I am missing out on half of Lila's life. Yup. Exactly half. All because her father and I split up.
For half of every week she is with me. On those days we talk about her day, eat some dinner, cuddle and watch TV. And on my Saturdays we try to get out to do something fun.
But the other half of the week, she is with him. And there is no bedtime, no cuddle time, no bath to be given.
On those days I miss out.
I missed her losing 2 of the 3 teeth that she has lost. The Tooth Fairy going to another house, not mine.
I missed her learning to ride her bike. She did it while playing outside on another street, not mine.
I miss out on a lot of little jokes and funny stories and small victories.
I miss her so much when she isn't here.
Every night when she is with him she calls me to say goodnight. And on my nights she calls him. The days of crying because she misses one or the other of us is over, thank God, but I know that she always has that emptiness. She would rather have us both there in the middle of the night when she is scared or sick or just can't sleep.
I do not regret the splitting anymore. Although for a while I didn't know if I would survive it. When she would cry for him or when she would call me crying I would want to fix it all. To glue our broken family back together, to make her heart stop hurting.
And although I miss her like crazy when she isn't there, part of me is starting to adjust. I mean, it's only been 2 years.
I am a single parent when she is with me. I am a bachelorette the rest of the week. I still have a hard time with this transformation. I am starting to adjust and am finally beginning to find something to do during all this extra "me time" that I have. But I don't feel lucky to have it. Not yet. Not when there is a hole in my heart during that time.
Being without her so much makes the time that I do have with her more valuable. I try not to yell as much. I try to do fun things when I can. We go out to eat a lot. We have had to put quality over quantity. This is something I think a lot of full time moms take for granted.
And even though I am only with her part of the time, she is still on my mind all of the time. I still put her needs first. I am still the one who makes the doctors appointments and signs all the school paperwork. I am still always mom.
Showing posts with label Relationship Issues. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Relationship Issues. Show all posts
Monday, February 23, 2015
Monday, April 22, 2013
Telling Lila
Now that I finally have a place to go and I will be moving, we had to come out and tell the kid that we are going to split.
For weeks I dreaded having to tell her because I thought that she would be totally devastated and damaged by the news and that she would hate me because I am the one moving out of the family home. I literally spent days having extreme panic attacks knowing that she was going to be traumatized and would never be the same after we broke it to her.
The day came on Friday. We were getting ready for dinner and I pointed out to Ben that the move is less than 2 weeks away and we did want to give her a little time (but not too much time) to let it sink in so that she could ask questions and be prepared for seeing me pack boxes and pick out paint colors. And I told Ben that he was going to have to be the one to actually say the words to her because I didn't think I could keep it together long enough to get it out.
We sat down and he told her we had to have a family discussion. Then he simply said, "Mommy and I have decided that it would be best for everyone if we lived in separate places..." He tried to tell her that I am moving upstairs from Grandma and that she will spend plenty of time with both of us but she was lost in her emotions.
She burst into tears. She hugged me and cried and said that she didn't want to move and that she didn't want me to leave. She told us that she loved that house and that she wanted us to stay together. It was seriously the worst, most heartbreaking moment of my entire life. I mean, what do you do when you know your kid is hurting and it's your fault and you can't do anything to make it better?
I tried my best to stay calm but the tears rolled down my face. I wanted to tell her to forget it. That we made a mistake and things would just stay the way they are but I couldn't. Because even though a part of me really wants to do that and pretend that everything is fine, I know that in the long term everyone will be better off this way.
We sat and attempted to explain to her that she isn't leaving the house and that she isn't exactly moving but as a 5 year old she cannot quite grasp the idea that she will be able to spend equal time with both of us. The questions ranged from the logical (What if I am with Daddy and I want Mommy?) to the totally random (What if my bedroom misses me when I am gone?).
That night at bedtime she told me she was going to ask me exactly 4 questions about it and that was it. So she formulated 4 things that she deemed important. She asked if she was going to go to the same school. "Yes," I said. She asked if she could bring some of her things over. "Of course," I said. She asked what would happen if Daddy really missed her when she was with me. "That's what we have telephones and Skype for," I said.
Then she asked if we could get a kitten. My kid already knows how to milk a situation for all it's worth. Talk about timing. How could I say no when I had just totally ruined her life, right? "We'll see," I said. And that was good enough for her.
