So tonight was the birthday celebration of one of my dear co workers. I had kind of forgotten about it until someone said, "OK, so I'll see you tonight?" Ah, shit. I really wasn't up to a trip to Milpitas tonight. For one thing I am moving in less than 2 weeks and just really need to focus on packing. For another thing, I worked all day at the hospital and already miss my kids. If I go to this dinner, I won't see them until tomorrow since they would be tucked into bed by the time I got home. So I'm torn. Flake on a really sweet and respected co worker/friend, or disappoint my kids? I agonized about it all day. I really didn't want to go to the dinner, but knew I should, but thought maybe I shouldn't. (Really, it was way too much worry over one friggen evening, but still)
So I finally came up with this 'perfect' fix. I'll just bring my daughter to the dinner! That way she feels special because she gets to go on a date with Mom and my co worker's feelings aren't hurt that I missed her birthday. It's brilliant, right?
Wrong. On paper, this deal sounded great. Kat and I will bond over a night and dinner out. The boys will stay home and have their special time. My friend will be so happy I made it. This plan works! Until you try to execute and realize that you are bringing a THREE YEAR OLD to Malaysian cuisine. Naturally, about 15 minutes into this delightful meal, she announces that she needs to "use the restroom". (Kat is very polite, I'm so proud of her) Now this place is apparently very popular and I have to weed in and out of quite a crowd to get her there. We get inside the stall and she asks if this toilet flushes itself or if I have to flush it. Don't ask me why the hell that matters, but I looked and told her that I had to flush it. She started getting all irritated and said, "No never mind, I'll just go pee pee when we get home". I tried to reason with her that she would be uncomfortable but she just did not want to go at this particular location. OK, fine, whatever.
Back at the table, she can't stop squirming. (No doubt because her bladder is about to explode). So every time I told her to stop wiggling, she would pucker up and kiss me. I told her that kissing to stay out of trouble is absolutely not OK and that we only kiss because we love, not to evade punishment. She said, "I love...." (In a super sassy tone of course) and puckered up again. Now it's a damn game for her. Every damn time she kicked or wiggled and I asked her to stop she would kiss me.
Right about 8:00 she started saying, "Mommy! Please take me home! I'm so tired! I need to go night night Mommy! Please GET ME HOME. I told her that she was being impolite and that next time she wouldn't be able to go with me. She argued and I said, "Baby Girl, you aren't even having fun..." She said, "I am Mommy, I'm having fun..." (in a not so sure tone) I told her that Mommy didn't have fun when I constantly had to ask her to stop moving around. That was it. The water works started on high. I had hurt Kat's feelings, and I felt awful.
There is no good ending to this story. I consoled her. I assured her that she is a fun girl and that I love spending time with her. She stopped crying and assured me that she understood what happened.... Mommy was angry and Kat was sad. I felt like I was an inch tall. And I realized that even though she may be a very well behaved little child, she is still a child. And I'm not a bad parent if I go out with just adults every once in a blue moon. So next time I get invited to an adult event, I'm going to try really hard to resist that pucker and "but I MISS my mommy when you leave!" Ah she breaks my heart.
Saturday, March 29, 2008
Friday, March 28, 2008
My Monkey Moment
My mother in law one day described having children as "living with monkeys". So going backwards a little, she had my husband when she was 15 and 22 years later, had her 2nd son. My husband turned out reasonably normal. Maybe I'm just lucky, I don't know. The 2nd boy however is a tiny little bit spoiled. You know, he's the last baby... so he gets, well, treated like a baby. So, I didn't put much stock in the statement, "man, it's like living with monkeys". I rolled my eyes and thought, "when I have kids..."
Fast forward a couple of years. I had my daughter just after BIL turned 2. She was the sweetest little thing you've ever seen. Hardly ever fussed, ate well, smiled on demand. A dream baby. So I started to get cocky... living with monkeys, ha! How is that she can't handle it but I have the best baby ever? And it's like living with an angel, not a monkey. MIL created her own monster, but I apparently was way above it. My parenting skills obviously far surpassed hers, right? Well..... that was a short lived bubble that burst wide open when my "angel monkey" learned how to speak. Before that even. I was in denial for a long time.
