Thursday, December 31, 2009
So, I'm not sure what has crawled up my toddler's mini britches, but lately he has been a mad dog. I mean, really hard to deal with.
I know he is entering the "I can do it by myself so get out of my freaking way" phase of todderhood. But, does that really mean he has to throw scrambled eggs at the Christmas tree and have a meltdown when I keep him from chasing the dog under the bed? Does that really mean he has to throw a tantrum when I wipe his nose so that the boogers smear across the carpet and weild the toilet cleaning brush like a sword until I try to grab it from him, which just causes him to run from the bathroom to our bedroom where he rubs the dirty, poopy, uriney, brush end all over our bed? I mean, really.
And he used to be well-behaved for a one-yr old in Wal-Mart, Target, places like that. I say "used to be" to indicate that he isn't anymore. Not after yesterday.
So, yesterday's trip to Wal-Mart started out rocky from the get-go. Max has begun a new "bye-bye" routine which includes kicking his legs and screaming when I try to buckle him in his car sear. He wants to buckle himself into his car seat. Problem? He is one year old and can't do it. Those buckles are baby-proof for a reason. But, if we want to go anywhere, I have to start the car, so eventually I take over and buckle his car seat. Meltdown.
So, from the beginning, he was crying. When we get to Wal-Mart, I put him in his stroller and he starts screaming and kicking his legs again. This time, I have no idea why. It is one of those mystery cries which have driven mommies all over the world to drinking. But, I figure he will quit once we get inside, so I keep going.
I enter Wal-Mart on the produce side, right in front of all the registers, cashiers and the people waiting in line who have nothing better to do than stare at the woman with the tortured toddler. He is just screaming louder now. I am thinking, "Oh, nightmare of nightmares, please make it stop. If I take him out of his stroller and carry him, maybe his head will stop spinning like Linda Blair."
Boy, I was wrong. When I tried to take him out of his stroller, he screamed louder, if that was possible, and started kicking his legs and pushing against my face with his little fists. His legs were stuck under the tray table on his stroller and I was pulling and pulling while he tried to punch my head off my body. A man walked by and said, "Is he mad or is he mad?" Yes, he's mad. If you couldn't tell.
By this point, my face was bright red and I refused to look up and see how many people were staring at the scene we were making. But, I wasn't going to let him win. I wasn't going to leave completely defeated and humiliated. I was at least going to get some of the things on my list. Whatever I could carry while carrying my son and pushing his stroller. I must have looked totally out of my mind.
Well, turns out all I could carry was orange juice, a jar of lil' sausages, and fruit strips. Forget the toilet paper. Forget the eye make-up remover. My son was starting to scare people. They were peeking around the ends of aisles to look at us.
So, I left, after the check-out girl commented on my son's runny nose, like I didn't know he had one. My son cried all the way home and the minute we walked into the house, it was like none of it ever happened and he was the happiest little bugger you've ever seen.
So, did he win? I don't know. Let's call it a tie.
Saturday, December 26, 2009
And yes, I am talking about Christmas. Call me Mr. Grinch. Call me the Oogie Boogie Man. But, it was just all too much this year. I became so tired of RUSHing around, towing a weary one-year old on my decrepit hip that I had a couple of breakdowns and was sporting a fine, bad attitude.
I never thought I would say this but...burn the tree and pour the eggnog down the toilet. I'm over it.
I've been reading some of your posts and most of you had wonderful Christmas mornings, full of laughs, relaxation, grateful tears and spending the day in your jam jams.
My day started out with dog poop under the bed, a broken dishwasher, and dog pee all over our couch, nicely soaked in to the cushions and down into the springs. Merry Christmas.
Did I mention my son was, and still is, sick?
After cleaning the dog messes and kicking the dishwasher (and my own private temper tantrum in the bathroom where my toothbrush bore the brunt of my holiday angst), we RUSHed out to my mom's house with onions for the breakfast casserole, only to have to RUSH back home two hours later to put our sickly son down for his nap.
After his nap, we had to RUSH through feeding him in order to RUSH to my sister-in-law's house for Christmas dinner. And we barely made it. Atleast this celebration was at night and I could have booze. Which I did.
Besides the rushing, I had my husband, full of festive sarcasm, exclaiming everything that happened that day was a Christmas miracle. "The dog pooped under the bed, but atleast it's already dried and hard! It's a Christmas Miracle!" "The dog peed on the couch, but atleast her stream missed the baby! It's a Christmas Miracle!"
