A fellow mom from Charlie's preschool takes the same 6 am workout class that I do. Post sweat, as we headed towards the locker room, she asked if I was going straight home or showering there. I said I was hurrying home because Brian had to take off early for work.
She was staying to shower and commented, "It's just so luxurious to shower here." To avoid any confusion, my gym is nice, but it's not nice enough where someone would ever mistake it for being luxurious. I thought it was an interesting adjective to use, but understood. My friend was simply stating that the ability to shower alone, without having someone banging on the shower door, or crying through the wall, is a true treat that she bestowed upon herself.
We both agreed, if the roles were reversed, neither of our husbands would think twice about the extra 15 minutes it takes to shower at the gym. They would just do it. But as Mom's, we feel guilty being away from our kids for more than 5 minutes. And G_d forbid if those 5 minutes are for something as frivolous as a shower. Our IGC's would probably switch to tase mode and shock us into submission from within our own bodies. (IGC is an intrauterine guilt chip and one of my many conspiracy theories - see IGC post from 1/7/09 for full definition) .
During our life time, the idea of luxury changes drastically. Growing up in a family of 5, living on one teacher's salary, I don't really think the word ever entered my mind. In hindsight, ordering dessert with my Happy Meal instead of eating Oreos at home or shopping something other than the clearance rack at Marshall's would count. In my 20's, it was free beer at my favorite bar and a burger after last call. And my 30's, a spa day followed by a nice dinner (and dessert) and good wine. I guess one could argue my sense of luxury has been evolving.
But since having kids, what I consider to be luxurious today is downright offensive to all of my former selves. I came up with a list of things I would like to experience in the near future; my expectations are so low I didn't even put a time line to them.
Quite possibly the saddest 'luxury' list ever compiled.
1). Going to the bathroom alone.
a). Going to the bathroom without having the toilet flushed several times prior to me getting off of it.
2). Finishing an entire meal without popping up every time someone utters 'Mommy, I want/need...'
a). Eating alone.
3). Drinking out of a water bottle that has not been back-washed with Cheerio or Goldfish remnants.
4). Wearing an outfit that is free of dried snots, diaper cream or mystery milk stains.
5). Leaving the house knowing that yesterday's mascara has been properly removed from under my eyes.
6). Needing to set an alarm (nope, don't need one for that 6 am work out class).
This could have easily gone all the way up to 100. The damn IGC must have been tripped, weakening all muscles, forcing me to stop typing my selfish list and get back to caring for my husband and kids. I know, I know, poor me and my sad list. I recognize that this is the rant of the privileged and that there are people living in a 3rd world countries where clean water and indoor plumbing would be in a fight for number 1. To those of you who judge, first, I bet in those 3rd world countries, the kids don't follow the mom into the poop shack nor do they pre-flush on them. Second, my blog, my bitch - I'm not out to save the world, just my sanity.
Thursday, May 28, 2009
Friday, May 22, 2009
Stepping Up
Where things with Charlie are starting to calm down a bit, Gregory is picking up the slack, attempting to find his place in the family hierarchy. We're not sure if his role will be one of more comic relief, or following in his brother's footsteps of devil's spawn.
Charlie was sitting on the couch watching TV and all Gregory wanted was his big brother's attention. Most days a goofy face and his sumo wrestler dance works, Charlie looks at him, smiles, and says, "Silly Gregory, are you riding on the crazy train again?"
But his usual tactics weren't working. Gregory tried piling all of his trucks onto the couch leaving Charlie barely an inch of room to move. Then he took the trucks, one at a time, and hit Charlie with each to gauge it's effectiveness as a weapon. Charlie was really good and just kept saying, "Ow, Gregory, stop it." Then would go back into his Caillou induced trance.
Being further ignored by his brother only forced Gregory to step up his game. We have only one doll in our entire house. We bought it for Charlie when we found out I was pregnant. It's a nameless, genderless baby that is basically ignored unless we have a little girl visiting, then my boys fight over it like it poops M&M's and is the last damn toy on earth.
