It's been another hectic week here. Goober started throwing up on Monday and he's been sick all week. I don't understand how he gets sick so much more often than the other kids. Even as babies and toddlers, T and Princess were rarely sick. It seems like Goober gets sick at least once a month. I feel so bad for him.
He finally seems to be on the upswing, though. He managed to eat crackers and some chicken nuggets today, and now he's asleep. I hope he doesn't wake up crying every hour or so tonight like he has been. I'm barely functioning with my sleep so interrupted, and it doesn't help that I have awful insomnia and I'm lucky to get 4 hours of sleep a day.
My cat Little Fart had an accident this week. The boyfriend told me that he saw him outside and he'd been in a fight but wouldn't let him near him. When I went to get him, he looked gnarly. His nose was bloody and torn up, he had bite marks on his face and near his ear, and he was a mess.
I took him to the vet and found out things were worse than I imagined. They took him to the back to clean him off and examine him because he had an accident and peed all over himself in the carrier. The vet came in and asked me if I lived in a high rise building. I was confused, since I live in a 3 story cape cod, and the cat was definitely outside when he got hurt.
It turns out that not only did he get attacked by an animal, but it appeared that he fell out of a tree or off something else high up. His nose was bleeding because he split his palate and broke some bones in his face. He also had brain swelling and damage from the fall. I had to leave him there to get steroids and pain medicine.
The good news is that his x-rays showed all his internal organs are intact. I got to bring him home with antibiotics and pain meds. They can't do anything about the palate or the broken bones in his face-they should eventually heal on their own. He got some stitches in his lip, and I probably have to take him to get a fractured tooth pulled at some point.
I'm just happy to have him home and doing alright. I was so scared when I found out he fell so hard. I never realized he would try and climb a tree to escape from an attacking animal. It kills me that I will never know what the heck happened. The vet also told me his back claws were shredded from trying to escape. He's happy to be home, laying on the couch, and attempting to eat with his cone collar on (so he doesn't pull out his stitches).
Yeah, it was a crazy week. I made corned beef hash with poached eggs and brownies with irish cream swirls for St. Paddy's day today. The kids loved helping me make the brownies. The best part is that they turned out gooey and under baked-I love half raw brownies, but I'll give the kids the more cooked edges.
In the morning we're going up to the house in the Catskills for the first time this season. I'm excited because I love it up there. It is my favorite place to be. There's a huge parade in my town tomorrow and I can't be far enough away from it.
I always hated the parade growing up because my town is mainly Irish Catholics who get crazy drunk all day. My parent's house was one block away from the parade route, and I hated that no matter what I did, I couldn't escape it. It was a little better as I got older, and I even went and watched it from my old job (across the street from my parent's house) a few times.
Then I moved. My landlord and his son throw a party every year on the parade day. This wouldn't bother me so much if the parents who were there gave a crap about what their kids were doing. Last year was a disaster. Kids were opening the gates to my backyard and running around all over it. I asked them nicely to leave, since my daughter was getting upset with strangers on her turf. A couple minutes later, they would be back in my yard.
The kids weren't too young to know better either. They were 8-14 years old. Their parents were too busy getting drunk to do anything. It got even worse when the kids started terrorizing my outdoor cats and attempting to come in my house. I stood in my backyard for the entire afternoon, chasing kids away and getting frustrated. I don't know what the kids or the parents were thinking. I would never let my kids run wild and aggravate people like that.
So this year, T, Princess, and I will be gone and I won't have to deal with the urge to smack someone's poorly behaved child (or a poorly behaved drunk adult). The boyfriend is staying home with Goober (I don't want him to throw up in the car-it's a 2 1/2 hour drive each way), and hopefully, he'll scare the kids from the yard. I'm sure his BB rifle can help with that.
Showing posts with label Goober. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Goober. Show all posts
Sunday, March 18, 2012
Monday, February 20, 2012
Winter Vacation, Day 1- The Aquarium Debacle
T has off from school this week for winter vacation. My parents decided to go to Myrtle Beach on a golf trip all this week, and my sister is panhandling her way from NY to Wyoming to go to a wedding. I am here with all 3 kids, all week long, with basically no help. T is not happy there's no school-he cried all weekend that he didn't want to have vacation because he loves school. So I promised him we would have a great time and I would take him to a bunch of places.
He wanted to go the aquarium, the zoo, and to see the dinosaur bones at the Museum of Natural History. Since the weather is super nice for February, I thought none of this would be a problem. I didn't realize how hard it is to try to take 3 small children somewhere by myself. In the past, someone has always insisted on coming with me, or taking one of the kids so I only have 2 with me.
Not today. We had a little bit of a late start, so I decided to take them to the Maritime Aquarium in Norwalk, CT. It's about an hour drive. The trip started okay, until T wouldn't leave the touch tank. Princess was terrified of the crabs and other creatures, so I kept an eye on her while she ran around to the nearby tanks. Goober kept crying, so I finally got T to keep walking.
Then Goober threw up all over himself and my brand new Sit and Stand Stroller. And I didn't pack extra clothes in the diaper bag because I have never once needed them on a day trip in the 4 years I've had children. And I did the one time they weren't there. We were right next to the children's play area when this happened, so while I attempted to clean as much as I could with the wiped I'd packed, there were 3 or 4 small children that weren't mine watching me, pointing out that there was a big pile of vomit all over.
Once my wipes were done, the mess wasn't that much better. We had to head down in the elevator to get to the bathroom, where another child complained that my baby smelled. No shit, kid. I had to sit poor Goob in the sink to get him clean, and there was only cold water. He was not happy. I spent a good 45 minutes getting barf off everything. But his shirt and jacket were soaked.
We had to go to the gift shop to buy him a shirt. We proceeded to walk down a long hallway, where I received a bunch of nasty stares and comments about my shirtless baby in the middle of February. Did these people somehow think I brought him to the aquarium without a shirt? Seriously. Of course I had to buy 3 shirts, since it wasn't fair if only the baby got one. $37 later, T decided he needed to eat.
Not the snacks I brought, but cafe food. We took the elevator upstairs (and I learned the baby is terrified of elevators), and the kids decided they wanted french fries and onion rings. I also got a grilled cheese sandwich since the baby wanted to eat and I felt bad. I figured it was less greasy than anything else there, and it was bland too.
After lunch, we went back to see more stuff. Princess wanted to see the sharks, and T wanted to go back to the touch tank. They were fighting about it, so I took them somewhere else entirely. They had a boating exhibit where the kids could play on a fishing boat and pretend to fish and put on life jackets. T had a bunch of fun. Princess sat on the edge of the boat, glaring and yelling at kids who ran into her or were too loud. I let the baby run around for a little, but his shoes kept slipping on the concrete and he wasn't too happy after he fell on his face a few times.
T didn't want to leave, and threw himself on the middle of the floor, so no one could get around him. I told him we were going home since he wasn't behaving, and had to carry him out of the exhibit. He screamed all the way outside. Those looks and comments I got from old ladies were fun. I have a tip for them: if you don't want to deal with noisy children but want to go to the aquarium, don't go on President's Day when all the kids are out of school!
He finally told me he would behave, but we were already outside and at the parking garage. So I promised him that if he was good all the way home, we could stop at Toys R Us. Yeah, I bribe my kids and they're spoiled as hell.
I couldn't find the highway entrance on the way home, got stuck in crazy traffic, and spent another $30 on a Power Ranger and Littlest Pet Shop toy. Of course, when I got home, the boyfriend hadn't cleaned anything or taken out any trash. I was exhausted, and he told me he would watch the kids for a couple hours so I could rest. Instead, he went back to sleep after sleeping all day. And Goob threw up all over my bed.
Well, it was an eventful day. Tomorrow, I think we're going to go to the museum. That is, if the boyfriend comes and the baby's okay. Otherwise, I'll leave Goober with him (or take him if he's feeling better), and go to the Bronx Zoo. The kids love it, and we have a membership, so it's totally free, except for food and the gift shop.
He wanted to go the aquarium, the zoo, and to see the dinosaur bones at the Museum of Natural History. Since the weather is super nice for February, I thought none of this would be a problem. I didn't realize how hard it is to try to take 3 small children somewhere by myself. In the past, someone has always insisted on coming with me, or taking one of the kids so I only have 2 with me.