In the following days she talked about it surprisingly little and when I tried to bring it up she just kind of ignored me. I am going to let her lead on this one. I figure that once she starts to see the boxes and hears the talk about the move that she will ask more questions. But she seems far from damaged and distraught. In fact, she seems downright NORMAL by all standards. Is it possible that she may be okay after all? That she will survive this whole process, perhaps a little worse for wear but mostly okay? As a parent that is all that I am asking for.
For weeks I dreaded having to tell her because I thought that she would be totally devastated and damaged by the news and that she would hate me because I am the one moving out of the family home. I literally spent days having extreme panic attacks knowing that she was going to be traumatized and would never be the same after we broke it to her.
The day came on Friday. We were getting ready for dinner and I pointed out to Ben that the move is less than 2 weeks away and we did want to give her a little time (but not too much time) to let it sink in so that she could ask questions and be prepared for seeing me pack boxes and pick out paint colors. And I told Ben that he was going to have to be the one to actually say the words to her because I didn't think I could keep it together long enough to get it out.
We sat down and he told her we had to have a family discussion. Then he simply said, "Mommy and I have decided that it would be best for everyone if we lived in separate places..." He tried to tell her that I am moving upstairs from Grandma and that she will spend plenty of time with both of us but she was lost in her emotions.
She burst into tears. She hugged me and cried and said that she didn't want to move and that she didn't want me to leave. She told us that she loved that house and that she wanted us to stay together. It was seriously the worst, most heartbreaking moment of my entire life. I mean, what do you do when you know your kid is hurting and it's your fault and you can't do anything to make it better?
I tried my best to stay calm but the tears rolled down my face. I wanted to tell her to forget it. That we made a mistake and things would just stay the way they are but I couldn't. Because even though a part of me really wants to do that and pretend that everything is fine, I know that in the long term everyone will be better off this way.
We sat and attempted to explain to her that she isn't leaving the house and that she isn't exactly moving but as a 5 year old she cannot quite grasp the idea that she will be able to spend equal time with both of us. The questions ranged from the logical (What if I am with Daddy and I want Mommy?) to the totally random (What if my bedroom misses me when I am gone?).
That night at bedtime she told me she was going to ask me exactly 4 questions about it and that was it. So she formulated 4 things that she deemed important. She asked if she was going to go to the same school. "Yes," I said. She asked if she could bring some of her things over. "Of course," I said. She asked what would happen if Daddy really missed her when she was with me. "That's what we have telephones and Skype for," I said.
Then she asked if we could get a kitten. My kid already knows how to milk a situation for all it's worth. Talk about timing. How could I say no when I had just totally ruined her life, right? "We'll see," I said. And that was good enough for her.
In the following days she talked about it surprisingly little and when I tried to bring it up she just kind of ignored me. I am going to let her lead on this one. I figure that once she starts to see the boxes and hears the talk about the move that she will ask more questions. But she seems far from damaged and distraught. In fact, she seems downright NORMAL by all standards. Is it possible that she may be okay after all? That she will survive this whole process, perhaps a little worse for wear but mostly okay? As a parent that is all that I am asking for.
Friday, March 2, 2012
Because Wildlife Sucks.
We have a squirrel problem.
Last winter we started hearing scratching in the walls and would randomly have a brown squirrel peeking through the window of our bedroom taunting the cat to come get it.
The squirrel was living in the space above the ceiling of our front porch and we put out a humane trap to catch it. We scattered a few peanuts and apple slices inside the cage and thought for sure that we'd get him. But the squirrel was smarter than us.
That little fucker managed to get ALL the food out without ever stepping foot into the trap not once, but 3 nights in a row. On the 4th night we put out a whole apple, figuring that he would HAVE to go in to get it because the apple is too big to be pulled out. In the morning, half the apple was in the cage and the cage was shut, but the squirrel was no where to be found.
Ben's first thought was to get a BB gun, but I insisted that he call a squirrel catcher to come get it. We searched online and everything I read said that squirrels are EXTREMELY hard to get rid of. Ben reminded me of our former (obviously bat shit crazy) neighbor who told us that the squirrels will come back year after year and that she ultimately had to trap them (you may want to look away now) and drown the entire family of them in a barrel. But we don't really have a lot of random barrels and I also think that borders on completely psychotic.
I begged Ben to just call an exterminator so that the nest could be removed properly so that they didn't come back next year. But since Ben is a manly and clearly he can patch a hole better than anyone else who has ever had a squirrel problem, he decided he would take care of it.
