A Series of Wildly Unfortunate Events

A few days ago, I had one of those days. You know, the ones where nothing goes right? Where you literally can’t believe the ridiculous series of events that is unfolding before your eyes?

The bad day was actually a few days in the making.  It started, as most things do, with a rough night of sleep.  I’m trying to wean Ell-Bell from her night nursing, but she has other plans. She doesn’t want to cut back, in fact, she’s been trying to wake up for an earlier feed.  I know things will never get better if I give in, so we’ve been butting heads.  Two nights before “The Day,” Ell-Bell woke up ridiculously early to eat, and it took me half an hour to distract her enough to get her back to sleep.  Before I could fall back to sleep myself, though, K-Man was awake and crying hysterically.  I still don’t know what was wrong, maybe a bad dream?  But it took me another half hour to get him back down.  Then I drifted to sleep for … two … glorious hours, before Ell-Bell was awake and demanding to eat for real this time.  I gave in and nursed her, because I was SO TIRED OMG.  Only, after I finished nursing her, she was not ready to go back to sleep.  I finally got her down and returned to my room, but before my head could hit the pillow, she was crying again.  She had pooped herself.  Ugh.

When I woke up for the day, I was not happy.  Hubby and I had a major fight, obviously inspired by the fact that I had had a terrible night with the kids, and he was awake for zero percent of it.  Hubby got pissed with my attitude and left for work early, which enraged me.  Seriously, when he punishes me by peacing out, I lose my mind.

Anyway, we exchanged apologies by text a few hours later, like we pretty much always do.  And that evening, Hubby felt super guilty and treated me to Chipotle.  And then after the kids went to bed, he went out and got me Sonic mozzarella sticks and ice cream.  Yep, we’re gluttons.  Come at me.  But my tummy wasn’t feeling that great and I actually wasn’t very interested in even more food, but I stuffed it down anyway because (a) I have no self control and (b) I wanted to accept Hubby’s peace offering.

I went to bed early because exhaustion plus tummy ache, and I couldn’t wait to feel better after a good night’s sleep.  Only, I didn’t get a good night’s sleep.  At all.  Ell-Bell was awake from 12:30am to 3:00am, sparring with me about eating.  I held strong for hours, you guys, but every time I would get her back to sleep, she would wake up again only 10-15 minutes later.  It was torture. In the middle of it all, K-Man woke up again (what the heck) and needed attention, all while Ell-Bell was screaming her head off in the room next door.  At least this time, Hubby woke up to help out.  I finally gave up and fed Ell-Bell at 3am because I NEEDED sleep.  Then K-Man woke up again at 5am and wanted me to “sing songs.”

Two hours later, I was awake for the The Day and not feeling it AT ALL.  I had no idea how I was going to make it through the next 12 hours.  And stupidly, I weighed myself.  I was three pounds heavier than the day before.  Fack.  Who knew eating two dinners and dessert would pack on the pounds so quickly?

I spent all morning just trying to power through, all the while day dreaming about nap time.  I couldn’t wait to put the kids down, turn on the fire, sip some tea, and watch my YouTube videos.  And maybe fall asleep for a bit.

When 1:00pm rolled around, Ell-Bell went down for her nap like an angel.  My mouth watered as I was one step closer to my glorious anticipated break.  Only, K-Man had no visions of napping.  He. was. fucking. wired.  Like, I can’t remember the last time he was so awake at nap time.  He wouldn’t lie still.  He actually wouldn’t even lie down.  He was jumping on the bed, flailing his body around wildly, asking for milk, asking for water, demanding to go potty for the one zillionth time.  Every time I left his room and went downstairs to make my tea, I would hear him jumping down out of bed and opening his door.  We played this game for an hour and a half.  I watched about 10 total minutes of YouTube (in two minute increments), and sipped cold tea between visits back upstairs.  When K-Man started screaming at the top of his lungs, I gave up and brought him downstairs.  I couldn’t have him waking up Ell-Bell.

