Showing posts with label motherhood. Show all posts
Showing posts with label motherhood. Show all posts

Monday, May 10, 2010

Mother's Day 2010

Not only was yesterday Mother's Day, but it was also Mama Has a Cold Day. I am sure you are familiar with all the traditions of Mother's Day, but MHACD takes all those lovely rituals and cranks them up a notch...also there is the regal barking of the orders followed by pathetic sneezing and nose wiping.  Needless to say, three whole meals were prepared for me in an effort to minimize the whining and the moping. A list of household chores was completed and no one rolled their eyes at me.

I know. The husband is totally whipped, like non-dairy topping and he's all mine.

Seriously. I don't share well.

Late in the day, Violet began whispering urgently in her Daddy's ear about something.  They both got very excited and agreed that "it" was a good idea.


Don't you dare try and tell me that her idea was anything but a selfless act of love.  Those are not ravenous eyes. I swear, she is simply admiring a good plan brought to fruition.

***************************************
This week over at I Heart Faces, they are Celebrating Mothers.  I can think of no greater celebratory food than perfectly ripe, seasonal strawberries wrapped in warm milk chocolate. Really. Don't they just look like tiny red babies all snug in wombs made of chocolate? 



Monday, April 26, 2010

It's Veruca, Miss Salt if You're Spoiled

You can buy this photo, if you want to.

Along with the whining and general hyper-drive melodrama that has afflicted my child as of late, there is now evidence of spoilage.  In fact, Violet has begun to reek like expired cottage cheese. You know, the tub that has been waiting like a bomb in the back of the fridge since before President Obama was inaugurated, that's what Violet has become.

Last week, we were reading magazines for free browsing at our local bookstore and Violet became entranced by the ever growing pile of non-book garbage that clogs the entry way at said "book" store. I referred to this stuff as junk and assured her that she did not need any of it. She became enraged. Her tiny foot struck the faux marble floor with great force and she proclaimed, "It's NOT junk!" I countered with, "It is SO junk!" and things kind of devolved from there.  The semantic argument about junk has raged on ever since. I say, "You have enough junk in your room," and Violet replies, "Don't call my toys junk!"

Back to the bookstore: On our last visit, there was a small poodle in it's very own purse that struck Violet's fancy. There are just as many plushies as there are picture books at this store, so we usually have to make a refusal or two, before Violet gets the picture and shuts her mouth.  I can accept her mooning about some toy du' jour, but she was relentless about this poodle. She used every word in her vocabulary to make it known that she wanted this stupid dog.  She begged, she whined and eventually she just threw herself down and cried about it. I was horrified, not because someone might see and get all judgy about our parenting, but because this toy was soooo not worth a tantrum of this magnitude.  If the item in question had been a Coraline doll (her absolute favorite movie), or a 5T replica of Tiana's gown from The Princess and the Frog; I could totally understand Violet's explosion of fury, but the poodle was scarcely bigger than my cellphone and apropos of nothing dear to her heart. 

It was at that moment that I realized what was actually going on. Violet doesn't understand that we are in a recession...

Seriously, my kid is spoiled and I have no one to blame but my mother-in-law myself. I knew it was a risk. She is an only child and an only grandchild and fantastically (almost grotesquely) adorable. I just assumed that I would be able to easily squelch her emotional tyranny with  a logical conversation about the difference between needs and wants; instead I find myself having arguments about what constitutes "junk" in our household.

I am hoping that 4 years and 9 months is a hot spot for childhood narcissism and that I can look forward to easier days ahead. I can't take much more of this Veruca Salt nonsense.

Wednesday, April 21, 2010

Wardrobe Wednesday





Violet said, "I want this skull Mama. Put it right here." 

She is no longer the simple creature who only wanted warmth and milk and a dry behind.  The easily persuaded Mistress of Pink is fading.   I am starting to see something new peek out around the edges. Not a Big Girl (that decidedly condescending term for the small and recently toilet trained), but just a girl.

Her moods are stormier, her limbs more difficult to fit into the small space of my lap. I now groan involuntarily when I pick her up. I don't have to pretend that she is heavy anymore. Violet flirts constantly with that terrible edge overlooking the land of insufferable brattiness. Everyday, she touches the line and then sprints back to more lovable territory.  Lather. Rinse. Repeat.