Not today. We had a little bit of a late start, so I decided to take them to the Maritime Aquarium in Norwalk, CT. It's about an hour drive. The trip started okay, until T wouldn't leave the touch tank. Princess was terrified of the crabs and other creatures, so I kept an eye on her while she ran around to the nearby tanks. Goober kept crying, so I finally got T to keep walking.
Then Goober threw up all over himself and my brand new Sit and Stand Stroller. And I didn't pack extra clothes in the diaper bag because I have never once needed them on a day trip in the 4 years I've had children. And I did the one time they weren't there. We were right next to the children's play area when this happened, so while I attempted to clean as much as I could with the wiped I'd packed, there were 3 or 4 small children that weren't mine watching me, pointing out that there was a big pile of vomit all over.
Once my wipes were done, the mess wasn't that much better. We had to head down in the elevator to get to the bathroom, where another child complained that my baby smelled. No shit, kid. I had to sit poor Goob in the sink to get him clean, and there was only cold water. He was not happy. I spent a good 45 minutes getting barf off everything. But his shirt and jacket were soaked.
We had to go to the gift shop to buy him a shirt. We proceeded to walk down a long hallway, where I received a bunch of nasty stares and comments about my shirtless baby in the middle of February. Did these people somehow think I brought him to the aquarium without a shirt? Seriously. Of course I had to buy 3 shirts, since it wasn't fair if only the baby got one. $37 later, T decided he needed to eat.
Not the snacks I brought, but cafe food. We took the elevator upstairs (and I learned the baby is terrified of elevators), and the kids decided they wanted french fries and onion rings. I also got a grilled cheese sandwich since the baby wanted to eat and I felt bad. I figured it was less greasy than anything else there, and it was bland too.
After lunch, we went back to see more stuff. Princess wanted to see the sharks, and T wanted to go back to the touch tank. They were fighting about it, so I took them somewhere else entirely. They had a boating exhibit where the kids could play on a fishing boat and pretend to fish and put on life jackets. T had a bunch of fun. Princess sat on the edge of the boat, glaring and yelling at kids who ran into her or were too loud. I let the baby run around for a little, but his shoes kept slipping on the concrete and he wasn't too happy after he fell on his face a few times.
T didn't want to leave, and threw himself on the middle of the floor, so no one could get around him. I told him we were going home since he wasn't behaving, and had to carry him out of the exhibit. He screamed all the way outside. Those looks and comments I got from old ladies were fun. I have a tip for them: if you don't want to deal with noisy children but want to go to the aquarium, don't go on President's Day when all the kids are out of school!
He finally told me he would behave, but we were already outside and at the parking garage. So I promised him that if he was good all the way home, we could stop at Toys R Us. Yeah, I bribe my kids and they're spoiled as hell.
I couldn't find the highway entrance on the way home, got stuck in crazy traffic, and spent another $30 on a Power Ranger and Littlest Pet Shop toy. Of course, when I got home, the boyfriend hadn't cleaned anything or taken out any trash. I was exhausted, and he told me he would watch the kids for a couple hours so I could rest. Instead, he went back to sleep after sleeping all day. And Goob threw up all over my bed.
Well, it was an eventful day. Tomorrow, I think we're going to go to the museum. That is, if the boyfriend comes and the baby's okay. Otherwise, I'll leave Goober with him (or take him if he's feeling better), and go to the Bronx Zoo. The kids love it, and we have a membership, so it's totally free, except for food and the gift shop.
Sunday, January 8, 2012
A Not So Great Start to the New Year
I've been promising myself that I would start blogging more regularly since the holidays are over, but that hasn't happened so far.
I've been dealing with a very cranky 15 month old who is getting 3 molars in at once. I swear, the kid's only sleeping for an hour or two at a time, and only after I dose him with Ibuprofen. He's been so uncomfortable, he's been chewing through binkies. My other kids never did that.
I also decided I was totally sick of taking the medication I've been on for the past few months because of the weight gain it caused, so I stopped taking it, which has really thrown my body for a loop (not a doctor approved stop but I don't really care).
In the past 3 months, even though my eating habits haven't changed much, I've gained 20-30 pounds, all in my stomach. I look 4 months pregnant, and it's embarrassing. Since I'm poor, my mother had to buy me a whole new wardrobe of shirts, because I only fit into 2 maternity shirts and nothing else. Jeans that were so big I could barely even wear them with a belt are now so tight they won't button. I've had enough.
Even though I've only been to the gym once since I got my membership, I'm motivated to go, and I'm signing up for a few personal training sessions so I'm less intimidated by the machines and don't hurt myself (I have a history of working out too hard in my college days, leading to a 3-finger sized tear in an abdominal muscle that led to 6 weeks of complete bedrest).
I've also had crazy insomnia since I stopped the medication. It's only the 3rd day, but I've had 45 minutes of sleep in the past 24 hours. I feel so odd and awake and giddy. It's really bizarre. I finally fell asleep but my daughter woke up crying from her nap, and after I moved her to her room (she was so tired she fell asleep on a chair in front of the TV), and realized I felt totally awake again and will not be able to fall asleep anytime soon.
I hope I can get back into the swing of things soon.
I've been dealing with a very cranky 15 month old who is getting 3 molars in at once. I swear, the kid's only sleeping for an hour or two at a time, and only after I dose him with Ibuprofen. He's been so uncomfortable, he's been chewing through binkies. My other kids never did that.
I also decided I was totally sick of taking the medication I've been on for the past few months because of the weight gain it caused, so I stopped taking it, which has really thrown my body for a loop (not a doctor approved stop but I don't really care).
In the past 3 months, even though my eating habits haven't changed much, I've gained 20-30 pounds, all in my stomach. I look 4 months pregnant, and it's embarrassing. Since I'm poor, my mother had to buy me a whole new wardrobe of shirts, because I only fit into 2 maternity shirts and nothing else. Jeans that were so big I could barely even wear them with a belt are now so tight they won't button. I've had enough.
Even though I've only been to the gym once since I got my membership, I'm motivated to go, and I'm signing up for a few personal training sessions so I'm less intimidated by the machines and don't hurt myself (I have a history of working out too hard in my college days, leading to a 3-finger sized tear in an abdominal muscle that led to 6 weeks of complete bedrest).
I've also had crazy insomnia since I stopped the medication. It's only the 3rd day, but I've had 45 minutes of sleep in the past 24 hours. I feel so odd and awake and giddy. It's really bizarre. I finally fell asleep but my daughter woke up crying from her nap, and after I moved her to her room (she was so tired she fell asleep on a chair in front of the TV), and realized I felt totally awake again and will not be able to fall asleep anytime soon.
I hope I can get back into the swing of things soon.
Wednesday, January 4, 2012
Wordless Wednesday- Happy Kids and a Crazy Cat on Christmas
 |
| Our tree |
 |
| Princess' Computer |
 |
| T and his Bat Cave (don't mind his pants-he hates staying dressed) |
 |
| Goober just ran around in circles all day |
 |
| Baby Cat (aka Little Fart) trying to attack a Fur Real Friends cat |
Saturday, December 31, 2011
Happy New Year!
I know I've still been absent, and I hope you're still reading my blog! I'm not going to do a year in review post since I haven't been blogging very long, but I will do a holiday recap.
My Christmas Eve family get-together was terrible. The boyfriend's father is in the hospital and not doing well, but he's always been awful to my boyfriend so I think it's karma kicking his ass. I did not do well dealing with the SIL from hell, and spent most of the night alone.
Christmas was great. We all went to my parent's house, and the kids got lots of toys they wanted. T finally got his Bat Cave that he begged us for every day since Thanksgiving. He also got a bunch of Transformers toys and a creepy robot panda with blue LED eyes that terrify me. Princess got another FurReal Friends cat to freak me out with (because one wasn't enough, and apparently 6 real cats aren't enough either), a couple dolls, and a tea set. They got a Leapster explorer to share, but she won't let anyone else touch it, so we'll be getting another one for their birthdays in a few weeks. Goober got a ride-on train, a monkey Happy Napper, and a noisy little steering wheel thing. He could care less about any of it.
Yesterday I took the kids to my mom's house again because my aunt and uncle, and 2 of my cousins were coming over. It was better than expected. My sullen, 16-year-old cousin actually talked to people, and my other cousin was acting pretty normal.