Ben went up and patched the hole the squirrel was using as a foyer and waited. Nothing. No sound, no squirrel. Done. Right?
The next day, the squirrel was back rabidly gnawing at the patch trying to get in. It was not deterred by the water we sprayed it with or the rocks we threw at it. Ben had a guy working on our house doing some painting and it literally chased him into the house. The squirrel was completely freaking out.
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| This is from scienceblogs.com. Seriously. |
That night at about 3 am, we found out why.
We started to hear this awful screeching noise. It sounded a little like the noise a washing machine makes when one of the belts is faulty except not continuous. It would happen for a few minutes and then stop. Ben thought that the squirrel was standing outside our window screaming but it didn't take long for me to diagnose that the screaming was coming from inside the bedroom wall.
The squirrel had babies. And now the babies were dying inside our wall.
This was when I was in the trenches with my depression and the wailing squirrel babies were too much for me to take. I was pretty sure that we were going to burn in hell for killing the baby squirrels and the sound was gut-wrenching. I cried until morning and sent Ben out as soon as the sun came up to unpatch the hole. We would have to wait until we knew the babies were gone.
Several days went by, and one day we were getting Lila into the car and we saw the squirrel doing something extremely creepy. If you've never seen a squirrel climb down the side of a house with a black squirrel baby coming out of its little squirrel mouth, please know that it is the stuff of nightmares. The thing LITERALLY walked down the side of the wall with the baby squirrel curled up with it's little back legs wrapped around mama squirrel's head. I still have nightmares.
This was GREAT! We waited another couple of days and it was time to patch that sucker back up.
Summer came and went and so did fall. We had no problem. The rabid asshole squirrel seemed to have found a happy home elsewhere and was no longer burrowing into our walls. We actually kind of forgot about it and were making plans to put siding and a roof on the house in a few weeks.
Usually I am not home in the middle of the afternoon, but a couple of days ago my mother had a doctors appointment and I was home with Lila. I was in the bedroom when I heard that familiar scratching sound.
THAT ASSHOLE SQUIRREL WAS BACK!!!
I looked out out bedroom window to see if I could see it gnawing at the top of the porch but I couldn't. So I ran outside and looked up and saw this gigantic fat black squirrel (not to be racist) giving me the eyeball while standing up on it's hind feet like a furry Clint Eastwood.
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| It didn't look like this. |
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| It looked like this. |
But it wasn't the terrifying monster squirrel that caught my attention. The squirrel had gnawed a gigantic hole into the side of the house. Not the little corner where the original hole was. This is gaping squirrel sized hole on the SIDE OF MY HOUSE. I have no idea how the hell a squirrel manages to defy gravity and work on the actual WALL OF THE HOUSE but this guy did.
I begged Ben at this point to PLEASE just call a squirrel exterminator (ex-squirrel-inator) to take care of the problem once and for all, but he insisted he would take car of it that day. He didn't. After mentioning it every for 2 weeks (and being accused of being a nagging bitch every time), yesterday I finally found the phrase that would motivate him to get his ass up there and patch it (because you know that there's no way that I am climbing up on a ladder and confronting giant rabies squirrel myself). "Do it before it has babies in there!"
Today when I came home from work (I get out at 2 on Fridays), he was on the ladder with several pieces of wood and a tool belt. Very official looking.
As I got out of the car, it crossed my mind, but I am always the little dark rain cloud who thinks the worst and I tried not to say it but I did anyway. "You're sure the squirrel isn't in there, right?"
He confidently told me that he hasn't seen or heard it all day so it MUST be gone. "It could just be sleeping in there...in fact, the fact that it isn't scampering around out here snapping tree branches with its heft is a good indication that it is NOT gone..." But I didn't say THAT. I just dropped it.
Ben declared victory and went back to work.
Boy I did NOT enjoy having to call him an hour later and tell him that the squirrel is now trying to claw its way out of the wall. And he got all fucking mad! At the squirrel!!! Like he didn't just decide to take a shortcut (many).
Am I allowed to say "I FUCKING TOLD YOU!!!"
Thursday, January 19, 2012
Needs Work.
Ben is a General Contractor.
I know what you're thinking: Well, that sure does explain his shitty attitude and unreliability. But actually, he really is one of the only honest contractors I have ever met. In fact, he has a problem because he is too nice and generous and has a habit of doing extra work for no charge and because of that we are always broke.
But I don't want to talk about his (lack of) business sense. I want to tell you about my house.