Wednesday, January 27, 2010

Wardrobe Wednesday



Yeah, yeah, yeah, she's cute in her light-up glasses.  It's not about the glasses.  Take a look at that precision french braid across Violet's head.  She can sleep in that bad boy and it doesn't budge.  This may seem like a small accomplishment to some, but Violet's bangs have been the bane of my existence since late 2006.  Barrettes fall out, head bands just FAIL and cutting requires more maintenance than I have the patience for.  I will not pay someone to cut the bangs for me. THAT would be madness in my mind, considering I barely get myself in for a haircut when necessary.  I am also no good at french braiding. My crafty fingers turn to clumsy vienna sausages when faced with manipulating fine hair into orderly plaits.  The forehead braid, however, seems to be my strong suit.  With just the right amount of dampness, I can wrangle the hair comfortably and not have to worry about it falling into Violet's cereal the next morning.

2003 Kelly would have started daydreaming about old episodes of Friends about halfway through this conversation.

Sigh.

*I guess I do need a vacation. Thanks for all the advice, by the way.

Tuesday, August 18, 2009

What Makes Me Happy

Today I was prompted* to think about what makes me happy. There are lots of little things and I could list them here, but I won't because they are your garden variety joys.  Happiness, as a state of being,  is a much more interesting and ultimately more difficult thing to pin down.  My general contentment has a lot more to do with why I enjoy a morning cup of coffee than the quality of the beans.  If you know what I mean? No? Seriously?

Okay, so I could be eating lobster with hot drawn butter and a side of filet mignon and if a black cloud of blah and anxiety and non-specific ick was hanging over my head that food would taste like ash in my mouth. Conversely,  mac n' cheese straight from the box with a side of over cooked peas tastes like heaven when the sunshine is blowing directly up my butt and I've not a care in the world.  Pair up that first meal with a really great mood and I start to hallucinate unicorns and rainbows. 

My point?  Oh, yes. 

Attitude is everything and my attitude suffers mightily from being employed.  Yep, that is what ultimately makes me happy, giddy even.  I don't have a job.  I never get tired of being at home with my child.  Sure, I get tired of my child's behavior and the laundry and the dishes from time to time, but all I need to do is daydream for a moment about working retail and mopping the kitchen floor seems like a real privilege indeed.  My former co-workers teased me about getting bored and wagered I'd come back to them sooner rather than later.  As much as I wanted to stay at home, I did wonder if they were on to something.  If everyone says it, it must be true, right? 

People talk a good game about how motherhood / parenthood / fatherhood made them better, or happier or whatever and I can't disagree, entirely.  But, what has really made me more productive, more patient, more loving and more likely to see a rainbow in a shit storm, is being at home. Working drained me.  At the end of the day I was lifeless.  All my smiles and patience got dished out to perfect strangers.  By the time I got home, all I wanted to do was become one with my TV and cuddle up (silently) with my husband. I had no desire to socialize, at all. I was very isolated.  I can't imagine coming home in that condition and trying to parent a child.  

Of course, this has a lot to do with my hyper-sensitive, introverted personality.  I was really good at retail because I am extremely intuitive and observant of human behavior.  That combination of skills takes up a lot of energy.  Becoming a full-time parent made me realize that all that energy I was pouring into meeting the needs of customers could be used to make our life as a family better. At first, Aaron was terrified of being the sole wage earner, but my dramatic shift to an even-tempered, happy and productive human has eased his fear.  If Mama's not happy, ain't nobody happy.

*Lorry inspired this post and technically I am supposed to tag six more people, but I will leave it up you. What makes you happy?  I'd really like to know, unless it has something to do with competitive eating or not-liking baby kittens.  You can keep that to yourself.

Saturday, May 9, 2009

Happy Mother's Day

I don't normally post links, because...well, I rarely visit the links that other bloggers offer up. Today, I am making an exception. This is well worth your time. I would put it directly into my post, but NPR doesn't have an option for embedding. So any way, go here. Do it now!

Thursday, April 30, 2009

From the Desk of Kelly's Uterus:

Sometimes... I think about having another baby.

Actually, I think about having another baby every month on the 12th day of my cycle whether I want to think about it or not. The feeling is brief, but intense.

It drives me fucking crazy.

This month my hormones get me so drunk that I found myself staring at babies with a hungry look. I started thinking about soft baby skin and the tiny fingers and toes. I imagined myself nursing a perfect little baby and when I looked down at her, I saw Violet.

I always see Violet.

