Sometimes I'm a bad daughter

Tuesday, August 05, 2008 by Bethany

I forget birthdays, anniversaries, special holidays... and overall, I just get caught up in my life. If you get a card from me in a timely fashion for a special date. Consider yourself a lucky one. I'm not that put together most of the time. Ask my parents.

Last year alone I forgot my mom's birthday (which is the day after my wedding anniversary), my dad's birthday, their anniversary, my sister's day of birth and countless other odds and ends that didn't require me to RSVP an invite (and I probably missed a few of those). Sue me. I'm not that kind of person I guess. I mean--I call you right (most of the time)?

Today, it was an exception. It's my parent's wedding anniversary and I prepared. Last week I put an appointment in my calendar to call them. To send a card. And to do all the things a good daughter should. And guess what? I delivered.

Only there's one problem. The card didn't arrive yet (5 days and counting) and the phone call ended with a cheery voice mail.

So, Mom... Dad, if you're reading. I love you. Happy Anniversary. Boy I'm glad you decided to get married. Because now I'm here. And you're still together. Love you both.

Labels: family, holiday, life, me

Daily Bump and Grind

Monday, June 23, 2008 by Bethany

Motherhood brings routine. And routine often gets boring. And by boring I mean mind-numbing routines that make you want to stick a needle in your eye. Add in the chaos of a work schedule that never stays consistent, which blows what little portions of your day were almost not routine, into something called chaos--and guess what? You have a tiny picture of what my life is like. Think I am exaggerating?

Check out today's "routine." And keep in mind, this is repeated at least 4 days a week. And typically the 5 business days and an occasionally Saturday gets thrown in the mess.

6:00amish - kick/nudge/shove my husband to wake up and turn off his alarm. And nurse a baby. Sometimes all at once since, yes, the baby sleeps in our bed. Sue me, I need to sleep sometime.

6:15am - repeat above.

6:30am - repeat, but make sure the husband gets up (well, on days that I am awake enough to do so). He gets up, make sure alarm is off, and attempt to disconnect my kid from my boob. It's likely a summer day camp day and we have to get out of the house (as in myself and both kids in an hour. Husband must leave in a half hour).

7am - if not done nursing and out of bed yet, do it now. Even if I wake the baby and have to forgo a shower (again). 30 minutes and counting before leaving the house.

7:05am - attempt to wake The Kiddo. Easier said than done.

7:10am - find my clothes. Again, easier said than done.

7:15 am - either attempt a shower if the baby is still sleeping, or just get dressed and cake on the deodorant.

7:20am - wake up The Kiddo for real this time. Make sure he's up, hand him the camp T-shirt and have him pick out shorts, underwear, hat... whatever makes him happy and gets him up.

7:25am- dress, make-up, hair (bed head look is still in right); change baby's diaper, dress her, feed the dog, let the dog out, get pump and milk ready for baby, make The Kiddo's lunch...

7:38am - complain we are late and drag the children to the car. With the camp bag, Nintendo DS lite for The Kiddo to play during the drive, my laptop bag, my pump, the milk for The Peanuts Day, the pacifier (for the sitter for the baby), socks for the baby, extra diapers...

7:50amish- arrive at sitter for The Peanut. Hand her off when she is screaming. Apologize for just running off and then jump back into the car and rush off--speeding--towards day camp.

8:10am - swear at traffic. Mumble about construction. Get on expressway and pray the traffic keeps moving.

8:30am - will the clock to stop so we arrive at summer day camp on time. Answer my son's various questions. Hand him the pop tart I miraculously remembered before leaving the house. And join my work conference call (this is sometimes left out, but 50% of the time in the routine).

8:45am - pull into camp. Sigh a breath of relief. Hand my son the sun tan lotion--caution him not to use too much but get it on. Don't want sunburn! Continue to talk/listen to conference call.

8:50am - walk into camp, sign in the kid. Hug. Kiss. Smile. Wave. Smile. Wonder when he got so old. Hopefully hang up on call so can head to the bathroom.

9:15am pull into the office parking lot. Drive around. Wait for space. Park. Walk in. Join new call.

9:30am - 4pm conference calls, emails, working, more calls, even more emails, complaining, some more emails, more calls... oh, whatever. It is work. Somewhere near 2:30pm or so I'll realize I didn't eat lunch or go to the restroom since the morning. I'll attempt to do both. Sometimes successful. Sometimes not.

4:15pm - attempt to leave work. Typically get a call. Another email. Or get asked something in the hall.

4:20pm - Hide in the restroom to pump milk for the baby. Sigh relief... and again when I have enough milk for tomorrow.

4:35pm - make it to my car, open windows, start, find acceptable music, drive to camp to pick up The Kiddo.

