A little beef (aka another vent by the stay-at-home momma)

Even though people tend to think of me (I think) as being really "on the ball," I do have some sloth-like qualities, and these qualities are part of the reason why stay-at-home motherhood is a good fit for me.

First, I hate getting dressed up in anything more snazzy than workout shorts, a top and flip-flops.  In winter, my attire is jeans, a long sleeve t-shirt and my house slippers.  I LOVE the dress requirement of stay-at-home mothering.

Secondly, I am not a terribly hygienic person.  I don't usually bathe every day.  I do change my undies every day, but my clothes are worn until I can't remember how many days I've worn them or they are pretty crusty/nasty.  In this heat, that means I wear them until they stink....which is about 3 days.  I mostly remember to brush my teeth everyday.  Since kids are pretty stinky themselves (sitting in their own urine and poop) and aren't big on hygiene, the stay-at-home mothering arrangement is a big win.

Thirdly, I really like keeping my own schedule, being my own boss as it were.  If I need to clean, we stay home and I clean.  If I am desperate to get out with the kids, we go somewhere.  During the school year, there is a nice blend of structure from N's school (and G's entrance into preschool this September) and chaotic "Who knows what the hell is gonna happen" because you never know what kids are gonna do from one minute to the next.  This need for managed chaos is part of the reason I really loved teaching. There was structure to the day, but I was my own boss within my classroom, running things as I saw fit and seeing where students would go with whatever we were learning.

But in terms of routine and scheduling, what REALLY sticks in my craw is when people act as if my schedule and routine, whatever it happens to be that day or week, really doesn't matter because it's not a paying job.  Like it doesn't affect me at all if plans are canceled or rearranged at the last minute.  Like since a "real" job isn't in play, my plans can just be set on the back burner.

Rodney Dangerfield ain't the only one who gets no respect.

The working momma who pissed me off

I stay home with my kids because it is what I want to do.  I know some moms who work full-time, some who work part-time and some who stay home like I do.  Naturally, I usually feel a stronger connection with the full-time stay-at-home moms because we share very similar experiences and common drudgeries.  I cannot understand the logistics of working outside the home full-time, dealing with daycare issues and still having the responsibility for managing the home and kids.  It gives me a headache to even think about, so I am always astounded that women do it and still manage to speak in full sentences.  I don't think I could do it even half as well.

The other day I took my kids to D's workplace health clinic so I could get my allergy shot.  Always before, I have gone on days when there was just a nurse on site and no patients having office visits.   I got in and out quickly which meant the kids didn't have time to go ape-shit from boredom and bother anyone waiting to see a doctor.  Due to some temporary staffing issues, I had to go during office visit time and that meant a longer-than-usual wait.

Because it had been since before our Disney trip that I received a shot, my left arm (the mold arm) hurt more than usual so I wanted to hang around for a few minutes in the waiting room.

As I have said at least 10 trillion times in this blog, G is my pest child, the mischievous one, the one who I would like to hog-tie on a daily basis.  After my shot, when G began being more pain in the butt(ish) than he had been during the pre-shot wait, I said something on the order of, "Dr. B will give you a shot if you don't settle down...." or something like that.

Just prior to me saying this to G, I had been chatting a little bit with a woman who works at D's company who had her child in the waiting room.  She has three children but only one was with her.

When I made the aforementioned "threat" to G, this lady said something like, "In our home, we tell ours we'll take away a favorite toy.  It works better to be able to act on your threat."  

I felt like telling G to go punk that lady in the eyeball.

I felt like telling her to haul all three of her kids into the clinic and see how they behave.

I felt like telling her that perhaps if she was with her kids nonstop, all-day, every.single.solitary.day since the moment they came out of her womb, she might have effing RUN OUT OF ACTUAL THREATS SHE CAN ACT ON.

I felt like telling that lady to take some of her hard-earned money and visit a salon, you mousy little thing.

Ok, that was low.
But I don't give advice to working moms on how to manage their lives.
So please don't give advice to the frazzled, frumpled stay-at-home mom on how to keep her head from exploding when the 3-year-old does his normal pain-in-the-arse routine.

I cannot imagine the future

I rarely think about how life will be for me (and all of us) when the kids are older, particularly pre-teen time and beyond.  I cannot even wrap my head around this concept.  In my brain, my kids will always be 7, 3 and 1.  I'm not sure if this means I am seizing the moments or simply lacking any trace of imagination.