Gregory took the baby in his mouth similar to a mother cat with her kitten, then shook it back and forth like it was his prey. Brian and I were in hysterics, but no reaction from Charlie. Gregory grabbed the doll by it's foot and started whacking it onto the keys of his toy piano, the noise was so loud you could no longer hear the TV. Still, not even a side glance from Charlie. Next unisex baby had it's head slammed into the window, after each hit, Gregory would throw the doll over his shoulder, caveman style, and walk over to the couch to see if Charlie was looking yet. No reaction equaled more banging. If it had not been a toy, there would have been baby brains splattered everywhere.
Things were getting out of control as Gregory looked like he was enjoying himself a little too much. I finally had to rescue the poor doll from the hands of it's torturer. Gregory sat there, panting from the all of the energy he exerted, smiling, like Jack Nicholson in the Shining - 'Heeeeere's Johnny.'
We're not sure if his actions were simply to get his brother's attention or if he was trying to send us a message - Have a 3rd kid and I'll make Jekyll and Hyde on the couch over there look like the Dalai Lama. He certainly got our attention.
Charlie was sitting on the couch watching TV and all Gregory wanted was his big brother's attention. Most days a goofy face and his sumo wrestler dance works, Charlie looks at him, smiles, and says, "Silly Gregory, are you riding on the crazy train again?"
But his usual tactics weren't working. Gregory tried piling all of his trucks onto the couch leaving Charlie barely an inch of room to move. Then he took the trucks, one at a time, and hit Charlie with each to gauge it's effectiveness as a weapon. Charlie was really good and just kept saying, "Ow, Gregory, stop it." Then would go back into his Caillou induced trance.
Being further ignored by his brother only forced Gregory to step up his game. We have only one doll in our entire house. We bought it for Charlie when we found out I was pregnant. It's a nameless, genderless baby that is basically ignored unless we have a little girl visiting, then my boys fight over it like it poops M&M's and is the last damn toy on earth.
Gregory took the baby in his mouth similar to a mother cat with her kitten, then shook it back and forth like it was his prey. Brian and I were in hysterics, but no reaction from Charlie. Gregory grabbed the doll by it's foot and started whacking it onto the keys of his toy piano, the noise was so loud you could no longer hear the TV. Still, not even a side glance from Charlie. Next unisex baby had it's head slammed into the window, after each hit, Gregory would throw the doll over his shoulder, caveman style, and walk over to the couch to see if Charlie was looking yet. No reaction equaled more banging. If it had not been a toy, there would have been baby brains splattered everywhere.
Things were getting out of control as Gregory looked like he was enjoying himself a little too much. I finally had to rescue the poor doll from the hands of it's torturer. Gregory sat there, panting from the all of the energy he exerted, smiling, like Jack Nicholson in the Shining - 'Heeeeere's Johnny.'
We're not sure if his actions were simply to get his brother's attention or if he was trying to send us a message - Have a 3rd kid and I'll make Jekyll and Hyde on the couch over there look like the Dalai Lama. He certainly got our attention.
Thursday, May 14, 2009
What Happens in Vegas...
Charlie's sphere of influence is limited to home, school, the park or play dates. With the exception of school, he's always with me or Brian. At 3 1/2, his world is already starting to expand, he's having new experiences and meeting new friends. I need to come to grips with the fact that the older he gets, the less control I'll have over him and these experiences and friends.
Last weekend Charlie had his first unsupervised play date at the next door neighbor's house. The son is 5 and Charlie looks up to him like a big brother. He actually listens when he says, "Charlie, please don't hit me in the face with your dump truck." Charlie must have hung on every syllable this boy uttered, because we've had some new phrases pop up in our household. 'I'm going to kill you, Gregory', 'You're dead, Mommy', or my personal favorite, 'Your eyes are going to pop out, then your brain will fall to the floor and you'll be dead, Daddy.'