4:45pm - Pick up Kiddo. Hug. Kiss. Smile. Check him out. Ask about day. Find out about adventures. Get a water/Gatorade/Soda from vending machine. Share with kid. Smile. Laugh. Get back into the car.

4:55pm - 5:30pm Drive back to hometown. Get to sitter's driveway just before 5:30. Walk in to get The Peanut.

5:35pm - Snuggle with The Peanut. Find out how she did during the day. Hug. Kiss. Grin. Leave the sitters and attempt to buckle her into the car seat with as little screaming as possible.

5:45 - 6pm Drive home.

6:05pm - get kids inside, chit chat, let the dog out, open the refridgerator and take inventory for dinner. Give up and close it. Sit the baby in her high chair and spill dinner onto the tray in front of her Puffs and Cheerios. Ask The Kiddo for his dinner preference.

6:19pm - check if husband is on his train on the way home. Continue cooking The Kiddo's food (likely a combination of 2 or so of the following: hot dogs, chicken nuggets, breaded shrimp, hash browns, sausage, french fries, mac and cheese, chips...). Give the baby some mushy food (latest delight is sweet potatoes and carrots).

7:30ishpm - decide on dinner for The husband and I. Attempt to cook it before the baby wants to nurse. Get a bath ready for The Kiddo (if bath night). Start the bed time routines--change into pajamas, reading, shows for the night.

8pm - dinner of some sort on table for when husband walks in. Nurse baby. Get show on for The Kiddo.

8:15pm - The Husband walks in. Causes ruckus with the kids. Eat our dinner. Send the Kiddo off to watch show, then brush teeth, and bathroom before bed.

8:30pm - put baby to bed. The Husband puts son to bed.

9pm - Still trying to get baby to bed.

9:30pm - get my own pajamas on. Clean kitchen from dinner mess. Feed the dog dinner. Talk with husband. If I am lucky watch some television. Read. Maybe even blog.

Sometime between 10:30 and Midnight0-- write. Or try to. Or want to. And then just decide to go to bed.

12:30am, 2:30am, 4:30am Nurse baby. And then of course start all over again.

Labels: family, life, me, motherhood, parenting

Throwing Knives

Tuesday, March 25, 2008 by Bethany

In all the years my husband and I have lived together--with and without children--we have never run out of knives in the silverware drawer. Invite my parents over for one weekend, and *poof!* I am out.

Must be the traditional mentality of Everyone Gets a Knife and Fork next to their plates and my mom setting the table that prompted this phenomena. Because as I said, not once have I had this problem before. Though, it is odd, you wouldn't place a spoon too, right?

Regardless, the place-setting of 12 that we has dwindled to no knives. Or dessert forks. Funny being that there were four adults and one five year old at the table (the baby too of course, but utensils are far from her use yet). And for once, I did a load in the dishwasher in the 3 days that they were here. Which makes the no-knives thing even funnier. At least to me.

Labels: family, life, me

Those Little Moments of Tenderness

Friday, March 07, 2008 by Bethany

My husband has a standing affair with my daughter every night about midnight. It's the first time she wakes after bedtime, and well, he won't give up that chance to run in, pick her up, kiss her, cuddle, and otherwise wake her from a bleary-eyed sleep for nothing.

In my head, I want to scold him about his "habit" of waking her up. It's brutal that he gets the fun time and then I spend the following hour getting her back to sleep. I want to tell him how unconventional this is--and when she is two-years-old we are totally gonna pay for this lack of schedule (or should I say schedule) in the middle of the night. But then I see the two of them together. The wide adoring smiles (from both). The giggles. The waving arms of joy (again, from both of them). And I remember why I married my husband. And why I chose to have children. For those very instant moments of pure love and joy.

I can't ruin the fun. The husband works hard. Too hard really when you look at the 12 hours a day (sometimes more) he's wrestling with work. And for The Peanut who screams in something that can only be called delight when he arrives back home? This is the child, who if going to bed early, will WAKE UP at the sound of her Daddy's voice. That is something that I refuse to mess with. Not only would I resent myself for taking that delight away from her--well, I think I'd kill just a little bit of my husband's heart in the process. And I can't have that weighing on my shoulders forever. Especially when I can sit back and watch these moments of tenderness, love, and fun between daughter and father. They'll only be there for so long and then disappear into something else.

Labels: baby, family, The Husband, The Peanut

An Early Valentine's Message to The Husband

Tuesday, February 12, 2008 by Bethany

My husband complains when I wear his sweatshirts. I (in)conveniently dirty them when he wants to wear them. Or I roll up the sleeves and leave them that way until they get laundered . Baby spit-up lines the shoulders while in the hamper. Or... well any excuse that makes it seem like he's upset I wear his hoodies.