Whenever Ben finishes a big job like a kitchen remodel or building a new porch, he likes to take pictures so that he can use them in a portfolio to show potential clients. These projects are always flawless, and clean and beautiful.
We bought an abandoned house last year really cheap. Because Ben is a contractor, he did all the work on it to make it livable. In fact, since our lease was running out and our landlord REFUSED to give us another month, he did all the work on the house in about 5 weeks. He worked morning until night, 7 days a week and when we moved in, the house was ALMOST done. There were just a bunch of little things that needed to be finished up. Things like moulding along the floor, touch-up paint, doors needing door knobs - things like that. And because he had essentially BUILT a house from rubble, I ignored it and figured it would get done.
The thing is, none of that shit is done, 15 months later. Do you know why? Because for some infuriating reason, whenever Ben does work around OUR house, he leaves it half done.
Three months ago, he put a transition piece along the border between the bathroom tile floor and the slightly lower hardwood floor of the hallway. It took him about 20 minutes to measure, cut and position the piece. He set it there....and left it. Now every time I walk out of the bathroom, I kick the thing and it goes flying out into the hallway. He never bothered to nail it down. I asked him how much time it takes to nail a piece of wood in place and he told me, "About 30 seconds...a minute if you do it right". I told him I was getting the hammer and he assured me that he would take care of it because "you don't want the nail to stick up at all." THIS WAS THREE MONTHS AGO!!!!!
We have a couple of spots on the drywall that were damaged somehow and are going to need touch-up paint. Last JULY I asked him to get the paint out (because his work area is a labirynth of crap that only he has the magic map to) and I would paint it. He told me he would take care of it. Later that day, he applied that plaster crap to it to patch it. He let it dry and sanded it down. I had a pile of white dust on the floor for 4 days before I finally gave in and swept it up. The white patch is still there. He told me it still needs another layer...WHAT THE FUCK!!!!
I have attempted to explain to him that it offends me that when he does jobs at other people's houses he actually finishes up, then cleans and leaves the place looking like something from an HGTV room makeover show, but our house looks like someone randomly pieced it together and then forgot about it.
Another (visual) example:
We have plans to get siding in the spring. The house is an ugly green and looks as if it hasn't been painted in at least 20 years. Also, we kind of have to because the house is drafty and cold even with new windows and weatherproofing. There are gaps in the old wood slats and that makes the walls super cold and covering it will make it better (or at least I am told). While I was out the other day, Ben decided that he was going to fill in some of the worst gaps with "a little caulk". This is what the side of our house looks like now:
SERIOUSLY, BEN? REALLY???
"Would you EVER do that to someone else's house?" He shrugged.
"Then WHY THE HELL WOULD YOU DO IT TO OUR HOUSE? Don't you care AT ALL what this house looks like?"
"Not really." He admitted. "It's going to get sided and then it will look really nice. EVENTUALLY it will look good."
Did I mention that the house was SUPPOSED to be sided and have a new roof put on over the past summer but (and I am quoting here) Ben "just didn't get around to it." Now, maybe it's just me but I would think that a job as large as siding a house is something you PLAN, in advance. And maybe schedule. With some help. (Now that I am typing this, I am concerned that my house will he half sided for the next 10 years.)
That's awesome. Because I love having a hillbilly shack to be proud of. Don't even get me started about the shit he keeps in our yard.
And it isn't that I don't try to help or do the work myself. He won't let me. He says I don't know what I am doing. Because CLEARLY, it takes a professional to stick a door knob on.
Am I over-reacting? What do you think?
I know what you're thinking: Well, that sure does explain his shitty attitude and unreliability. But actually, he really is one of the only honest contractors I have ever met. In fact, he has a problem because he is too nice and generous and has a habit of doing extra work for no charge and because of that we are always broke.
But I don't want to talk about his (lack of) business sense. I want to tell you about my house.
Whenever Ben finishes a big job like a kitchen remodel or building a new porch, he likes to take pictures so that he can use them in a portfolio to show potential clients. These projects are always flawless, and clean and beautiful.
 |
| Like this. Although this is not actually one of his.. This is a random internet pic. |
The thing is, none of that shit is done, 15 months later. Do you know why? Because for some infuriating reason, whenever Ben does work around OUR house, he leaves it half done.
 |
| OK. At least I DO have countertops...But still. |
We have a couple of spots on the drywall that were damaged somehow and are going to need touch-up paint. Last JULY I asked him to get the paint out (because his work area is a labirynth of crap that only he has the magic map to) and I would paint it. He told me he would take care of it. Later that day, he applied that plaster crap to it to patch it. He let it dry and sanded it down. I had a pile of white dust on the floor for 4 days before I finally gave in and swept it up. The white patch is still there. He told me it still needs another layer...WHAT THE FUCK!!!!
