Do you remember?

Where does our memory go after we give birth? Does it fly into the universe and go to some other more deserving soul? Does it get swept up on the delivery room floor and thrown away in those plastic bins marked 'bio hazard'? It's like as soon as you become pregnant, a small hole is created in your head where your memory slowly leaks out for the rest of your life, or in my case, gushes like a broken fire hydrant.

Usually Brian is the victim of my memory loss. We'll have a major life discussion where decisions are made about the raising of our kids or jobs or school. The next day, it's like it never happened. He'll just look at me in awe, "We JUST talked about this? I cannot believe you don't remember. What is wrong with you?"
-My girlfriend Kirsten, who is 9 months pregnant and gushing like a fire hydrant herself, said that she and her husband now write all decisions onto slips of paper then sign them. So simple yet effective. Props to her husband for signing the slips of paper, too, we know who this system was designed for.

Poor Charlie had his first 'What is wrong with you?' moment yesterday. Thursday afternoon I have a sitter come to take care of the baby so Charlie and I can have 'special adventure time' together. Yesterday's adventure consisted of the park and the car wash. 3 year olds may be high maintenance in a lot of areas, but they are pretty easy to entertain.

As we were driving around Charlie says from the backseat, "Do you remember when we went to the ladder and you carried me? Then at the top the bowl was empty." Uh, sure I remember.
Kids will throw a lot of nonsensical stuff your way in the course of the day. You have to pick and choose what you give credence to. I guess I chose wrong in this case.
"Can we do that again?"
Okay
"When? Now! Let's go now"
Honey, where was the ladder?
"The LADDER, the LADDER"
Where was it? Was it at the park on the slide?
"NOOOOO, the ladder with the bowl at the top."
He's really pretty worked up at this point and I really have no clue what he's talking about.
Where was it? At the house?
"NOOOO, the ladder WITH the bowl at the top. It was empty."
I cannot figure out what he's talking about and would love to continue this game of 20 questions, but he is full blown crying and yelling his responses at me, so I change tactics.
Hey, I have a great idea.
Building momentum and excitement in my voice to distract him.
"What?"
Sniffle sniffle sniffle
Do you want a treat?
Said with the fakest falsetto voice.
"Yes, I would like that."
Tears are subsiding and he's able to answer in a calm voice after a few deep breaths.
Let's get some yogurt.
"Okay, that sounds delicious, Mommy. Thanks."

Another good/bad thing about 3 year olds, they are very easily distracted.
This will definitely not be the last time poor Charlie has to endure his mother's lack of memory, but hopefully frozen yogurt will suffice as a solution. I only wish it worked with my husband.

Butting heads

I held off writing this post simply because I thought I needed to cool off a bit before committing this to the blog. Though I realized this story will always hurt me in so many ways, I just hope some day I'll be able to laugh about it.
I recently learned from a friend who is a MFT that anger begets anger. We're all under the misconception that if you allow yourself the big blow up or scream fest, that the release will make you feel better. Not true. In the case of anger, it just makes you more angry. So I experienced on Tuesday.
Tuesday I have both of the boys all day and I usually have plenty of playdates or park outings planned. Was it God who said 'Idle hands are the devils workshop'? No truer words have ever been spoken than in the home of a preschooler (aka Satan). Well, we were house bound Tuesday waiting for the FUCKING washing machine repairman to show up...late...did I mention 2 hours late?!? That is like an eternity when you are stuck at home with your kids.
We were having a great morning. I even told someone that I felt we were turning the corner in terms of Charlie's recent rash of bad behavior. We had just finished playing garage and fixed all of his trucks, they were good to go. I bent over to pick the baby up and Charlie came up in front of me and head butted me with all his might. Head hit head and it hurt. I had to put the baby down, saw stars and just cradled my head.
Charlie smiled at me, waiting to see what I was going to do. As I walked into the kitchen, I screamed, 'Mommy needs 2 minutes of time out to be alone.' I burst into tears, the physical pain was almost gone, but emotionally I was reeling - How could my child hurt me like that and not even care? How could he not have hurt himself? Did I not just play garage with this kid for almost 40 minutes? Did he not notice that I completely ignored his brother to focus on him 100%?
Charlie followed me into the kitchen, thinking it was a funny game. He laughed and I lost it - like one of those cops on Law & Order (pick one) when they finally catch the serial killer/rapist and conveniently arrest him in a dark, deserted alley. I grabbed his arm and took him into his room. Told him to stay there for 3 minutes, that I didn't want to play with him, he wasn't being nice to me, I was very upset, etc. I lost track of what I was saying, I was a blubbering mess. He started screaming from his room. Finally, a reaction. I wanted to lock him in there forever.
I opened the door after 2 minutes and let him come out. Little fucker was still smiling behind his tears. "You hurt Mommy. We do not head butt. I don't want to play with you right now so go read a book."
I guess I must be more interesting to him when I'm on the emotional edge. He followed me around smiling, asking, "Why you not talking? Why you not talking to me?" Umm, because you are evil.
I threw some toys across the room and screamed, "LEAVE ME ALONE. GET AWAY." I could feel the anger just building and Charlie was clearly enjoying the show. I realized he was absorbing every single action and word. Shit, this is not good. I managed to pull myself together, called the babysitter and begged her to come over. I went to the gym for a swim then to the yogurt shop got an extra large ice cream (this was not a situation that called for yogurt) with peanut butter cups. I felt better. Funny, it doesn't matter how self aware I become, I cannot get away from the emotional eating. It's a fact, ice cream makes you feel better.