I should have taken a clue when she was just a baby and I would say, "smile for mama!" And she would look me in the eye and shake her head 'no'. Or when I'd be feeding her baby food and she would sweetly reach for the spoon, and when I would give it to her she would throw it as far as her little angel monkey arm would throw. Or maybe when she was 2 and refused to take naps... she would jump on the bed and yell, "mommy! I being naughty! You better come check on me!..." Any of those things might have been a clue. Even my husband got the hint. When she was especially naughty, he would say, "Man, she's like one of those bad monkeys at the zoo that throws their crap at the zoo goers. She's a poop throwing monkey!" (he was very amused with himself for this analogy) Still, I didn't want to say out loud that MIL was right in that one aspect of parenting.
Fast forward another couple of years, I had my baby Bear. He was not an angel baby, not even close. He was sort of cute for those first few minutes after he woke up but oh how quickly that would turn to screaming, fussing, grunting. So I didn't mind when hubby called him a crap throwing monkey. If we didn't laugh we would cry so we did what we had to do. When he would cry in the night, hubby would roll over and say, "Mongo is awake!" When he would cry so hard he couldn't tell the nipple was right there in his face, hubby would say, "there he is! It's Mongo the Magnificent!"
But it was just blowing off steam. I didn't really believe I was living with monkeys. Enter my monkey moment.
Bear was still fairly new and had cradle cap real bad. So I had him on the changing table with the intent of changing his diaper. I'm super neurotic though, and couldn't help but pick a few of the bigger scabs off his poor head. Kat always magically has to go to the bathroom, or eat, or needs me somehow, right when I'm tending to the baby. (go figure) So she is in the bathroom yelling, "Mommy! I'm all done! Come wipe my bottom!" Bear is fussing while I try to pull off just a few more scabs....
....and right about the time I feel like my head is going to explode I hear, "Mommy! My poo poo is shaped like a heart! Come look Mommy! I made a a heart!" Right about then Bear pees all over his little legs, sleeper, changing table....and I realize, yes, yes it IS like living with monkeys!
It was a small moment. Probably 10 seconds total. But it was huge.
Fast forward a couple of years. I had my daughter just after BIL turned 2. She was the sweetest little thing you've ever seen. Hardly ever fussed, ate well, smiled on demand. A dream baby. So I started to get cocky... living with monkeys, ha! How is that she can't handle it but I have the best baby ever? And it's like living with an angel, not a monkey. MIL created her own monster, but I apparently was way above it. My parenting skills obviously far surpassed hers, right? Well..... that was a short lived bubble that burst wide open when my "angel monkey" learned how to speak. Before that even. I was in denial for a long time.
I should have taken a clue when she was just a baby and I would say, "smile for mama!" And she would look me in the eye and shake her head 'no'. Or when I'd be feeding her baby food and she would sweetly reach for the spoon, and when I would give it to her she would throw it as far as her little angel monkey arm would throw. Or maybe when she was 2 and refused to take naps... she would jump on the bed and yell, "mommy! I being naughty! You better come check on me!..." Any of those things might have been a clue. Even my husband got the hint. When she was especially naughty, he would say, "Man, she's like one of those bad monkeys at the zoo that throws their crap at the zoo goers. She's a poop throwing monkey!" (he was very amused with himself for this analogy) Still, I didn't want to say out loud that MIL was right in that one aspect of parenting.
Fast forward another couple of years, I had my baby Bear. He was not an angel baby, not even close. He was sort of cute for those first few minutes after he woke up but oh how quickly that would turn to screaming, fussing, grunting. So I didn't mind when hubby called him a crap throwing monkey. If we didn't laugh we would cry so we did what we had to do. When he would cry in the night, hubby would roll over and say, "Mongo is awake!" When he would cry so hard he couldn't tell the nipple was right there in his face, hubby would say, "there he is! It's Mongo the Magnificent!"
But it was just blowing off steam. I didn't really believe I was living with monkeys. Enter my monkey moment.
Bear was still fairly new and had cradle cap real bad. So I had him on the changing table with the intent of changing his diaper. I'm super neurotic though, and couldn't help but pick a few of the bigger scabs off his poor head. Kat always magically has to go to the bathroom, or eat, or needs me somehow, right when I'm tending to the baby. (go figure) So she is in the bathroom yelling, "Mommy! I'm all done! Come wipe my bottom!" Bear is fussing while I try to pull off just a few more scabs....
....and right about the time I feel like my head is going to explode I hear, "Mommy! My poo poo is shaped like a heart! Come look Mommy! I made a a heart!" Right about then Bear pees all over his little legs, sleeper, changing table....and I realize, yes, yes it IS like living with monkeys!