Because of this, I never think about what the kids' interests might be as they get older.  I never pre-emptively worry about them driving or hanging out at the mall or getting tattoos using the money they worked for all summer long.

My wishes are simple.  I hope they are kind, polite kids who try their best in school.  That they don't get involved in drugs or have to deal with a teenage pregnancy or contract HIV or have abusive relationships.

When I was a teen, there were two HUGE no-nos:  Don't date black guys and don't get pregnant (which to my parents meant don't have sex before marriage).  All hades would have broken loose if either of those things had come to fruition.  I was so insanely boy crazy from about 4 years onward I don't think my parents ever gave any consideration to the possibility that I might be gay, but I'm certain this would have been included in the no-no category.

So where do I stand with my own children?

I don't care who my kids date so long as they are treated with respect (and treat their date with respect).  I don't care whether my kids are gay so long as they are comfortable in their own skin.  I expect my kids will have sex before marriage, and I hope they use protection against STDs and unplanned pregnancies (but I won't be leaving it up to chance....I intend to have discussions with them about safe sex.)

D very often says stuff like "I'll be glad when the kids are older" because IT IS tiring and aggravating to deal with little whiney, completely helpless little tyrants.

But even with all the exhausting physical and psychological aspects of raising little ones, I think this is the "picnic" part of parenting.

Thinking about them dating or having sex or trying drugs or driving gives me the heebie-jeebies.
I'll take poopy diapers and knowing they are all upstairs sound asleep in their beds, safe from harm.

Gone, Baby, Gone brought some PPD OCD memories back

This weekend D and I watched the film Gone, Baby, Gone based on the Dennis Lehane book of the same name.  I cannot stress enough what an excellent film it is.  Two days later I am still thinking of its themes as I wash the dishes or straighten up around the house.  The only Lehane book I have read is Mystic River (saw the movie too), but after reading up on him and learning that Shutter Island (another awesome film) is one of his novels, I think I may have to read a lot more of his stuff.

I liked Gone, Baby, Gone's complexities, the fact that it didn't make a right or wrong statement necessarily but left the audience to wallow in the grey area.  About parenting.  About pedophilia.  About kidnapping.  About murder.  About what love really means and what love can tolerate.    

The part of the film in which Patrick Kenzie encounters a pedophile brought back my memories of some highly unpleasant intrusive thoughts that I first experienced when N was a baby and that still sometimes make a brief resurgence.  Fortunately, my medication, my past reading about PPD OCD and my therapy all help me manage these thoughts when they pop up now.

At one time, though, these thoughts were paralyzing because I thought having the thoughts meant I wanted to act on whatever I envisioned in the thoughts.  And the thoughts, let alone the idea of acting on them, were revolting, repulsive, horrifying.  I would feel full-blown panic set in whenever an intrusive thought would pass through my brain.  

Because of these thoughts (that were of a sexual nature and centered around my child(ren)), I couldn't help but wonder what pedophiles think and feel, and watching this movie brought that question back up.  Is my horrifying intrusive thought over which I have no control similar to what they think?  Are they horrified by an idea that pops in their heads but feel powerless not to act on it?  Or is the idea that pops in their head exciting to them?  Or is the idea not something that pops into their head as an accident or weird brain spasm but a desired idea that they created?  

And if the thought that pops into their head is horrifying to them but an overwhelming urge makes them act on it, is this mental illness or evil?  Or both?  And does this mean that in addition to feeling sickened by what they do to children, is it possible to also feel some compassion because their thoughts might be something beyond their control?

Like Patrick in the movie, the only answer I have is, "I don't know."

Even though I know that my intrusive thoughts were some of my worst fears flashing before my eyes, to this day I have to remind myself of this fact again and again.  Or I might begin to doubt again what kind of person I am.  

Summer reading quandary

I try not to be too terribly anal about summer reading programs, but I admit I have been debating an issue in my head, certainly giving it more time and thought than it deserves.  Because summer reading should be fun, after all.

Back in the 4th grading period, N was reading at a 38, which would be a 4th grade reading level.  My guess is that she is considerably above this level by now although I won't know for certain until school begins in the fall.  Books that would be considered 4th grade reading Henry and Beezus and those from The Magic School Bus series.

