Men vs. Women

Men and women are different, we know this. But with all of the books, talk shows, movies, websites and time dedicated to this very subject, it's amazing that I still have so many questions.

1. Why is it that when I offer my husband a brief sabbatical from the kids at nap time, he looks at me and says, "What should I do? Where should I go?"
If you offered any woman an hour to herself, away from her children, her spouse, the dog, etc, the only question she would ask is, "I wonder if the door is going to leave a mark when it hits me in the ass on my way out?"

2. Why, when I told my husband I was going to sacrifice my morning to sleep-in to go for a run, did he say, "Are you taking either of the kids?"
My friend Eliza called me a sucker when I relayed the conversation.
'I hadn't planned on it. Did you want me to take one of the kids?'
"Well, I thought maybe it would be something the baby would enjoy."
Right.
Too many why's to count. But mainly WHY did I say, 'Sure.'?

2a. Why do we feel so guilty when we take any time for ourselves, away from our family? Most men don't think twice about heading off to a concert with their friends, or meeting the guys out for a drink after work. They feel they've worked hard all week and are entitled to a little alone time. Hello, what about us?
The sad thing is, a lot of husbands I know, including my own, want their wives to do more things for themselves. But most of us are our own worst enemy. We wrack ourselves with guilt; play out the worst images in our minds of what will happen if we step foot out that door sans children.

I have a theory, call it conspiracy or what have you, but it's the only logical explanation. When each of us delivers our baby, they install an intrauterine guilt chip (IGC). We're so completely spent after labor that we don't even notice. The IGC goes off whenever we have the slightest thought of doing something for ourself, wracking us with gut wrenching guilt, thereby altering our decision, forcing us back into selflessness. It's some man-medical profession conspiracy that I promise to crack once my kids are in school full time. Don't worry, in the meantime I've alerted Gloria Steinem.

Stream of consciousness

Charlie speaks 3 languages, English, Spanish and Charlie-speak. It's often hard to decipher which language he's using at any given moment. It's obvious where he picked up English, Spanish is from the wonderful women at his daycare, and Charlie-speak is his made up language. To call it nonsensical would be an insult, there are words he repeats over and over in sentences, with real meaning.

It's really interesting to listen to him when he gets into 'crazy mode' - usually happens at night around dinner time or when he gets excited or the moon is full or it's Wednesday. He starts doing laps around the house, running as fast as he can from room to room, screaming at the top of his lungs words in every language, in rapid fire succession. I imagine he sounds much like a person with Turret's on crystal meth. I really want to crawl into his brain to figure out what he is talking about.

Last night, Charlie shifted into high gear 'crazy mode'. I happened to have a notebook close by and put pen to paper. At a frenzied pace I captured everything he was saying in an attempt to decode the crazy and establish some kind of rationality to the things he was screaming.

Here it goes:
No puedes
No pinneas
Hot pancakes
(demonic laughter ensues)
I made you a house
(I yell 'thank you' from the kitchen)
It's only for me and Bonnie
(throws all pillows off the couch onto the floor)
I have an idea, let's start cleaning up toys!
(instead of cleaning, he starts throwing his toys around the house)
I made a good plan
Look at the living room, it's very, very, very, very, very, very dry
(runs into the kitchen and hits me, then runs out)
Sticky
Ven a sah dee, ven a sah dee, ven a sah dee
Pizza pie
I'm going to poke you in the rivvon
Wahsh, wahsh, wahsh, wahsh, wahsh
Water bottle, please
Kick (he actually kicks me while screaming the word)

Game over, TIME OUT!
I hear more demonic laughter from his room where he has been sent to read a book and calm down.
10 minutes later he and I are sitting at the dinner table. He looks at me and says, 'We're having a nice quiet time. It's so nice you could come over for dinner.'
Diagnosis: adorable but nuts.

Are you listening?