I have attempted to explain to him that it offends me that when he does jobs at other people's houses he actually finishes up, then cleans and leaves the place looking like something from an HGTV room makeover show, but our house looks like someone randomly pieced it together and then forgot about it.
Another (visual) example:
We have plans to get siding in the spring. The house is an ugly green and looks as if it hasn't been painted in at least 20 years. Also, we kind of have to because the house is drafty and cold even with new windows and weatherproofing. There are gaps in the old wood slats and that makes the walls super cold and covering it will make it better (or at least I am told). While I was out the other day, Ben decided that he was going to fill in some of the worst gaps with "a little caulk". This is what the side of our house looks like now:
 |
| Yes,I ran outside in the cold to take this picture just now. And we live on a corner. This side faces the street. |
SERIOUSLY, BEN? REALLY???
"Would you EVER do that to someone else's house?" He shrugged.
"Then WHY THE HELL WOULD YOU DO IT TO OUR HOUSE? Don't you care AT ALL what this house looks like?"
"Not really." He admitted. "It's going to get sided and then it will look really nice. EVENTUALLY it will look good."
Did I mention that the house was SUPPOSED to be sided and have a new roof put on over the past summer but (and I am quoting here) Ben "just didn't get around to it." Now, maybe it's just me but I would think that a job as large as siding a house is something you PLAN, in advance. And maybe schedule. With some help. (Now that I am typing this, I am concerned that my house will he half sided for the next 10 years.)
That's awesome. Because I love having a hillbilly shack to be proud of. Don't even get me started about the shit he keeps in our yard.
 |
| We're just one boat and a missing roof tile away from this... |
Am I over-reacting? What do you think?
Saturday, June 4, 2011
Another Confession about Motherhood
As I sit here I am sweating and hyperventilating and having all the typical fight or flight panic symptoms.
Am I being stalked by a wild animal? You could say that.
Am I about to be attacked by some crazed lunatic in the middle of the night? Maybe.
Am I simply underconfident and know I am going to have my will and my patience tested to the point of breaking? Yes. For sure.
What is it that is causing me such distress? I am alone all weekend with my three-year-old.
For most of you this is probably where you roll your eyes and click over to TMZ or some youtube video of a cat getting its little head stuck in a glass while trying to get a drop of milk (I saw it. It's cute, right?). Because I know that for many of you who are single mothers or full time stay at home moms, this is nothing you don't do all the time.
But for me, it terrifies me to no end.
Ben had to fly out to Arizona to take care of some things that were left undone when we moved back here. IT was a last-minute thing, so I only had a couple of days to prepare myself for the hell that would unfold when Lila got bored/annoyed/angry/her usual self with me and started to work my last nerve. I did not have ample time to work out a plan as to what I would do instead of just calling in The Big Guns (also known as "Daddy") to take over for a little while so that I didn't have a nervous breakdown.
I am afraid of a three year old. Not that I would ever let her in on that. OHHHH No! This is something I keep on the inside while I go about my day making sure we both eat and sleep and poop and keep ourselves in one piece.
Because I KNOW that I am the adult. I know that I am in charge. I know that we will be fine. There is really honestly not a doubt in my mind that we will both survive this 4 day MOMMY-FEST relatively unharmed and only minimally emotionally drained. And yet, the IDEA of not having backup around the house fills me with nothing short of complete and absolute dread.
Am I the only mother who feels this way? Should I be committed? Is it wrong that I depend so heavily on another person to keep the peace around here? Do I need a body guard?
Am I being stalked by a wild animal? You could say that.
Am I about to be attacked by some crazed lunatic in the middle of the night? Maybe.
Am I simply underconfident and know I am going to have my will and my patience tested to the point of breaking? Yes. For sure.
What is it that is causing me such distress? I am alone all weekend with my three-year-old.
For most of you this is probably where you roll your eyes and click over to TMZ or some youtube video of a cat getting its little head stuck in a glass while trying to get a drop of milk (I saw it. It's cute, right?). Because I know that for many of you who are single mothers or full time stay at home moms, this is nothing you don't do all the time.