There was just too much RUSHing this year. We have spent a few evenings in a row at my mother's house, which has been great, but this has caused us to have to RUSH home every night to put our son to bed because it ends up being way past his bedtime. And he just keeps getting sicker, probably from lack of sleep.
So, it is done. And I am glad. I'm over the RUSHing. I think from now until the end of the year, I am going to be late everywhere I go. On purpose. Just relax and take my time. Time may march on, but I'm shuffling from here on out. Maybe even walking backwards. Father Time can kiss my ass.
Now, I've got to go practice my post-holiday meditation breathing and buy a new toothbrush.
Saturday, December 19, 2009
Anyway, if I blog every day, then that is less time spent with my family in the evenings because I am isolated in the "office". Let's just call it the baby's room. That makes me feel like the room has a purpose besides sending me into Anxiety-ville.
The other problem is that we live in a home built in the 1950's and it has ZERO storage for those things that you don't use but you don't want to get rid of either. Like my husband's concert t-shirts from the eight bazillion U2 concerts he has seen. Or my husband's Star Wars toys from when he was a kid, or his bachelor pad wall art that looked like it should be hanging in a motel that I took down the minute I moved in with him four years ago. Or my college notebooks and textbooks. Or my sad scrapbooking supplies that sit waiting for me to have a free day (don't hold your breath, poor little scrapbooking supplies). Or my Christmas and birthday wrapping supplies. Or boxes of old pictures and board games. You get the picture.
And, once that room does become a bedroom someday, where in the heckaroonie (I've been watching too much Pinky Dinky Doo) are we going to put our computer and all that "important" jazz?
Anyway, I'm not sure how I got off subject. I think I started off subject.
The reason for this post is to say that I am signing off until after Christmas for lack of extra time. I want to spend as much time as possible with my family and friends in the next week and a half. My sister and her husband are coming to town (Yay!) and I've got baking to do, and a Christmas party to attend, and presents to wrap, and cleaning to avoid, and sweets to eat, and hot chocolate to drink, and movies to watch, and I'm busy busy!
I will be reading your posts, though. I'm not going totally cold turkey. Maybe I'll finally be able to catch up on all of my reading. And I'll be back after I eat all the chocolatey sweets I possibly can. And then we will chronicle all the weight I will need to lose. I've already gained five pounds since the beginning of October. Stupid Halloween candy and Thanksgiving brownies and hot chocolate marshmallows and whipped cream, chocolate chip cookies, and ice cream. I might have developed a teensy, weensy addiction to sugar over the last three months. Oops.
I'll write again after Christmas or after the New Year. Not sure which.
Happy Holidays, Merry Christmas, Happy Kwanzaa, Happy Hanukkah, Happy New Year, and Happy anything else you might celebrate this time of year! Thank you so much to all of you who regularly read and comment on my blog. I am so grateful!
Holy Mackerel! It's almost Christmas!! HO HO HO!
Tuesday, December 15, 2009
Last night for dinner, he ate one fish stick and about a tablespoon of potatoes. That's it.
He spits out every vegetable (except potatoes, and really, do those count?), he doesn't eat any fruits except bananas and blueberries (and that is because I hide the blueberries in his oatmeal). He usually won't eat meat unless it comes breaded. Any healthy meats that come breaded? Any animals born breaded? None that I can think of.
How does he have so much energy? Where does it come from? He hardly eats. Isn't food supposed to be fuel for our bodies? Didn't we learn that in like second grade? From Slim Goodbody?
That guy always kind of freaked me out.
Anyway, so how does he have the energy to dig into the dog food thirty times a day, or climb on the dining room chairs, or run from room to room like he's running from a fire, or chase the dogs until they are wimpering for mercy, or dump out the trash cans, or wiggle until he has broken free from his highchair, or push over the humidifiers and dance a jig in the water that is now flowing across the floor?
When is the down time? Do little boys not EVER just wanna chillax with some Sesame Street, feet propped up on some nesting blocks, sippy cup of milk in hand, hand down the front of his tiny pants, remote guarded like the Holy Grail? Aren't they supposed to emulate their fathers? Hasn't he seen my husband watching UFC? The History Channel? Spike TV?
