kept putting them back up. Awesome.
About 25 minutes after I managed the ridiculous, my mother-in-law came home to save the day. I rushed in and hugged them both. They were, of course, oblivious. They went down for their naps like normal and I opened a bottle of wine before 4:00 p.m. I called my mom and she said very helpful things like, "You know, this is probably the worst thing you'll ever do as a parent" and "At least you will probably never do it again." I should hope so...and not. My sister laughed. My husband pointed out that I should carry a purse (I don't)...because normal, not paranoid people, carry their purses from the house to the car every time they have to run out for something silly? Oy.
It was a rough one with a happy ending. So, today's lesson is that no matter what bumble-headed idiocy you might have committed today, I bet you managed to avoid locking yourself out of a house that you've locked your children into. Take some solace in that. You've got me beat.
Thursday, February 9, 2012
My kids own me so bad
So I might have been FB venting about how difficult my kids have been the last 24 hours. I like to think I'm one of those who 'rarely posts this kind of thing,' but who am I kidding? FB is really only good for complaining about shit, bragging about shit and spewing political shit. So, back to my complaint. A wise friend of mine joked (?) that, "Your kids own you so bad." OMG, she's so right.
It really hit me on the way home from the gardens today, when my daughter cried for twenty. five. minutes. Over what injustice, you ask? I wouldn't turn off the radio. See, I started to get wise last night. It starts out with petty little bribes, like "Oh, you don't want to put your jammies on? Let's turn on your favorite show while we change you!" "Oh, you don't want to listen to this song? Let's find something you like!" "Want one of those things that Mikko has? Let's see if he'll share (he always will)?" I woke up some time last week and realized that despite my de facto ban on princesses, somehow, one slipped through and she's inhabiting my preschooler. DAMN!
Another wise friend of mine recently said something to the effect that life is much easier when we figure out that EVERYONE is winging it. It's true. I don't have a clue what I'm doing! I have a sweet happy kid one week, even if bribes are to thank, and this week I have a Gorgon! And, apparently, bribes are to blame!
So what do I do now? Apparently I just make her cry. I might take my kids to the liquor store later and make them buy me wine. Lots and lots of wine.
It really hit me on the way home from the gardens today, when my daughter cried for twenty. five. minutes. Over what injustice, you ask? I wouldn't turn off the radio. See, I started to get wise last night. It starts out with petty little bribes, like "Oh, you don't want to put your jammies on? Let's turn on your favorite show while we change you!" "Oh, you don't want to listen to this song? Let's find something you like!" "Want one of those things that Mikko has? Let's see if he'll share (he always will)?" I woke up some time last week and realized that despite my de facto ban on princesses, somehow, one slipped through and she's inhabiting my preschooler. DAMN!
Another wise friend of mine recently said something to the effect that life is much easier when we figure out that EVERYONE is winging it. It's true. I don't have a clue what I'm doing! I have a sweet happy kid one week, even if bribes are to thank, and this week I have a Gorgon! And, apparently, bribes are to blame!
So what do I do now? Apparently I just make her cry. I might take my kids to the liquor store later and make them buy me wine. Lots and lots of wine.
Thursday, December 29, 2011
Motherhood really should be classified as a mental illness
Wikipedia, wealth of completely accurate information that it is, characterizes a "mental illness," in part, as "a psychological or behavioral pattern that is generally associated with distress or disability, and which is not considered part of normal development or a person's culture." And while that mom certainly seems commonplace nowadays, my madness tonight certainly seems outside of MY normal development or culture.
I'm a pretty rational creature. In fact, recently, when speaking with the wife of a male client of mine about VBAC (vaginal birth after cesarean, for my male readers or those of you moms who have been lucky enough not to have a c-section before your last child or 14 months before you're about to have your second, unexpected although delightful child), he remarked, "I wouldn't have expected you to have an interest in that." That's right. I'm like a dude. I do the stuff that I have to, I try to remain logical and unemotional about things that are outside of my control and I only really admit to being a freak on the internet. I assume that babies come from storks, or at least that it doesn't hurt nearly as bad as tv depicts labor and delivery and that a c-section is a cake walk. Okay, that's not the point of this post, but I'm a closet hippie (and apparent emotional basket case), it's not what I lead with, you know?