Ell-Bell woke up after 20 more minutes or so, anyway.  I threw some goldfish and milk in her direction, set K-Man up with some paint and paper, and opened my laptop on the floor to cyber shop for a bit (#therapy).  I was doing some deep breathing, trying to figure out how to turn the day around despite being unbelievably bummed that I got no break at nap time.

And then, as K-Man was putting away his paint, he failed to screw the lid on tightly for one of the containers, and he dropped it on the rug.  I watched horrified, in true slow motion, as green paint splattered across my light-colored rug, onto the adjacent wood floor, and up onto the brick hearth.  Holy. fucking. shit, I thought to myself.  Is this really happening right now?  (As an aside, if you have any idea how to get paint out of brick crevices, please enlighten me.)

As I was crouched down with my face in the rug, pep-talking to myself and vigorously scrubbing the green paint-affected areas with a soap-and-vinegar mix, my son–who insisted on playing with his cars basically on top of me as I worked–accidentally lost control of one car and smashed it right into my eye socket.  And I lost it.  Not in an angry way, no, I started sobbing.  Crying big fat heaving snotty tears into my newly-green rug.

While K-Man is a total butthead, he’s also a softie and a sweetheart, a total empath. So he launched into a series of efforts to make me feel better. “Don’t cwy, mommy. Isss okayyy, mommy. I give you a hug and kiss and you feel better, okay mommy? You need a toy mommy? Here, ha’ dis car mommy. You want another toy mommy? You want dis one?” It was so cute and ridiculous that I started laughing between sobs.

“You feel better mommy?” K-Man asked.

Just then, Ell-Bell crawled over and showed interest in K-Man’s toys. So I said, “I would feel better if you shared your toys with Ell-Bell.”

K-Man’s face changed as he pulled all of his toys closer. “No, you be sad mommy.”  Major eye roll.

A few minutes later, K-man squatted down and took a ginormous piss through his undies, right there on the family room floor, even though he had peed twice already in the potty in the last hour.  At least he missed the rug, right?

I already had a stash of paper towels nearby, so thankfully I cleaned up the pee with little effort.  As K-Man resumed his car play, he taunted me: “Cwwwyy, mommy!”  I take back everything I said about him being a sweet softie.

At that point, I gave up. I scooped my two kiddos up and brought them into the living room and turned on Trolls.  Some days, you just gotta.  As I sat there and watched Trolls for the hundredth time, with K-Man sprinting back and forth on the couch, jabbing me in the spine with his elbows and knees as he passed, I thought to myself, this is really fucking hard.  I’m glad I’m doing it, I have zero regrets, I love my kids to the moon and back, but still, this is really. fucking. hard.

But, on the bright side, and in the words of the famous Princess Poppy, if you knock knock me over, I will get back up again.

Until next time,

Vee

Soccer Mom In the Waiting (#NaBloPoMo Day 17)

It’s the 17th day of NaBloPoMo, yo!  Since 17 has always been my jersey number, let’s talk about Sports!  And if you missed yesterday’s gut wrenching Kardashian confession, go check it out!

Hubby and I are both former athletes.  I say former because these days we gym 1-2 times a week and rock some epic mom and dad bods.  But back in the day, I was pretty serious about soccer.  And Hubby played squash like a pro.  (If you don’t know about squash, it’s just this silly little New England sport that is the same thing as racquet ball.)

Because athletics were such an integral part of my youth, I can’t imagine my kids not sharing that same passion.  And if there’s anything I love more than my own children, it’s spectating sports, so they better be ready to put on a show!

And you know what? I don’t even care that kids suck horribly at sports for the first few years.  Trust me, I am not picky about the quality of my sport spectating.  If there’s a competition, a winner and a loser, I’m into it! And if there’s a snack bar selling nachos nearby, I’ve basically died and gone to heaven.

Since my kids are not quite at the team sports age yet, for now all I can do is watch them eagerly to try and discern where their respective talents lie.  K-Man is all about kicking the cats and body-checking his little sister, so maybe soccer is in his future?  Honestly I’d prefer he take up tennis because I really want him to turn pro and take me to Wimbledon every year, but that’s a bit of a pipe dream.  As for Ell-Bell — beautiful, 95th-percentile-in-weight Ell-Bell — she’s got sumo wrestler or shot putter written all over her.

