I know that most mothers probably think their children are brilliant, but I'm slightly concerned that my precocious (almost) four year old has a too-smart problem. This morning, she asked why the car had stopped.
"There is a stop sign, so we stopped to wait our turn."
"Oh."
"You can tell that you have to stop because of the stop sign, which is shaped like a circle, but has edges."
"Oh, you mean, like an octagon?"
Silence. Deep Breath.
"Yes, honey, precisely like an octagon. Where did you learn that?"
"I don't know, Mom. I'm a smart cookie."
Yes you are, darling.
Tuesday, January 12, 2010
Saturday, December 26, 2009
I'm a Mom, I can handle it.
I suppose I should start with an apology. At a Christmas party last weekend, a friend furrowed her brow and said "October 22, Jaime. That was your last post." So, dear and faithful readers, I apologize for being such a slacker. The season has been a hectic one, and by the time I get to review the notes I've jotted down for posts, they seem out of date.
One of the things that has added to my inability get anything done is my constant, chronic headaches. For six or so weeks, I've had a blinding headache every day. Now, before you ask "Have you tried..." let me tell you what I've tried. Advil, Nasonex, Sudaphed, Amoxicillin, Claritan, Zyrtec, sinus washes, Afrin, Excedrin, Tylenol 3, Vicodin, Fiorinol and Medrol. I've had a CT scan and an MRI, the results of which we hope to have next week. I'm getting my eyes checked in a few days...
The point of all that is that the process of addressing these headaches has taken a lot of my time. I've found a hilarious and smart internist, so I'm hopeful that we will eventually figure out why my head is being squished by various vices.
Part of the process has included an MRI, which was preceded by a long list of questions. Are you claustrophobic? Afraid of loud noises? Have any shrapnel in your body? I had to take out my nose ring, and laid awake the night before worrying about wearing an underwire bra.
It wasn't nearly as bad as I had feared. The tech told me it sounded like a construction site, and gave me earplugs to wear. The whole process took about fifteen minutes, which was twice the amount of time it took me to drive to the place. After ten minutes, he needed to inject some dye into my arm so they could see the blood vessels in my head. I'd feel a pinch, he told me, but it would all be over soon.
"I'm a mom," I told him, "I can take it."
"Yeah, that makes you tough on a lot of levels." Then he scampered back to the booth and started the machine again.
As I stared at the blue stripe on the inside of the machine, I thought about how tough being a mom has made me. A friend told me after the birth of her daughter that she had never known real fear until she had become a parent. I didn't really understand that concept until February 10, 2006 when I had to take a tiny baby home from the hospital and try to take care of it by myself.
There was really only one thing that would have made me come unglued at the MRI, and it had nothing to do with me. The worst thing I could imagine would have been to stand by and watch one of my kids have to experience a test like that.
Motherhood has made me infinitely stronger than I ever thought I would be. At the same time, I am infinitely more vulnerable than I thought possible. The paradox of motherhood seems to be that both ends of the spectrum have expanded, so I am equally tougher and more sensitive.
So I'll take the headaches, and whatever else comes along, and be grateful that it is happening to me and not to one of those amazing, beautiful little miracle children.
One of the things that has added to my inability get anything done is my constant, chronic headaches. For six or so weeks, I've had a blinding headache every day. Now, before you ask "Have you tried..." let me tell you what I've tried. Advil, Nasonex, Sudaphed, Amoxicillin, Claritan, Zyrtec, sinus washes, Afrin, Excedrin, Tylenol 3, Vicodin, Fiorinol and Medrol. I've had a CT scan and an MRI, the results of which we hope to have next week. I'm getting my eyes checked in a few days...
The point of all that is that the process of addressing these headaches has taken a lot of my time. I've found a hilarious and smart internist, so I'm hopeful that we will eventually figure out why my head is being squished by various vices.
Part of the process has included an MRI, which was preceded by a long list of questions. Are you claustrophobic? Afraid of loud noises? Have any shrapnel in your body? I had to take out my nose ring, and laid awake the night before worrying about wearing an underwire bra.
It wasn't nearly as bad as I had feared. The tech told me it sounded like a construction site, and gave me earplugs to wear. The whole process took about fifteen minutes, which was twice the amount of time it took me to drive to the place. After ten minutes, he needed to inject some dye into my arm so they could see the blood vessels in my head. I'd feel a pinch, he told me, but it would all be over soon.
"I'm a mom," I told him, "I can take it."
"Yeah, that makes you tough on a lot of levels." Then he scampered back to the booth and started the machine again.
As I stared at the blue stripe on the inside of the machine, I thought about how tough being a mom has made me. A friend told me after the birth of her daughter that she had never known real fear until she had become a parent. I didn't really understand that concept until February 10, 2006 when I had to take a tiny baby home from the hospital and try to take care of it by myself.