So I surprised not only my husband, but also myself when I skulked back to my room after Kaia's bedtime in tears. See, she's been in this phase lately. Her official language is "I Don't Want To," and most of the natives speak "No." So, like the circus clown that I am, I make everything a game, give her options and make lots of silly faces to keep her from the doldrums of "No, I don't want to."
We did our usual routine - we got our jammy balls on (yes, I said "jammy balls" - it refers to the jammies with basket/base/foot balls on them that she HAD TO HAVE because baby brother got some....and, for what it's worth, I handed these over a month early as a bribe because she wouldn't get her pajamas on one night), we brushed our teeth singing, counting and letting her play in the water so she'd give us 8 uninterrupted seconds to brush all the cookies we bribed her with earlier off her teeth and we climbed into my bed to watch Caillou and Kipper. Thankfully she watches reasonably bearable television.
She snatched my iPhone from me, where I was quietly ignoring the cartoons and reading a book, and opened the Dora app. I let her until Kipper was over, but being that I'm a sleep Nazi, it was time to go night night. Believe it or not, she did not want to go to night night. I always remind her we still have to go potty. No reason to bother trying to rush the master procrastinator. I offered options, a little circus trick I learned over the last year or so. I said, "You have two choices to make. You can either go on the big potty or the little potty AND you can either go with Mommy or Daddy." I was pretty confident that she'd pick me. She LOVES me. "I wanna go all by myself." Smugly, I said, "Okay, go ahead." No shit, the kid took herself to the bathroom, turned on the light, managed out of her feety pajamas, went potty only in the toilet, wiped and jammied herself. WTF. I was a little flustered by her ability and at how dispensable I suddenly became. Being that I'm not a completely selfish human and hoping I could win back her favor, I congratulated her and told her how proud I was. Much more timidly, I asked, "Do you want Mommy or Daddy to take you to bed?" She said, "I want to walk." I'd had it. Tears. Walk? She's NEVER not been carried to bed. Ever. And unless I'm not in the house, she's only been carried by anyone other than me, like 5 times. She always picks me and she always lets me carry her. She hopped off the bed, walked to her room, opened the door (leaving it open for me groveling behind her) and waited by her bedside. I came back to let Kevin know he could go in and say goodnight and when I went back in, I asked if she wanted her lullaby. She nodded. As soon as I started to sing, she said, "No Mommy, I want to sing it." WHAAAAAT?! She sang the entire thing. I cried quietly enough not to be heard and hugged both Kaia little Mikko extra tight because I'm pretty sure they'll be starting college in a few weeks.
I came back sobbing. I'm not sure if Kevin was more amused or surprised, but he definitely did NOT know what to say. He reminded me that she still can't make her own lunch, so it was probably no big deal. But I do, in fact, feel like a crazy person who is developing outside of my normal. The whole point of raising children is to create independent human beings out of them, right? So why am I so Spaz about this? It's because despite how easy things get as they get independent, we're all masochists and want to be our children's circus clowns. Or something like that. Perhaps tomorrow I'll show her the trailer for It and tell her a thing or two about circus clowns. I bet that alone would have her clinging to me for another 5 years. Okay, maybe not.
I'm a pretty rational creature. In fact, recently, when speaking with the wife of a male client of mine about VBAC (vaginal birth after cesarean, for my male readers or those of you moms who have been lucky enough not to have a c-section before your last child or 14 months before you're about to have your second, unexpected although delightful child), he remarked, "I wouldn't have expected you to have an interest in that." That's right. I'm like a dude. I do the stuff that I have to, I try to remain logical and unemotional about things that are outside of my control and I only really admit to being a freak on the internet. I assume that babies come from storks, or at least that it doesn't hurt nearly as bad as tv depicts labor and delivery and that a c-section is a cake walk. Okay, that's not the point of this post, but I'm a closet hippie (and apparent emotional basket case), it's not what I lead with, you know?