But for me, it terrifies me to no end.
Ben had to fly out to Arizona to take care of some things that were left undone when we moved back here. IT was a last-minute thing, so I only had a couple of days to prepare myself for the hell that would unfold when Lila got bored/annoyed/angry/her usual self with me and started to work my last nerve. I did not have ample time to work out a plan as to what I would do instead of just calling in The Big Guns (also known as "Daddy") to take over for a little while so that I didn't have a nervous breakdown.
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| Me after the FIRST 12 hours of continuous whining. |
I am afraid of a three year old. Not that I would ever let her in on that. OHHHH No! This is something I keep on the inside while I go about my day making sure we both eat and sleep and poop and keep ourselves in one piece.
Because I KNOW that I am the adult. I know that I am in charge. I know that we will be fine. There is really honestly not a doubt in my mind that we will both survive this 4 day MOMMY-FEST relatively unharmed and only minimally emotionally drained. And yet, the IDEA of not having backup around the house fills me with nothing short of complete and absolute dread.
Am I the only mother who feels this way? Should I be committed? Is it wrong that I depend so heavily on another person to keep the peace around here? Do I need a body guard?
Tuesday, May 24, 2011
Ancient History: 5 B.C.
I was sitting in a McDonald's with Lila the other day and overheard a woman talking about the good old days. Back in B.C. Before Children.
Let's take a little stroll through history, shall we?
5 years B.C. I could wake up on Sunday morning and have the whole day in front of me. The house would be quiet and the newspaper would be waiting for me. I would leisurely drink my coffee and peruse the paper and carefully weigh all the possibilities for the day ahead. Those days are gone.
In 5 B.C. I could get a phone call at 7pm on a Friday and be out the door in half an hour for a night on the town where I dressed sexy and got hit on all night by various attractive men offering to buy me drinks in the hopes that I would go home with them. That's over too.
In 5 B.C. if I was sick, I stayed in bed all day. Sometimes a friend or even my mom would come over to take care of me. I could watch movies or read or just sleep. Not so much anymore.
In 5 B.C. I worked to buy myself nice clothes, shoes, a car, and to support my habit of buying more books than I could read. I worked so that I could go out and eat with friends or offer to pay on dates. I always had money left over after paying my bills even though it was just me and no roommates. So much for that.
In 5 B.C. I lived alone. The only mess to clean up was mine (and MiMi, my cat's). I hardly cooked because it's no fun to cook for yourself and so I ate a lot more fast food, and yet never managed to gain any weight.
In 5 B.C. I had perfect boobs, a flat stomach and minimal cellulite. I showed off my body and if I chose to I could even sleep around if the mood struck me. Just because I was a hot young thing. I'm not anymore.
Let's take a little stroll through history, shall we?
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| All that's left of my life Before Children |
In 5 B.C. I could get a phone call at 7pm on a Friday and be out the door in half an hour for a night on the town where I dressed sexy and got hit on all night by various attractive men offering to buy me drinks in the hopes that I would go home with them. That's over too.
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| That's me on the left in blue at a rave in 2001 |
In 5 B.C. I worked to buy myself nice clothes, shoes, a car, and to support my habit of buying more books than I could read. I worked so that I could go out and eat with friends or offer to pay on dates. I always had money left over after paying my bills even though it was just me and no roommates. So much for that.
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| Me in my slutty clothes |
In 5 B.C. I had perfect boobs, a flat stomach and minimal cellulite. I showed off my body and if I chose to I could even sleep around if the mood struck me. Just because I was a hot young thing. I'm not anymore.
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| Me at dawn. I was 22 here. |
Today, Sunday mornings are loud and my day is left in her hands. It's impossible to have spontaneous plans pop up because I don't have a spur-of-the-moment babysitter and even if I did, I am so exhausted by the end of the day that I rarely stay up past 9pm. If I'm sick, too bad. Mom's don't get to call in sick. I work to buy my kid nice things. So that she can leave them all over the house for me to clean up. Today my boobs are heading south, my ass is expanding to unclaimed frontiers and there is a roundness to me that I can barely identify. It isn't pretty or sexy and I cannot remember the last time I thought about sex.
It's not that there aren't good points, Lila is the joy of my life in so many ways. But seriously, when you put it on paper it really makes me yearn for the good old ancient days of B.C.
(All photos were the result of a Bing Search and thumbnails. But the captions are mine)
Thursday, April 14, 2011
It is what it is.