Honestly, I can't eat enough food to keep up with him. I am constantly hungry. This kid amazes me. How a child can thrive on yogurt and applesauce, I'll never understand. But, somehow, he is growing. He is in the 95% for height. How is this possible?
My husband tells me not to worry so much and that he won't just eat grilled cheese sandwiches and scrambled eggs forever. But, I'm his mommy. Hello? Isn't it my job to worry whether or not he is eating enough of the right kinds of foods? Or eating enough period?
How much do your kids eat?
Sunday, December 13, 2009
Now, since I left my site for a week, here is what you missed. Are you biting at the bit to read about this glamorous life? Me too! Whose life are we reading about? I want to read about someone's glamorous life. Because mine is...not.
Here we go.
Monday. I took my son to a new doctor for his 15-month well-child check-up. Now that our son is on government health insurance, we had to go to whatever doctor the state assigned us and leave our current pediatrician. The pediatrician who knows my son's rocky history with vaccines and lets us give him one vaccine at a time. Yippee. My child's health is in the hands of our state government. I'm pumped.
We were assigned to a family practitioner instead of a pediatrician because all the peds in our area have met their charity case quotas. Stupid economy.
I walked into the office, filled out the paperwork, and sat in the waiting room for not 15 minutes, not 30 minutes, not 45 minutes, but an hour and 10 minutes!! With a toddler. Not ideal. Especially since I had to keep my son in his stroller the entire time. He is like a pinball who thinks every room is his personal pinball machine and the more things he touches, the more points he gets, so in public, we have to keep him in his stroller or pay the ultimate price of exhaustion and embarrassment and watching him lick things like the arms of chairs and electrical outlets.
The mother sitting across from me had her 18-mo. old son sitting on her lap. Totally still. Just lookin' around, quiet, clinging to his mother. My son couldn't be more the opposite of that kid.
After an hour, I told the not-so-friendly lady at the front desk that I would have to reschedule. I couldn't wait any longer. My son had already eaten all the snacks I brought, drank all the milk in his sippy cup, played with all the toys in his diaper bag, and I had already sung every song in my repertoire. She told me I was next in line.
So, I waited another 10 minutes and finally went back to the exam room, where we waited another 30 minutes for the doctor (who was nice enough and let us come up with our own vaccination schedule. Whew). Then another 15 for the nurse to show up and give my son his shot.
In order to give him the shot, we had to catch him first. He was busy pinballing from one wall to the other. He started crying before he even got the shot because he was having to be still for two seconds, and as soon as it was over and he could run around again, he stopped crying. Who cares about the shot, Mom? Just let go so I can lick that door stop and dump out that jar of Q-tips!
My son's appt was at 8:30 am. When I got home, it was 11:30 am. And I live down the street from the doctor's office. Longest morning of my life.
Wednesday. Has it already been a month since my hopes and dreams of getting pregnant with our second child were dashed? Oh it has? Well, give me another one of those sticks to pee on! Can't wait! Okay, peeing, waiting the three minutes. Oh! Here are the results! I'm so excited!
"HOW MANY TIMES DO I HAVE TO TELL YOU THAT YOUR UTERUS IS A HAS-BEEN AND ENDOMETRIOSIS HAS TAKEN OVER YOUR BODY? NOT PREGNANT! DANG, LADY! YOU'RE PERSISTENT!"
Oh. Fine. You don't have to yell.
Later, watching cartoons with my son and nephew, I was crushed to discover that Blue's Clue's and Little Bill were both about having a baby. Really? Thanks Nick, Jr. Rub it in.
Thursday. My son figured out how to open the baby gate, climb up onto the dining room table and the table behind the couch, all in the same day. I found him standing on the table, swinging his hips to Blue's Clue's, while I was making his lunch. Why, God, why?
Friday. I told my husband about the dream I had the night before where we finally found our son's missing "M" magnet from his magnetic alphabet on the fridge. He said, "Man, we need to get you out of the house more." Then, he commented on all the dishes in the sink after two more straight 8-hr days of me watching our 1-yr old son and my 3-yr old nephew, so I had to whip out the smack down and hit him with the phone book. Or, maybe I just yelled a little and cried. Either way, what's the difference? I made my point.