So I surprised not only my husband, but also myself when I skulked back to my room after Kaia's bedtime in tears. See, she's been in this phase lately. Her official language is "I Don't Want To," and most of the natives speak "No." So, like the circus clown that I am, I make everything a game, give her options and make lots of silly faces to keep her from the doldrums of "No, I don't want to."
We did our usual routine - we got our jammy balls on (yes, I said "jammy balls" - it refers to the jammies with basket/base/foot balls on them that she HAD TO HAVE because baby brother got some....and, for what it's worth, I handed these over a month early as a bribe because she wouldn't get her pajamas on one night), we brushed our teeth singing, counting and letting her play in the water so she'd give us 8 uninterrupted seconds to brush all the cookies we bribed her with earlier off her teeth and we climbed into my bed to watch Caillou and Kipper. Thankfully she watches reasonably bearable television.
She snatched my iPhone from me, where I was quietly ignoring the cartoons and reading a book, and opened the Dora app. I let her until Kipper was over, but being that I'm a sleep Nazi, it was time to go night night. Believe it or not, she did not want to go to night night. I always remind her we still have to go potty. No reason to bother trying to rush the master procrastinator. I offered options, a little circus trick I learned over the last year or so. I said, "You have two choices to make. You can either go on the big potty or the little potty AND you can either go with Mommy or Daddy." I was pretty confident that she'd pick me. She LOVES me. "I wanna go all by myself." Smugly, I said, "Okay, go ahead." No shit, the kid took herself to the bathroom, turned on the light, managed out of her feety pajamas, went potty only in the toilet, wiped and jammied herself. WTF. I was a little flustered by her ability and at how dispensable I suddenly became. Being that I'm not a completely selfish human and hoping I could win back her favor, I congratulated her and told her how proud I was. Much more timidly, I asked, "Do you want Mommy or Daddy to take you to bed?" She said, "I want to walk." I'd had it. Tears. Walk? She's NEVER not been carried to bed. Ever. And unless I'm not in the house, she's only been carried by anyone other than me, like 5 times. She always picks me and she always lets me carry her. She hopped off the bed, walked to her room, opened the door (leaving it open for me groveling behind her) and waited by her bedside. I came back to let Kevin know he could go in and say goodnight and when I went back in, I asked if she wanted her lullaby. She nodded. As soon as I started to sing, she said, "No Mommy, I want to sing it." WHAAAAAT?! She sang the entire thing. I cried quietly enough not to be heard and hugged both Kaia little Mikko extra tight because I'm pretty sure they'll be starting college in a few weeks.
I came back sobbing. I'm not sure if Kevin was more amused or surprised, but he definitely did NOT know what to say. He reminded me that she still can't make her own lunch, so it was probably no big deal. But I do, in fact, feel like a crazy person who is developing outside of my normal. The whole point of raising children is to create independent human beings out of them, right? So why am I so Spaz about this? It's because despite how easy things get as they get independent, we're all masochists and want to be our children's circus clowns. Or something like that. Perhaps tomorrow I'll show her the trailer for It and tell her a thing or two about circus clowns. I bet that alone would have her clinging to me for another 5 years. Okay, maybe not.
Tuesday, December 20, 2011
Before I was mommy, I was stepmommy
In an uncharacteristically sappy moment, I must share. My dear, sweet teenage stepdaughter turns 16 years old today. No seriously, "dear" and "sweet" are not euphemisms for "miserable" and "rotten," nor are they code for "find a way not to let your own child reach his or her teens." She really is an absolutely wonderful girl. I had no idea that this (a not miserable female teenager) could exist.
Years before I had children of my own to push around, I found myself meandering through a situation that even the most centered of actual adults struggle to handle. Yet somehow, between a rocky beginning (because how could it be anything else?) and my internet declaration of joy at her reaching such a milestone, we have forged what I dare say is a pretty incredible bond.