Her face morphs and changes and matures before my eyes and I realize that I am mourning her babyhood, again.















I was getting Violet out of the bath tub the other night and I was suddenly thrust into the moment. Time stood still for about ten seconds and I just stared at her face in utter astonishment. The universe went mute and I watched water drop from the end of her nose in slow motion. Just as I was getting a really good look at those dark lashes and tiny freckles, time sped up and she was a blur once more.



Sand through my fingers.

Sunday, March 15, 2009

When Mama Is Sick

In this trying economy, it is important to hold on to the job you've got. Sometimes that means reminding everyone just how indispensible your work is. In the case of a stay-at-home parent, the most expedient way to get a little respect is to take ill and stop performing ALL of the million tiny tasks that you are normally responsible for. Your employer family will soon realize just how much they need you, when they find themselves starving and knee deep in their own filth. Unfortunately, once this little exercise is over you will find yourself with a mess to clean up. I advise keeping Mommy Sick Leave as brief as possible, so that you do not have to deal with this.

The debris field continued throughout the house.
The thick layer of crumbs really didn't photograph clearly.
At least no one starved, right?
Okay, I'm not sure I can blame this one on my illness.


* Oh! Shady Lady recently bestowed an award on me for my attitude and gratitude. Thanks! I would be eternally grateful if you all forgive me for not following ANY of the procedures required for accepting the award. C'mon! I'm really tired. I had to clean this dirty house.

Tuesday, February 24, 2009

Sorrow

Yesterday, my husband's dear friend H called.  Aaron was at work and when I answered the phone I wasn't sure who I was talking to.  Her voice was broken and tearful.  To be honest, I thought I was talking to my mother for a moment, because she often calls me in that condition.  I realized who was really on the line when H said her son's name.

I still don't know what actually happened.  H was nearly impossible to understand.  All that matters is that a four month old baby is gone.

An incomprehensible mish mash of thoughts have been swirling in my head since H called.  I feel sad that I didn't get a chance to know Baby L (I only held him once) and then I am overcome with relief that I escaped the pain of a severed attachment.  I escaped that feeling of overwhelming sorrow and I feel terribly guilty for that luxury.

I want to feel grateful that Baby L has a twin sister for his mother to cling to, but I worry that Baby E will be a constant and painful reminder of the baby that was lost.  Awful thoughts about how much easier life will be with only one baby to care for sprint across my brain, chased out by the image of Baby L in his First Christmas finery.  There is nothing easy about losing a child.

Violet has the cold her father had last week. The wheeze in her chest as she slept was more than I could bear.  I checked on her a dozen times.  I keep stroking her hair and staring at her.  What would I do if I lost my child? I am quite certain that I would turn to dust and blow away.  There would be nothing left to hold me together.  H has another child.  She needs to pull herself together and love that baby and change her diapers and feed her, just the same as she did two days ago.  I don't know how she will do it. 

Wednesday, June 18, 2008

Who ARE you?

Allow me for a moment to slide into a cliched rant on my daughter's recent regression to child-raised-by-wolves. In the past, her most ardent stabs at ill-advised independence have been easily redirected. Now, she tells me no and sticks to it. Her selective hearing is in zero volume mode 80% of the day. Yesterday, she held her pee until it was physically painful to release it (there's a little story or her first therapy session). Removing her bathing suit is literally like trying to skin a live cat with your bare hands. Magazines are ripped from my hands and my hands are grabbed forcefully whenever I try to type for more than a minute (I am able to type now because she is in her room stewing over whether or not to put on clean panties, as I have requested). We have a strict limit of one glass of chocolate milk per day, so Violet now refuses to drink anything else. The sweet cherub enjoys pooping in her potty and waiting for the smell to inform us that she should probably have a little wipe down (ah, more therapy fodder). I'm just glad I don't have anywhere to go, because if I had to be patient and punctual five days a week you might see blood coming out of my ears.

Sunday, May 18, 2008

Case In Point

Now, if I had big bad job would I have time to whip out a doll sling on a whim in the middle of the afternoon? Would I have enough free brain space to realize that I could use old link-a-dos as sling rings? Would I have enough energy to wrangle the child and sit down at the sewing machine at the same time?
*Okay, I am exaggerating now. Little Bear kept Violet mesmerized while I did the quick sewing. I also must give some credit to Jan Andrea for giving me a little visual inspiration to complete my mission.

