Good Friday (Grateful Friday)

I’ve been super grouchy lately.  It could have something to do with the fact that we are still very much in the endless throes of winter here in Upstate NY — is it too much to ask for the thermometer to break 40F on Easter Sunday?  It could also have something to do with the fact that I got trolled hard in a mommy group on Facebook yesterday — why are virtual peeps so mean?  Or it could have everything to do with the fact that, after four years of sweet bliss, I am finally suffering from the girl flu again.  (But can I really complain about a four-year break?  Prolly not.  Thank you, back-to-back pregnancies and breastfeeding gods).

Regardless of my grump, today is Good Friday.  Now, I’m no religious scholar, but I’m pretty sure the “good” in Good Friday doesn’t have to do with good feels (because I googled it).  But, hey, I can take some creative liberties.  So, in the spirit of good-ness, and in an effort to boost my crappy mood, here are 5 things that I’m grateful for today:

  1. Easter is upon us.  Which means Easter candy is upon us.  Now, I told Hubby the same thing I tell him every year: all I want is a freaking peanut-butter-filled chocolate bunny.  Every year he forgets.  Every year I let it go, because come on, I have 32-year-old metabolism.  But this year … this year I was cleaning out some kitchen cabinets and stumbled upon it.  A peanut-butter-filled chocolate bunny that he must have purchased behind my back, and is hopefully saving to give to me on Easter morning.  I know it’s only March, so is it too early to award him Hubby of the Year?  (Please, for both our sakes, let the bunny actually be for me.)
  2. Zzzzzzz.  Because I have no regard for my well-being, I am going to go ahead and disrespect the sleep gods here:  Ever since last week’s bitch fest about Ell-Bell’s atrocious sleep habits, baby girl has been sleeping much better at night.  I mean you guys, last night honeyboo didn’t even wake up for the first time until 5:30 in the morning! What? Of course she’s just trolling me, lulling me into a false sense of security so that I fall that much harder when she wakes up 5 times tonight.  But still, I’ll take a few nights in a row of good sleep!
  3. Things are about to get romantical.  The in-laws are coming for a visit next week.  Ugh, I know, there’s nothing romantic about that.  But of course, the silver lining is that they provide free and relatively safe-ish child care, which means Hubby and I are about to go on our first date in four months!  I am way excited, and I don’t know if I’ve ever spent so much mental energy planning a 3-4 hour block of time in my life.  I’m thinking sushi and a movie, but my god, the possibilities are endless!  (Side note: can somebody teach me how to hire a real babysitter?  I’m guessing it would be a good thing to not wait four months between dates).
  4. I’m basically an Olympian.  Okay, I’m not, at all.  I am actually that mushy-armed person at the gym who only ever runs on the treadmill — the one who everyone looks at and says, “girlfriend, you need to get off that treadmill and do some actual push-ups.”  But hey, I’ve been back to running pretty consistently for the better part of a year now and I am feeling really good about it.  I’m getting faster, I’m running longer, and gosh darnit, I might even get brave enough to run outside one of these days.  I just need a babysitter real quick.
  5. I get to spectate all the sports.  I don’t care what you say, I like to watch golf on TV, ok?  It’s relaxing.  For me, April (snow) showers mean only one thing:  it’s time to watch some golf hotties navigate the Augusta greens at the Masters.  Of course, my in-laws will be in town during coverage because OF COURSE THEY HAVE TO COME during the Masters basically EVERY SINGLE YEAR.  But whatever.  I’m also giddy for NBA playoffs and more golf and tennis tourneys on the horizon, for those keeping track.  (Holler at me if you are also secretly in love with at least half of the men’s tennis field, we might have to be besties).

So there you have it.  What’s on your grateful list this Good Friday?  Wishing everyone a happy passover, Easter, or whatever else you may be celebrating in the next few days.

Until next time,

Vee

 

 

Sweet Dreams ’til Sunbeams Find You . . . or Your Daughter Wakes You Up

You know that moment you’ve been looking forward to since you first woke up in the morning?  That moment when you finally crawl into bed and relax under your covers after a long day?  When your head hits the pillow and you prepare to surrender yourself to sweet sleepy bliss?  When every muscle in your body starts to give in, and your breathing gets deeper, deeper, and your eyelids get heavier, heavier . . .