We're staying home for New Year's Eve tonight. I'm just going to make some potato skins, jalapeno poppers, and pigs in a blanket, drink some bitch beer, and watch the countdown on TV. I always seem to have better New Year's when I stay in. Going out is always a let down and a bad hangover. The kids are already bouncing off the walls, so I don't know if they're going to make it til midnight or not. Usually they would, but I think they found candy or something, which could lead to a mega sugar crash.
I hope everyone else has had a good holiday season, and have a safe and happy New Year! I'm going to try to take "me" time in 2012 to take care of myself by going to the gym. The membership was a not-so-subtle gift from my mother to let me know I'm getting fat. I haven't worked out since college, though, and it will be nice to get away from the kids for a couple hours a week.
Are you making any resolutions for the new year?
My Christmas Eve family get-together was terrible. The boyfriend's father is in the hospital and not doing well, but he's always been awful to my boyfriend so I think it's karma kicking his ass. I did not do well dealing with the SIL from hell, and spent most of the night alone.
Christmas was great. We all went to my parent's house, and the kids got lots of toys they wanted. T finally got his Bat Cave that he begged us for every day since Thanksgiving. He also got a bunch of Transformers toys and a creepy robot panda with blue LED eyes that terrify me. Princess got another FurReal Friends cat to freak me out with (because one wasn't enough, and apparently 6 real cats aren't enough either), a couple dolls, and a tea set. They got a Leapster explorer to share, but she won't let anyone else touch it, so we'll be getting another one for their birthdays in a few weeks. Goober got a ride-on train, a monkey Happy Napper, and a noisy little steering wheel thing. He could care less about any of it.
Yesterday I took the kids to my mom's house again because my aunt and uncle, and 2 of my cousins were coming over. It was better than expected. My sullen, 16-year-old cousin actually talked to people, and my other cousin was acting pretty normal.
We're staying home for New Year's Eve tonight. I'm just going to make some potato skins, jalapeno poppers, and pigs in a blanket, drink some bitch beer, and watch the countdown on TV. I always seem to have better New Year's when I stay in. Going out is always a let down and a bad hangover. The kids are already bouncing off the walls, so I don't know if they're going to make it til midnight or not. Usually they would, but I think they found candy or something, which could lead to a mega sugar crash.
I hope everyone else has had a good holiday season, and have a safe and happy New Year! I'm going to try to take "me" time in 2012 to take care of myself by going to the gym. The membership was a not-so-subtle gift from my mother to let me know I'm getting fat. I haven't worked out since college, though, and it will be nice to get away from the kids for a couple hours a week.
Are you making any resolutions for the new year?
Tuesday, December 6, 2011
Saturday, November 5, 2011
On Sick Kids and a Dead Battery
This has been a trying few weeks for me. First of all, Goober, my 1 year old has been really sick. He had a 104 degree fever for 5 days straight and it was terrifying. All I could do was think about T as a 1 year-old in the hospital with seizures from a fever like that. Every time Goober twitched in his sleep, I was sure it was going to turn into a convulsion. I did not leave his side until the fever finally broke. Thankfully, he came through unscathed, except for all the crying and sweating and chills and misery a fever brings.
Then there was the freak snowstorm. My house didn't have damage or lose power, but my mom's house, which is right down the street, was hit pretty bad. There were huge branches and tree limbs down all over her street, and a power line came down between her house and the neighbor's. They still haven't fixed all the power outages or taken care of all the huge downed trees blocking some streets.
The night before Halloween, T got sick. I thought he had food poisoning, because his dad wasn't feeling well either, and they shared a sandwich. I was wrong. We managed to go trick-or-treating for an hour before things got worse. Princess was sick. Then Goober was sick again, with another fever and whatever stomach virus everyone else had. Now the kids are all okay, but the MIL is really sick and the boyfriend is still a little under the weather.
Then, on Friday, when I tried to take T to school for the first time since Tuesday (my mom drove him the other days because I was taking care of the rest of my sick family), my car was dead. My dad has been telling me since last winter that I need to get a new car battery because I've been driving for 7 years with the same one. I didn't listen, and he was right (he usually is).
So I called my mom to come pick T up to take him to school again. I went with her and we stopped on the way back to get a new battery. I figured the boyfriend could change it for me, even though he still wasn't 100%.
I didn't know that a Hyundai battery is notoriously difficult to change. You have to unscrew half the damn bolts under the hood to get the battery loose. And then there is another bolt by the bottom of the battery that locks is down. It took over an hour to get most of the bolts loosened.
Then we stripped the socket wrench trying to open the battery lock (and by we, I mean me-he couldn't turn it because of corrosion so I tried and stripped it). I walked to my mom's house to get my dad's socket wrenches, but he took them with him on his golf outing (I don't know what he could possibly need a socket wrench for while golfing).
So I borrowed my mom's car to go in search of a new one, although the boyfriend found a ratchet and only needed an extension bar. The first store I went to was a bust. I asked someone to help me because I wasn't seeing what I needed, and the store associate told me he would be right with me. I waited, and waited, and waited. Until about 4 store associates were chatting it up with each other, not helping anyone. I left, extremely irritated.
Next I went to the automotive part of said store. They couldn't help me because I bought my battery somewhere else but they would help if I brought my car for them to change it. Yeah, my car is sitting in my driveway with a bunch of crap under the hood taken apart. Unless they could teleport it, the car wasn't leaving my driveway until it was running again. And I share my driveway with a landscaping company the landlord owns, so it's always a hectic place.
Then I went to AutoZone. It was like walking into heaven. I was helped immediately, and when the lady didn't know much about tools, she got someone else to help me who did. So Fernando, thank you for making it easy for me. You found my extender bar, and when I needed a longer one, found that and an adapter so it would work. Yes, I needed to buy a new ratchet in the process, but it was so worth it.
I am seriously buying everything car related from Auto Zone from now on. Once I got home, the new battery was in the car and it was running in 15 minutes. After we spent hours trying to get the old one out. So now I'm happy. But the boyfriend is exhausted since he wasn't feeling well to start off with.
Then there was the freak snowstorm. My house didn't have damage or lose power, but my mom's house, which is right down the street, was hit pretty bad. There were huge branches and tree limbs down all over her street, and a power line came down between her house and the neighbor's. They still haven't fixed all the power outages or taken care of all the huge downed trees blocking some streets.
The night before Halloween, T got sick. I thought he had food poisoning, because his dad wasn't feeling well either, and they shared a sandwich. I was wrong. We managed to go trick-or-treating for an hour before things got worse. Princess was sick. Then Goober was sick again, with another fever and whatever stomach virus everyone else had. Now the kids are all okay, but the MIL is really sick and the boyfriend is still a little under the weather.
Then, on Friday, when I tried to take T to school for the first time since Tuesday (my mom drove him the other days because I was taking care of the rest of my sick family), my car was dead. My dad has been telling me since last winter that I need to get a new car battery because I've been driving for 7 years with the same one. I didn't listen, and he was right (he usually is).
So I called my mom to come pick T up to take him to school again. I went with her and we stopped on the way back to get a new battery. I figured the boyfriend could change it for me, even though he still wasn't 100%.
I didn't know that a Hyundai battery is notoriously difficult to change. You have to unscrew half the damn bolts under the hood to get the battery loose. And then there is another bolt by the bottom of the battery that locks is down. It took over an hour to get most of the bolts loosened.
Then we stripped the socket wrench trying to open the battery lock (and by we, I mean me-he couldn't turn it because of corrosion so I tried and stripped it). I walked to my mom's house to get my dad's socket wrenches, but he took them with him on his golf outing (I don't know what he could possibly need a socket wrench for while golfing).
So I borrowed my mom's car to go in search of a new one, although the boyfriend found a ratchet and only needed an extension bar. The first store I went to was a bust. I asked someone to help me because I wasn't seeing what I needed, and the store associate told me he would be right with me. I waited, and waited, and waited. Until about 4 store associates were chatting it up with each other, not helping anyone. I left, extremely irritated.
Next I went to the automotive part of said store. They couldn't help me because I bought my battery somewhere else but they would help if I brought my car for them to change it. Yeah, my car is sitting in my driveway with a bunch of crap under the hood taken apart. Unless they could teleport it, the car wasn't leaving my driveway until it was running again. And I share my driveway with a landscaping company the landlord owns, so it's always a hectic place.