I remember K completely ignoring me the first time I saw her. She knew who I was and she knew why I was there, but I don't think she was ready yet. She walked right past me, skipped up the stairs and she was gone. Just like that. It was hours before she sat me down and schooled me in Sudoku. I have been learning from this child ever since. Two years later, when I married her dad, I promised some things that I wish I could remember and she wishes she had understood through my crying, but I meant every word of it, I'm sure. A year after that my first child was born and while it was a HUGE adjustment for all of us, it has done the most amazing thing for K and I. It has brought us closer and changed us in ways I couldn't have expected and wouldn't have dared hope for. If my daughter follows in her big sister's footsteps, I will be one proud mama bear.
K, you are, without a doubt, the most wonderful 16 year old I have ever known (and when I was 16, I knew a lot of 16 year olds). You have brought a depth to my life that I can't imagine living without. No matter where life leads us both, I know that we will always share something that is special and reserved only for us. I look forward to sharing all of your milestones with you - graduation, college, wedding and marriage, and someday your own children, perhaps. I hope you have a magical year and a magical life. I can't wait to be there with you.
Years before I had children of my own to push around, I found myself meandering through a situation that even the most centered of actual adults struggle to handle. Yet somehow, between a rocky beginning (because how could it be anything else?) and my internet declaration of joy at her reaching such a milestone, we have forged what I dare say is a pretty incredible bond.
I remember K completely ignoring me the first time I saw her. She knew who I was and she knew why I was there, but I don't think she was ready yet. She walked right past me, skipped up the stairs and she was gone. Just like that. It was hours before she sat me down and schooled me in Sudoku. I have been learning from this child ever since. Two years later, when I married her dad, I promised some things that I wish I could remember and she wishes she had understood through my crying, but I meant every word of it, I'm sure. A year after that my first child was born and while it was a HUGE adjustment for all of us, it has done the most amazing thing for K and I. It has brought us closer and changed us in ways I couldn't have expected and wouldn't have dared hope for. If my daughter follows in her big sister's footsteps, I will be one proud mama bear.
K, you are, without a doubt, the most wonderful 16 year old I have ever known (and when I was 16, I knew a lot of 16 year olds). You have brought a depth to my life that I can't imagine living without. No matter where life leads us both, I know that we will always share something that is special and reserved only for us. I look forward to sharing all of your milestones with you - graduation, college, wedding and marriage, and someday your own children, perhaps. I hope you have a magical year and a magical life. I can't wait to be there with you.
Wednesday, December 14, 2011
I blame it on sleep deprivation
I do. I blame all of my problems on sleep deprivation, which I suffer from depending on the day (and the blunder). Plus, claiming sleep deprivation is the only thing that makes this must-be-told-in-blog-because-it's-hilarious story mommy-blog-related...so there's that.
I've had a busy work week. I was out of the office and playing stay-at-home mommy last week because my sitters were all out of town. Enjoying themselves. While I panicked about spending 7 uninterrupted days with my own children.
This makes coming back to the office with 20 voice mails, 100 emails, and who knows how many annoyed sighs at calls that didn't result in voicemails, not to mention the response to my "out of office" email auto-reply, rather less than pleasant. I trudged through Monday in preparation for 3 hearings between Tuesday and Wednesday. To a non-lawyer, this may not seem overwhelming. To a lawyer, 3 hearings a week is a good clip to work at, not 3 hearings in two days. Perhaps look at it this way - I have 7 hearings all month and 3 of those were in 24 hours. I'm really busy and important, dammit!
Monday night, I woke up after a terrible nightmare. In my dream, I was sleeping in the middle of the day for some reason (sleep deprivation, probably) and woke up. I started getting ready to go to my first of these three hearings and realized that it was 5:00! The hearing was scheduled at 3:15 (in my dream) and I was late! I turned to Kevin, "Shit! I missed it! I missed the hearing! I'm not even late, like I completely missed it! What the [bleep] am I going to do? Should I call the court and just lie?" (Disclaimer: I would NEVER lie to a court official, just in case anyone comes across this and questions my impeccable, although sleep deprived, character.) I woke up heart racing and in a cold sweat at 4:00 a.m. Not an awesome way to start a day I'm already anxious about. See part of the issue was that I had papers to prepare before both hearings that I needed to prepare before the first hearing (8:15) because I wasn't sure I'd have time in between to get prepped for the second hearing, which was in another county and only 2.5 hours later.