I returned home and Charlie came running to me, smiling, "Mommy, I missed you."

This glass I live in

Most of my friends say that with their kids there are good weeks and bad weeks. Well, we've been in about a 3 week 'bad' cycle. I just read something online that attempted to put things into perspective.
If you measure how bad your kid is in hours, even if they are bad for 8 hours a day, there are still 16 hours where they are good, thus your child is more good than bad. A simplistic approach at which I scoff. 11-12 of those hours are devoted to sleep and that doesn't really count in the glass is half empty world from which I cannot seem to escape.
I'm working on it. Am off to read 'Screamfree Parenting' by Hal Edward Runkel.
Charlie is at daycare today, thus the reason why I have nothing to report. Gregory is sleeping soundly in his crib. Cherish these moments.

Whoa, where am I?

It is 7:30 am and no one in my house is awake - not my husband, Charlie or Gregory - no one. For a moment I think I have woken up in some perfect alternate universe. But after a few moments, I realize Joaquin Phoenix isn't in my kitchen wearing a loin cloth, cooking me bacon and eggs, and Gregory's baby shit stained pants are still on the laundry room floor. By the way, normally after a blow out, I just throw the pants or underwear out, it's too gross to deal with. But these are adorable madras pants that along with his big floppy hat and dark socks, make him look like a little old man from a retirement community.

Charlie is awake now and I'm trying to get him his breakfast before I give the baby his bottle. I ask him what he wants. After about 2 minutes of him making a 'hmmmmm' sound, he says, "I don't know?" Charlie, do you want cereal, yogurt or a waffle? I found giving limited choices helps in most situations. Do you want to go to bed or get locked in the closet? "Umm, I'll go to bed." Excellent choice.

After some hemming and hawing, I ask again, do you want cereal, yogurt or a waffle? "I want something out of the refrigerator." The calm serene feeling of 30 minutes prior is gone. What Charlie? Yogurt, cheese, apple sauce? What? Baby is full blown crying now. Another 2 minute 'hmmm' begins, "I think yogurt." Great. I get him yogurt and start giving Gregory his bottle. As soon as I sit my butt in the chair, Charlie says, "I don't want this yogurt. I want banana yogurt." Sorry, we don't have banana yogurt, only vanilla. "But I want banana." Charlie, we only have vanilla. You asked for yogurt, so that's what you're going to eat. "No! I don't want yogurt." This is not a restaurant, you will eat what you asked for. "No yogurt. NOOOOO."

I am beyond frustrated and cannot believe it is only 8:05 am. Poor Gregory has indigestion from my yelling and yanking the bottle away from him so many times. Well, if you want something else, you are going to have to wait until I'm done feeding your brother. That'll teach him. "I don't want yogurt. I don't want the yogurt." What is it that you want, Charlie? "I want a bar." I get him a fruit leather bar. "NOOO, not a fruit bar, I want a bar bar." A what? "I WANT A BAR BAR. A BAR BAR." What's a bar bar? "The one in the blue box." Turns out a bar bar is a blueberry cereal bar from Trader Joe's. I get him his fucking 'bar bar' and finish feeding the baby. It is only 8:44 am, God help me.

Charlie has gone into his room to most likely poop. This is the only time where he wants to be alone. I go in to check on him and make sure everything is okay (meaning he's not smearing it on the walls). I knock on his door, you okay in here? "Go away." You done pooping? "NO, go away."
Clearly my kid is not potty trained at 3. I'm okay with this. He can continue pooping in his diaper till he's 10 if it gives me that 10-15 minute post breakfast drama break.
See, I found something positive to write.

Waking up is hard to do

Another 5 am wake up from my dear eldest son and another battle over what bed he was going to sleep in - this after a 2 am cry out from Gregory. Charlie didn't go back to his own bed, we compromised on the couch. Of course he came creeping into our room at the first hint of sun. I was just falling back to sleep and was in no mood. Though I did think it was incredibly cute, in an annoying way, when he played with my hair and asked me if liked firetrucks, sirens, police cars, silver cars, daddy's car, my car. Though it turned annoying quickly when he demanded an answer with each one. We were finally up for the day at 6:15 am. Ugh!
It's amazing when your sleep is interrupted multiple days in a row by your child, how intolerant you become to everything about them. Sleep deprivation is the biggest deterrent to maintaining one's sanity.
At breakfast I decided to give Charlie the silent treatment as punishment for waking me. I know this is not the most effective way to deal with a 3 year old, but damn is it satisfying. Though he's gotten smart to my ways. He looked at me and said, "Why you not talking?" I continued to ignore him. "Mommy, are you not happy with me?" Come on, how is anyone supposed to ignore that? He hit me with that annoying-cute combo again. "No honey, Mommy's just tired because you woke me up when it was dark."
My husband sauntered into the kitchen and could sense the tension. He said, "Everything okay in here?" Peachy. Of course he can be all calm and objective since he will be trotting his ass to work in about 5 minutes. He gets to leave hell.
Fortunately, after breakfast I plopped boy wonder in front of his Maisy video until it was time to leave for daycare. Daycare opens at 8 am, I was there at 8:01.
I truly do not know how single parents manage this. I live for when Brian comes home at the end of the day to relieve some of the burden. Parenting is overwhelming and I'm not having fun. I'm in a bit of a dark place right now, so I think I should sign off before I really post something that I'll regret.