As much as he says he's upset (even stating, "We're gonna get you your own black hoodie!"), I think he likes that I wear them. Sure, I wear them because they are comfortable, non-binding, and absolutely the perfect color to match my yoga pants. But, really, I wear them because they smell like him. His cologne. After shave. Man scent. Whatever. It just feels nice--like a constant hug all day long. As Cheese-lined as that last statement came across, I still want to say it. Corny? Sure. But it is completely honest.

And the other reason I wear them? Because they are clean.

Oh sure, point fingers, snicker and laugh at me. Go ahead. But you know damn well you'd do the same thing.

I am the laundromat around here. Picking up clothes at the end of the bed, sorting, collecting, washing and drying. Yep, mostly me. 90% of the time. I'm trying not to complain about that--and really I'm not--as I am lucky enough to work from home most of the time. That puts child caring, laundry, dinner-making, and likely clean up onto my lap most of the time. With all that, well, who can blame me for just grabbing the clean clothes? It's proven (unscientifically of course) clean, comfortable clothes are the best to work in. You know, from the desk in my bedroom while the baby sleeps.

Some days I get bitter about the clothes that tend to wander into the living room or on the backs of the dining room chairs. Or the ones that tend to always be at the foot of the bed instead of in the hamper(s). But, all in all, I know it is the role I play in the house. I work, I care, I do laundry (among other things). My husband, he works, he cares, he snowblows, he mows the lawn, he does car care... and well many other things too. So? We're even. Sorta. As long as I can wear his hoodies.

So, the truth is now known. I wear my husbands sweatshirts and hoodies because I love him AND because they are clean. In that order. Next time he makes the "buy your own damn hoodie" comment, maybe I can pull up this post and show him--that yes, I wear the shirt mostly because I needed a hug that day.

Labels: family, marriage, me

The In Crowd

Wednesday, February 06, 2008 by Bethany

From my earliest memories of childhood, I found myself trying to fit in with the "In Crowd." Ridiculous rituals of make-up, hair teasing, and tearing cheap brand tags off of jeans kept me busy through middle school. High school had me watching my mouth, teetering between friends to find the best fit--and always looking in from the outside. Never seeming to have "what it takes" to be an In Member. And now in adulthood, I find I'm doing the same thing. At least on the inside.

I work well with others (really). I play nice. And on most days, I would be considered out-going, responsible, and on top of my game. Especially at work. At home that could be debatable, depending on how much laundry has piled up and if last week's dinner dishes are still molding in the dishwasher. Then again, if the kids are happy, healthy, and fed, I guess that could be called "having it together."

If I happen to be at a party of any kind (these days they tend to be playgroups or work associated events), you'll be sure to find me socializing, and looking a little bit like "I belong." One might even say, a part of an "In Crowd." But in reality, it is me projecting what I hope is the right look. Talking the talk of the moment, and trying super hard to be who all those people around me want me to be. Sure, I'm being myself. But the Super-Charged Self that has it all under control. Not the Self-Wallowing One that is, well, wondering what the hell I am really doing at this party.

If it is a work thing, well, who can every really put their hair down at those things? Usually you are in some project related discussion or dissing someone in another team. And then the discussion always ends up about past projects, future company speculations, and well... it's not any different than a day at the office.

Playgroups are wrought in discussions (and bragging) about our children. Honestly. Let's compare notes, is little Jimmy (2 months) talking yet? I swear Shelly is! And back and forth, back and forth. Of course, not all playgroups are like this (at least outwardly. Or all the time). But then the conversation just revolves around husbands, yard work, and who has the most wine or scrapbooks at one time. Am I a little jaded? Sure. I never have enough wine in the house and I am the farthest from a scrap booker you can ever find. In fact, I can't really stand the idea of scrap booking.

Which leads me to a really good question. At what type of function would I feel comfortable? A writer's meeting would be an obvious choice right? Wrong. I'd still not feel like I belonged. I mean to write is to write. But to write and be published means validation. I'm not really validated yet. Stupid correlation--I know--but it's what is in the back of my head. And thus, makes me have this weird little voice chiming in my head about not belonging.

You see how this is cyclical right? I mean, do I fit in anywhere? Maybe in a situation where it is me, the kids, and the husband. Hell, I can't hide the real me from them. Or more accurately, I refuse to do that. They deserve Mom/Wife/Woman. And they get it. Which, I guess, puts me in an In Crowd, doesn't it?

Now I just have to find a way to move my In Crowd into Other Crowds and make it feel the same way. Because it would just make me feel a helluva lot more confident. And assured that I'm not stuck in the rut of my childhood. It was really tiresome. And that kind of energy can be used elsewhere.