I did enjoy wrapping presents this week and drinking hot chocolate with marshmallows AND whipped cream, and watching my son be in awe of the Christmas tree, and playing "hit-me-in-the-back-with-a-rubber-ball-and-I'll-pretend-to-be-surprised" with my nephew and son. And all those hours of Batman and talking about Mario and Luigi and Sonic (his three favorite video game heroes) with my nephew. The little things saved me from those big things. And isn't that how we all get through it sometimes? The little things carry us through.
Sunday, December 6, 2009
I am going to leave this post up all week, so you won't hear anything new out of me until next Sunday. I think it is important that this stay up all week long so ALL of my fantabulous readers have a chance to not only find out about an extraordinary first grader named Emma, but how YOU, yes you, can help her.
Emma's mother, Jaime, has two blogs: Revenge of the Book Nerds and The Strength of a Mother and Her Daughter . The second blog is all about her daughter Emma.
Emma was a healthy, normal baby until she suffered an act of child abuse called Shaken Baby Syndrome. She has since suffered through brain surgery; intensive physical, occupational, and speech therapy; a feeding tube; having to wear a helmet, a leg brace, an arm brace, and loss of vision due to brain damage. You can read more here and here about Emma's past, as well as see pictures of this phenomenal cutie pie!
Present day, she is five years older, has cerebral palsy on her left side, is just starting to walk, and is cognitively and speech delayed. She no longer has to wear a helmet because of her last surgery!
Because Emma can't walk well, she needs a way to get exercise. This is where YOU ALL come in! Yay! This will be Emma's Christmas gift.
There is a company that makes bicycles for special needs children. The bikes are fitted to each individual child and then made specifically for that child. These bikes are not covered by insurance and are extremely expensive. It would be amazing for Emma to have her own bicycle so she can play with the other kids outside in the spring and feel like all the other children. Remember how much you loved your first bicycle?
So, here, on Jaime's site, through Paypal, YOU can donate some money for this extraordinary child to receive the best Christmas gift ever! I also have the donation widget at the top of my blog. The money goes directly into an account at Freedom Concepts (the company who makes the bikes).
The bike will cost around $3,700, so every dollar donated will help so much! Please give what you can. If the donations go over the amount for the bike, then the leftover money will go into a fund for other children to receive these special bikes!
I know that sometimes people don't donate because they can't afford to donate a large amount. I have been guilty of this myself. But, even a $1 donation will bring Emma one step closer to this bicycle!
Thank you for taking the time to read this post and Jaime's posts! I don't know Jaime or Emma personally, but I can imagine that this is so exciting for Jaime and I hope that we can all help her buy the best and most beneficial Christmas gift for Emma ever!!
Friday, December 4, 2009
So, this is why yesterday, I was a freaking mess.
I didn't get enough sleep the night before, so that was my first problem.
My second problem was that I got a good dose of what it will be like when we have another kid because I watched my 3-yr old nephew, along with my one-yr old son, two days in a row for eight hours each time. I had to balance their naptimes, feed them at relatively the same time, find games to entertain them both, and control the fighting and whining and fake crying, oh the fake crying, which happened quite frequently.
The house was in complete shambles because who has time to clean when you have two kids needing ALL of your attention at ALL times of the day? Seriously. I'm asking who?
I thought I could atleast pick up the toys during their naps, but my son woke up crying both days and I had to rock him back to sleep. The crying woke up my nephew both days as well, so there I was with no TV break. I mean, cleaning break.
To make matters worse, my son hit me in the face with a board book (he got a little too excited about "jamma jamma jamma jamma PJ!"), so then I had, and still have, a sore nose bridge and two bloody scratches. My husband said it looks like he beats me and I'm totally going to use that to my advantage.
Anyhoo, when my husband got home from work he said it looked like a bomb exploded in our house, so I sat down at the dining room table and cried. He was all, "What's wrong?"
So I said, in between heaves, "The house looks like crap (sniff) and a toy bomb went off in the den (deep breath) and the dishes are out of control and my nose hurts (sniff) and I can't get it all done (heave) and I didn't make anything for dinner and Meeko (our dog) is like having a third kid in the house and he put four scratches in the office door and I can't take it and I will threaten your life if you say anything about the mess on the kitchen counter! Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!!!"
Then, I had a mimosa and a chocolate milkshake and I felt allllll better.
I should really go to bed.
Wednesday, December 2, 2009
Yes, he is inside of the hamper. Even his back legs. And he slept there happily ever after. Maybe he is smarter than we think. Nah, I don't think so.