My neighbor does the eye roll-shoulder shrug apology. You know the one that communicates wordlessly, 'I feel bad. But what can I do? I only have so much energy in a day to fight this monster.' It's the very same apology I used last week during arts and crafts hour at the library. Charlie started chanting 'PENIS BUTT!' at the top of his lungs and about half of the children at the table joined in, much to the chagrin of the librarian and other parents.
So I tried not make a big deal about the 'kill' and 'die' language, every age has their thing. Besides, if I had a 5 year old, with my track record he'd be aiming his toy Glock 19 with laser scope at the neighbor's head while playing David Koresh and the Branch Davidians.
Things could always be worse. But I was left wondering, what kind of 'chanting' did Charlie do while next door and out of my care? How much worse than 'penis butt' could it get? And did I really want to know?
When they venture out from under our wing, we can only hope that our children take the good lessons we have tried to instill. Unfortunately, I learned they take a lot more than good values on this journey, they bring your dirty laundry with them as well. I never discovered any specifics about what my son shared with our neighbors, but I have a pretty good idea.
The other week as I was leaving school, I heard Charlie announce to his teacher, 'Claire, did you know my Daddy has the stinkiest poops ever? They're really super stinky.' Claire is a consummate professional, she smiled and said, "Oh, really Charlie?" I chuckled and did the eye roll-shoulder shrug thing, remembering a similar comment I had made that morning. Brian was mortified as there was an event at school the following day which would mark his first introduction to Claire. "No, really Mr. Goldstein, we don't need to shake hands. 'Nice to meet you' is sufficient."
The same week, on one of our not so good days, Charlie pushed Gregory backwards off the couch, hitting his head squarely on the coffee table. It was so bad that I thought he had a concussion. I 100% panicked. Recognizing the appearance of out of control Mommy, Charlie ran into his room. When I got there, he acted like he was reading and not a brother beater on the lam. I grabbed the book and threw it against the wall. He smiled at me. My flip flop came off next. I threw that against the wall, too. He just kept smiling and told me that Gregory fell all by himself. I screamed some threats, a few mild profanities, then slammed the door as I left the room.
The next day at Barnes & Noble, while buying some baby gifts, Charlie said to the saleswoman, 'You know what? Yesterday my Mom got so mad that she threw a book at the wall, but it wasn't a book like this, it was WAY bigger. Then you know what? She threw her flip flop, too. She was really mad because I hurt my brother.' The eye roll-shoulder shrug didn't seem as appropriate as the heads down-don't look anyone in the eye dash to the door. I have yet to return to the children's section.
Parents are the same, deep down we feel that our children's actions (especially the bad stuff) are a direct reflection of our parenting. Thus we try to control everything - eliminate the bad or at least try to hide it, over emphasize the good, and show everyone we are raising the smartest, most talented, and well mannered child the world has ever seen.
We fear the judgment of others - most specifically other mothers - especially when our kids are young and act really bad and we don't have any outside influences to blame. 'What kind of child are they raising? How else would he learn those kinds of words except at home? They must let him watch PG movies and eat red dye #40.' The fact that the child has a mind of his own does not enter anyone's thoughts during these moments of insecurity. We've all been there. We place the blame as quickly as we take it, and think 'there has got to be some way to change or fix that child's behavior'. But sometimes there is not a damn thing you can do but just grin and bear it (or roll and shrug) and wait for the next phase.
Brian and I have made a conscious effort to watch what we say in front of Charlie and to calm ourselves. The boy is like a video recorder that plays back an endless reel of our 'worst of' footage. If he's going out into the world- unaccompanied- representing our family, we need to control our part of the equation. We'll do the best we can, try not to judge ourselves or others too harshly, and the rest is up to Charlie. What a frightening thought.