Yeah.  That’s the exact moment that my daughter Ell-Bell wakes up screaming.  Every. single. night.  And it doesn’t even matter what time I go to bed.  She manages to pull it off whether it’s 10 p.m., midnight, or anywhere in between.  What on Earth did I ever do to her?

Am I embarrassed that my 15-month-old is still not sleeping through the night?  You betcha.  Do I feel guilty that I’m still nursing that sweet little demon back to sleep because it’s all I can do?  100%.  Is the end in sight?  God I hope so.

I remember with K-Man, we were sheepishly admitting to the pediatrician that he was still waking up in the night at his 18-month check-up.  But then a few weeks later, he miraculously started sleeping through.  And it was everything.  (Well, it was everything for four months, and then we had another baby.  That was dumb.)

So maybe my life is about to get a whole lot better?  I can do this for three more months, right?

Until next time,

Vee

Oral

My son K-Man was not an oral baby. I mean, sure, he was obsessed with his pacifier, but he was never one for putting foreign objects in his mouth. Which, I now realize, was a blessing. I never had to fuss about what potential choking hazard or foul object might be lying within his sticky little grasp.

Safe to say, I was not adequately prepared when my daughter Ell-Bell basically came out of the womb eating things off the floor.  She is orally fixated to the max and will try to put anything and everything in her big fat gob.  It’s cute, of course, but sometimes can be annoying as fuck! Like that time at 5 months old, when she pulled a pile of tacos off the table and onto my lap, because she was trying to snag a spicy bite.  Or that time (all the time) she was obsessed with her big brother’s super ball and carried it around in her mouth like a dog.

Or that time at the playground, yesterday, when I couldn’t let her roam free for one second because she insisted on trying to put every single wood chip from that wood-chip-laden plot directly into her pie hole.  It was exhausting chasing after her, prying wood chips out of her fists, and scolding “no no, icky, that’s not food!”

As I tiredly pulled my two chunks home from the playground in their little red wagon, I thought to myself, “maybe I could blog about this issue?” But alas, I resolved there wasn’t a ton of there there.

That all changed just two hours later.

Fast forward to dinner time. I let the kids run a little wild while I put everything together. As I was dishing up some baked chicken, rice, and flaccid broccoli stems (anybody else constantly duped by the luscious-looking broccoli florets on the cover of frozen produce bags?), I suddenly noticed that I hadn’t heard Ell-Bell for at least 45 seconds. Wuh oh.  I quickly sashayed towards the living room–where I thought she was–but a shadow caught my eye as I passed by the bathroom. I backed up — idiot! Of course she’s in the bathroom!

There she sat on the bathroom floor, next to the kitty litter. One hand holding a small brown object. The other hand batting at her tongue. A pile of other small brown objects scattered across the floor. Brown smudges all over the corners of her mouth. Do I need to say more, you guys? She was eating fucking cat poop! “Holy shit!” I thought as I scooped her up and batted the turd out of her hand.  I frantically grabbed about 200 wet wipes, crumpled them into a ball, and smashed them repeatedly against her face, tongue, and hands.  After texting with Hubby to confirm that Ell-Bell was not about to die, I set her down for dinner. What else was I supposed to do?

So what do you think, do I win the Mom of the Year award?

I guess, in spite of everything, there are some upsides to having an oral baby.  For instance, Ell-Bell absolutely devoured those broccoli stems at dinner.  That could have been a desperate attempt to wash the kitty poo taste out of her mouth, though. Who knows.

Until next time,

Vee

Hate is a Strong Word

Hate is a strong word.  A strong word, but the right word* to accurately describe how I am feeling about winter right now.  Fuck off, winter!

It’s our first cold season here in Upstate NY, and I knew it was going to be bad.  In fact, I expected it to be at least this bad. But that doesn’t change the fact that it’s still … bad.  We moved to the snowiest city in the U.S., and it’s living up to its name.  I mean, at the beginning of the year, we had a 66-hours-straight snowstorm that accumulated more than 20 inches of snow.  What? And that was just the worst in a month chock full of snow days.  After a December that broke some other snow records.

And all the snow, it’s not just crushing down on our sad little roof.  It’s also crushing down on my sad little soul.  Though I’ve lived in snowy places before (hello, university in eastern Canada), I’m realizing for the first time that the very sight of snow piles gives me significant anxiety.  When is it going to melt?  What if it never melts? What if the snow piles on the side of the driveway get so high that I can’t manually shovel anymore on top of them? What if we can’t leave the house?  After further introspection, I’ve decided that I have an unhealthy fear that we may be entering a new ice age.  You never know, right?