Then I went to AutoZone. It was like walking into heaven. I was helped immediately, and when the lady didn't know much about tools, she got someone else to help me who did. So Fernando, thank you for making it easy for me. You found my extender bar, and when I needed a longer one, found that and an adapter so it would work. Yes, I needed to buy a new ratchet in the process, but it was so worth it.
I am seriously buying everything car related from Auto Zone from now on. Once I got home, the new battery was in the car and it was running in 15 minutes. After we spent hours trying to get the old one out. So now I'm happy. But the boyfriend is exhausted since he wasn't feeling well to start off with.
Wednesday, November 2, 2011
Monday, October 10, 2011
Not Being Gentle
I don't understand why my kids can't be gentle. I swear I wasn't like that as a child. Well, except when I pushed my baby sister off a table when we went to adopt her (she was in an infant seat, and she was fine). I was gentle with my pets, and my sister.
But not my kids. I don't know where they get it from. Maybe it's because I have two boys? I just don't know. My older kids, T, and Princess, are so rough and tumble. I cringe when they play together because I'm sure they're going to hurt one another. Sometimes they do, but they're usually fine.
My poor Goober gets the worst of it since he's the smallest. He's old enough to want to play, yet small enough that he can't unless they're gentle with him. It doesn't happen. One day, I left the room for a minute, and when I came back, T had Goober in a headlock, and Princess was jumping over their heads. On the bed.
Then there's the kitten. I adopted two cats last week, a momma named Cheese, and her 6 week old kitten, who we named Cheddar. I was wary of getting a kitten, since my kids tend to not be gentle, but I was overcome by his cuteness and couldn't resist.
I'm regretting this decision. I adore the kitten. He's playful and Goober thinks he's the funniest thing in the word. Princess is terrified of him, because when she tried to play with him, he used his claws and she got a little scratch on her face. But I'm terrified T is going to kill him. He cannot seem to be gentle. He's fine with the other cats, who are big. Not the kitten.
I have to make sure every minute of the day that I know where T is, and where the kitten is, so they are never unsupervised together. I think T loves the kitten; he always asks me where baby cat is and wants to play with him. This has resulted in him flinging the kitten end over end across the room, flinging him off the bed onto the floor, and trying to throw him over the railing and down the stairs. The poor kitten.
No matter how many times I warn T to be gentle and give him time-outs when he doesn't listen, he can't be gentle. He is rough with everyone, including me. Princess is pretty much the same, although she can manage to be gentle for a little while when she is reminded. Maybe it's because she is a girl. And Goober is too little to know what I mean when I tell him to be gentle. Surprisingly, he's been the best with the kitten. They seem to get along.
I hope one day the message will sink in. If it doesn't, I'm sure my kids will be terrors in school. T just started preschool, and I will not be surprised when the call comes that he did something rough to someone else's kid. After all, he only lasted 2 half-days in daycare before they asked me not to bring him back. I guess that's what parenting is though; trying to instill values in your children and them not listening. Maybe the message will sink in one day.
But not my kids. I don't know where they get it from. Maybe it's because I have two boys? I just don't know. My older kids, T, and Princess, are so rough and tumble. I cringe when they play together because I'm sure they're going to hurt one another. Sometimes they do, but they're usually fine.
My poor Goober gets the worst of it since he's the smallest. He's old enough to want to play, yet small enough that he can't unless they're gentle with him. It doesn't happen. One day, I left the room for a minute, and when I came back, T had Goober in a headlock, and Princess was jumping over their heads. On the bed.
Then there's the kitten. I adopted two cats last week, a momma named Cheese, and her 6 week old kitten, who we named Cheddar. I was wary of getting a kitten, since my kids tend to not be gentle, but I was overcome by his cuteness and couldn't resist.
I'm regretting this decision. I adore the kitten. He's playful and Goober thinks he's the funniest thing in the word. Princess is terrified of him, because when she tried to play with him, he used his claws and she got a little scratch on her face. But I'm terrified T is going to kill him. He cannot seem to be gentle. He's fine with the other cats, who are big. Not the kitten.
I have to make sure every minute of the day that I know where T is, and where the kitten is, so they are never unsupervised together. I think T loves the kitten; he always asks me where baby cat is and wants to play with him. This has resulted in him flinging the kitten end over end across the room, flinging him off the bed onto the floor, and trying to throw him over the railing and down the stairs. The poor kitten.
No matter how many times I warn T to be gentle and give him time-outs when he doesn't listen, he can't be gentle. He is rough with everyone, including me. Princess is pretty much the same, although she can manage to be gentle for a little while when she is reminded. Maybe it's because she is a girl. And Goober is too little to know what I mean when I tell him to be gentle. Surprisingly, he's been the best with the kitten. They seem to get along.
I hope one day the message will sink in. If it doesn't, I'm sure my kids will be terrors in school. T just started preschool, and I will not be surprised when the call comes that he did something rough to someone else's kid. After all, he only lasted 2 half-days in daycare before they asked me not to bring him back. I guess that's what parenting is though; trying to instill values in your children and them not listening. Maybe the message will sink in one day.
Thursday, September 29, 2011
Labels
I'll admit it. I label my kids. I was also labeled as a kid. I don't know if it's a good thing or a bad thing. Maybe it's both. But it's really hard not to label my kids, and some of the other kids they are in contact with.
I was always the "smart kid". From an early age, I was at the top of the learning curve. By 1, I knew over 200 words. By 2, I memorized poems and could recite the Pledge of Allegiance. By 3, I was writing and illustrating my own stories. In school, teachers always expected a lot of me. And they got it from my work. But I was also the "shy kid" to teachers. I would never raise my hand in class. I never jumped into a conversation. I didn't do well in groups (unless I did all the work and everyone else left me alone).
It was also a lot of pressure. If I didn't do well on something, I felt really bad about it. I had a hard time in 10th grade math and it was the only time I ever failed anything. I remember being humiliated that I only got a 510 on my French SAT II.
Overall, I think it helped me achieve all I could in school. I held myself to a high standard because people looked at me as the "smart kid" and I didn't want to let them, or myself, down. And, well, I've always been shy and I always will be. I'm slightly more assertive now, but only when I need to be. It is what it is.
I do label my kids. T is complicated. He's kind of my "problem child," even though I feel really mean saying that. It's not his fault. He has the speech problems and it affects his behavior. He throws bunches of tantrums every day. He hits and kicks me when he's frustrated. He punched the baby in the kidneys tonight because I told him he had to either wait until my show was over to watch his DVD or go watch it downstairs. He's unpredictable-one second he will be lovey and cuddly, then all of a sudden something sets him off and he's screaming, throwing things, hurting people.
When he is behaving, he is the sweetest kid you'll ever meet. He's always asking questions about everything. He loves posing for the camera. He shares his toys with the other kids. Adults love him because he is adorable and warms up to everyone right away. He cuddles with me at night and, since school has started, he's been sleeping at the foot of my bed with his dragon Happy Napper. I adore him.
Princess is my "drama queen" and "Daddy's little girl". She already has Daddy wrapped around her little finger and can anything she wants from him, usually by throwing a tantrum. I ignore her. I'm sure she thinks I'm mean because I don't cater to her every whim like her dad. She will scream and cry and bang her head on the floor to command total attention from Daddy. Oh, and she's jealous too. She'll throw a tantrum if he pays attention to the other kids or me.
When she's just with me and Daddy's not around, she's a little angel. She is so well behaved. I can take her to the store or to run errands and she is perfect. She's the only one of my children who I can take to a restaurant. It's like she has two totally different personalities depending on who she's with.
The there's Goober. I really don't have a label for him, but I can tell you that I spoil him. He is my little baby and in my eyes, he can do no wrong. I probably spend more time with him than I do with the other kids. I love having him with me, and I hog him. His grandparents really don't spend time with him and he's never spent a night with them like the older kids. In fact, I've only spent one night not sleeping in a bed with him since he was born.
If I could predict it, I think Goober will either become the "spoiled brat" or the "Mama's boy." Both of those labels are okay with me. I love my kids. They are my life. I don't have friends I go out with, I don't have any hobbies. I'm home all day, every day with my babies. I love all the ins and outs of their personalities, even the not so good parts. So I don't mind labeling them. I'm sure their labels with change as they grow up. But one label won't change-I will always label all my kids my "baby," long after they're grown up.
This post was written in response to a prompt from Mama Kat's Writer's Workshop. I chose 5.) What’s your stance on ‘labeling’? Were you labeled as a child? Have you labeled your own children? How do you feel about this?