However, since she and G share a room and we read to both of them at bedtime, we do picture books unless the chapter book is something like a Franny K. Stein book with pictures and a topic that really hold G's interest.

I don't doubt that picture books are still good for her to read.  They are easy enough that they help her build her reading fluency.  

But here's my confession:   I have allowed her to read a couple super easy picture books and count them for her summer reading programs, and it feels like "cheating."

Ranks me right up there with Casey Anthony in the "unfit mother" category, eh?

I don't let her use the same books twice or multiple times.  If she reads something she can only count it once on one program list unless she actually reads it twice.  And she has to read chapters as well as picture books so that she is doing some higher level reading.  Today she finished her Junie B. Jones and That Mean Jim book.  We're moving onto Ivy + Bean tomorrow, which she began reading eons ago.  (She drives me nuts with her habit of reading 3 chapters into 8 different books and never completing one of them.)

I do have some principles.

We love Maynard Moose

There is nothing that aggravates me more than people making grammatical errors and devising their own twisted version of the English language on Facebook.

However, when a lovable moose does it in children's books I am all over it.

We recently checked out a book from the library called Rapunzel and the Seven Dwarfs:  A Maynard Moose Tale by Willy Claflin.  It is a delightful fractured fairy tale.

N's favorite part is the "eight or nine seven dwarfs" who are named "Clumsy, Snoozy, Cheerful, Fearful, Hyper, Hungry, Grizelda, Ambidextrous, and sometimes Bewildered."  She has added her own dwarfs to the mix as well:  Shy, Sneaky, Angry, Fast, Big, Responsible, and Respectful.

I think my favorite part is when Rapunzel's hair becomes "distremely filthified---all full of sticks and twigs and little nastified wudgies of glop."

We are so enamored of Maynard that we reserved the audiobook, "The Wolf Under the Bed," which we listened to today and have a couple of Claflin's other audiobooks on the way.

Bottom of the barrel mothering

Recently I read a criticism of the book Go the F*ck to Sleep which was concerned with its violent imagery against children by their parents.  

Now I pretty regularly read Peaceful Parenting and other similar parenting websites because I strive to be a loving, consistent, decent parent.

But sometimes I have a week like the one I have just had and I feel tremendously proud that, unlike the dad in Texas who abandoned his son on the highway, I didn't abandon my children and strike out on my own.  I only felt like doing so multiple times an hour.  

N had her tonsils out this past Monday, June 27th.  She did really well and by 8:00 that evening was eating scrambled eggs.  She has done far, far better than I expected.  All day today she refused her tylenol/codeine medicine but still continued to eat mac & cheese almost nonstop.  She feels tired and is still camping out on the pull-out sofa all day long, and she doesn't talk much since that causes her discomfort.  But I expected to deal with 10 days of nonstop crying and nearly unmanageable pain.    

Still, she is post-op, and I have been worried about her liquid intake and her pain.  The first 4 nights I set the alarm to wake up twice each night to give her the pain medication (12:45 a.m. and 4:45 a.m.).  Even if your child is doing well, until they are acting 99% normally your hackles don't fully settle down.  

I guess my worry bucket has been a little more full than normal.  Couple that with greatly interrupted sleep for almost a week (since it's not like the boys took a hiatus from waking me up while I was playing midnight nursemaid to N), and you have a grouchy momma.  

My worry has not blinded me to the fact that N is a royal pain in the arse when it comes to taking medicine.  She hems and haws until I nearly have to hold her down to force her to take her antibiotic (which was one of the reasons I wanted her to have her tonsils removed....since she was constantly battling strep and therefore I was constantly battling her to take her omnicef).  I very, very quickly lose my patience because it's not like I have all.day.long to sit in front of her and wait for her to decide she is ready to drink her medication.  

Then there is my son G, who at the best of times I feel like stringing up by his toes.  This week he has been hyped up on popsicles (it is downright impossible to keep a 3-year-old off the stuff when his sister is sucking them down one right after the other) and stuck for most of the day inside the house (since I don't feel comfortable leaving N inside without another adult while she is still recovering).  

Add to that the "baby" who, at just shy of 21 months, is immersing himself fully in the tantrums and head-banging behaviors of toddlers.  

Now combine all that with the fact that I do not do well with lots of time inside the house with my children AND I may be PMSing.

I think in technical terms this is called "the perfect storm."