miscellaneous mom

2015-11-11T06:01:00.000-08:00

I am my worst self in the morning. Actually, I'm my worst self in the late evenings as well. I also get a touch cranky in the afternoon, when I could really use a nap. Basically, there's a window of about 20 minutes a day where I am bearable.

As a parent of three young Spawns, who do you think suffers the most here? You bet your ass it's me. Twenty minutes isn't a lot of time to fit in all of the domestic chores that need to be done and to share all of the maternal love and cheeriness I need to give in order to avoid raising children who microwave small animals. I'm sad to say that I am passing on the jerk gene to my kin.

The other morning while I was deep sighing in the kitchen, my youngest yelled out, "Arg, fuck!". I snapped out of my navel gazing to calmly explain that we don't use that word (We. as in him and I. It's mine. All mine. Get your grubby hands off of it.). Now, at this point in the day I'm coffeed out and in a deep state of caffeinated paranoia so I may be way off but I had the distinct impression that my youngest was forcing himself to come down to my level to calmly explain to me, "but I dropped my spoon on the floor, so...".

It's these small moments, these nuggets, when all of the hard work feels like it's paying off, you know? It takes humans years to develop such a strong and appropriate use of cussing. And this lil' genius whipped it out at the age of three. I was beaming with pride.

Which meant I had about 17 minutes left of pleasantness left in my day.

and it burned, burned, burned. the ring of fire. the ring of fire.

2015-10-14T17:35:00.000-07:00

In the beginning of my relationship, I used to hide the fact that I pooped from my Associate, convinced even myself that I didn't care about marriage and pretended that I liked walking the long way home. Something changed somewhere between opening a joint bank account and my first episiotomy. Now, I can let it all hang out and what hangs out all over the place is how I want a ring on my finger. The evolution of the ring in our relationship went along these lines:

me: I think marriage is waste of money.

him: I couldn't agree more. We're so perfect for each other. Let's never get married!

.....

me: I just want a ring- as a symbol of our commitment. Just a plain, silver band. Nothing fancy.

him: Umm. O.K.

.....

me: silver isn't durable. I meant silver looking. I want white gold.

him: (now defeated by years of our love) yeah, ok. Just pick out whatever you like and buy it.

.....

me: I just can't decide! Which one should I get?? I'll show my friends pictures of rings I like and bookmark sites that I love! Wait a minute. What's that??

him: Oh, I found this gold band at Value Village. It fits me perfectly! Anyway, I'm going to work now. Bye!

me. ringless. marriageless.

Are you kidding me?? He goes from not wanting to get married to voluntarily wearing a ring from an imaginary wedding?! And he wears it everyday! Everywhere! Ooooo. Well played! He may have one the battle but I will win the war! I will marry him and he will put not one, but two rings on my finger! Ha! Hahahahahahaha! Take THAT 'Associate'!

A mother's lullaby

2015-10-05T20:26:00.000-07:00

I could go to sleep but then some kid will wake up. So I stay awake, breathlessly waiting for one to wake up. Then I give up and go to bed but I can't sleep because I know. I know they're just waiting for me to let my guard down. Somehow, at some point, I fall asleep. For ten beautiful minutes I sleep. Deeply and soundly. And then someone starts to cry. And that someone is me, as I tear myself out of bed to sooth some child back to sleep. I yearn for the sleep of a thousand nights. You know, death. I'm talking about death.
G'night!

2015-10-02T11:06:00.000-07:00

My eldest Spawn is supposed to be napping but is instead singing 'I've been working on the railroad' on a serious repeat. I find this hard to swallow. We both know that she's never done a day of hard work in her life.

2015-09-23T17:58:00.000-07:00

My one year old is having an epic nap. Very unlike her. It's glorious to have this break while both Spawns sleep. It's spoiled only by the fear that she may never wake up. But do I check on her, check on her breathing? No, I do not. What's done is done, you know?

sick days

2015-09-02T04:40:00.000-07:00

My dependents are sick. I've never been especially sympathetic for people who aren't feeling well. I just don't really care and automatically feel inconvenienced. Sooo self centred. Since having young children, I've realized that my feelings haven't changed at all.

fancy pants parenting idea

2015-08-11T17:47:00.000-07:00

If you think it sounds like a nice idea to get your toddler out of bed to see a beautiful, complete rainbow: THINK AGAIN. This is probably the universes' way of telling you that it's also not a nice idea to take your kids out of school on a cross country trip to show them the world. Because before you hit the interstate, you realize that you're stuck in a metal cage with nowhere to go and nowhere to sneak off to smoke. I read you, Universe. Loud and clear. I won't be doing anything stupid by trying anymore fancy parenting ideas.