Last weekend Charlie had his first unsupervised play date at the next door neighbor's house. The son is 5 and Charlie looks up to him like a big brother. He actually listens when he says, "Charlie, please don't hit me in the face with your dump truck." Charlie must have hung on every syllable this boy uttered, because we've had some new phrases pop up in our household. 'I'm going to kill you, Gregory', 'You're dead, Mommy', or my personal favorite, 'Your eyes are going to pop out, then your brain will fall to the floor and you'll be dead, Daddy.'
My neighbor does the eye roll-shoulder shrug apology. You know the one that communicates wordlessly, 'I feel bad. But what can I do? I only have so much energy in a day to fight this monster.' It's the very same apology I used last week during arts and crafts hour at the library. Charlie started chanting 'PENIS BUTT!' at the top of his lungs and about half of the children at the table joined in, much to the chagrin of the librarian and other parents.
So I tried not make a big deal about the 'kill' and 'die' language, every age has their thing. Besides, if I had a 5 year old, with my track record he'd be aiming his toy Glock 19 with laser scope at the neighbor's head while playing David Koresh and the Branch Davidians.
Things could always be worse. But I was left wondering, what kind of 'chanting' did Charlie do while next door and out of my care? How much worse than 'penis butt' could it get? And did I really want to know?
When they venture out from under our wing, we can only hope that our children take the good lessons we have tried to instill. Unfortunately, I learned they take a lot more than good values on this journey, they bring your dirty laundry with them as well. I never discovered any specifics about what my son shared with our neighbors, but I have a pretty good idea.
The other week as I was leaving school, I heard Charlie announce to his teacher, 'Claire, did you know my Daddy has the stinkiest poops ever? They're really super stinky.' Claire is a consummate professional, she smiled and said, "Oh, really Charlie?" I chuckled and did the eye roll-shoulder shrug thing, remembering a similar comment I had made that morning. Brian was mortified as there was an event at school the following day which would mark his first introduction to Claire. "No, really Mr. Goldstein, we don't need to shake hands. 'Nice to meet you' is sufficient."
The same week, on one of our not so good days, Charlie pushed Gregory backwards off the couch, hitting his head squarely on the coffee table. It was so bad that I thought he had a concussion. I 100% panicked. Recognizing the appearance of out of control Mommy, Charlie ran into his room. When I got there, he acted like he was reading and not a brother beater on the lam. I grabbed the book and threw it against the wall. He smiled at me. My flip flop came off next. I threw that against the wall, too. He just kept smiling and told me that Gregory fell all by himself. I screamed some threats, a few mild profanities, then slammed the door as I left the room.
The next day at Barnes & Noble, while buying some baby gifts, Charlie said to the saleswoman, 'You know what? Yesterday my Mom got so mad that she threw a book at the wall, but it wasn't a book like this, it was WAY bigger. Then you know what? She threw her flip flop, too. She was really mad because I hurt my brother.' The eye roll-shoulder shrug didn't seem as appropriate as the heads down-don't look anyone in the eye dash to the door. I have yet to return to the children's section.
Parents are the same, deep down we feel that our children's actions (especially the bad stuff) are a direct reflection of our parenting. Thus we try to control everything - eliminate the bad or at least try to hide it, over emphasize the good, and show everyone we are raising the smartest, most talented, and well mannered child the world has ever seen.
We fear the judgment of others - most specifically other mothers - especially when our kids are young and act really bad and we don't have any outside influences to blame. 'What kind of child are they raising? How else would he learn those kinds of words except at home? They must let him watch PG movies and eat red dye #40.' The fact that the child has a mind of his own does not enter anyone's thoughts during these moments of insecurity. We've all been there. We place the blame as quickly as we take it, and think 'there has got to be some way to change or fix that child's behavior'. But sometimes there is not a damn thing you can do but just grin and bear it (or roll and shrug) and wait for the next phase.
Brian and I have made a conscious effort to watch what we say in front of Charlie and to calm ourselves. The boy is like a video recorder that plays back an endless reel of our 'worst of' footage. If he's going out into the world- unaccompanied- representing our family, we need to control our part of the equation. We'll do the best we can, try not to judge ourselves or others too harshly, and the rest is up to Charlie. What a frightening thought.