There was really only one thing that would have made me come unglued at the MRI, and it had nothing to do with me. The worst thing I could imagine would have been to stand by and watch one of my kids have to experience a test like that.
Motherhood has made me infinitely stronger than I ever thought I would be. At the same time, I am infinitely more vulnerable than I thought possible. The paradox of motherhood seems to be that both ends of the spectrum have expanded, so I am equally tougher and more sensitive.
So I'll take the headaches, and whatever else comes along, and be grateful that it is happening to me and not to one of those amazing, beautiful little miracle children.
Thursday, October 22, 2009
Sweatshirt vs. Suit Coat
I pulled into the parking lot at preschool this morning, rocking my stay-at-home-mom uniform. My sweatshirt, purchased 11 years ago in New Jersey, is bright orange. Hunter Safety Orange. Home Depot Orange. Doesn't really go with my new blond hair Orange. The best part about my sweatshirt is that it hides the paint stained, accidentally bleached in spots tee-shirt that is also something of a dinosaur. My super awesome sweatpants aren't a whole lot better, though they are at least from this millennium.
My "natural" makeup look is actually yesterday's mascara in a dusky gray ring around my eyes. I was able to salvage my hairstyle from yesterday by taking off my headband before it crumpled my bangs back enough so that they stick up like stork feathers.
While in the process of hauling my oldest daughter out of the car, I caught the eye of another Mom returning to her car after dropping off a child. This mom, sleekly styled in a business suit and sensible shoes, gave me a sad smile and a slightly envious head-to-the-side look. Wait, was that envy? Or pity? She hopped into a stylish Volvo and bopped away.
Envy? Or pity? I'm reviewing the tape in my head. There are parts of this mom-at-home business that are quite nice, I suppose. We only rush out of the house three days a week, not six. My nine month old sleeps in her crib almost exclusively, not having to be bothered with day care cribs. She doesn't have to fight for attention or share her toys. (My secret anxiety is that she also gets less focused care because I'm also trying to write lists, pay bills, shower, cook meals, etc.)
But there is a flip side. Talking to more than three adults in one day is remarkable. Hubs complains about meetings and emails, but I secretly think it might be fun to have other adults talking around you and have them be interested in your opinion. I miss the camaraderie of community counseling and (gasp) even miss going to class on occasion. Mom-on-the-go styling is not as easy as they make it look on What Not To Wear. You have to be prepared to let your clothes get apple-sauced, dog furred, or ketchuped. Makeup? Not quite as important as it used to be. And yes, I hear you, I know we're supposed to get fancied up and beautiful for our own sake, not for the sake of others, but...the secret is that it feels a bit pathetic to get all glammed up to wrangle the children.
Someone told me, a few days ago, to "Have a great Monday!". Is it Monday? Or Thursday? I told her that as a stay-at-home Mom, every day is Monday. There is no weekend. I said it with a smile, carefully keeping some of the bitterness out of my voice, but my stork hair and yesterday's mascara speak for themselves.
Still, I get to do things that the full-timers can't do. (Like write this out, for example, and ponder the different paths that one's life can take.) I can schedule doctor's appointments for the kids in the middle of the day without worrying about upsetting my boss. I can go to the grocery store during the off hours if I don't mind taking both twerps with me. I can clean the place during naptime if the spirit moves me.
So I don't know, honestly, if I'm to be envied or not. I guess there is good and bad to every situation. Before I get up on my high horse and think I've come up with something super deep and profound, I'd like to remind everyone that the Chinese summed up the whole concept of light and dark, balance and energy with a yin yang. So I'm not exactly treading new ground. But I do feel better about my slouchy outfit and lack of a shower, so that counts for something.
My "natural" makeup look is actually yesterday's mascara in a dusky gray ring around my eyes. I was able to salvage my hairstyle from yesterday by taking off my headband before it crumpled my bangs back enough so that they stick up like stork feathers.
While in the process of hauling my oldest daughter out of the car, I caught the eye of another Mom returning to her car after dropping off a child. This mom, sleekly styled in a business suit and sensible shoes, gave me a sad smile and a slightly envious head-to-the-side look. Wait, was that envy? Or pity? She hopped into a stylish Volvo and bopped away.
Envy? Or pity? I'm reviewing the tape in my head. There are parts of this mom-at-home business that are quite nice, I suppose. We only rush out of the house three days a week, not six. My nine month old sleeps in her crib almost exclusively, not having to be bothered with day care cribs. She doesn't have to fight for attention or share her toys. (My secret anxiety is that she also gets less focused care because I'm also trying to write lists, pay bills, shower, cook meals, etc.)
