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One of the worst, worst things about being a single mom is the lack of time outs. Everything you read in all the parenting magazines talks about how you can be a better parent if you take time for you, even if its just a half hour or five minutes or three seconds where SOMEONE ISN"T SCREAMING and YOU ARE THE ONLY ONE WHO CAN DO ANYTHING TO STOP THE ONCOMING APOCALYPSE.
Like right now, all of my body language is saying, please, please, please children get away. Yet children lack in this ability to pick up on such subtleties as, "can't you go away and play by yourself for an hour?" or "If you whine one more word, I will shove pencils in my ears." or "If you do not quit slapping at your sister (who is on the other side of my hip) I am spending your entire 529 savings on gin."
Because, I know I do like these kids, but right now, we all would really benefit if I could go have a coffee or meet a friend for a bit, or you know, I would be happy right now just to be able to sit in my car alone for five minutes. Instead, I have to try to get the baby wipe out of the heating duct that I watched my two year old shove in as I sat here typing away, too far away to stop him and my yelling just insured he shoved it down all the faster. Because children know that evenutally, they will win, and you will be so worn out that you will feed them cheetos and ring dings if it can buy you five minutes.
As predicted, I am using this as a procrastination venue. Right now, in the midst of complete and utter chaos and clutter - how many Little People can we have before they secede into their own county? They've got an amusement park, stable, castle, train station, bus, fire engine, zoo. They're starting to eye the Weebles with a tad of disdain, but those Weebles, they're fighters. You can't knock them down, plus they can crush the Little People army with a slight breeze in the right direction. And why are the Weebles nowadays animals instead of people? They are mostly cows and hippos, a bit redundant. I'd like to see the gazelle Weeble, the one that says "I am so over grass and having to rely on leg strength, just give me some pie and the superpower of untippableness."
Anyway, what was I saying. Oh yes. Tomorrow, I have two important people coming over. One is a potential new babysitter. Or nanny. I think technically to have nanny, one must have a pool in the back and a front yard that cannot be mowed with a weedwacker. I have tried to prep this earnest young college student, but she's in for a treat. Especially if I don't stop typing and start cleaning my house right now! (or in five minutes, or I'll get up super early, or I'll meet her on the porch and say the baby is sleeping... problem solving skills increase exponentially with children).
Second, my three year old's pre-k teacher is coming by for a meet and greet. I'm sure not to judge, but certainly it can be a way to explain later bad behavior. "Alana buried WHAT in the tactile play area sand?? Oh, I'm so sorry, but you see how we live"...(fade off into sobbing until teacher agrees to give my angel another chance).
So really, should be tidying up abode. Of course, even with spotless house and fresh coffee brewing, things can get awkward. Like Dante decided best thing ever is to spin around until he can hardly stand up, then do it some more. Which was kind of funny to watch until he CRASHED into Little People garage (little cars need little oil changes too, you know). This resulted in a gash across cheek most becoming in cell bock C, not so much in babies learning ABCs. It did however, take slightly away from his scabbed over chin and bruised little shins resulting from his love of playing on the edge of the back stairs. So he's looking good.
My pre-k child, Alana is really good at rhymes, she's got quite a knack. Nose, rose, hose, eye, pie, my, hair, bear, chair. She's working on a series. Guess what completes these sets? _____, magina, _____, wenis. Out of the blue yesterday she just starts singing these away, like its Wheels on the Bus. I wonder what noise they would make on the bus? Probably not "toot toot toot" or "swish swish swish" I hope its not "move on back." Oh yes, I know I am not suppose to react when she says these things, that which you pay attention to grows stronger and all that. But good luck not choking on your coffee and mini-wheats when breakfast with your 3 year old is less Sesame Street and more like your last meeting with your ob-gyn.
So yeah, cleaning thing kind of pales in comparison when you've got one child who looks like he's a member of the miniature mixed martial arts garage circuit (and not all that skilled) and another who's ready to give them an anatomy lesson, Dr. Seuss style. I got a feeling they won't notice if I dusted.
I visited a friend the other day who gave birth about 2 ½ weeks ago to a 6 pound, 9 ounce, so much hair-looks-like-she’s-wearing-a-baby-wig girl. This is my friend's 3rd child in about 4 ½ years. A lot of my friends seem to be ridiculous breeders. Anyway, she comes to the door in a little t-shirt and size 8 mesh shorts. To which I declare how much I hate her, she responds, “everyone looks good in mesh shorts,” a statement that can only be made by someone who is either still in sleep deprived new baby-I love the world-stupor land, or has at sometime lost 90% of her vision unknowingly, and I should hide her car keys.
I love me friend but would have hated to be pregnant at the same time as her. When I got pregnant the first time (Sophia), I weighed less than I had in probably 15 years. Before even knowing I was pregnant, within 3 weeks or so, I gained 15 pounds. And then tossed on another 35 pounds to provide my unborn child the enjoyment of a “bounce house” environment. While speaking with my doctor, I smugly declared my physical prowess by telling him I was using Pregnancy yoga tapes. He stated, “You might want to start walking.” I wiped my stinging tears, picked up some Cherry Garcia, and called him a quack.