Now, when we take our trip to Michigan this week, I can rest assured that Baby Rojo or Knuffle Bunny can be safely carried about without fear of loss.
*Mama and Daddy live in constant fear that Knuffle Bunny, in particular, will get lost or irrevocably damaged in the course of an outing.

Poverty is My Salvation

When my husband was 21, he bought a nice old house. This nice old house is our home now and it is about a dozen blocks from downtown Dayton and only 5 blocks from the University of Dayton. I can walk to the grocery store. I have three drug stores within walking distance of my house and I can coast down the hill to the gas station when the car is on fumes. In fact, we only have one car and since my husband has a big bad job 30 minutes away, I walk a lot. As I write this, I can see how picaresque my life must sound. In reality, the reason we only have one car is that an uninsured drunk totaled our second car as it sat parked in front of our house. Staying home with my daughter has made my heart more joyful than I could have guessed, but the decision was made by finances. I simply did not make enough money to cover daycare. Our neighborhood is not exactly the kind of community that makes walking a pleasant experience. Our street is extremely busy and the intersection that I must cross to get anywhere is frightening. There are derelict houses and razed lots sprinkled liberally through out the surrounding streets.

Oh, and it's uphill both ways.
I am not joking.

I live mere blocks away from the highest spot in Dayton, The Woodlawn Cemetery (the Wright Brothers are buried there). I used to walk in the cemetery. It is one of those old Victorian parks that endeavored to be both a beautiful arboretum and a place of final rest. Unfortunately, it is so large and so private that people get mugged there.

Okay, so I live a blighted neighborhood with undervalued potential. My point is that circumstances have placed us in a situation that I could view as dire or delightful. I choose delightful. I have everyday to spend watching my daughter grow. I never need to ask someone where Violet learned a bad habit or what the stain on her shirt is from. I am constantly exercising my creativity to keep us entertained. I am putting all of these lovely/inconvenient things into perspective because my friend and her husband just bought the most fantabulous house I have ever been in. It is gorgeous and full of light and has nearly as many toilets as occupants. They are now completely house poor and it is also a grotesque 45 minutes from where they both work. I know that there are plenty of suburban Mamas who will laugh at that minor commute, but I find it repulsive (I don't like driving much). I can't imagine any residential upgrade that would make me willing to give up my days with my child. I also have more time with my husband and if I spend more than 15 minutes in the car it's because I am going someplace fun.

I am so glad that I have no money. If we were just a little bit wealthier, I may have made very different choices about my life as a mother. I might have gone back to work, put Violet in daycare and struggled to find the time and energy to be the nice Mommy and the nice wife. I know myself. I would not be as close to my child as I am now, if I had to deal with customers all day long. I have a very low threshold for pleasant caregiving. I am much more talented at stretching resources than I am at stretching time. Money can be made and saved, time cannot.

Sunday, January 27, 2008

Normal?

The first two years of my life with a child have been punctuated by moments in which I suddenly feel “normal” again. I don’t know what that really means. Some days I think it means that I can wear blue jeans without feeling suffocated and other days it means that I am willing to leave Violet with someone else and go on a date with my husband. On bad days the "normal" bar is lowered to simply getting dressed. Then one morning I woke up with this on the tip of my tongue:

“With the birth of a child you will watch life as you know it catch fire and burn to the ground and before you’ve had a chance to mourn, something so unspeakably beautiful and indescribably profound and challenging rises up from the ashes. It makes your past appear to be nothing more than a charmingly empty curiosity.”

I use quotes because this thought sprang from my mind so completely and effortlessly that I am not quite certain it is my own. Maybe I read it or heard and didn’t process the information until I started to dream. Regardless, it is the truth. There is no return to “normal” and that's okay. Really. Yeah, I look at pictures of my skinnier, freer self and sigh sometimes, but I wouldn’t go back. There is absolutely nothing more spectacular than watching my little sponge absorb the world.  I am so much more aware of this life and what it means to be a good human because I am no longer focused on sculpting myself. I have better things to do now. My free moments are more productive. The scarcity of Me time makes it precious. My view has changed so dramatically now that I can’t even imagine what it would be like to once again fuss about being in fashion or having a trendy hair cut. Parenthood has liberated me in more ways than it has restricted me. I don't miss the trappings of life before children, but I would regret forever missing the tiny, cumulative steps that my daughter takes every day on her way to adulthood.



Normal is totally overrated.

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