Labels: family, me

Thanksgiving and Grocery Shopping Woes

Tuesday, November 20, 2007 by Bethany

Can you believe it is Thanksgiving already? Or will be come Thursday. Thank goodness I'm not in charge of cooking The Feast. If I was, well, I'd be at the grocery store in a frenzy tomorrow. Oh, wait. I will be. Our refrigerator echos when you look upon its empty shelves.

I've been told I should plan a little more. You know, make a list of the groceries for the month and go at it one day out of each thirty. I'd make better eating choices, make better use of my time, blah, blah, blah. Have any of those people had children that need diapers? Or a husband who could drink a gallon of milk a day if I let him? Or for that matter, how does one keep milk and other perishables (like fruit and fresh vegetables) in good shape for that long?

I'm a once a week grocery shopper. Sometimes we can make it to a week and a half--but rarely. We just eat too much stuff. Or I just don't plan. Either way, I just have too much going on to worry that I didn't buy every damn thing needed in the house at that instant. And as far as planning lunches and dinners? Well, when I crave chicken, you better get out of my way, I'm making what I want. Not what I had planned!

Though seriously, I know a little planning might help. Especially with this baby around. It helps to just have some sort of a plan for when to start the oven preheating and what we might eat for the next three days. Because right now (tonight for instance) dinner was solved via text message with the husband.

me: Dinner: brats or hamburgers?
him: hamburgers sound better. Sides?
me: chips? :-)
him: got pasta or baked beans with that?
me: both. we'll be ready when you get here.

And that was that. But, really--brats or hamburgers? I feel like an idiot even admitting that those were the only choices. I don't have anything else available!

So, today, likely one of the busiest grocery store days of the year (well maybe it's tomorrow?!!? Well, I'm close enough.)--I'll be hitting the aisles. I have to stock up. I have a Seven-Layer Salad to contribute to the big meal, and my parents appetites to deal with for 3 days (yep, we have a visit in store). I can't delay the inevitable any longer. Or else I'll have to send my son outside to pick berries off our front yard bushes for breakfast. Poison aside, I don't think the rock-hard shriveled up beads of cardboard would do him any good. nutritionally.

Labels: family, holiday, life, parenting

Christmas is going to be lovely this year

Monday, November 12, 2007 by Bethany

I mean that with as much sincerity as possible. Last year we were in two-mortgage hell (one home on the market, another just moved into in hopes of a calmer, uninterrupted with house showings holiday) and pockets that were shorter than usual.

For my husband and I, well this meant nothing. We don't buy each other many gifts for the holidays anymore. We do buy gifts (of course!), but usually they are things for the home. The Combined Gifts is what we call them. Personal, individual gifts are saved for birthdays--since well, they are individual days, aren't they? But for our son (and this year an added daughter) it meant we needed to creative.

Santa was as kind as he always is for a kid that had kept his status on the Nice List. But Mom and Dad weren't so lucky. Not that we pile gifts on our son, but at 4 years old, he knows what he likes now. And that is almost everything. We wanted the holiday to be as special as it always was. We had to get creative. That we did.

Creativity came in the form of gift cards. We earn points with our main debit card and boy did we cash in on them. In fact, we cashed in them for Toys R Us gift cards for shopping for The Kiddo, and then found Home Depot cards to fill in for our gifts. Then we had Pier One and a few Best Buy and nationwide restarant cards for family members.

Now don't get your undies in a bundle, we didn't hand out cards on the Holidays (not that there is anything wrong with that. In fact, if you don't know what I like, hand me a gift card. I have no problem shopping for myself). We selected gift cards with a purpose. The first bieng, could we buy something there for a family member--the second, how many points did it take from our 3 year stash of spending points.

The creativity didn't end there. The Kiddo hand-made his gifts for Dad (and me) and the grandmas and grandpas. Not only was that reasonably priced, it was absolutely adorable. My mother (his grandma) has her painted coffee cup next to her every morning. Framed school pictures with a personal note are hung on everyone's walls. And well, he's proud to have created gifts.

This year, I hope we can still use a bit of that creativity. I mean we all know Christmas isn't all about spending money, commercialism, materialism, or any other 'ism you can find. It is about being with family. Celebrating. Love. But, I like to give too. And having one less mortgage to worry about (the more expensive one), makes life easier and less restricted. So, we're going to enjoy it this year. And stock up those spending points for the next time we might need a little help creating something special.

[Yes. I do realize it isn't even Thanksgiving yet and I am discussing Christmas. And gifts. But around here, I need to start Christmas shopping early. This year anyway. I have a newborn. Not to mention the growing holiday crowds which I am growing to hate. So bear with me. Please. At least I am not overhauling the blog in Christmas lights and decorations, right?]