Most people with toddlers know, getting them to listen is next to impossible. As they mature and become preschoolers, the hearing skills improve slightly. Though they are not unlike the 1980 Ford Econoline van my Dad used to drive; not so reliable.
Last night Brian and I were hanging with Charlie in his room playing with his vast assortment of cars and trucks. Gregory was asleep and Charlie was enjoying time with both Mommy and Daddy. I think maybe he was even feeling a little heady from all the attention.
Brian was reading 'The Jelly Bean Book' on the floor when Charlie looked at him and said, "That book is going to go into a TIME OUT if you cannot be behaving." He of course raises his voice when he says TIME OUT with the exact intonations I use.
Brian was a little surprised but amused at this outburst.
"But what did I do?", he asked.
"That's it, The Jelly Bean Book is going into a time out. You need to think about being behaving and when you can be behaving, you can have the book back."
I'm in hysterics as Brian is left wondering what just happened.
This is a page straight out of Mommy's How to be a Disciplinarian 101 manual. Either the toy he's playing with gets a time out, or Charlie gets sent to his room to read a book and he can decide to come out when he's ready to behave or be nice to his brother or not act like a psychopath. Though in Charlie's manual they must have left out the part where you need just cause to issue the TIME OUT.
Maybe Charlie is sending us a message that he thinks our penal system and accompanying manual suck. He decided to turn the tables, issuing a time out KGB style - no warning or insight into the infraction, just straight up punishment.
I guess that's how he sees things, without cause or reason, just us being unfair. I can't wait for him to publish this century's version of Mommy Dearest. I haven't even unleashed my wire hanger shit on his ass. Just wait.
I do take some comfort in knowing that he is listening to me. Unless of course if he thinks reading a book in his room is not 'be behaving' I'm in trouble and the whole penal systems does need to be overhauled.

A New Beginning?

When I first started this blog it's safe to say I was in a dark place. Which was one of the major reasons for my foray into the bloggersphere; I needed an outlet for all of my feelings.
After reading my third posting, my husband suggested that if I was ever going to publish this to the world, that I should maybe 'lighten it up a bit'. He didn't even want me posting pictures of the kids for fear that someone would narc on us to DCS.
I took his advice and started editing my first posting a bit. I kept chipping away at it over the course of a few days, all the while feeling not so good; like I broke into a teacher's home and started 'editing' a test after finding the answer key.
Why should I change my posting when that's how I really felt at that moment? I criticized many for not having 'the balls' to fess up to their true feelings on parenting and here I was back pedaling with mine. The whole point of the blog was to let people know that their feelings are normal.
The relationship we have with our children is like no other. If my husband treated me the way my kid does, with the language, attitude, physical aggression, etc., it would be considered abuse. My friends would perform an intervention to get me to leave his ass or there would at least be a halfway house where I could seek refuge. Now there's a business idea! You heard it here first.
So if you're at the point where you really want to toss your child off of the closest building, bridge, or mountain, I'm here to tell you these feelings are normal. If you're currently on the Golden Gate Bridge, slowing down and opening your child's door, then you might want to get some professional help - or as Tom Cruise would advise vitamins and exercise or a couple of nannies - whatever works.

A little privacy please

Forget the Patriot Act, being a Mom is the ultimate violation of privacy.
Perfect example, I was in the bathroom this morning, trying to...you know...go. The baby comes crawling in; chewing on those little knobs at the base of the toilet, trying to pull himself up on the tub. Smart little bugger decided to strike when I was most vulnerable. What could I do but sit there as he had his way with every nasty surface in the bathroom? It was when he knocked over the garbage can that Charlie's 'party in the potty' radar must have been tripped.
Next there are 3 of us in my tiny, tiny, tiny bathroom. A bathroom so small that if you are sitting on the toilet (alone), there is not enough clearance for the door to close. And of course Charlie decides he wants to shut the door. I quickly swing my legs to the side as I'm telling him, 'You can't shut it. There's not enough room.' He knocks my knees, scrapes my toes, narrowly misses my head and finally slams the door. Satisfied, he looks at me and says, "I shut the door to give you some privacy, Mommy."
I can't even wipe my own butt in private. Being a Mom is the most humbling experience for which I'm grateful and sometimes, not so much. If I had some alone time, I'd ponder this further along with my true feelings on the Patriot Act.

Chuck off

With 2 boys and no plans for a 3rd child, my husband and I often stare longingly (not in a weird way) at little girls. Little girls, and everything about them, are adorable to me. They are just so different from boys (Charlie would say 'Duh, Mommy' right here).

The longevity with which they can sit at a table and color for over 20 minutes without making a sound (or breaking anything).

Their need to mother small babies and not hit, bite, kick, head butt or scratch them.

Their innate sense of accessorization. It never fails to amaze me when I see a 3 year old at the park with sandals, matching purse, sunglasses and a necklace, climbing on the jungle gym.

With all of this little girl worship going through my head, I was thinking, what do boys bring to the table? The answer, cool footwear, most specifically sneakers (see photos above). I love buying Charlie awesome sneakers, especially if they are black. He has quite a collection - Pumas, Vans, Chuck Taylors, Nike - the list is almost embarrassing. I thought about adding a cool matching hat or sunglasses. But everyone knows, little boys hate things on their head and face. But I can't help it, the need to accessorize never really leaves us.