I suppose I do need to prepare myself for the possibility that my kids won’t want to play sports.  Wow, I just broke into a cold sweat writing that.  But seriously, whatever they throw at me (figuratively speaking, in this scenario), I’ll be ok.  Right?

Until next time,

Vee

 

 

 

#NaBloPoMo Day 1: Marriage is Hard

As I mentioned in my previous post, I’m taking on NaBloPoMo this November, and because I’m a little special at using the internet, I’ve gone ahead and crafted my own list of 30 themes.  Marriage is kind of a big deal, so I figured why not kick things off on Day 1 with a post dedicated to Married Life?

First things first, am I the only person who hears the word “marriage” and immediately converts it to “mawwiage”? Raise your hand if you grew up watching the Princess Bride. (Side story, Hubby and I were in a fit of giggles during our vows on our wedding day, because we kept whispering “mawwiage” to each other. #RealMature).

mawwiage

Anyway, marriage is hard, y’all.  Every marriage requires major compromise and consists of significant unrest (let’s be honest).  And also, marriage is petty.  So in the spirit of being majorly petty, I’m going to take a few minutes to dish on my husband.  Because, god love him, he can be a bit of a butt-head.

butthead

So why, you ask, is Hubby a butt-head? Well…

  • He DEMANDS that the toilet paper be installed with the flap on top.  When we first started dating, I unknowingly replaced the toilet paper with the flap hiding in the back, and boy oh boy did I get an earful. But I mean, I had lived the first 21 years of my life with no rhyme or reason to how each new roll of toilet paper was installed, and I turned out ok, so …
  • While we’re on the subject of toilets, Hubby spends HOURS on the porcelain throne.  And he usually decides to go to the bathroom at the worst time.  Like, when I’m drowning in kids. He’s all, “oops, nature calls, gotta go sit on the toilet and scroll  Imgur for 30 minutes.” And let’s be honest, I’m not above texting him while he’s relieving himself and asking him to hurry the EFF up.  I mean, I’m drowning in kids, after all.
  • Moving out of the bathroom and into the kitchen: when Hubby is done using a knife, he likes to leave it on the counter with the handle hanging over the edge.  Jesus H, it’s not like we have two little munchkins running around pulling shit off the counters at every opportunity or anything . . .  Fack!
  • Hubby does not know how to load the dishwasher.  He’s like, SO bad at it that I’ve considered writing him a manual.  Of course, I should be so lucky when he actually takes it upon himself to load the dishwasher.  More often than not, he puts his used dishware on the counter … the completely clean counter … the one that I’ve just cleared of dirty dishes that are now in the dishwasher.  I brought this up last night and Hubby said, “How am I supposed to know that the dishes in the dishwasher are dirty?”  Gee, mystery of mysteries.
  • He is a horrible grocery shopper.  It takes him like an hour and a half to get a cart-full of things that would take me 20 minutes to collect.  I don’t understand it, and I have to do a lot of “serenity now”-ing while I sit at home (drowning in kids) waiting for him to finish.
  • Hubby likes to slip into accidental naps on the couch while I’m in the other room, drowning in kids.
  • He does not wake up to the baby crying in the middle of the night.  So, you know, I’m not allowed to get mad at him that he doesn’t volunteer to go in to soothe the baby, because it’s not his fault that he doesn’t wake up.

So yeah, that’s Hubby in all his Imgur-scrolling, couch-napping glory.  As for me, well, I think I have a pretty good idea what this list would look like if Hubby was writing about me.  I won’t lie to you guys, I’m not perfect: I like to leave the Pringles foil seal partially attached to the can after I open it; I never EVER notice the perforated lines when I’m opening a box of food; and uh, yeah, I guess I’m a bit of a nag.