So, I'm all frantic all morning. I get what I need to get done and I get on the road worried I'm going to arrive to court late. I arrive to court late. :/ Thankfully, so did everyone else party to the matter, so that was a win. I started to feel good. I had 5 minutes to sit and breathe before anyone else wanted to even talk to me! My client arrives, meeting goes well, we head into court. Commissioner was in a great mood, cracking jokes, enjoying his morning. Parties were actually working together, instead of against one another which is the norm in this business. It was a glorious first appearance of the three! I'm feeling good. We part ways. I step onto the elevator.
What happens next has already become legend, you know, to me. So, I was in a hurry because while my first hearing went more smoothly and therefore more quickly than expected, I could really have used some extra time going through the file for the next case. No one can ever be too prepared for court. I'm waiting patiently as the elevator crawls from the 7th floor to the 1st. I distract myself by playing peek-a-boo with the little girl next to me. Sadly, she got off on the 1st floor and I've got to get through the Ground Floor to the Basement where my car awaits me. The door opens and I start to step through. In anticipation of a speedy exit and return to my office, I pull my keys out of my briefcase. I bobbled them ever so slightly and they slipped out of my hands. RIGHT. DOWN. THE. ELEVATOR. SHAFT.
Even the other attorney in the elevator exclaimed, "NO WAY!" like a 15 year old boy watching a friend perform Jackass-style stunts in a living room. I would have thought that dropping ones keys down the elevator shaft, you know down that little crack between the moving box and solid ground, would be nearly impossible. Apparently not. Or I'm just oh so awesome that it could only happen to me. As they were falling from my hands I thought, "Wow, it looks like those could fall right down that little crack between this moving box and solid ground." Then I thought, "Holy &*!%sing shit!" Then I thought, "I'm never going to be able to get home again because my car keys and my office keys and my house keys and my Mickey Mouse keychain were on there." Then I thought, "No, seriously, how the hell am I going to get home." Then I thought, "How the HELL am I going to get to my next court appearance." This all lasted about 8 seconds.
I calmly walked over to the bailiff doing security checks and said, "Um, I just dropped my keys down the elevator shaft." Dude just puts down his beepy wand and looks at me. "Like you dropped them and they fell into the crack between the moving box and solid ground?" Okay, he didn't say exactly that, but you get my point....it WAS pretty unbelievable. "Yes." "Well, that's not going to be easy to fix." Little did he know that Mike, the maintenance guy, is actually a super hero and had them in my hands in less than 10 minutes. So Mike? Here's a shout out to you, wherever you are. THANK YOU! You proved both beepy wand bailiff and all unionized-county-worker-haters wrong when you ever so promptly returned my lost keys. (Thanks for that Joey.)
If dropping your keys down the elevator shaft is akin to seeing 666, Mike was definitely the image of the Virgin Mary on my grilled cheese sandwich. I'm pleased to say that while Tuesday did NOT get better, today has been glorious, thus I've taken the time out of my day to ignore my work and update my blog. Oh, and I was really tired when this happened, which is probably because I have two kids, which causes sleep deprivation, which is why this story is appropriate for my mommy-blog. Whatevs. I'm done defending. It's just a priceless story that deserves to be shared as many times as someone can stand to hear it and laugh at me.
I've had a busy work week. I was out of the office and playing stay-at-home mommy last week because my sitters were all out of town. Enjoying themselves. While I panicked about spending 7 uninterrupted days with my own children.
This makes coming back to the office with 20 voice mails, 100 emails, and who knows how many annoyed sighs at calls that didn't result in voicemails, not to mention the response to my "out of office" email auto-reply, rather less than pleasant. I trudged through Monday in preparation for 3 hearings between Tuesday and Wednesday. To a non-lawyer, this may not seem overwhelming. To a lawyer, 3 hearings a week is a good clip to work at, not 3 hearings in two days. Perhaps look at it this way - I have 7 hearings all month and 3 of those were in 24 hours. I'm really busy and important, dammit!