Winter with little kids is kind of the pits, too.  We’re trying to embrace it as best we can, but I really can’t take my little one-year-old munchkin outside much when we have things like 13-day streaks of sub-freezing temperatures (most of which are actually in the single digits – Fahrenheit).  And if you even know where to buy snow boots for size 4 toddler feet, let me know.  Because I have been unsuccessful on that front, and I’m not about to let Ell-Bell run around in the snow with just her cute little sneakers on.  She would totally do it, too.

I guess the real problem is that I’m totally over winter, but it’s nowhere near over.  The internet says it will snow here until at least April, but maybe as late as May.  Gag.  And we keep having these random warm stretches where the mountains of snow all but melt, and I’m like, yaaas, grass, there you are, I missed you! But sure enough, after a day or two, here comes another day with 5-8 inches of snow.  Can I just tell you how sick I am of spending my entire naptime break (what’s left of it, anyway) shoveling the freaking driveway?  My arms are so sore!

And I’m totally sorry for complaining so much about this, but I can’t whine to my husband about how much these winter months are getting me down.  He is the reason we moved here, and every time I so much as hint that I’m not loving all the cold and snow, he feels guilty AF.  So here you go, blog, have all my pent up frustration and disappointment about the fact that we basically live right below the Arctic Circle.

On the literal bright side, we do have a beach trip in our sights, a nice little something to look forward to.  We’re heading to sunny Mexico to see my dad in a few weeks.  Yaaaas.  Since there will still be more winter to come after that, I can’t exactly call the trip a light at the end of the tunnel.  But maybe it’s a little hole in the top of the tunnel, halfway through, letting a few rays in?

Until next time,

Vee

 

*Due credit to Boss Baby for that sentiment

Slow Down, Girlfriend

My daughter Ell-Bell started walking a few weeks before her first birthday.  And she was pretty timid about it at the beginning, as I’m guessing most babies are.  But once she got the hang of it, man did she ever.  A little after she turned one, she became a speed demon.  Awkwardly stumble-sprinting from here to there like some sort of crazed maniac.  Girlfriend needs to slow down.

I used to be able to get things done.  Granted, it was only in 5-minute increments, but it was still something! I’d sit Ell-Bell down in the family room, throw some toys at her, and then sprint around the house, changing the laundry, loading the dishwasher, having a quick pee.  Now, I can’t sit her down for 5 seconds before she’s pushed herself to her feet and is toddling away at an alarming speed.

So these days, if Hubby’s not home, I’m cooking dinner 30-seconds at a time, pausing constantly to retrieve the baby from the bathroom, the stairs, or the kitchen step-ladder.  Because those three places — which are the only non-baby-proofed parts of our house — happen to be Ell-Bell’s three favorite places to be.  Is there anything more relaxing than cooking dinner at the end of a long day, frantically racing back and forth between your burning, oil-spitting stir fry and your babbling, toilet-obsessed toddler who unfortunately knows how to lift the toilet lid?  Little turd.

And much to my tv-loving dismay, Ell-Bell won’t even sit still for the boob tube.  Which I guess is a good thing from a brain-melting perspective, but man, I would love to be able to sweep the floor for a few minutes without my one-year-old trying to help.  She’s actually not very helpful.

The worst part is, as fast as Ell-Bell can go, she’s still pretty terrible at walking.  And she thinks she can run, but she really can’t.  Which means her sweet little forehead and our wooden floors are way too well acquainted.  Girlfriend falls down. A lot.  Her skin is littered with bruises. Poor thing.

On the bright side, Ell-Bell is the cutest thing ever when she walks.  Like, strangers stop and stare, giggling as she moves her little bowling-ball-shaped frame across a room.  She’s definitely got this toddling, wide-eyed, confused, chubby-cheeked vibe going on.  Work it, girlfriend.

Until next time,

Vee

Resolved

New Year, New me!  Or that’s what I would be saying if I was a basic bitch, anyway.  Which I’m totally not.