**update: This year's Canada Day fireworks were cancelled minutes after they were supposed to start. There were tears and broken hearts littering the streets along with the usual mini flags. I will never trust again. I will never trust that letting my children stay up hours past their bedtime will be 'worth it'.

2015-08-08T18:24:00.000-07:00

If I should ever get a ring on my finger and if that ring is on my finger because I'm actually married and then if I pawn that ring because I get a divorce, I know exactly which kid would chose to live with me and which would decide to live with my good-for-nothing-ex.

You might be smarmy because you think all your kids would chose you over their other parent. Good for you. But I can read the writing on the wall and I can't pretend it doesn't hurt. At least I have one kid on my side. Actually, I feel really bad for the kid who picks me. It will be hard to fit in bartending, room service, culinary duties, house cleaning, car washing and landscaping around school work. It's just so much for one child to carry.

Divorce is so sad.

2014-03-23T18:36:00.002-07:00

If I pick your nose, I love you.

But I will not pick the noses of all the people that I love. This is what being a mother means. It means there are some noses that I will not only pick but want to pick. Nay, need to pick.

Shaken. Not stirred. Or just straight out of the bottle. I don't care anymore.

2012-10-04T17:00:00.001-07:00

Kids are like MacGyver about being annoying. Give them something, anything and they'll turn it into the most annoying thing. Ever. An eraser, a glass of water, or a book. Doesn't matter. They look at it, pick it up and BAM! It's the most annoying thing you've ever seen in all your years on this godforsaken planet. Sometimes I'm annoyed to tears. It's like if you're being held captive and your interrogator just has bad breath but other than that, he's not really that bad. To the outsider, it seems like something one could handle without cracking. But after four years of their bad breath in your face, constantly, day in and day out, you finally snap and you can't handle it anymore. And if my kids are bad breath, then martinis are my breath mints. Cheers!

2012-10-02T16:40:00.001-07:00

All that luxurious, healthy hair that you get during pregnancy falls out in clumps after your baby is born.

They don't tell you that.

As if you have this lovely hair for the rest of your life. Instead every shower is horrifying and you need to keep drano on standby. There's a metaphor for motherhood in here somewhere. Get over yourself and find your own punch line. I'm too tired from catering to my bazillion kids to piece it together. Do you want me to wipe your ass too?

Revenge. Sweet, sweet revenge.

2012-04-05T04:08:00.000-07:00

The only thing that is keeping me going this morning is my plan for the future. I can't punish my kids for waking up in the 5's this morning or for staying awake until the 10's last night. I can't get mad at them for demanding no less than 4 times that I get them things while I'm trying to have my first coffee of the day. I can't begrudge them wiping their butts while they complain or listening to their dramatic, tortured cries as I simply put a shirt over their heads. And so on. There is no recourse. At this time. But as they cry, whine, shout, demand and hit I am formulating a plan.

As exhaustion sinks in, I am scheming.

With every kick to the face and every 'I hate you', I am strategizing.

I refuse to be caught with my pants down, like I was with the toddler/preschool years. As my children grow into teens, I will be ready for sweet, sweet revenge. The moment they start sleeping in and I no longer can (after years of sleep deprivation have trained my body not to even hope for deep sleep again), I will be there, at the foot of their beds with a bullhorn. Or, when I drop them off at school, after years of of having to struggle to get them out the door and listening to them yell for the whole drive, I will be there, shouting out my window to them in their school yard that they forgot their heavy flow tampons. When they are settled in on the sofa, calmly watching their favorite show, laughing and enjoying themselves, I will be there, turning the television off and running away with the remote. If revenge is a dish best served cold, I will be there in a decade with a sadistic smile on my face saying; 'let's eat, bitches'.