I was always the "smart kid". From an early age, I was at the top of the learning curve. By 1, I knew over 200 words. By 2, I memorized poems and could recite the Pledge of Allegiance. By 3, I was writing and illustrating my own stories. In school, teachers always expected a lot of me. And they got it from my work. But I was also the "shy kid" to teachers. I would never raise my hand in class. I never jumped into a conversation. I didn't do well in groups (unless I did all the work and everyone else left me alone).
It was also a lot of pressure. If I didn't do well on something, I felt really bad about it. I had a hard time in 10th grade math and it was the only time I ever failed anything. I remember being humiliated that I only got a 510 on my French SAT II.
Overall, I think it helped me achieve all I could in school. I held myself to a high standard because people looked at me as the "smart kid" and I didn't want to let them, or myself, down. And, well, I've always been shy and I always will be. I'm slightly more assertive now, but only when I need to be. It is what it is.
I do label my kids. T is complicated. He's kind of my "problem child," even though I feel really mean saying that. It's not his fault. He has the speech problems and it affects his behavior. He throws bunches of tantrums every day. He hits and kicks me when he's frustrated. He punched the baby in the kidneys tonight because I told him he had to either wait until my show was over to watch his DVD or go watch it downstairs. He's unpredictable-one second he will be lovey and cuddly, then all of a sudden something sets him off and he's screaming, throwing things, hurting people.
When he is behaving, he is the sweetest kid you'll ever meet. He's always asking questions about everything. He loves posing for the camera. He shares his toys with the other kids. Adults love him because he is adorable and warms up to everyone right away. He cuddles with me at night and, since school has started, he's been sleeping at the foot of my bed with his dragon Happy Napper. I adore him.
Princess is my "drama queen" and "Daddy's little girl". She already has Daddy wrapped around her little finger and can anything she wants from him, usually by throwing a tantrum. I ignore her. I'm sure she thinks I'm mean because I don't cater to her every whim like her dad. She will scream and cry and bang her head on the floor to command total attention from Daddy. Oh, and she's jealous too. She'll throw a tantrum if he pays attention to the other kids or me.
When she's just with me and Daddy's not around, she's a little angel. She is so well behaved. I can take her to the store or to run errands and she is perfect. She's the only one of my children who I can take to a restaurant. It's like she has two totally different personalities depending on who she's with.
The there's Goober. I really don't have a label for him, but I can tell you that I spoil him. He is my little baby and in my eyes, he can do no wrong. I probably spend more time with him than I do with the other kids. I love having him with me, and I hog him. His grandparents really don't spend time with him and he's never spent a night with them like the older kids. In fact, I've only spent one night not sleeping in a bed with him since he was born.
If I could predict it, I think Goober will either become the "spoiled brat" or the "Mama's boy." Both of those labels are okay with me. I love my kids. They are my life. I don't have friends I go out with, I don't have any hobbies. I'm home all day, every day with my babies. I love all the ins and outs of their personalities, even the not so good parts. So I don't mind labeling them. I'm sure their labels with change as they grow up. But one label won't change-I will always label all my kids my "baby," long after they're grown up.
This post was written in response to a prompt from Mama Kat's Writer's Workshop. I chose 5.) What’s your stance on ‘labeling’? Were you labeled as a child? Have you labeled your own children? How do you feel about this?
Wednesday, September 28, 2011
Wednesday, September 7, 2011
Friday, September 2, 2011
Seasons of Change- Surving Post-Partum Depression- Red Writing Hood
There have been many seasons of change in my life-the transition from popular kid to outcast, loner who no one spoke with to college student with eclectic friends, miserable and engaged to single and pregnant, drug addict to sober mother. But today, I'm going to tell you my story of change from post-partum depression sufferer to functioning and loving mother.
It's hard for me to describe how post-partum depression felt. I'm sure those of you who experienced it can relate, but if you haven't, let me just tell you how awful it is. I had no bond with T or Princess when they were born. It was worse with T. I felt nothing. I didn't really want to even hold him- it was like someone handed me an alien and was trying, unsuccessfully, to convince me that it was mine.
I went through all the motions, feeding him and cooing over him, but I knew it wasn't supposed to be like this. And it kept getting worse. After a few weeks, I started to have awful thoughts running through my head. I couldn't handle it when he cried. I would cry and scream at him.
The crazy thoughts got even worse, and one day, I really wanted to throw him out the window. That is the moment I sought help. I felt so horrible that I even thought about hurting my baby. It was awful, and I knew it wasn't really me thinking those thoughts. I went on medication, and things got better. I felt like I finally loved T, and the thoughts went away.
Then I found out I was pregnant with Princess, and I had to stop the medication. I had been such a mess that I didn't even realize I was pregnant until I was showing. I had to have an ultrasound to determine how far along I was (20 weeks-who the heck doesn't realize they're 20 weeks pregnant?). I was hormonal and had my ups and downs, but things seemed pretty much okay until she was born, exactly one year and two days after T. This time, I started medication at the hospital and was evaluated before I left. I thought I was fine, and the psychiatrist agreed. Everything changed when I got home.
I wanted to spend all my time with T. I didn't want to look at or hold Princess. The boyfriend had to quit his job because I couldn't take care of her. We moved in with my parents, and for a good 6 months, they completely supported us. I went back to my part-time job less than 2 weeks after she was born. I couldn't wait to get away from her, but I missed T. It was a strange and awful feeling.
When Princess was a few months old, I started having the same crazy thoughts I had when T was a baby. It was so upsetting. I found a doctor and got my medication changed, and thankfully, it worked. I finally loved both my kids. I found a balance between work and being a mommy, and I enjoyed being with my kids and watching them grow up.
Things were really good until I found out I was pregnant again. Princess was 9 months old. I was excited to be pregnant, but physically, I felt horrible. I went to the doctor and was given the awful news that I was miscarrying. It totally spun me for a loop. I felt like I fell right back to the bottom of the hole I was in right after my kids were born.
My anxiety and panic attacks that I thought I conquered came back with a vengence. It started affecting my job. I felt like nothing was going to get better. Around Christmas, I was having horrible back pain and ended up in the Emergency Room.
I found out I was pregnant again. I was in shock, and in so much pain that I cried for 2 hours straight. I didn't know whether to be happy or sad. When I got an ultrasound, the OB/GYN on call told me that there was a lot of bleeding and an 80% chance I would lose this pregnancy as well. I assumed the worst would happen and moped around my house for a couple weeks. I wasn't functioning at work and kept getting in trouble for forgetting to do things that, after almost 3 years, should have been automatic.
I made it past the 12 week mark. Then I made it past the 16 week mark. My doctors told me at this point that it looked like a normal pregnancy and I was out of the woods. I was so elated at that moment. It was when everything changed, and life was on an upswing.
I couldn't get enough of my kids. I wanted to play with them and go places with them and do as much as I could. I loved the baby that was growing inside of me. Life was finally great. Even our apartment flooding when I was 9 months pregnant couldn't bring me down. I had to temporarily move into my parents with the kids while the boyfriend packed our stuff and tried to clean (I attempted to go back to the apartment one day, and the mold smell assaulted me before I even took 2 steps into the living room. I ran out of that place, and never went back).
Since the landlords I wouldn't even look at the damage, I looked around for a new place, and found a great 4 bedroom house for rent down the street from my parents. The landlord liked me so much that even though he already had someone coming that day to sign the lease, he told me that we could move in. I left my job to get the house ready since the baby was due in a week. Thankfully, Goober was 10 days late, so I had enough time to paint (it was low VOC, and I wore a mask, even though I HATE them) and decorate the upstairs (curtains are decoration, right?).
Since the rent was so high, we split the rent with the boyfriend's mom. She lives downstairs, and we have the upper 2 floors. We share a kitchen downstairs. So far, it has worked out pretty well.
I went into labor with Goober and stayed home until the last possible minute. At the hospital, he came so fast after my water broke that they didn't even have time to prepare the stirrups and get all the equipment ready before he was crowning. I adored him from the second I had him. It was like a mini vacation in the hospital, and he and I were the only 2 guests.
I stayed home with the kids for 6 weeks. Goober was never out of my sight. He will be a year old in 2 weeks and I've only spent one night away from him (there was a bad storm when I was with the other 2 kids in the Catskills, and I am terrified to drive in the rain).