But there is a flip side. Talking to more than three adults in one day is remarkable. Hubs complains about meetings and emails, but I secretly think it might be fun to have other adults talking around you and have them be interested in your opinion. I miss the camaraderie of community counseling and (gasp) even miss going to class on occasion. Mom-on-the-go styling is not as easy as they make it look on What Not To Wear. You have to be prepared to let your clothes get apple-sauced, dog furred, or ketchuped. Makeup? Not quite as important as it used to be. And yes, I hear you, I know we're supposed to get fancied up and beautiful for our own sake, not for the sake of others, but...the secret is that it feels a bit pathetic to get all glammed up to wrangle the children.
Someone told me, a few days ago, to "Have a great Monday!". Is it Monday? Or Thursday? I told her that as a stay-at-home Mom, every day is Monday. There is no weekend. I said it with a smile, carefully keeping some of the bitterness out of my voice, but my stork hair and yesterday's mascara speak for themselves.
Still, I get to do things that the full-timers can't do. (Like write this out, for example, and ponder the different paths that one's life can take.) I can schedule doctor's appointments for the kids in the middle of the day without worrying about upsetting my boss. I can go to the grocery store during the off hours if I don't mind taking both twerps with me. I can clean the place during naptime if the spirit moves me.
So I don't know, honestly, if I'm to be envied or not. I guess there is good and bad to every situation. Before I get up on my high horse and think I've come up with something super deep and profound, I'd like to remind everyone that the Chinese summed up the whole concept of light and dark, balance and energy with a yin yang. So I'm not exactly treading new ground. But I do feel better about my slouchy outfit and lack of a shower, so that counts for something.
Wednesday, October 21, 2009
Halloween Costume
One of my girlfriends was logged on to facebook at the same time I popped in to check Barack Obama's status update. She and I chatted for a little bit, kvetching a bit about children, co-workers and what a bummer it is that she lives in Washington DC and still hasn't bumped into Obama at Five Guys. The conversation turned to Halloween costumes.
Her: "Dude, I have a great costume idea. You should dress all in black and wear a shot glass around your neck. You'd be...A Shot in the Dark!"
Me: "I've already picked out my costume. I'm going as an exhausted mother of two, in desperate need of a shower and a cocktail."
Her: "LOL"
Me: "I'm wearing my costume right now. Gotta make sure it fits."
Her: "You poor thing. I'm off to a glamorous martini party with the glitterati and my fabulous entourage."
Ok, so she doesn't actually say that she is living the glamrous life in the fast lane, but I think she is editing out some of the fabulous details so I don't feel so bad about my twice-a-week shower schedule.
Her: "Dude, I have a great costume idea. You should dress all in black and wear a shot glass around your neck. You'd be...A Shot in the Dark!"
Me: "I've already picked out my costume. I'm going as an exhausted mother of two, in desperate need of a shower and a cocktail."
Her: "LOL"
Me: "I'm wearing my costume right now. Gotta make sure it fits."
Her: "You poor thing. I'm off to a glamorous martini party with the glitterati and my fabulous entourage."
Ok, so she doesn't actually say that she is living the glamrous life in the fast lane, but I think she is editing out some of the fabulous details so I don't feel so bad about my twice-a-week shower schedule.
Tuesday, October 20, 2009
Color Wars
Hubs and I were having one of our very deep, intellectual conversations. MaeMae started it by announcing that her favorite color is Red. This has been the consistent front runner for several days (practically eternity in the mind of a 3.5 year old) so I am inclined to believe her. She went on to remind us that Mom's favorite color is purple, while Dad's favorite color is blue. Spike, who has yet to speak a language we can understand, has no official position on the subject.
I informed Hubs that blue is an inferior color to purple.
"Oh yeah?"
"Yeah. Purple kicked Blue's ass the other day in a street brawl. Blue went crying home to it's momma and hid under the bed for two days."
"Well, if Purple saw Blue in a dark alley, Purple would pee on itself and run away."
"Well, Purple is the color of royalty. Blue is the color of plebeians."
(I'll admit, a comeback loses a bit of it's sting when your word choices clearly reveal a childhood spent watching PBS specials and reading too many books about the middle ages.)
"Well, in nature, Purple is an exotic color. There are only a few purple things, like flowers or grapes. Blue, on the other hand, is the color of the most important features in the world." Hubs settled back in his seat, clearly pleased with this response and considering the discussion at an end.
"WHAT? What are you talking about? What in the world is blue that is so important?"
He stared at me, eyes wide. "The. Sky."
Oooh, right. I forgot about that.
"And the OCEAN. Both are blue."
I had lost all traction gained by an obscure word choice and was firmly back in the dunce corner.