My second pregnancy came 3 months after giving birth to my first child, so there wasn’t a lot of time to diet, only time for disbelief and weeping. I lost some, though not nearly all of the weight after Alana. When I decided to get pregnant again, it was a new concept to me. Previously, it was the “”Hey, where did these boobs come from? Wait… I seem to be missing something, something annoying and I haven’t been overtly bitchy for a while….hmm…lets check the calendar..How many days has it been? 47? I think I’m usually more regular than that…oh God, go to CVS –EPT ASAP STAT!!!
So all in all, I was much more proactive. I went ahead and gained 20 pound before I even conceived. The morning after conception, I was in elastic waist and tie back tops. There was no “lets wait until 12 weeks to tell anyone.” I just wanted to hurry up and say, “Look, I’m pregnant! Not fat! Yes, only 8 days pregnant, but you know, hormones kick it right away with the third! Quit judging me, Twiggy!”
So now, nearly 21 months after my third and final (Dante), I know I will never be able to use my zygote as an explanation for embarrassing behavior at a buffet, or buying large shakes to “treat the baby.” I got a lot of miles out of it – I nursed all of them, Dante the longest to 10 months. You can play that card too, until you see someone who, like my skinny friend, is also nursing and wearing said mesh shorts.
It doesn’t matter how quick we snap back or don’t. There are fools out there who are clueless. My skinny friend (she’s going to love that moniker) told me her brother came to visit her. He looked at her and said, “You’ve still got a belly like you’re pregnant,” accusingly, like as if she was holding out and maybe that baby in her arms wasn’t hers at all, maybe she just faked the whole birthing process to avoid the pain. She called him an ass and would have probably got up and smacked him, except for the fact that she was laying down in a hospital bed at the time. So she told him, “Gee, Bob, that is really surprising, considering I had the baby a whole FOUR HOURS AGO!!! Boy, you’d think after having 3 kids in 4 years, my body could morph itself back in shape after an hour or two. With your amazing natural intuitive abilities, how are you not in med school?”
Damn, I’ve only been able to think about wanting ice cream for the last 5 paragraphs. Got to go.
Ok, remember my riveting time out rant from yesterday? You know, I started to think, God, that's a little whiny, isn't it? Well...my son felt a need to expand upon my point. Dante, who is almost 20 months, decided to wake up at 11:30 last night and it was now, party time. He didn't want a diaper, a binkie, the music, a bottle, a lullaby sung by his mommy (the child does have a sophisticated ear. At midnight, he just can't fake it for the sake of my delicate feelings).
So after many up and downs to his room - where he would lay on his tummy and kick his legs up and down so hard his torso would flip up like a landed bass, I gave up and brought him downstairs. Believe me, it was quite tempting to slip him some of my wine in his sippy cup, but I maintained this side of legality in child care and gave him some warm chocolate milk instead. After about a half hour of dog whisperer, he gave in at 1:00 am. I don't have any dogs - I use the tips as child raising techniques.
Back to the point...yes, during that 1 1/2 process I would have gladly tapped out. Early that evening we went to a street fair where my three year old daughter Alana was wailing about everything. On the way out, she decided to focus exclusively on balloons. She becomes so singular in purpose, it reminds me of the paperboy in "Better of Dead." Go here to see what I mean:
I Want My Two Dollars: Collection
Anyway, her extensive yelling resulted in a nose so bloody, it was a faucet pouring out of her screaming frame, covering her little arm, leg, my arm and leg and looking all in all like a Gambino crime family scene, no less since this was an Italian festival. No one in my family can take blood, so thank God my boyfriend has a stronger stomach and was able to help. Of course, we saw someone he knows professionally, as he was carrying my bleeding screaming 3 year old down the road. He's a psychologist, so they probably aren't going to be making any recommendations to him soon.
My needy children expect me to now feed them. I swear, it is all about them, 24 /7.
Ok, I jumped on the blog bandwagon. Maybe its because I'm such a joiner, maybe its because I feel a need to express myself to everyone who does not just straight out say shut up, but the main reason is my life of procrastinating. So I'll keep this up until something else catches my fancy, or this feels like work.
I plan to do this as a means of expressing what single momhood is really like. The thing is, people still either think its some expression of strength in the "I don't need a man" category, which also carries the awestruck "how do you do it?" phraseologies, as if I should be studied. Then there are those who believe it was selfish of me to not suck it up and marry the father of my three kiddos when I had the chance, notably said father who now feels whatever tragedy befalls me, was my own creation so basically I can suck it. Then there are those who feel, "what's the big deal?" which are mainly people without kids or men with wives who are the over the top primary caretakers.
There's lots to think about and do as a SM. My beau remarks whenever we are alone for a few hours without any kids (he has a daughter) how after about 6 hours, my jaw finally starts to unclench and neck veins subside. There is just always, endlessly something, and it is always entirely up to you to deal with it. There is no tagging out. When children are crying, you're it. When children are sick, you're it, when there are parties to buy presents for and parties to plan, you're it.
Ok, 4 year old is downstairs, at 10:00 pm, sans pajama bottoms and crying. Although she appears somewhat comical, probably must sign off and deal with immediate situation. Be back, oh..I don't know...next opportunity of five minutes of down time...October?