Sunday, May 10, 2009
My Mother's Day Gift
Mother's Day started out like the special celebration it should be - Mommy sleeps in, is served a wonderful breakfast, everyone is on their best behavior, nice cards and some gifts are given. Brian dressed the boys to go to the farmer's market, and made sure that everything matched. Even when Charlie decided to ruin my nap by playing monster truck jam (which entails taking every metal truck he owns and bouncing it off the coffee table), Brian took heed and exited quickly to run some 'father-son errands', leaving me with Gregory, who was napping. Heavenly alone time.
It was by all accounts a perfect day. But by 4 pm, the specialness seemed to have worn off and it was back to the same old, same old - kids fighting, husband working, and me, doing a lot of yelling.
Gregory was standing in the living room, screaming, pinned up against the fireplace. Charlie was laying on the floor and had him in some kind of scissor kick wrestling move. Gregory's shoulders were being held between Charlie's knees, leaving his feet free to kick his brother in the face. After me shouting threats (and being ignored) for the 500th time, I stormed into the kitchen and put a bottle of white wine in the freezer. Happy hour was starting a little early tonight.
Brian looked up from his computer long enough to give me the, 'What the heck is going on in there? Do you have any control over your kids? Can't you see I'm trying to work?' look. I responded with the 'Verbalize any of those thoughts and your children will be mourning the loss of their father on Mother's Day' glare.
I returned to the living room to find that nothing had changed. I pulled up a chair, might as well be comfortable while I referee and wait for the wine to chill. I was about to throw a red card and take away Charlie's dessert when Gregory stopped crying and broke free of the scissor hold. He threw himself on top of his brother and started smacking him in the face. Charlie screamed, 'Gregory, stop it. No hitting. Stoooooopppp it you stupid.'
I sat there and took it all in, smiling. A Mother's Day gift for the ages, Gregory finally started rebelling against his brother's tyranny of violence. I don't need jewelry or fancy spa gifts on this day (though in the future they would be appreciated). My wants are simple, just a little peace or at least a fair fight.
Now that the playing field is evened out a bit, we can set up that cage in the backyard for the Ultimate Fighting Championship and offer fans a decent match for their money. Hey, stop judging, we have to pay for college somehow.
It was by all accounts a perfect day. But by 4 pm, the specialness seemed to have worn off and it was back to the same old, same old - kids fighting, husband working, and me, doing a lot of yelling.
Gregory was standing in the living room, screaming, pinned up against the fireplace. Charlie was laying on the floor and had him in some kind of scissor kick wrestling move. Gregory's shoulders were being held between Charlie's knees, leaving his feet free to kick his brother in the face. After me shouting threats (and being ignored) for the 500th time, I stormed into the kitchen and put a bottle of white wine in the freezer. Happy hour was starting a little early tonight.
Brian looked up from his computer long enough to give me the, 'What the heck is going on in there? Do you have any control over your kids? Can't you see I'm trying to work?' look. I responded with the 'Verbalize any of those thoughts and your children will be mourning the loss of their father on Mother's Day' glare.
I returned to the living room to find that nothing had changed. I pulled up a chair, might as well be comfortable while I referee and wait for the wine to chill. I was about to throw a red card and take away Charlie's dessert when Gregory stopped crying and broke free of the scissor hold. He threw himself on top of his brother and started smacking him in the face. Charlie screamed, 'Gregory, stop it. No hitting. Stoooooopppp it you stupid.'
I sat there and took it all in, smiling. A Mother's Day gift for the ages, Gregory finally started rebelling against his brother's tyranny of violence. I don't need jewelry or fancy spa gifts on this day (though in the future they would be appreciated). My wants are simple, just a little peace or at least a fair fight.
Now that the playing field is evened out a bit, we can set up that cage in the backyard for the Ultimate Fighting Championship and offer fans a decent match for their money. Hey, stop judging, we have to pay for college somehow.
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