Labels: christmas, family, life

Husband-like Nesting

Sunday, August 26, 2007 by Bethany

That's right... it is down to the wire for the baby-thing. Though, she's decided to hang around in-utero for another day (I was hoping for this weekend. The timing would have been fantastic). It did allow for some nesting time for The Husband. Me? I lied around in front of the television and with a latest novel read that kept me occupied most of the weekend. Except when I was up to visit the restroom every hour on the hour (ah, the joy of late pregnancy).

So here's what the husband tackled in a whole 2-day weekend:

meticulously cleaned 2 vehicles. That includes vacuuming. Detailing the inside. Detailing the outside. Cleaning out the storage/back areas. Finding loose brackets. Taking off rattling heat shields. And anything else that says car. He tackled it.
found the newborn car seat. Washed both covers for the newborn car seat and that of the Kiddo's that was so filthy dirty... well, it had never seen the inside of a washer before. Both of course were installed as soon as the car was detailed.
mowed the lawn. Normally this wouldn't be in any sort of nesting list. But being outside of Chicago we've had some rain. More than enough is some counties and this was the first day in over 2 weeks he could dedicate to the lawn. And it took over 2 hours to handle it. It was long. Thick. Still a little damp. And required 3 rows (tops) of mowing. And the some bagging operation to take all of the lawn clippings out of the way for some new stuff.
Then, of course, was the whole We'll Need a Leaf Blower/Mulcher Soon expedition that soon turned into the Leaf Blower/Mulcher and Snow Blower Soon Expedition. And yes it did. Both purchased (our snow blower died in the 2-house shuffle over this last winter).
And I almost forgot, The Walnut Tree Branch that Decided to Almost Crush Our Patio Fiasco. Not because of the thunderstorms that hit the area--that would be too obvious. No, it was because of over-zealous walnut breeding. We had a large shade branch that decided this year was the year to produce more walnuts than it could bear. And broke. And had been hanging dangerously close to our patio for the last 3 weeks. With the thunderstorm epidemic this week--well, it was time to watch the husband teeter on a ladder to chop the thing down.
vacuuming the house. Yes, that's what Sunday mornings are for apparently.
buying paint for the 800 small decorative projects around the house we just haven't gotten to yet. Yep, black spray paint for the milk jug that is going to sit in our dining room as a plant stand. Gray paint for the industrial shelf that will sit in the garage, and paint for the cord cover that will *hide* all the flat screen television cords in the bedroom. To which he painted and installed promptly at 11:30pm last night.
washed and fluffed our master bed pillows. They seem to be getting a little flat, if you know what I mean. And this was our last ditch effort to give them some fluff. It worked. Sorta. At least for this week until we decide to purchase some new ones.
Oh and of course, he had to take a look at a few vehicles we are eyeing up for a purchase in the next 3 - 6 months. The rules was, no test driving. To which we followed. As for interest? Yeah. We have a front runner. And in the words of The Husband and Kiddo, "This is perfect for the new baby!" Oh boy. We're in trouble.

So, you tell me-- is this not the male version of baby nesting? Because at first it made me guilty. Isn't that what the pregnant woman's supposed to run through in the final days of pregnancy? I'm not so convinced, as I didn't have that moment of energy in the least with my son. Hell, energy wasn't even a concept with either of these pregnancies that I can remember. But really, I'm not gonna complain. In fact, I am going to go back to the couch, my book, and a big 'ole glass of water to stay cool. I could pop at any moment--and for anyone who's been at this stage of pregnancy, that labor alone warrants a free pass to a good weekend of rest and relaxation.

Labels: baby, family, pregnancy

Feed Me! Feed Me!

Tuesday, July 17, 2007 by Bethany

I feed the cats. The dog. The kid. The fish. The husband. And when I have no other choice, I feed myself. But truth be told, I hate cooking. And I despise being the cook of the household.

I can only think of a handful of meals that are worthy of sustaining a growing family. And from those a select few that aren't made from a box with step-by-step directions or aren't wholly microwaveable in their preparation capabilities. Sure, I've learned to turn on a stove, to cook an actual meal with no directions. And, I've even been known to experiment a bit with some off the wall meals that have been somewhat of a success (meaning, my husband dared eat the left-overs). But generally, having the responsibility of determining when and what my family eats each and every night? Well, it is a bother. A domestic chore that I am not liking. Almost as much as washing dishes and laundry.

Early in my adulthood I kept it easy. Pasta. Lots and lots of pasta. Or meals out on the town (whether fast food or otherwise). Hell, I only had to watch my own feeble nutrition, who cares? But then I got sucked into a relationship. One that, unfortunately, wasn't with a cook (or even someone that liked to cook). So, that little role got put on my shoulders (or we'd both starve).

