Author Archives: Allison @ Motherhood, WTF?

We’ll Look Back at This and Laugh One Day (if we survive)

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I’ve been stressed lately about our upcoming trip to New Zealand. I can’t get my head around the mind-blowing 31 hours it will take to get us there. As far as crazy is concerned, I think I’ve been handling myself quite well considering how crazy anxious I am about the whole ordeal. I’ve gotten to a weird place beyond stress and anxiety. It’s kind of peaceful here, even if it’s in a One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest sort of way.

I’m as ready as I’ll ever be.

  • I just sent an email to my doctor asking if a person can take a Xanax and an Ambien within 24 hours and still wake up alive on the other end. (In related news, my doctor now thinks I’m a junkie.)
  • I have Melatonin which I plan on giving to my kids around hour 15.
  • I have 2 iPhones, an iTouch and an iPad loaded with games, movies, books and music.
  • I have 2 Leapsters and a handful of new games.
  • I have bought out the dollar store and the dollar section of Target so I have every cheap, lead-based toy out there.
  • I have crayons and stickers and lollipops.
  • I have crafts and wind-up toys and tiny toys and cuddly toys.
  • I have eye masks and ear plugs. Enough of the latter to hand out to surrounding passengers if need be.
  • I have pajamas, pull-ups, and changes of clothes.
  • I have sippy cups and water bottles and wet wipes and hand sanitizer.
  • I have even been practicing making balloon animals and I’m bringing all related gear for minutes of entertainment during long layovers! (I did say I was going crazy, remember?)

My carry-on luggage might need to be packed by an MIT engineer.

My image of how the trip will go involves T and I walking miles in airports carrying our own bags, the kid’s bags, and each of us with a crying, kicking, screaming kid under an arm. I envision sweat, assorted potty accidents, tears, drool, food stains, and blood and/or vomit saturating my hair and clothes. I can see little feet kicking seats. I can hear crying jags complete with boneless children on the ground yelling embarrassing things. I can feel my annoyance with everyone and everything, especially T because he just isn’t me. I can’t even bring myself to picture the horrors that will go down in the planes’ bathrooms.

Basically, I’m expecting the worst. If I’m not detained at customs for being too dirty, crazy, and mean to enter New Zealand, it’s a win. If my 4-year-old doesn’t end up in an air marshal’s handcuffs at any point, it’s a win. If any of us manage any sleep at any point in our journey, it’s a win. If my body can tolerate a mix of Xanax and Ambien and stress and sleep deprivation without landing me in a hospital or morgue, it’s a win.

My expectations are low. If I’m not pleasantly surprised, then there stands a good chance that we are inadvertently moving to New Zealand because I will not face the journey home. Or I’ll come home in a straight jacket.

Any which way it goes down, I’ll take notes and blog about it when I get a chance. I will not be able to blog consistently, but I promise that I will not suffer in vain. We will get comedy out of this by God!

My Stress, Their Fun

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I’m going to New Zealand in 11 days. The mere thought of it makes my heart race and my palms sweat. I know that complaining about travelling to New Zealand seems like a major no-no, but please consider this: 2 hours in airport A; 6 hour flight; 5 hours in airport B; 14 hour flight; 2 hours in airport C; 2 hour flight. This actually adds up to 31 hours of travel time. Insert 2-year-old and nearly 5-year-old. Insert jet lag. Insert airport waits that go past bed time. Insert my anxiety about flying in general. And that brings us to panic attacks.

My anxiety over my upcoming trip has an unexpected side effect: I can’t handle sitting around idly because my mind starts racing with all I have to bring/endure for the extraordinarily long trip with 2 small kids in tow.

So, I’ve been keeping busy. Which is great for my kids. Today, instead of trying to entertain ourselves at home or with tired activities like errands and the library, I decided to give them a great day out. I took them here:

So many ways to get tired, so little time

Only one of them responds to "1, 2, 3, jump!"

In another room I even forked up the cash for the merry-go-round. It was 11 seconds of pure adrenaline and bliss for a mere $0.50.

When the kids got cranky, I took them out to lunch where I downed more coffee and they had grilled cheese and strawberry milk. (Holy shit strawberry milk is delicious!) Did we head straight home? Nope. We went back to play some more. I’m that awesome.

All in all, it was a good day out and now I feel like I deserve a medal. Is this what you good moms do all the time? It’s totally exhausting. Don’t get me wrong; I wanted it to be totally exhausting, but I was hoping this would be the effect on them, not me.

Worst parts:

  1. L complaining that he was bored;
  2. L begging for every scrap of junk food the snack area offered;
  3. S playing with the “tiny, tiny garbage cans” in the ladies’ bathroom stalls;
  4. L noticing same cans and also playing with them;
  5. Having to climb into the climbing structure to haul the kids out when it was time to go.
But the very, very, very worst part? That would be the kids complaining about the long, boring (30 minute) drive. If sitting in a car for 30 minutes is that painful for them, how in the world are any of us going to survive our trip to New Zealand? And here we go with the panic attacks again…

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S-isms Solved

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You guys are getting better at decoding S! Many of you got the song (#3) and a few also got #’s 1, 5 and 6. I figured out what #2 is!! She said it again yesterday. None of you were close.