Work didn't work out. I wanted to be home with the baby. I couldn't focus, and my boss' illness was making him more and more volatile. After I forgot one little thing and got chewed out for it, I knew I wasn't going back. I called out the next day (it was a Friday and would have only been a 4 hour workday), and my boss had my coworker call me to fire me. I was mad I got fired, but it was also awesome.
I get to stay home with my kids. I see them all day, every day. I love being with them all the time. Even when the older 2 get on my nerves (I never knew how willful toddlers could be!). I wish I could have enjoyed them as babies like I enjoyed Goober. Part of me feels I'm hogging Goober from his dad and grandparents because I want to make up for the lack of attention I gave the older kids as babies. But now I want to make the most out of every minute with them while they're still little.
Surviving post-partum depression is one of my biggest accomplishments. I transitioned from feeling like a horrible person to being a great mom who, although not perfect, does the best I can for my kids. I love my life and feel like all the pieces are finally falling into place.
This post was written in response to this week's Red Writing Hood prompt from Write on Edge.
This week, with Labor Day and the end of summer rapidly approaching, we asked you to write about a season of change for your character or you. It can be literal or metaphorical.
It's hard for me to describe how post-partum depression felt. I'm sure those of you who experienced it can relate, but if you haven't, let me just tell you how awful it is. I had no bond with T or Princess when they were born. It was worse with T. I felt nothing. I didn't really want to even hold him- it was like someone handed me an alien and was trying, unsuccessfully, to convince me that it was mine.
I went through all the motions, feeding him and cooing over him, but I knew it wasn't supposed to be like this. And it kept getting worse. After a few weeks, I started to have awful thoughts running through my head. I couldn't handle it when he cried. I would cry and scream at him.
The crazy thoughts got even worse, and one day, I really wanted to throw him out the window. That is the moment I sought help. I felt so horrible that I even thought about hurting my baby. It was awful, and I knew it wasn't really me thinking those thoughts. I went on medication, and things got better. I felt like I finally loved T, and the thoughts went away.
Then I found out I was pregnant with Princess, and I had to stop the medication. I had been such a mess that I didn't even realize I was pregnant until I was showing. I had to have an ultrasound to determine how far along I was (20 weeks-who the heck doesn't realize they're 20 weeks pregnant?). I was hormonal and had my ups and downs, but things seemed pretty much okay until she was born, exactly one year and two days after T. This time, I started medication at the hospital and was evaluated before I left. I thought I was fine, and the psychiatrist agreed. Everything changed when I got home.
I wanted to spend all my time with T. I didn't want to look at or hold Princess. The boyfriend had to quit his job because I couldn't take care of her. We moved in with my parents, and for a good 6 months, they completely supported us. I went back to my part-time job less than 2 weeks after she was born. I couldn't wait to get away from her, but I missed T. It was a strange and awful feeling.
When Princess was a few months old, I started having the same crazy thoughts I had when T was a baby. It was so upsetting. I found a doctor and got my medication changed, and thankfully, it worked. I finally loved both my kids. I found a balance between work and being a mommy, and I enjoyed being with my kids and watching them grow up.
Things were really good until I found out I was pregnant again. Princess was 9 months old. I was excited to be pregnant, but physically, I felt horrible. I went to the doctor and was given the awful news that I was miscarrying. It totally spun me for a loop. I felt like I fell right back to the bottom of the hole I was in right after my kids were born.
My anxiety and panic attacks that I thought I conquered came back with a vengence. It started affecting my job. I felt like nothing was going to get better. Around Christmas, I was having horrible back pain and ended up in the Emergency Room.
I found out I was pregnant again. I was in shock, and in so much pain that I cried for 2 hours straight. I didn't know whether to be happy or sad. When I got an ultrasound, the OB/GYN on call told me that there was a lot of bleeding and an 80% chance I would lose this pregnancy as well. I assumed the worst would happen and moped around my house for a couple weeks. I wasn't functioning at work and kept getting in trouble for forgetting to do things that, after almost 3 years, should have been automatic.
I made it past the 12 week mark. Then I made it past the 16 week mark. My doctors told me at this point that it looked like a normal pregnancy and I was out of the woods. I was so elated at that moment. It was when everything changed, and life was on an upswing.
I couldn't get enough of my kids. I wanted to play with them and go places with them and do as much as I could. I loved the baby that was growing inside of me. Life was finally great. Even our apartment flooding when I was 9 months pregnant couldn't bring me down. I had to temporarily move into my parents with the kids while the boyfriend packed our stuff and tried to clean (I attempted to go back to the apartment one day, and the mold smell assaulted me before I even took 2 steps into the living room. I ran out of that place, and never went back).
Since the landlords I wouldn't even look at the damage, I looked around for a new place, and found a great 4 bedroom house for rent down the street from my parents. The landlord liked me so much that even though he already had someone coming that day to sign the lease, he told me that we could move in. I left my job to get the house ready since the baby was due in a week. Thankfully, Goober was 10 days late, so I had enough time to paint (it was low VOC, and I wore a mask, even though I HATE them) and decorate the upstairs (curtains are decoration, right?).
Since the rent was so high, we split the rent with the boyfriend's mom. She lives downstairs, and we have the upper 2 floors. We share a kitchen downstairs. So far, it has worked out pretty well.
I went into labor with Goober and stayed home until the last possible minute. At the hospital, he came so fast after my water broke that they didn't even have time to prepare the stirrups and get all the equipment ready before he was crowning. I adored him from the second I had him. It was like a mini vacation in the hospital, and he and I were the only 2 guests.
I stayed home with the kids for 6 weeks. Goober was never out of my sight. He will be a year old in 2 weeks and I've only spent one night away from him (there was a bad storm when I was with the other 2 kids in the Catskills, and I am terrified to drive in the rain).
Work didn't work out. I wanted to be home with the baby. I couldn't focus, and my boss' illness was making him more and more volatile. After I forgot one little thing and got chewed out for it, I knew I wasn't going back. I called out the next day (it was a Friday and would have only been a 4 hour workday), and my boss had my coworker call me to fire me. I was mad I got fired, but it was also awesome.
I get to stay home with my kids. I see them all day, every day. I love being with them all the time. Even when the older 2 get on my nerves (I never knew how willful toddlers could be!). I wish I could have enjoyed them as babies like I enjoyed Goober. Part of me feels I'm hogging Goober from his dad and grandparents because I want to make up for the lack of attention I gave the older kids as babies. But now I want to make the most out of every minute with them while they're still little.
Surviving post-partum depression is one of my biggest accomplishments. I transitioned from feeling like a horrible person to being a great mom who, although not perfect, does the best I can for my kids. I love my life and feel like all the pieces are finally falling into place.
This post was written in response to this week's Red Writing Hood prompt from Write on Edge.
This week, with Labor Day and the end of summer rapidly approaching, we asked you to write about a season of change for your character or you. It can be literal or metaphorical.
Friday, August 26, 2011
Mom Fail- Having a Tantrum
My kids were all having a really bad day. Goober was teething and wouldn't stop crying because he was in pain.
It also didn't help that Princess gave him a piece of her raisin bread, which caused his eczema to
flare up. This meant that every time he rubbed his cheeks, they started bleeding (Goober has reactions like this to all types of fruit, among other things, and his poor cheeks get raw). It is impossible to stop an 11 month-old from touching his face. I know; I tried.
Princess needed a nap but refused to go to her room until Daddy came home. The littlest things were setting her off. Goober was close to her (even though he wasn't even touching her or poking her or anything). She wanted another episode of Spongebob, but it was T's turn to pick a show and he wanted Wow Wow Wubbzy. Every few minutes, she threw herself on the floor, kicking and screaming and bashing her head.
T wouldn't respect anyone's personal space. He was poking Princess, pushing Goober, and sticking his feet in my face. I have a thing with feet. I hate them. They gross me out. No one is allowed to touch my feet (goodbye, pedicures), and I don't like feet in my face. Even if they're clean. I have a lot of anxiety with feet.
I cajoled and bribed and threatened, but they wouldn't stop. I don't blame Goober for any of this. He legitimately had a right to be crying, but it was just adding to everything else in a bad way. I couldn't take it anymore.
I snapped. I was screaming at the top of my lungs. I don't even think real words were coming out of my mouth. I grabbed a pillow and repeatedly his the wall with it. I stomped my feet. I threw a temper tantrum.