It was a small moment. Probably 10 seconds total. But it was huge.
Like A Virgin
Not like, I am in fact a blogging virgin. I’ve thought about it often, there are so many rants going through my head every day, why not write them down and organize them? I’ve had quite a few half written blogs in my head but then I think, “Yeah, but that’s not worthy of a first blog”. The first one has to be special, right? It has to say something important. It can’t just be menial thoughts. It has to define me as a blogger, right?
Well to hell with that theory. We’ve had this blog for weeks now and I haven’t posted for fear of being rejected. I’m over it. Reject me if you wish. My head is all over the place. I am stretched very thin these days so my blog might be too. My hope is that I can read back over my blogs in, oh, let’s say 4 months, and say, “man! I was all over the place. but I’m completely organized now and not stretched at all. How funny I was back then”.
So first of all, about me. Well I’m 28 (which I was surprised to find out a few weeks ago on my birthday). See, I thought I was turning 29. You know how you say you’re a certain age and then you start saying, “almost 28″. Well somewhere along the way I stopped saying almost and believed with all my heart that I was 28 going on 29. My husband had to convince me, and it took some doing. Simple math prevailed though, and the verdict was in: I just turned 28. So I’m 28 and a mom of 2 babies. My daughter ‘Kat’ just turned 3 in December and my little ‘Bear’ will be 7 months in a couple days. Oh and I’m married too. We just had our 4 year wedding anniversary. This summer will mark 10 years of going ’steady’, 12 years since our first date. So we’ve known each other for a while.
I’m generally defined by my kids and family. Everything I do pretty much is about them. I’m not trying to sound like a hero either, that’s just how it is. This year though I want to start being more selfish. I’ve been saying this for a while, so we’ll see if it comes true this time around. There isn’t any good reason to take so much on myself. My husband is one of those who is willing and ready to pitch right in and give a hand with the kids, or let me go out for coffee with the girls. I just don’t take him up on it because, well, I have this complex that no one can treat my kids as well as I can. If I’m having fun away from my babies I feel terribly guilty until I’m back home folding their laundry or pumping for Bear’s lunch the following day. That’s all me. It’s a weird control thing that I’m really in the mood to get rid of. I think I can do it this time!
I’m already doing better. When Kat was a baby, I think I can count on one hand the number of times I left her with a sitter for personal gain. (That’s a Charmed reference, one of my guilty pleasures from yester year. And likely not the last you’ll see from me). Poor Bear, I’ve already gone out on a handful of dates with hubby and left the poor kid to deal with bottle feedings and “non mom” hands. (He did fine, probably didn’t even notice my being gone)
So I’m a wife and mommy, and an MA at a local hospital. It’s a pretty boring job compared to the RN I was supposed to be by now, but it will do until I finish school. It pays the bills and I have an awesome group of girls that I work with. I work part time in the evenings and on weekends while my husband works during the days. This way Kat and Bear are with either Mom or Dad all the time, with the exception of 6 hours per week for the overlap between when I start and hubby gets off work. During those 6 hours I am very blessed to have the best child care ever. The kids are happy and loved, and that’s enough to get me through the first couple of hours of my shift.
My plan in writing this blog is to figure out what I’m still in to. Besides being a wife and mom and medical assistant, which are huge parts of my life, what else is there? I’ve thought about scrapbooking but haven’t made the time. I love to sew but again with the time. I take pictures like a mad woman. That I seem to find time for. I used to like reading mystery novels. I follow Lost and ER religiously. I’m a terrible house keeper. I love rainy weather and going to the beach when it’s real real cold. That sounds so nice right now. See if I didn’t have 2 sleeping babies in the rooms behind me and I was still young, I might consider hopping in the car and driving 45 minutes just to sit on the super cold beach for 15 minutes and breathe in all that sea air and then come home and go to bed soooooooooo satisfied. But instead I’m going to bed a little thirsty (but the kitchen is the opposite direction from the bedroom, so I probably won’t do anything about it) and with my mind in a million different places. I wouldn’t trade my life for anything, but sometimes I have that fantasy of just being a person in charge only of myself. Oh how complicated I thought things were back when that was my reality! Haha! See? I’m laughing at myself already! This is working!
Next time I’ll focus on a bay area mom topic, but I feel better already. Oh, and hubby just walked by to say good night and had bottled water in hand! So I’m not thirsty anymore! Bonus!
~Zook (The Zookeeper)
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