I braved it out. Cooked meals in candlelight. Offered my limited skills in one of those like-me sort of offerings. And eight years later we got married (maybe that is why it took so long?). Now, well many years after, we have 1 child and another on the way. And I am still stumbling along the cooking trail. Still despising every minute of it.

Sure now we have a dishwasher for the clean up. And I've even expanded my cooking horizons a bit. But I'd kill to have to not think of 3 meals a day for the next week (or month or year). It requires too much planning. Too many decisions. And well creativity that is just tapped out at the early morning hours for breakfast. And just too much thought for the lunch time madness I call conference call time. Or in the evening--the witching hour--when my son wants nothing more than to watch episode after episode of Scooby-Doo.

What's that you say? Have the husband cook? Ha! Would be nice, if he got home at a reasonable hour. See, when we were young, naive, and working our asses off, neither one of us got home before 8pm. And even then, I beat home about 99 times out of a 100. And when I didn't, it was either pizza, peanut butter and jelly on bagels, or out to eat. And now? Well, he still has late hours. I'm picking up a child on day care hours. And? Yep, waiting until 8pm or after is never going to accommodate a kid that grows faster than a green weed in a rain forest.

So. I am stuck. I'm the family cook. I'm the nutritional specialist in the family by default. And tonight (as with every other night), I'd give my left arm to not have to worry about it and sit my ass down in front of the television for a well deserved early evening relaxation time. But then again, that growling in my stomach might actually disturb the baby. Oh and my son who's sitting on the chair across the room.

Maybe I can at least convince other family members to attend to the animals. I mean, the 4 year old can balance on a chair and sprinkle flakes to almost anything right? Maybe that will help the dog lose her extra few pounds.

Labels: family, life

Seeking a little Adventure

Wednesday, January 17, 2007 by Bethany

Yesterday was a typical day. Wake up to my husband's alarm, stumble to the kitchen to pack up lunches, check work e-mail, and manage a hardy breakfast juice and pop tart (which is optional in this normal routine). After the husband left, I ventured to a shower, the normal hygiene and work attire rig-a-ma-roe, and then it was time to wake the kid and take care of the pets.

Forty minutes later, the kid was dressed and almost cooperating for the car ride to day care. The animals were fed, pet, and again back in position for a day of nothing while we ventured out into the world. And so it went.

Car ride. Day care drop off. Arrival at work. Work. Conference calls. More work. A lunch-time spot to the old house to shovel the 4 inches of snow off the driveway, sidewalks, and porch. Then back at work for more of the same. Until 5:30ish. Then, back to the day care, picked up the kid, drove home, and started dinner.

See this is where it gets a bit disturbing. I do the same damn thing almost every day. Just sometimes, I don't have to do the drive and day care stuff. Instead I just skip to the work part. But most of the time I don't even notice.

Sure a few months ago I was dying for normality. House showings from hell and pristine living just isn't for me--and it was obviously stressing me out (and in reality still is. Only I am not living in it. Just wanting the other home sold). So this normality, is nice. Or was nice. Or will be nice when I can finally enjoy it with some casual trips to the store to say--buy a shirt I've been oogling over. Or a coffee house for some down time.

A long time ago (like in high school), I was all about change. I loved erratic schedules. Being busy. Rustling around and doing all the fun stuff called a social life. Right now I am stuck in housewifely motherhood blahs. I mean, who can just drop everything to head out to listen to a band play on Thursday night? Not with a 4 year old with you all evening til the husband gets home. And man, all those workshops and nights out with girlfriends? Things of the past. And right now, I'm needing a bit of refueling. And it isn't in the rest and normalcy. I need a sense of adventure. Any suggestions? It would have to be after 8pm (dinner's over the husband's home to watch the kid) and before about midnight. I shrivel to a drooling mess about that time since I am up before the sun rises.

Man. I've just turned into my mother.

Labels: family, life, me, motherhood

Let's hope this doesn't add on another year

Thursday, January 04, 2007 by Bethany

Did you know it is my imaginary birthday today? It has come complete with top hats, magic wands, decorations of matchbox cars and stuffed animals adorning the great room, and even a pretend pinatas stuffed with more toys!

Oh, and how can I forget the Happy Birthday serenade sung by the kiddo while being presented with a birthday cake (flavor: French Fries and corn). And a present. A box--yep you guessed it--with even more toys.

I'm one lucky gal.

Update: He even surprised me with some more gifts. And these homeade books--4 to be exact--were each made from tabloid paper. Folded in half. Some just "drawing" books (as he calls them) and others were made with letters (which for just-turned-four-years-old, were quite accurate). The stories (DIFFERENT FACES, A BOOK OF DINASOURS, THE FISH FEEDING BOOK, and GRUMPY PEOPLE) need to be framed. Or kept forever. This kid breaks (and swells) my heart all at once. I want to freeze this moment forever.