The kids were shocked. Goober looked horrified as he chewed the comforter. Princess stopped and stared at me. T came over and put his finger to his lips and tried to shush me. My 3 1/2 year-old was being more of an adult than I was.
I calmed down. I sat on the bed. I apologized to my kids. T and Princess calmly went into their room, shut the door, and took naps. I gave Goober some Tylenol and a bottle, and he went to sleep. Finally I had peace and quiet.
This post was inspired by a prompt from Mama Kat's Writer's Workshop. I chose a mom fail moment.
It also didn't help that Princess gave him a piece of her raisin bread, which caused his eczema to
flare up. This meant that every time he rubbed his cheeks, they started bleeding (Goober has reactions like this to all types of fruit, among other things, and his poor cheeks get raw). It is impossible to stop an 11 month-old from touching his face. I know; I tried.
Princess needed a nap but refused to go to her room until Daddy came home. The littlest things were setting her off. Goober was close to her (even though he wasn't even touching her or poking her or anything). She wanted another episode of Spongebob, but it was T's turn to pick a show and he wanted Wow Wow Wubbzy. Every few minutes, she threw herself on the floor, kicking and screaming and bashing her head.
T wouldn't respect anyone's personal space. He was poking Princess, pushing Goober, and sticking his feet in my face. I have a thing with feet. I hate them. They gross me out. No one is allowed to touch my feet (goodbye, pedicures), and I don't like feet in my face. Even if they're clean. I have a lot of anxiety with feet.
I cajoled and bribed and threatened, but they wouldn't stop. I don't blame Goober for any of this. He legitimately had a right to be crying, but it was just adding to everything else in a bad way. I couldn't take it anymore.
I snapped. I was screaming at the top of my lungs. I don't even think real words were coming out of my mouth. I grabbed a pillow and repeatedly his the wall with it. I stomped my feet. I threw a temper tantrum.
The kids were shocked. Goober looked horrified as he chewed the comforter. Princess stopped and stared at me. T came over and put his finger to his lips and tried to shush me. My 3 1/2 year-old was being more of an adult than I was.
I calmed down. I sat on the bed. I apologized to my kids. T and Princess calmly went into their room, shut the door, and took naps. I gave Goober some Tylenol and a bottle, and he went to sleep. Finally I had peace and quiet.
This post was inspired by a prompt from Mama Kat's Writer's Workshop. I chose a mom fail moment.
Thursday, August 25, 2011
Go Go Power Rangers!
My kids love Power Rangers. I don't get the appeal. The new Power Rangers (Samurai) is just as cheesy as the Mighty Morphin Power Rangers that was on TV when I was in elementary school. In fact, I think Megazord may actually be the same.
I know you're all going to think I'm nuts when I tell you that I actually watch all the episodes. I think they're ridiculous, but I can't look away. This is the reason I can tell you that Pink Ranger Mia is a bad cook, Green Ranger Mike has some issues with immaturity, and Decker is hot. Really, really hot.
However, the drawback of watching Power Rangers all day, every day, is that T thinks he is one. He is convinced he is a ninja Power Ranger. He is the blue one, or as he would say, "Go Go Ah Ah Boo!" (this is how it sounds when he says 'go go power rangers blue!'). And he does this while pumping his fist in the air. I, of course, am the Pink Ranger.
T has a bad habit of sneaking up and doing ninja moves on everyone, even poor Goober. I walked into my room the other day after leaving for 30 seconds to feed my dumber-than-a-brick cat Misty. I saw T on his back with Goober in a headlock on top of him. The baby's eyes were as big as saucers. He was terrified. I saved him from T's grasp.
"Yah!" yelled T, karate chopping me in the neck. I was still holding Goober, who started to cry. So I attempted to get T to calm down. He proceeded to scream and kick me for real. I had to run away.
The other big problem with Power Rangers is the swords. Apparently, the boyfriend's mom never got the memo that toddlers and swords, even plastic ones, do not go together. They were an Easter gift, and a big hit (literally).
Princess and T play with the swords all the time, making appropriate Power Ranger/ninja/karate noises to go along with it. They are not gentle either. One sword is know held together with packing tape, and on more than one occasion, Princess has gotten hurt.
There have been other casualties too. Like a full mug of coffee that ended up all over the carpet. And the broken plate. And a chink out of the wood dresser (how does a plastic sword even do that?).
The worst was when T decided I was a Nyloc (the bad guys in Power Rangers Samurai) when I was sitting in bed on my laptop one day. Usually I will play along and pretend to fall over while screaming "noooooooooo" in slow motion. But he hit me hard in my side. I screamed for real and doubled over. He kicked me in the back. I know he was playing, but he kicked me hard.
My lower back is my Achilles heel. I am thorougly convinced it is from the anesthesiologist messed up my epidural twice when I was in labor with T (which is why I decided to birth Princess and Goober with no drugs). Now I have chronic pain that nothing can fix. I've tried physical therapy, trigger point injections, cortisone injections, painkillers, etc. Over the past 3 1/2 years, unbearable back pain has landed me in the ER over 20 times.
After the kick, I couldn't move. I felt like I couldn't breathe. I'm not sure how much time passed before my sobbing woke up the boyfriend in the other room and he came to help me. I couldn't get myself out of the fetal position without his help. I spent the next week in bed. I know he didn't mean to hurt me, but I was pretty annoyed with T for a few days.
So now I'm seriously considering karate lessons for T. I swear he already knows how to do some actual punches (from what I can remember of my short karate career in college). He will definitely love it. And I think it will be good for him. Then he can be a Power Ranger for real.
I know you're all going to think I'm nuts when I tell you that I actually watch all the episodes. I think they're ridiculous, but I can't look away. This is the reason I can tell you that Pink Ranger Mia is a bad cook, Green Ranger Mike has some issues with immaturity, and Decker is hot. Really, really hot.
 |
| Decker, played by Rick Medina |
However, the drawback of watching Power Rangers all day, every day, is that T thinks he is one. He is convinced he is a ninja Power Ranger. He is the blue one, or as he would say, "Go Go Ah Ah Boo!" (this is how it sounds when he says 'go go power rangers blue!'). And he does this while pumping his fist in the air. I, of course, am the Pink Ranger.
T has a bad habit of sneaking up and doing ninja moves on everyone, even poor Goober. I walked into my room the other day after leaving for 30 seconds to feed my dumber-than-a-brick cat Misty. I saw T on his back with Goober in a headlock on top of him. The baby's eyes were as big as saucers. He was terrified. I saved him from T's grasp.
"Yah!" yelled T, karate chopping me in the neck. I was still holding Goober, who started to cry. So I attempted to get T to calm down. He proceeded to scream and kick me for real. I had to run away.
 |
| This is the Power Ranger fist pump |
The other big problem with Power Rangers is the swords. Apparently, the boyfriend's mom never got the memo that toddlers and swords, even plastic ones, do not go together. They were an Easter gift, and a big hit (literally).
 |
| The kids, mid-fight |
Princess and T play with the swords all the time, making appropriate Power Ranger/ninja/karate noises to go along with it. They are not gentle either. One sword is know held together with packing tape, and on more than one occasion, Princess has gotten hurt.
 |
| I don't remember if this was a scream of joy or pain. |
There have been other casualties too. Like a full mug of coffee that ended up all over the carpet. And the broken plate. And a chink out of the wood dresser (how does a plastic sword even do that?).
The worst was when T decided I was a Nyloc (the bad guys in Power Rangers Samurai) when I was sitting in bed on my laptop one day. Usually I will play along and pretend to fall over while screaming "noooooooooo" in slow motion. But he hit me hard in my side. I screamed for real and doubled over. He kicked me in the back. I know he was playing, but he kicked me hard.
My lower back is my Achilles heel. I am thorougly convinced it is from the anesthesiologist messed up my epidural twice when I was in labor with T (which is why I decided to birth Princess and Goober with no drugs). Now I have chronic pain that nothing can fix. I've tried physical therapy, trigger point injections, cortisone injections, painkillers, etc. Over the past 3 1/2 years, unbearable back pain has landed me in the ER over 20 times.
After the kick, I couldn't move. I felt like I couldn't breathe. I'm not sure how much time passed before my sobbing woke up the boyfriend in the other room and he came to help me. I couldn't get myself out of the fetal position without his help. I spent the next week in bed. I know he didn't mean to hurt me, but I was pretty annoyed with T for a few days.