Every marriage has its quirks, and honestly, I think we need these minor frustrations to keep things running.  If we didn’t blow off steam nagging each other about the dishes and the Pringles foil seal, who knows what kind of epic explosion could be in store down the road.  And to be completely honest, the things that make Hubby a butt-head, well, I think most of them are kind of cute.  I’d miss them if, heaven forbid, we were no longer together.

The dude drives me nuts, but he sure makes me smile.

Until next time,

Vee

 

 

#NaBloPoMo, Here I Come

Is NaBloPoMo still a thing?  When I was blogging before, I was vaguely aware that in November, some bleeps (blog peeps, duh) participated in something called National Blog Posting Month, where the goal was to post a blog entry every single day.  After about about 5 minutes of Google searching, my impression is that NaBloPoMo is no longer hip or with it.  Or at the very least, no one is talking about it this year.  (Or everyone is talking about it and I’m really bad at Googling).  But I don’t care if I’m a few years late to the party.  I’m into it.  I hereby declare this November my NaBloPoMo.

And because I couldn’t find the sanctioned NaBloPoMo prompts for this year, I created my own list of daily themes that I plan to touch on.  If you’re some kind of genius (or entry-level internet user, whatever) who knows where the official list of prompts is, just maybe keep it to yourself rather than exposing my internet ineptitude, ok?

So my thirty days of NaBloPoMo themes are below.  I’m hoping they give me the opportunity to write about some things on my mind, and maybe tell you a little bit more about myself.  And while I’m a lawyer by trade, intellectual property law is not my specialty, so these babies are absolutely not copyrighted.  Feel free to borrow any or all themes if you’ve got the NaBloPoMo bug, too

Drum roll, please…

  1. Married Life
  2. Ex-Boyfriends/Ex-Girlfriends
  3. Career
  4. Embarrassing
  5. Jealousy
  6. Birthdays
  7. In-laws
  8. Police Encounters
  9. High School
  10. Fathers
  11. Veterans
  12. Photograph
  13. Superstition
  14. Money
  15. Frenemy
  16. Reality TV
  17. Sports
  18. Discipline
  19. Injury
  20. Pets
  21. Proposal
  22. Visitors
  23. Thankful
  24. Shopping
  25. Diet
  26. Dream House
  27. Christmas
  28. Charity
  29. Hair
  30. Books

November is coming, my friends.  And it’s the most wonderful month of the year. (Except for December, of course).

Until next time,

Vee

Why does my kid always…

Why does my daughter always …

  • Poop her diaper the second after I change her into a fresh one.
  • Take short naps when I need to get something done, and long naps when I need to get out the door.
  • Spit her pacifier onto the floor every time we’re in a public restroom.
  • Hide food in her neck folds, and somehow, also in her diaper.
  • Try to touch my brain (via my nostrils) whenever I hold her.
  • Get a head cold, followed by an ear infection, followed by a diaper rash. Rinse and repeat.  And repeat.  And repeat.
  • Insist on unfolding the laundry as soon as I’ve folded it.
  • Bee-line for the kitties’ water dish as soon as I put her down on the floor.
  • Cry from exhaustion, but then do metaphorical (or sometimes actual) cartwheels when I try to put her down for a nap.

And why does my son always…

  • Refuse to fall asleep in the car until we’re 5 minutes away from our final destination.
  • Magically identify and extract new vegetables from his meal.
  • Ignore a toy all day, but need to play with it immediately if baby sister shows any interest in it.
  • Refuse to wear a jacket or use a blanket, no matter how cold it is.
  • Try to choke me out when hugging me from behind.
  • Drink bath water by the gallons.
  • Confess his hiding place when playing hide-and-seek.
  • Have a growth spurt right after I drop a fortune on new clothes.
  • Talk about his penis to strangers.
  • Squeeze the full juice box before he puts the straw in his mouth.

Why do blowouts come in threes?

Why do the Terrible Twos start at 18 Months? And when oh when do they end?

Why does it hurt like a mofo to step on a Hotwheels car?

And how is it possible that in spite of everything, my kids melt my heart over and over again, every single day?

Until next time,

Vee