  1. Gop!
    • Stop! This she says with conviction while holding her hand up in front of her like a traffic cop or a Supreme.
  2. Gatka da yee-ess gor off?
    • This is the one that was a mystery to even me. When she originally said it I knew what she meant and wrote it down without translation. When I went back to post it, the meaning was lost to me. Until she said it again yesterday. A discarded toy did that thing that toys do – it made a noise after 3 minutes or so to see if it could lure a child back to its noisy side. The toy in question was L’s Leapster, which both my kids call a DS. S was asking if that sound was the DS turning off. “That sound the DS turn off?”
  3. We bik dee gitty oh walkie woal. 
    • We built this city on rock and roll!
  4. Ging eekie eekie gong. 
    • Sing Twinkle Twinkle song. We sing this together every night. S’s version is: Eekie, eekie, eekie tar. How wa wa wa wa wa are. Uppa Uppa kie so high. Like a eekie in da kie. Eekie, eekie, eekie tar. How wa wa wa wa wa are. 
  5. Me go how put gope on.
    • Me know how to put soap on.
  6. It’s too gunny ow guys.
    • It’s too sunny outside.

S-isms

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Do you know WTF my 2-year-old is saying?

  1. Gop!
  2. Gatka da yee-ess gor off?*
  3. We bik dee gitty oh walkie woal. (Hint: this one is sung, not said.)
  4. Ging eekie eekie gong. (No, I’m not kidding.)
  5. Me go how put gope on.
  6. It’s too gunny ow guys.

*I’ve been writing these down as they happen. This one I didn’t translate at the time and now I can’t for the life of me figure out what it means.

 

I Suck More Than You Do

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I imagine that the relationships between other mothers and their young (toddler-preschooler) children remain pretty consistently good. Sure there are challenges along the way, but the actual relationship is warm, loving, supportive, not-strained. For some reason, my relationship with L has never been like this. We go through periods where we get along OK, but inevitably every few months we end up back to butting heads over everything.

This is all a surprise to me. I fully expected to need to work on my relationship with my husband, that my relationships with friends would go through ebbs and flows, that my relationships with my siblings and parents would change over time, that my relationships with my kids as they progressed through the teen years into adulthood would have challenges and need extra work. But I never imagined that my biggest struggle would be my relationship with a 4-year-old. What does this say about me?

This is the stuff that’s supposed to just come naturally, right? I’m the mom, therefore my feelings towards my son should involve things like overwhelming love, an overwhelming desire to support him, help him learn and grow, overwhelming wonderment, blah, blah, blah. He’s the child so his feelings towards me should involve things like love, thinking I’m kind of a superhero, thinking I’m the best thing since sliced bread, (despite his overwhelming desire to push boundaries,) etc. I don’t expect a nearly 5-year-old and his mom to never have disagreements, but I would expect the relationship to be straightforward. Ours is not. None of this comes naturally to me. This is all a reflection of my ineptitude. I feel like he is not a child I can parent properly. I am always irritated with him just being him. That can’t be how a mom is supposed to feel.

My “dislike” of all things L isn’t a one way street. He clearly dislikes all things mom too. He always has. He has always worshiped T and somewhat tolerated me. His first sentence was “No Mommy, Daddy!” He used to cry when it was me who came into his room to fetch him from his crib in the morning. And it was me every damn day. He’d throw his toys at me and tell me to go away that he wanted Daddy. Seriously. This started around 10 months of age. Not cool. This preference was supposed to be a phase, but it hasn’t changed one bit.

None of this is right. None of it is how it’s supposed to be. Since he’s the kid, clearly I’m the one doing something wrong. This isn’t a parenting issue that can be solved with trying a new discipline or parenting technique from a book, this is a basic thing that should be natural that I’ve got all wrong. And it’s highlighted daily by the fact that he has a sister who adores me (as she rightly should!) and who I properly adore right back. Even when she’s doing her 2-year-old gig, I “get” her in a way I’ve never gotten L.

I do not want my son to grow up with the constant message that he’s annoying me. But he is annoying me. This whole post makes me sounds like a monster. And I feel like a monster for thinking and feeling this stuff. I feel like it can’t be right. I must be missing some part of me that would make me a good mom for him. I’m hoping there are others out there feeling this! I hope there are others who went through this and now have a wonderful 20-something son to show for it. I just don’t want to ruin this child and I feel like I am.

WTF Tapas

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L to T in the other room:

“Can you call someone to see about getting me a Batmobile?”

What in his life experience so far leads him to believe that T or I have people to call about things like this?