Sleep Training Technique

2012-02-07T05:18:00.000-08:00

Turns out it's my natural state to be knocked up. I seem to have found myself in this predicament often in the last 4 years. And each and every time I am older and it is more difficult. This time around, I am having back problems. I mean, can't-walk-standing-up-straight-back problems. There is a reality to having young children and being unable to walk properly.

The other night, the middle child awoke and when I determined that ignoring her wasn't going to make the problem go away, I got up and hobbled to her room, picked her up and tried to carry her over to the spare bed that's in her room. I found that carrying her was nearly impossible and decided to try gently tossing her onto the bed instead. I came up short. She did not land on the bed.

In other news, the middle one is now sleeping through the night or is too terrified to call out for me. But either way...

The only thing I'm dripping with is little girls...

2011-12-17T15:54:00.000-08:00

There is A LOT that I can relate to in this song. Like, I get why she drinks alone at the end of the day.

Say Cheese!

2011-12-14T18:26:00.000-08:00

I LOVE my kids. I truly, truly do. I think they're great. Better than yours, probably. I want nothing but the best for them. Happiness. Love. Light. All of that.

But... and there's no way to say this without it sounding bad... I really, really want a picture of them with Santa where they are completely freaking out.

I think it's swell to have a picture of them sitting on his lap in their Sunday best with cute hair do's and pretty smiles and what not but for posterity, for the future, for them, I want a picture of Spawn I and II losing their minds at Santa. I will bring it out and show every boyfriend they ever have, pass it around at their weddings, send it in to their yearbook editors, and if they don't treat me right, slip it to the opposition party during election time for cutesy attack ad fodder.

But please. I'm not going to intervene and fill their heads with lies about Santa just for a photo op! I mean, different lies, other lies in addition to the societally accepted lies. Because making up lies about an unnaturally jolly man who works in isolation with child- like vassals, talking to animals, and stealthily entering homes whilst vulnerable children sleep would be cruel. We're just barely teetering on the edge of civility with this story. If my dream holiday picture happens, it happens. I will console them. I won't torture them and make them sit there for that long or anything.

I guess I don't feel bad about this scenario because I know that they won't be scarred for life. Ultimately, like any decent predator, Santa will win them over, year after year, by bribing them with candy and toys and we'll look back at the pictures and laugh and laugh.

Merry Christmas.

Xmas DIY

2011-12-04T12:12:00.000-08:00

I have the best Christmas present idea! It would cost less than $20 and give the kids hours of endless fun!

Batteries!

I'm talking AAA and AA and D's and DD (is that a battery size?). Both stockings full to overflow with sweet, sweet batteries! Think about all the toys lying around that I've been too lazy to deal with: I'd have to find the right screw driver, use the screw driver, replace the batteries, and then use the screw driver again. After months or even years of these lifeless toys lying around collecting dust, they will be given a new lease on life. It will be like, well, Christmas morning.

Actually, the more I think about this- and I've been giving it a lot of serious thought, the more I think I should do a cull of these toys now so as to erase them from their memories by the 25th. And rather than giving them batteries for Christmas (which, frankly, may confuse them), I will replace the batteries in the toys, wrap each toy individually in pretty paper, and pile them under the tree! TA-DA! It will appear to them as though they hit the mother load and I will have spent a mere $20 while saving the planet (kind of). And then we'll put all their 'new' Christmas toys in a garbage bag and donate them to the less fortunate. Because life is cruel and twisted and the sooner they learn that, the better off they'll be.

Happy holidays!

Oh, the joy.

2011-11-05T03:45:00.000-07:00

Things change when you have a million children, as I do.

When it was only Spawn, I cared about her clothes and hair. I didn't want her to wear pink all the time or have cartoon characters on her blankets. But now that I'm so busy with both Spawns, I barely care if their clothes fit at all. I couldn't care less if their socks don't match and I'm not opposed to cutting the feet out of their pajamas to get an extra season's wear out of them. Plus, it's hilarious to see them in the Incredible Hulk- like attire when they're throwing a tantrum. I find I have adopted the same philosophy I had when dressing myself back in my waitressing days: 'they don't know that I didn't just get this food on my shirt".