Oh God. Here it comes again.
After several days where it seemed to have abated, it is pushing up through the cracks like filthy ground water. I can feel it wetting me, and turning me back into the monster who peers out of her cave at the world but never joins it, and feeds on its own misery.
I have been fighting my depression for most of my life. Even as a kid I remember being somber and morose. I was disappointed a lot. I always anticipated the worst. And as an adult that sort of “realism” won me the nickname “little black cloud” because I was always there to point out how quickly things could go wrong.
I have tried to find joy in the little things. I have managed on a few occasions to claw myself out of this vacuum and to actually breathe the air of normalcy. I gathered enough energy to make a go of moving across the country once; of going to college another time. I even tried my hand being a mother. But those times where I was doing more than just barely functioning were always suddenly drowned in a surge of mud that seemed to pour in out of nowhere and solidify itself before I had a chance to fight through it.
Every so often, as happened last week, I have a break. I have a few days where the going is not quite so tough. I can get out of bed without having to convince myself that there’s something worthwhile outside my dark room. I manage to get dressed and go to work and even play with my daughter without tripping all over myself and making everyone miserable in the process. I am a good mother then, and we read together and I hold her and stroke her hair. She doesn’t worry that I am going to start yelling over little misdeeds and she sometimes seems surprised when I laugh as she drops her (yet another) glass of milk. I love being that woman.
Unfortunately, that is not the person I usually am. Medication only seems to work for a little while. Therapy helps me to have longer stretches of sanity but then I seem to always fall further back than where I started – more sad, more angry, less Me. And I have to wonder, every time: “What did I do now to make this come back? Because I was okay yesterday, but today I am not. “
What’s worse is that it isn’t just all about me anymore. I am no longer the only one suffering, which makes my prognosis that much more unbearable. You see, I lived through my mother’s grueling struggle with this same demon. I watched her shrivel and atrophy so that she could barely move. I saw how she could transform into someone I hated at the drop of a hat. And I swore that I would never do that to my own. Not just because it is cruel and debilitating, but because I never want my baby to have to face this creature in her own world. And aren’t I simply passing all my failures to her?
Instead I hide. My mother kept her sadness out in the open and exposed us all to the constant derangement of drinking and rage and compulsive cleaning. I like to run; to put myself back into bed where I can’t hurt anyone with the things I do to them. Instead I only hurt them with the things I fail to do.
My mother never taught me to swim. She never made me take lessons from anyone else, either. And my whole life I have never felt like I can handle water that is deeper than a bath. This is not only indicative of her inability to give me the basic life skill that could save me, but also a fitting metaphor for the fact that I feel helpless and defenseless against the rising waters that threaten to overwhelm me and I know that I can learn how but I can’t get out of the deep end long enough to catch my breath. I don’t want to be rescued. I just want to be able to swim.
I want my girl to know how to swim.
I want to be able to teach her.
After several days where it seemed to have abated, it is pushing up through the cracks like filthy ground water. I can feel it wetting me, and turning me back into the monster who peers out of her cave at the world but never joins it, and feeds on its own misery.
I have been fighting my depression for most of my life. Even as a kid I remember being somber and morose. I was disappointed a lot. I always anticipated the worst. And as an adult that sort of “realism” won me the nickname “little black cloud” because I was always there to point out how quickly things could go wrong.
I have tried to find joy in the little things. I have managed on a few occasions to claw myself out of this vacuum and to actually breathe the air of normalcy. I gathered enough energy to make a go of moving across the country once; of going to college another time. I even tried my hand being a mother. But those times where I was doing more than just barely functioning were always suddenly drowned in a surge of mud that seemed to pour in out of nowhere and solidify itself before I had a chance to fight through it.
Every so often, as happened last week, I have a break. I have a few days where the going is not quite so tough. I can get out of bed without having to convince myself that there’s something worthwhile outside my dark room. I manage to get dressed and go to work and even play with my daughter without tripping all over myself and making everyone miserable in the process. I am a good mother then, and we read together and I hold her and stroke her hair. She doesn’t worry that I am going to start yelling over little misdeeds and she sometimes seems surprised when I laugh as she drops her (yet another) glass of milk. I love being that woman.