So now I'm seriously considering karate lessons for T. I swear he already knows how to do some actual punches (from what I can remember of my short karate career in college). He will definitely love it. And I think it will be good for him. Then he can be a Power Ranger for real.
Wednesday, August 24, 2011
Wordless Wednesday-Fair Day Bliss
These were all taken yesterday at the Dutchess County Fair in Rhinebeck, NY.
Sunday, August 21, 2011
Baby Love!
My kids are growing up too fast. T is starting preschool in a few weeks. We fought and finally won at getting him in a therapeutic preschool to address his speech, behavioral, and social issues. I can't believe my baby is leaving me for school so soon. Princess is smack in the middle of the terrible 2's, and she doesn't let me forget it for a minute. And Goober, well, he will turn 1 in less than a month. Where did my little babies go?
I love everything about babies. I loved being pregnant, and I love how newborns fit into the crook of your arm and will peacefully stay there all day. I love how babies smell, even when they poop (yeah, I know that's kind of gross, but it's true). I love watching them drift off to sleep as I feed them a bottle.
I also know I'm looking back on my kids being babies with rose-colored glasses. I suffered from postpartum depression with T and Princess. Thankfully, I was okay after I had Goober. If you've never had PPD, let me just tell you that it is awful. I felt like a terrible mother. I had horrifying thoughts constantly running through my head. For weeks, I didn't have a bond with my children-they were like aliens I was forced to take care of. I was mean to the boyfriend when he tried to point out that I wasn't acting right. Even though deep down I needed help, I did not want to accept that anything was wrong with me because I wanted to be the perfect mother. Now I realize that no one is perfect, and once I finally sought help and bonded with my babies, everything was incredible.
Goober was kind of my make up baby. I bonded with him immediately when he was born. It was pure bliss. I adore all 3 of my kids, but the bond I felt towards Goober when he was born was absolutely incredible. I have doted on him every minute since his birth. He is with me 24/7. I hog him from everyone, including his dad. He has slept in the bed next to me every night since he was born, even though this got me in trouble at the hospital (the nurses are so anti co-sleeping, it is nuts). I am terrified of him growing up. I cried when he started walking because it meant my baby wasn't really a baby anymore.
I've actually thought about having another baby since I love them so much, even though I know this is totally irrational. I can barely handle my kids now, and can't imagine how difficult it would be with another baby in the house. Plus, I can't afford it-all 3 of my kids are still in diapers, and between that and the cost of formula, let's just say it's expensive. Not to mention that the boyfriend would kill me if I got pregnant again. I'm pretty sure he is done for good with having babies.
That won't stop me from dreaming about another baby, though. But until that time comes, I will squeeze every last drop of baby enjoyment from Goober before he really grows up into a toddler.
 |
| T as a baby-January 2008 |
I love everything about babies. I loved being pregnant, and I love how newborns fit into the crook of your arm and will peacefully stay there all day. I love how babies smell, even when they poop (yeah, I know that's kind of gross, but it's true). I love watching them drift off to sleep as I feed them a bottle.
I also know I'm looking back on my kids being babies with rose-colored glasses. I suffered from postpartum depression with T and Princess. Thankfully, I was okay after I had Goober. If you've never had PPD, let me just tell you that it is awful. I felt like a terrible mother. I had horrifying thoughts constantly running through my head. For weeks, I didn't have a bond with my children-they were like aliens I was forced to take care of. I was mean to the boyfriend when he tried to point out that I wasn't acting right. Even though deep down I needed help, I did not want to accept that anything was wrong with me because I wanted to be the perfect mother. Now I realize that no one is perfect, and once I finally sought help and bonded with my babies, everything was incredible.
 |
| Princess as a baby-January 2009 |
 | |||
| Goober and me-September 2010 |
That won't stop me from dreaming about another baby, though. But until that time comes, I will squeeze every last drop of baby enjoyment from Goober before he really grows up into a toddler.
Saturday, August 20, 2011
I've lost my mind and want it back.
This is my first time blogging, so please be nice to me. I just discovered Twitter and some wonderful mommies who blog, and it inspired me to take some time for myself to write. I haven't written much of anything since I had kids, which is funny, because I majored in writing in college-screenwriting to be exact, although looking back, this seems to have been a ridiculous choice.
I am now a stay at home mommy, and before that, I worked in a medical/dental office. I got fired after 4 years for calling out of work one day because my boss was going crazy (seriously, he had awful medical problems and his medication made him like Dr. Jeckyll and Mr. Hyde) and I needed time to think about whether or not to quit.
Anyway, that is the past, and I've been home with my babies for 9 months and it's awesome. But it's also really hard for me to have gone from working so much to being around my crazy kids all day. My oldest son, T, is 3 1/2, has a severe speech delay, and will be starting preschool in September. My daughter, Princess, is 2 1/2, has Daddy wrapped around her little finger, and throws tantrums whenever she doesn't get her way. Goober is the best baby in the world. He is 11 months old, and the love of my life.
My boyfriend and baby daddy is a computer programmer who loves making mods for Counterstrike and is obsessed with World of Warcraft. This drives me nuts. I like WoW also, thanks to him, but I play for an hour or two a couple times a week when the kids are asleep and I need to unwind. He plays for hours, all night, every day. And then he sleeps all day. Unfortunately, Princess has adapted to his schedule, being such a Daddy's girl and all. Fortunately, the boyfriend will soon be starting a new job, which is actually his old job, working as a painter and powerwasher, 9 hours a day, 6 days a week. I am looking forward to this and it can't start soon enough.
Oh, and did I mention we share a house with his mother? Rent is expensive, and we are poor, so we split the rent and the house. She has the downstairs and we have the upstairs. We share a kitchen downstairs. She works from home selling antiques, but I really don't see her much. It stinks we can't afford to live alone, but sharing a house with her is better than cramming the 5 of us into a studio or one bedroom apartment (which is really all that would be in our price range unless we moved).
All of these things together make me feel like I'm losing my mind. I love my kids, but they are a handful and a half. I'm still not used to being home every day and only leaving the house to go to the store or the park or the zoo. I don't even change out of my pajamas some days. I no longer interact with people my age-my days are spent watching cartoons and playing with a million toys with my kids. But it's great, and I wouldn't trade it for the world.
I am now a stay at home mommy, and before that, I worked in a medical/dental office. I got fired after 4 years for calling out of work one day because my boss was going crazy (seriously, he had awful medical problems and his medication made him like Dr. Jeckyll and Mr. Hyde) and I needed time to think about whether or not to quit.
Anyway, that is the past, and I've been home with my babies for 9 months and it's awesome. But it's also really hard for me to have gone from working so much to being around my crazy kids all day. My oldest son, T, is 3 1/2, has a severe speech delay, and will be starting preschool in September. My daughter, Princess, is 2 1/2, has Daddy wrapped around her little finger, and throws tantrums whenever she doesn't get her way. Goober is the best baby in the world. He is 11 months old, and the love of my life.
My boyfriend and baby daddy is a computer programmer who loves making mods for Counterstrike and is obsessed with World of Warcraft. This drives me nuts. I like WoW also, thanks to him, but I play for an hour or two a couple times a week when the kids are asleep and I need to unwind. He plays for hours, all night, every day. And then he sleeps all day. Unfortunately, Princess has adapted to his schedule, being such a Daddy's girl and all. Fortunately, the boyfriend will soon be starting a new job, which is actually his old job, working as a painter and powerwasher, 9 hours a day, 6 days a week. I am looking forward to this and it can't start soon enough.
Oh, and did I mention we share a house with his mother? Rent is expensive, and we are poor, so we split the rent and the house. She has the downstairs and we have the upstairs. We share a kitchen downstairs. She works from home selling antiques, but I really don't see her much. It stinks we can't afford to live alone, but sharing a house with her is better than cramming the 5 of us into a studio or one bedroom apartment (which is really all that would be in our price range unless we moved).
All of these things together make me feel like I'm losing my mind. I love my kids, but they are a handful and a half. I'm still not used to being home every day and only leaving the house to go to the store or the park or the zoo. I don't even change out of my pajamas some days. I no longer interact with people my age-my days are spent watching cartoons and playing with a million toys with my kids. But it's great, and I wouldn't trade it for the world.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)