Monday night, I woke up after a terrible nightmare. In my dream, I was sleeping in the middle of the day for some reason (sleep deprivation, probably) and woke up. I started getting ready to go to my first of these three hearings and realized that it was 5:00! The hearing was scheduled at 3:15 (in my dream) and I was late! I turned to Kevin, "Shit! I missed it! I missed the hearing! I'm not even late, like I completely missed it! What the [bleep] am I going to do? Should I call the court and just lie?" (Disclaimer: I would NEVER lie to a court official, just in case anyone comes across this and questions my impeccable, although sleep deprived, character.) I woke up heart racing and in a cold sweat at 4:00 a.m. Not an awesome way to start a day I'm already anxious about. See part of the issue was that I had papers to prepare before both hearings that I needed to prepare before the first hearing (8:15) because I wasn't sure I'd have time in between to get prepped for the second hearing, which was in another county and only 2.5 hours later.
So, I'm all frantic all morning. I get what I need to get done and I get on the road worried I'm going to arrive to court late. I arrive to court late. :/ Thankfully, so did everyone else party to the matter, so that was a win. I started to feel good. I had 5 minutes to sit and breathe before anyone else wanted to even talk to me! My client arrives, meeting goes well, we head into court. Commissioner was in a great mood, cracking jokes, enjoying his morning. Parties were actually working together, instead of against one another which is the norm in this business. It was a glorious first appearance of the three! I'm feeling good. We part ways. I step onto the elevator.
What happens next has already become legend, you know, to me. So, I was in a hurry because while my first hearing went more smoothly and therefore more quickly than expected, I could really have used some extra time going through the file for the next case. No one can ever be too prepared for court. I'm waiting patiently as the elevator crawls from the 7th floor to the 1st. I distract myself by playing peek-a-boo with the little girl next to me. Sadly, she got off on the 1st floor and I've got to get through the Ground Floor to the Basement where my car awaits me. The door opens and I start to step through. In anticipation of a speedy exit and return to my office, I pull my keys out of my briefcase. I bobbled them ever so slightly and they slipped out of my hands. RIGHT. DOWN. THE. ELEVATOR. SHAFT.
Even the other attorney in the elevator exclaimed, "NO WAY!" like a 15 year old boy watching a friend perform Jackass-style stunts in a living room. I would have thought that dropping ones keys down the elevator shaft, you know down that little crack between the moving box and solid ground, would be nearly impossible. Apparently not. Or I'm just oh so awesome that it could only happen to me. As they were falling from my hands I thought, "Wow, it looks like those could fall right down that little crack between this moving box and solid ground." Then I thought, "Holy &*!%sing shit!" Then I thought, "I'm never going to be able to get home again because my car keys and my office keys and my house keys and my Mickey Mouse keychain were on there." Then I thought, "No, seriously, how the hell am I going to get home." Then I thought, "How the HELL am I going to get to my next court appearance." This all lasted about 8 seconds.
I calmly walked over to the bailiff doing security checks and said, "Um, I just dropped my keys down the elevator shaft." Dude just puts down his beepy wand and looks at me. "Like you dropped them and they fell into the crack between the moving box and solid ground?" Okay, he didn't say exactly that, but you get my point....it WAS pretty unbelievable. "Yes." "Well, that's not going to be easy to fix." Little did he know that Mike, the maintenance guy, is actually a super hero and had them in my hands in less than 10 minutes. So Mike? Here's a shout out to you, wherever you are. THANK YOU! You proved both beepy wand bailiff and all unionized-county-worker-haters wrong when you ever so promptly returned my lost keys. (Thanks for that Joey.)
If dropping your keys down the elevator shaft is akin to seeing 666, Mike was definitely the image of the Virgin Mary on my grilled cheese sandwich. I'm pleased to say that while Tuesday did NOT get better, today has been glorious, thus I've taken the time out of my day to ignore my work and update my blog. Oh, and I was really tired when this happened, which is probably because I have two kids, which causes sleep deprivation, which is why this story is appropriate for my mommy-blog. Whatevs. I'm done defending. It's just a priceless story that deserves to be shared as many times as someone can stand to hear it and laugh at me.