Labels: family, kid, motherhood

Oddities of the Holiday Season

Tuesday, January 02, 2007 by Bethany

After the end-of-the-year holidays things get hazy. I blank out on all things called responsibility and making money and, um, enjoy some dedicated family time. This year was no exception. I spent more quality breakfast with my son and husband than every before and we we only missed afternoon nap time once (and by nap time I mean family nap time). Not once did I lose my cool, and not even twice did I think that the decision to stay home this season wasn't difference. It's going to be the new rule.

Anyway, not to waste valuable Internet blogging space writing about nothing, I'll share some tidbits of the recent holiday/family/new home adventures.

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Receiving a collect calls from the local detention center (prison) from "Louie."

Why I received the call is as much a mystery to me as you. But, I was so freaked out, I didn't even listen to all of the recorded woman's voice announcing the caller to learn how to block the damn call. I just shrieked and slammed the phone onto the counter. Oh and demanded the husband answer the phone. Always. And forever.

That lasted until this evening when "Louie" tried a repeat call. The husband obliged to my demands and answered the call. He calmly listened to the recording and blocked any future calls from the facility. Now, we just need to hope no family members get into any trouble with the law.

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Apparently, the kiddo has a new found fascination for clouds. Especially ones shaped like flowers, dinosaurs, ships, snowflakes, and worms. I would have loved to join him and his imagination but I was trying to focus on driving into the office the day after a long holiday break.

But the running commentary of the adventures in the sky called Cloud Animals is suppose to continue tomorrow. "So stay tuned," as the kid says, "to Kid Junior."

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Speaking of imagination and the kid, have you heard any 4 year old jokes lately? Here's some to wet your noodle:

What do you call a bananas, apple, and orange?
What?
A fruit punch juice box.

Not funny enough try this one:

Knock, knock.
Who's there.
The dog.
The dog who?
The dog who just got sick on the carpet.

Yeah. I know. Knee slappers at best. The kid's making these all up on his own. Can't wait to hear what these evolve into when he is 10. I'm sure they'll include more fart and book jokes than I'd be willing to admit on my blog.

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I'm officially back at work. Which means, I am officially in the midst of rewrites on the book as well. Which, then means, posts might be few and far between until I get these revisions out of my system.

Consider this the official announcement for my lack or blogging participation. But don't count on it lasting forever. I'll need a break every now and again. Which could mean more tidbits. Less thought. And even less insight than normal. Hang around, I promise it will get better. Eventually. At least my head will be out of the fog anyway.

Labels: blog, family, kid, me, parenting, writing life

All I Want for Christmas is a Gift Wrap Box

Wednesday, December 20, 2006 by Bethany

I'm a gift-wrapper-lover. The crinkle of the paper, the cutting, the shaping, the re-arranging are just intricacies--it is the different colored papers that have me numb in the fingertips. The sparkles (or not), the artsy drawings, cartoonish characters, the eighteen hundred Santa Claus themes, and the gazillion different types of Christmas trees, lights and snowmen have me all but drooling weeks before the Christmas season even begins. And that doesn't even include all the bows, ribbon, and nifty cardboard cut-outs that can adorn your lovely gifts.

Truth be told, you can have me at the gift wrap--no matter what the present is inside.

But the real truth is that I never had the time to do the gift-wrap hoopla appropriately. I am either running late in purchasing the gift (as in running to the store just before I show up on your doorstep) or late in getting the perfect gift wrapping assortments. Thus, my gift wrap obsession is only one-sided. I only think I can wrap correctly if given the chance--it has only been testing a small handful of times.

This year I swore it would be different. Shopping was done early. Gift wrapping items purchased even earlier (last year's 75% off sale the day after Christmas). I was pre-empting craziness. And trumping my general habit of being almost late to almost everything. When of course, we decided to move our asses to another home.

The gift wrap didn't even arrive in the new homestead until last night. I'd dragged my sorry but to the old home to check on everything and conveniently realized the boxes of wrapping paper were still on the rolls and shrink-wrapped for the last year just waiting for me to dive in and wrap appropriately this year.

But then, even more to my dismay, I am shipping most of my gifts this year. We are staying home for the holidays. Which, for the most part, is so much less stress the wrapping, packing, and driving, that I am almost in tears. But, that also means if I were to wrap-right, well, the bows and paper will be smooshed and crinkled in shipping boxes... and well, not the way it should be. And why would I bother? It is a whole five days away, and I am just shipping them tomorrow (see? the almost late factor again).