But seriously, I always go over the top with New Year’s resolutions.  This year, as always, I have a ton.  Lose 15 pounds.  Eat less chocolate.  Eat less cheese.  Drink less alcohol.  Spend less time on my phone around the kids.  Plan more activities for the kids.  Get K-Man to eat at least one bite of one vegetable.  Clean the kitty litter every day.  Call my grandpa more.  Shower more.  Figure out what I’m doing with my life.

But if I achieve nothing else this year, what I really, truly want, is to be nicer to my kids.  You see, before I had kids, I never in a million years thought I would be a “mean mommy.”  Because though I can be a huge, passive-aggressive “B” behind someone’s back, I’ve never been confrontational.  If anything, I thought I would be too meek with my children, let them walk all over me, let them get away with things left and right.

But here I am, almost three years in, mean as fuck.  Let me be clear up front: I love my children hard.  And they know how I feel.  They get snuggled, loved on, praised, adored.  I’ve never been one to hold back affection.  But, boy, do I lose my patience.  I am not a patient person, and my poor kids are the unsuspecting victims of my inability to keep it together in moments of stress.  I yell, growl, glare, and flail my arms around like a stupid idiot.  It’s a disgusting, embarrassing display.

Even worse, sometimes I lose my temper.  Because when K-Man gets violent with his little sister, I run hot instantly.  I’m ashamed to admit I’m not above picking him up, or holding him sternly by the shoulders, and yelling in his face.  Ugh, I don’t even like to anonymously admit that to the blogosphere.  I just get so frustrated, and I really need him to understand that his behavior is not ok, and in that moment, I can’t think of a better way to accomplish that.

When the moment passes, I feel sick, and I hate myself.  I don’t think I’m crossing any hard lines about how to treat children, but I know I’m crossing my own lines about what I am comfortable with in the abstract.  And I know that violence breeds violence.  I know that I am the way I am, in part, because when I was a kid my dad picked me up and held me against the wall to yell in my face about what I’d done wrong. And I know that if I’m not careful, my kids will be doing the same things to their kids.

So this year, I want to be better.  To practice patience.  To practice calm.  To remember to breathe when I recognize the anger rising.  Wish me luck (and give me pointers!).

Until next time,

Vee

 

 

Happy Thoughts

While writing Monday’s vent sesh about the in-law visit was totally therapeutic, it also left me feeling like a negative nelly.  (Or the in-law’s visit made me feel that way, and I was just re-living it when I wrote about it, but whatever).  So this post is dedicated to the happy thoughts that have kept me going this week.

Thoughts like . . . how much I freaking love the Christmas season.  Beautiful twinkling lights.  Gentle (and sometimes violent) snowfall.  Family.  Cheer.  Presents.  Giving.  Shopping.  As I’ve blogged about before, I lurv shopping, so I absolutely welcome any excuse to spend money semi-guiltlessly.  And shopping for the kids brings this to a whole other level. I wish I could spend endlessly on them, but I’m trying to keep myself in check! My favorite gift for the kiddos, you ask? Well, it could be the illustrated Harry Potter book that my son is definitely still way too young for but we just couldn’t wait any longer to buy.  Or it could be this trampoline that I’m hoping my son can use to jump his crazies out during these winter days inside.  Or it could be these adorable rain boots we ordered for Ell-Bell.  Are you dying like I’m dying? They are so omg adorable.

Thoughts like . . . how stinking cute K-Man is with some of the things he says.  Like how he starts sentences with the phrase “Shall we…”

  • Shall we go play in the fam-wy woom?
  • Shall we eat eggs and panpakes?
  • Shall we go to the wi-bwar-ee?
  • Shall we watch Baby Bums?

Or how he calls all meals of the day “wunch.”  Or how he kept shouting “fourteen days until Chriiiist-masss!” in the grocery store yesterday (even though I kept correcting him and telling him it was actually only four days).  Or how he spends all morning asking me to “wun” and “chaaaaase” him.

Thoughts like … halle-freaking-lujah and a-freaking-men for the fact that the green slime goo crap that we never should have bought turned out to be water soluble. Because otherwise my 1-year-old daughter would be waking up with a buzz cut this morning.  (For the record, I only turned away for a few seconds.  And for the other record, my son put the goo in her hair.  I didn’t knowingly let my 1-year-old play with goo. Of course, I knowingly let my almost-three-year-old play with goo, so I’m still plenty dumb).

Wishing everyone a wonderful weekend.  Until next time,

Vee