Monday, December 5, 2011
An ode to the stay-at-home mom
Like most mothers, I love my children with a fierce devotion that borders on psychosis. I can imagine myself into crying spells over possible some day tragedies like my daughter being cut from the dance team or my son being teased for his love of shoes. I actually have panic attacks when my son cries when I put him down for bed. I kiss my daughter a thousand times a day and tell her I love her...
I, however, freely admit that I could never be a stay-at-home mom. I think I'm able to adore my children so much because my time with them is limited. I work full-time and there's nothing better than coming home to squeals of glee from my littlest loves, but those squeals quickly sound like screams when you're stuck inside with two under three all day. So, when I learned that both my daytime care givers were going to be out of town the same week, I did what every loving mom would do. I freaking panicked. I don't "do" crafts. I have limited patience with Dora, and while I am a master fort-builder, my 18 month old doesn't get not to pull the blankets down.
I have some ideas. We're going to bake Christmas cookies one day, and I have resigned myself to cleaning during the two hour nap time to follow. We're going to go for a freezing winter hike one day. I'm sure that will waste all of 30 minutes. It's too cold to spend hours at the zoo and Kaia has decided that she's deathly afraid of the museum. She reminds me every day. Today we did some shopping, just to get out of the house.
And this is why I could never be a stay-at-home mom. We stopped at three stores. The grocery store let them each take a balloon home. Sure glad we stopped there first because you can imagine two children in car seats with helium balloons in and out of the car five times. Oy. I avoided all but three aisles at Target because I wasn't willing to have the "Santa's coming in a few weeks, so we're not getting anything" conversation today. We got our groceries at the store, but I forgot two things I really wanted. We enjoyed the pet store (and the cats are enjoying their catnip), but Kaia did not enjoy when we left twenty minutes after picking up said catnip.
So we got home, I threw some lunch on the stove and I sneaked off to the bathroom while the kids watched some Dora. It was then that I realized that I was wearing a shirt with a hole in it, my underwear inside out and I had managed to leave my zipper undone. Classy. Thank goodness they're too little to be embarrassed by me.
I, however, freely admit that I could never be a stay-at-home mom. I think I'm able to adore my children so much because my time with them is limited. I work full-time and there's nothing better than coming home to squeals of glee from my littlest loves, but those squeals quickly sound like screams when you're stuck inside with two under three all day. So, when I learned that both my daytime care givers were going to be out of town the same week, I did what every loving mom would do. I freaking panicked. I don't "do" crafts. I have limited patience with Dora, and while I am a master fort-builder, my 18 month old doesn't get not to pull the blankets down.
I have some ideas. We're going to bake Christmas cookies one day, and I have resigned myself to cleaning during the two hour nap time to follow. We're going to go for a freezing winter hike one day. I'm sure that will waste all of 30 minutes. It's too cold to spend hours at the zoo and Kaia has decided that she's deathly afraid of the museum. She reminds me every day. Today we did some shopping, just to get out of the house.
And this is why I could never be a stay-at-home mom. We stopped at three stores. The grocery store let them each take a balloon home. Sure glad we stopped there first because you can imagine two children in car seats with helium balloons in and out of the car five times. Oy. I avoided all but three aisles at Target because I wasn't willing to have the "Santa's coming in a few weeks, so we're not getting anything" conversation today. We got our groceries at the store, but I forgot two things I really wanted. We enjoyed the pet store (and the cats are enjoying their catnip), but Kaia did not enjoy when we left twenty minutes after picking up said catnip.
So we got home, I threw some lunch on the stove and I sneaked off to the bathroom while the kids watched some Dora. It was then that I realized that I was wearing a shirt with a hole in it, my underwear inside out and I had managed to leave my zipper undone. Classy. Thank goodness they're too little to be embarrassed by me.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)