"You gotta color your hair back to brown, hon. You're turning into an idiot."
At this point, MaeMae was actually concerned that either Blue or Purple was hurt from their fight, and we had to reassure her that both colors were ok.
I informed Hubs that blue is an inferior color to purple.
"Oh yeah?"
"Yeah. Purple kicked Blue's ass the other day in a street brawl. Blue went crying home to it's momma and hid under the bed for two days."
"Well, if Purple saw Blue in a dark alley, Purple would pee on itself and run away."
"Well, Purple is the color of royalty. Blue is the color of plebeians."
(I'll admit, a comeback loses a bit of it's sting when your word choices clearly reveal a childhood spent watching PBS specials and reading too many books about the middle ages.)
"Well, in nature, Purple is an exotic color. There are only a few purple things, like flowers or grapes. Blue, on the other hand, is the color of the most important features in the world." Hubs settled back in his seat, clearly pleased with this response and considering the discussion at an end.
"WHAT? What are you talking about? What in the world is blue that is so important?"
He stared at me, eyes wide. "The. Sky."
Oooh, right. I forgot about that.
"And the OCEAN. Both are blue."
I had lost all traction gained by an obscure word choice and was firmly back in the dunce corner.
"You gotta color your hair back to brown, hon. You're turning into an idiot."
At this point, MaeMae was actually concerned that either Blue or Purple was hurt from their fight, and we had to reassure her that both colors were ok.
Monday, October 19, 2009
Overtraining
Hubs and I have been working out, together, in the morning. This morning workout hour used to be my time alone, where I would escape in my fantasy land of swinging hammocks, umbrella drinks served by shirtless (and mute) muscle bound men. But now we work out together, prompting many interesting and pointed conversations.
Case in point:
Today, I announced that I have "Overtraining Syndrome". This is something that happens to people that over do it for a period of time, don't get enough sleep, and have to slow down for a little while.
Hubs said, "How can you tell?"
"Well," I answered, "I'm grouchy. That's one of the signs."
With a carefully composed face, he said "You've been grouchy for 11 years. I don't think overtraining is the problem."
He thought about it a little while longer. "And, I thought that working out would make you happier. Instead, you're more dangerous now, because you can punch and kick."
"And I'm a lot faster now, so you better start running."
"Yep, that too."
I was slightly less grouchy for a period of time after that, because at least I'm not overtraining. I'm just grouchy, which we already knew.
Case in point:
Today, I announced that I have "Overtraining Syndrome". This is something that happens to people that over do it for a period of time, don't get enough sleep, and have to slow down for a little while.
Hubs said, "How can you tell?"
"Well," I answered, "I'm grouchy. That's one of the signs."
With a carefully composed face, he said "You've been grouchy for 11 years. I don't think overtraining is the problem."
He thought about it a little while longer. "And, I thought that working out would make you happier. Instead, you're more dangerous now, because you can punch and kick."
"And I'm a lot faster now, so you better start running."
"Yep, that too."
I was slightly less grouchy for a period of time after that, because at least I'm not overtraining. I'm just grouchy, which we already knew.
Tuesday, September 8, 2009
Conversations
"Mom, what are you doing?"
"I'm putting stuff back in the places it belongs."
"Well, it looks like you are organizing."
-
"Mom, what are those guys doing?"
"They are mowing the lawn."
"Why are they doing that?"
"They are helping the people that live there."
"Well, that is really nice of them to help their neighbors."
-
"Mom, what are those guys doing?"
"They are finished mowing the lawns and are putting the mowers away."
"Why are they putting them in there?"
"Those are trailers, so they can put all the mowers in the trailer and drive them home."
"Why are they taking them?"
"So they can put them in the garage."
"What garage?"
"The garage where they put their stuff."
"What kind of stuff?"
"THE MOWERS!"
"Oh."
-
"Wow, honey, my car looks just like yours."
"What, awesome?"
"No, covered in kid crap. What a mess."
after a family trip to Ohio
"I'm putting stuff back in the places it belongs."
"Well, it looks like you are organizing."
-
"Mom, what are those guys doing?"
"They are mowing the lawn."
"Why are they doing that?"
"They are helping the people that live there."
"Well, that is really nice of them to help their neighbors."
-
"Mom, what are those guys doing?"
"They are finished mowing the lawns and are putting the mowers away."
"Why are they putting them in there?"
"Those are trailers, so they can put all the mowers in the trailer and drive them home."
"Why are they taking them?"
"So they can put them in the garage."
"What garage?"
"The garage where they put their stuff."
"What kind of stuff?"
"THE MOWERS!"
"Oh."
-
"Wow, honey, my car looks just like yours."
"What, awesome?"
"No, covered in kid crap. What a mess."
after a family trip to Ohio
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