………………………………………………………………………………………..

Having a conversation with S is an exercise in madness. Between trying to figure out wtf she’s saying and the fact that her brain does not work in a linear fashion like mine does, we go around in inane circles that make my head hurt. This is an example of a conversation I’ve had in the car with her on multiple occasions:

S: Etend dis is a bus. (sic) (Pretend this is a bus.)
me: OK.
S: Mommy?
me: Yeah?
S: No! You not my mommy! You da bus diver. (sic)
me: Right. Sorry.
S: Mommy?
me: I’m not your mommy. I’m the bus driver.
S: Etend you’re my mommy now. (sic)
me: Uh, OK.
S: Mommy?
me: Yes?
S: Nooooo! You da bus diver!
me: I’m pretending to be the bus driver pretending to be your mommy. This is getting confusing.
S: Why?
me: No more talking on the bus!

…………………………………………………………………………….

L on Saturday, trying his best to behave during our enforced quiet time*:

“If I don’t say anything, can I please run around and around like a crazy person?”

*There was to be no talking for any reason. This just killed L. Asking him to play quietly and by himself for a designated period of time is about as effective as asking him to stop breathing.

……………………………………………………………………………

Family Quality Time, or, Why I Have a Headache

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I’ve had many of rude awakenings on this whole motherhood journey. Most of my lovely images and excited anticipation have been bashed with the hammer of reality. One of these mega-disappointments has been cooking with my kids. I imagined flour smears across cherubic faces, giggles, a few stray egg shells and a bit of a mess but all worth it for the quality family time. Nice image, right? Reality involves much more pushing, crying, illegal knife wielding, disinterest, fingers in noses, and whining to make any of it worth it. Nevertheless, sometimes it’s Saturday. Saturdays are loooooooooong days that need filling. This Saturday’s project: pick a recipe, buy ingredients, cook, eat.

The kids’ interest waned long before any ingredients reached our kitchen. And yet we persevered. Once again, I snapped photos which capture what the experience should be because I know that one day my memory will falter just like everyone’s does. I can show these photos to my future daughter-in-law and prove that I really did treasure every moment. Bwa-ha-ha-ha!

My kids are not 6 feet tall. They are standing on a wooden bench.

See S in the corner there? She’s screaming. Nothing is fair. Those shallots in the pan? Burning.

Now I’m holding S. She’s hitting me. And screaming. I wanted L to keep his hat on for the pictures. He threw a fit. “I don’t even care what you want! You don’t even matter anyway!” WTF? Oh well, look how cute the photo is!

S was just beyond miserable by this point. So we offered to turn on the TV for her. L thought that wasn’t fair. He wanted to watch TV. He no longer gave a flying chef’s hat about the sauce. TV! TV! TV! So, in order to have him come back and finish the final steps, which involved a blender for goodness sake, poor S had to just suck it up and cry more.

So, we did it. The kid made tomato sauce that came out great. There was yelling done by all four members of the family. Tears from two. Some wine consumed. A couple of promises of “never again!” got thrown out, and a couple of assurances of “I don’t even care!” thrown right back. When L got overly fresh over dinner T reminded him that I had just done this super nice thing with him. L’s response? “Who cares? Mommy didn’t even do anything. I cooked dinner.” Ah, quality family time on a Saturday afternoon.

 

 

 

 

Vlog Happens

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Inspired by the brave and funny Iris over at The Bearded Iris, I decided to go ahead and try my first vlog. I’ve been meaning to do it for a while now, but was put off by my husband telling me that I look stupid/crazy and not funny. I say, no! I am funny, not crazy! Which, of course, is exactly what a crazy person would say. Anyway, without further ado, I give you my first vlog:

So, what’s the verdict? Stick to my day job?

 

S-isms Solved

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OK, so here’s the answer key. There were a lot of creative answers and a couple of you got some right. Everyone was stumped by the first and last ones though.

Me eek keys in the boo-koo-montney?

“Me eat cheese in the supermarket?” Can’t go to the market without stopping by the deli for a slice of cheese. Luckily, even if I’m not buying cheese the folks at the deli counter are always willing to give S a slice. Try to get the girl to eat a slice of cheese at home? She’ll have none of it.

Me want more bup in my cup!

“Me want more milk in my cup!” Bup has always been her word for milk. I tried to teach her to say it correctly by having her copy me saying “mmmmm” and then “mmmmm-milk.” But she says “mmmmmm-bup.” Oh well.

Me all done beeking!

“Me all done sleeping!” Naturally, beeking = sleeping. She shouts this over and over again when she wakes up.

(singing) Cakey car ish kittniss!

This one is S singing along to the radio, and I had the pleasure of hearing it for the entire length of a song, and most of the rest of the day. “Taking care of business!” You would have known it if you heard it because girl’s got rhythm.

This was fun. I might add S-isms as a regular feature along with my WTF Tapas. What do you think?