You'll never take me alive...

Today was one of those days where I did battle with Charlie on every front. It started early this morning when he woke me at 5 am wanting to climb into bed with me. I sent him back to his own room where he started crying about not wanting to sleep in his bed. We finally compromised and he slept on the couch until it was light out (when he's allowed to get up).

Post breakfast we went round and round about his treatment of his brother. "Stop hitting him!", "Get off of him!", "Don't kick him!", "Share your toys with him!" - sometimes I annoy myself with all the nagging. But then he bit me!
I yelled, "You DO NOT BITE ME!" He smiled. I wanted to strangle him. Instead, I put him in his room and shut the door. He cried, which made me feel better. I told him (through the door), "Mommy needs 2 minutes of time out because you have made her so mad by biting. WE DON'T BITE."
After he finished crying and promised not to bite again, he came out of his room. 'You really hurt me. Do you like being bitten?' With a sheepish, 'No', he responded. He seemed pretty sincere with his remorse but who knows. 3 year olds often embody many of the same qualities as a sociopath.

After that we took off for the park. Lord knows if we stay inside the house for too long, everyone goes a bit stir crazy. Charlie was pretty mellow, throwing rocks down the sewer, playing on the swings with his brother. We headed over to the sandbox where another little boy was playing with a plastic wheel loader. Charlie asked, "Can I play with that?" The boy ignored him.
"Can I have that?"
"No."
"I want that."
"No."
A scuffle ensues with Charlie and this kid hitting each other. The mother of the boy dragged him off where he had an official meltdown. Charlie was on reasonable behavior until the boy came back into the sandbox. They went at it again, this time arguing over a bike that neither one of them really wanted.
Fortunately, this other mom was used to dealing with a 'high strung child', so there was no awkwardness or unnecessary apologies. We just tried to put an end to the behavior and avoid any blood shed.
I told Charlie for the 2nd time, "We do not hit. If you hit him again, we will go home."
Sure as the day is long, my son hit again.
I said in a matter of fact tone, "That's it. We're going home."
Oh boy. Charlie threw a tantrum to end all tantrums. He started screaming at the top of his lungs. "Nooooooo. Noooooo. I don't want to go home."
Props to me for remaining calm. "Sorry honey, I said if you hit, we would go home. So we're going home."
"I DON'T WANT TO GO HOME! I want to go on the slide. I want to go on the slide. I want to go on the SLIIIIIIIIIDDDDDEEEE!"
He dug his heels in and would not move. Still with no emotion, but getting close to losing my cool, I started heading toward the car with Gregory, the stroller, sand toys, diaper bag, water bottles, and blanket. Charlie freaked, started screaming even louder, "NOOOOOOOO. NOOOOO, don't go."
I finally got him into the car and as soon as Enzo Garcia started playing on the iPod, we were onto discussions about dinner.

While this was a most difficult day, (keeping in mind I made no mention of the other 572 battles that took place from 5 am - 7:30 pm) I kept my cool throughout this entire incident. Despite the glares from the other mothers in the park and my son's best attempts to rattle me, I stuck to the rules and did not back down. It would have been so easy to just let him have that last ride on the slide before we left the park. It sounds silly, but I felt slightly victorious.

Confessions of a stay at home Mom

For the first 20 something years of my life, I didn't think much about parenting, and when I did I wondered if I wanted children at all. I'll spare you the details, but obviously I changed my mind. Not only am I a parent twice over, but now being a mom is my full time job, one for which I feel severely under qualified.
My kids, Charlie 3 and Gregory 8 months, are my greatest achievement to date, but there are days where I want to take them and throw them off of the Golden Gate Bridge. May seem a little harsh to some people, but I'm here to tell you that these feelings are completely normal.
From the moment my first son was born, to this very instant typing on my couch, I am in awe of how unwilling people are to share their true feelings on parenting.

Some days are so good, you are amazed at how cool, smart, funny, precocious your kid is. But then there are days and often entire weeks/months where you think you may have accidentally taken home the love child of Scott Peterson and Amber Frye - bad example, but you catch my drift.

My hope for this blog is to give some comfort to those who are ashamed by frequent feelings of inadequacy, contempt, and at times even hatred, about being a parent or toward their child(ren). You are not alone, most people have had these same feelings but don't have the balls to admit it.