The hardest aspect of Spawn's appearance to deal with though is her hair. It's usually insane and out of order constantly. Brushing it causes hysteria and I run the risk of having the neighbors call social services to whisk the children away. I've weighed the pros and cons and I've decided that that would be too disruptive. Besides, what if they liked the foster home better? What if their new parents sat on the floor with them and used flash cards for educational play? What if they made little pizzas with green pepper smiles, cheese hair and olive eye balls? What if they were strict about keeping Spawn out of pull ups and in underwear so she could end this potty training purgatory? It's too risky. I like a vacation as much as the next mom but I'll have to wait and send them to camp where they're legally obliged to return the kids.

Long story short: Spawns hair is a bird's nest and she dresses like a homeless person but I think we can all agree that it's for the best. It shows I care.

Le Whine

2011-07-25T09:45:00.000-07:00

whine verb, whined, whin·ing, noun

–verb (used without object)

a long, high-pitched complaining cry: the Spawns have been whining all day. I can take no more.

2. a long, high-pitched complaining sound: the whine of my children was the last sound I heard before I ran toward the light at the end of the tunnel.

3. a complaining tone of voice: which is reminiscent of nails on a chalk board.

4. a feeble or petulant complaint: a constant whine about the quality of service.

The last one there, I didn't have to change the example. That one fit perfectly still.

SAVINGS! SAVINGS! SAVINGS!

2011-03-24T17:41:00.000-07:00

In these tough economic times, it is important to cut corners where you can. You can buy a cheaper bottle of wine but you'll only have to drink more, and faster, in order to stop tasting how bad it is. You're better off sticking with your favorite wine and instead save hundreds of dollars by opting not to get winter tires. But don't text and drive!

a is for asshole. b is for butt face. c is for, well. Come on. You're thinking it too.

2011-03-17T04:16:00.000-07:00

You have to be really careful when you speak to your young children. You have to choose your words wisely. For example, with swear words you don't want to add such weight to them lest your children decide to use them for attention or as a form of rebellion. That's why I like to keep my swear words 'light', 'sweet' and 'loving'. Like: you are so fucking cute. That is an acceptable use of swearing. I read that in one of the What to Expect book series. Or, I saw it on Oprah.

Just trust me.

fuck you too.

2011-01-08T20:24:00.000-08:00

As I hear Spawn snoring in the next room over, I'm reminded of a sweet exchange we had a couple of nights ago:

I tucked her in tightly, kissed her cheek, gently tucked a sweet curl behind her ear and whispered, "I love you". With her angelic voice she replied, " I love you. Go to hell." It's moments like this that make all the sacrifice worth it, you know?

2010-12-29T19:06:00.000-08:00

Usually I take a break from writing when I'm feeling really good about my life. So, I'm ready to dive right in.

2010-09-17T11:58:00.000-07:00

As I stared at my sleeping baby last night, I thought: this must be what people with dogs feel like?

Easy Breezy

2010-08-27T18:19:00.000-07:00

Our lawn is wild. But at this point, it's either the lawn or the kids. And I've already started their education funds*. I don't know how everyone else is staying on top of it all? I'm just going to assume that they're not. Since being efficient is now more important than ever, I got to thinking while I looked at our feral lawn... Wouldn't it be great if I could put Spawn out to graze?? She could a. snack, b. get fresh air/ activity, and c. manage the lawn.
Someone told me that we used to eat grass and that's why we have some vestigial body part. I can't remember which part? Wisdom teeth? Appendix? Brain?

But I digress. I tried putting Spawn out to pasture: no dice. But BabyB was all over it! She's sooo cooperative. She just lied there and tried to get as much grass in her face as she could. Every once in a while, I just had to rotate her so she didn't get down to the dirt. Being a mother is just too easy sometimes**.

*lies!

**lies!

2010-07-25T04:55:00.000-07:00

I just finished playing a super fun round of Poop or Chocolate??. Of course, in this game there are no real winners, just one loser. Me.

Yesterday morning I walked into the ~~dining/entertainment/play/tv room~~ Great Room and witnessed Spawn happily splashing her cereal milk from her tray onto the floor. My too-silent partner was sitting there holding the baby and when I asked him why he was allowing this to happen he assured me that he had told her to stop and that it was bad. See what happened there? I unknowingly found myself playing a quick round of House. I was the Mother to three young children who didn't have a care in the world, la la la. As with Poop or Chocolate??, I am the only real loser here. Just to keep things real simple for you, both games can just be called My Personal Hell. Weeeeeeee!