So that leave the kiddo's gifts (from mom and dad of course). And well, he just cares that they are wrapped and under the tree. And even then, if I handed them to him in a cardboard box he'd be happy enough. He only cares about what is IN the box after all.

I'm dismal. Crass. And even a bit bitchy. It has been a helluva work week (it always is pre-holiday). And here I drown amidst color bits of paper, ribbons, glitter, and all things called gift-wrap and want nothing more than a girly cry. The sobbing ugly-face cry that makes no one feel comfortable, especially someone that has to witness it. And I want to do it for no reason at all except, that yet again, I can't wrap presents worth a damn and I just can't admit it. And maybe (just maybe) I am a wee bit stressed out about all other things besides this holiday (but am afraid to admit that as well).

So.

I sit.

I whimper.

Sigh.

And then hoist myself to the wrapping hopper and pull out a roll of the some shiny red paper and roll it out in front of me. There is one gift I have yet to wrap. The one present I allowed myself to buy. The lone present for the hubby. The one we agreed not to purchase for the sake of our financial health (two house payments) and because well the actual new house is enough isn't it? But I did anyway. It's small. It's useless. And it really is the thought that counts. But, I'll be damned. I'm gonna wrap this baby right. Right? And at least then, I can feel I did the gift justice. If only in the thoughtful wrapping.

Labels: christmas, family, house

Are you pimpin' out on me?

Monday, December 11, 2006 by Bethany

You are trying to get me crazy!
- the Kiddo, 4 years old

Honestly, I don't know what I did to deserve days of nut-ball issues and a housing adventure that just doesn't end (that would be the selling and buying thing. And unpaid back tax bills). It was like all hope of Monday being pleasant came pounding through the sky in a bolt of lightening to spear me through the heart to taunt me. Or at least jeer me into a early morning conference call, that ended so quickly I was mistakenly disallusioned the day might get better. That is until I set a goal to finish my latest project deadline.

But, hey, enough about work. I might get fired (note timestamp, Internets. It is after-hours. Thankyouverymuch). Not that you find the work stuff that interesting-- no one does. I'm a technical writer. There isn't anything too exciting about that. No matter what way I spin it.

The other part of my angst comes from home upheaval. Aside from moving my ass north a few 30 miles, packing all my belongings, and belaboring the point that I am paying on two mortgages--I am again a stay-at-home-working mom three days a week. Yes, that means, the kiddo--all four years of him--is with me full time three days a week to keep me distracted from the day job. Err, I mean, quietly playing at the kitchen table while I am pining away at my deadlines.

At first I thought this little shift back to the good ole days would be welcome. I'd get to take little excursions to the grocery store, Target, and when the weather breaks a bit build a snowman (or watch from the window). Hell, I daydreamed about getting back to homelife a bit. I'm not too womanly to admit that jumping back into full time work guns a blaring was fine (even glorious) at first. Then, I got homesick (or kid-sick).

But, now, I'm groveling. I'm part-time mom worker and I'm not liking being back at home with the kid. Sure, I love not missing a beat with him--knowing he took his nap and ate his lunch. But having to occupy him all day? I'd rather be at the office.

Sure, I'm exhaggerating some, as it is my blog and I have a right, but the differences from a 2 year old (as he was the first time around when I worked from home) and a 4 year old are tremendous.

First, he can talk a lot. From great big long sentences that entertwine, require me to think of appropriate responses, and almost always request some form of my attention to the fact that he he is independent can make for a bit of a challenging day. The whole I-can-dress-myself-Mom part is wonderful (who would have thought that that the kid can match a Spiderman T-shirt and Superman pants that actually match and are adequately warm for a gusty winter day in Chicagoland). But this is what is killing me--"Mom? What are we going to do today?"

The question seems simple enough--eat breakfast, brush teeth, get dressed, play, watch a bit of television. But then the inevitable happens. The question that has me running haywire through each and every room of my house, "What's next?"

And as every good 4 year old does, he holds me to it--no matter WHAT I tell him. Want to color? Sure, then right after we watch Go Diego Go! we sure as hell better break out the crayons and tablet of paper or hell will break loose. Did I say we might build a Lego bridge? Oh, pardon me for having to take a call from work--or say finish eating my own lunch before 3 in the afternoon.

Two short years ago, I thought I was juggling too much--motherhood, working from home full time, a husband who worked long hours, a wild terror of a dog, two cats (one quite sickly), and a two year old. But the thing is, I had no idea what it was like to do all of the above (without the sick cat. she pulled through), with a four year old. Sure he can take care of himself a bit but when do the universal pointed finger to lips to be quiet sign he's learned it doesn't mean a damn thing. Even when I am mid-sentence with a Vice President of something or other.

Labels: family, kid, motherhood, working, writing life