Unfortunately, that is not the person I usually am. Medication only seems to work for a little while. Therapy helps me to have longer stretches of sanity but then I seem to always fall further back than where I started – more sad, more angry, less Me. And I have to wonder, every time: “What did I do now to make this come back? Because I was okay yesterday, but today I am not. “
What’s worse is that it isn’t just all about me anymore. I am no longer the only one suffering, which makes my prognosis that much more unbearable. You see, I lived through my mother’s grueling struggle with this same demon. I watched her shrivel and atrophy so that she could barely move. I saw how she could transform into someone I hated at the drop of a hat. And I swore that I would never do that to my own. Not just because it is cruel and debilitating, but because I never want my baby to have to face this creature in her own world. And aren’t I simply passing all my failures to her?
Instead I hide. My mother kept her sadness out in the open and exposed us all to the constant derangement of drinking and rage and compulsive cleaning. I like to run; to put myself back into bed where I can’t hurt anyone with the things I do to them. Instead I only hurt them with the things I fail to do.
My mother never taught me to swim. She never made me take lessons from anyone else, either. And my whole life I have never felt like I can handle water that is deeper than a bath. This is not only indicative of her inability to give me the basic life skill that could save me, but also a fitting metaphor for the fact that I feel helpless and defenseless against the rising waters that threaten to overwhelm me and I know that I can learn how but I can’t get out of the deep end long enough to catch my breath. I don’t want to be rescued. I just want to be able to swim.
I want my girl to know how to swim.
I want to be able to teach her.
Friday, March 4, 2011
Sometimes I hate her...but I just don't get this.
My friend forwarded me a video of a woman on the Today Show who is talking about making the decision to be a non-custodial parent to her children. On the one hand this sounds VERY appealing. In many custody arrangements, one parent only sees the children on the weekend or for part of the time, but that parent is almost always the father.
(go here to see the video)
I admit, I have had daydreams (bordering on orgasmic fantasies, actually) of having stretches of days alone when I could nap and eat what and when I wanted and have my house clean for more than 20 minute stretches. But as I read this, at first I found myself thinking, "these women are selfish assholes!" But I stopped myself realizing that I was feeling something else. Something that seemed...very...NOT LIKE ME. And then it struck me that I have NO DESIRE to really do this.
(check out this article that made me need to write this post)
I have a friend who did this several years ago. The boys father was simply more stable in his life, had a better job, a house, an extended family to help. She knew her son would be in good hands. She moved out of state and has a good relationship with her son, visiting for holidays and long weekends and he spends school breaks with her. I find it hard to talk to her about it because I am afraid that my questions will come off as judgments and in a way I simply DO NOT UNDERSTAND how you can come to this decision.
I wonder now if it isn't more my idea of what a mother is SUPPOSED to do that makes this all seem so insane to me. The only way I can imagine myself truly spending less than MOST of my time raising my child would be if I had some illness (like being a psychopathic killer?) that had me hospitalized or incapacitated.
And then I think, "Fuck this guilt shit. FATHERS have always done this!" As I mentioned before, depending on the living situations and distances, many custody agreements give fathers every OTHER weekend and holidays. No one thinks they're selfish assholes for agreeing to this arrangement! No one even questions it! WHY IS IT OKAY TO ME FOR FATHERS TO BE SO MUCH LESS ATTACHED? Is it possible that my entire way of looking at the title of "MOTHER" is the reason that I think it sucks so much?
No. Sometimes it just sucks.
Friday, December 3, 2010
Awesome Relationship Advice from Non-Moms
I have said on numerous occasions that before I had Lila, I pretty much knew EVERYTHING there was to know about being the perfect parent. No way would my kid refuse to go to bed or talk back to me! Straight out of the womb they'd understand that there is a way we do things and they would adhere to that set of rules because they would KNOW the consequences.
Well, this is total bullshit. Ann you quickly realize that this being that you have brought forth from your loins is not actually a dog to be broken and trained but is actually a person with likes, dislikes, a will and a really super cute pouty face that you adore so much that you would do just about anything to never see that face sad.
The same was true before I had Lila when considering how I would act in any given love relationship with the father of my kid(s). There were plenty of things I would NEVER put up with. Joblessness? Leaving dirty socks all over the house? Snapping at me because of something totally unrelated? Fuck that shit. I would NEVER tolerate that kind of behavior. Not to mention that it would never happen because I'll be damned if I am going to be with some broke-ass slob with a temper.
But you know what they say about the best laid plans? Yeah...well shit happens.
Quick Background:
My relationship with Lila's father isn't thrilling. In fact, lately it's almost excruciating. Ever since having Lila we have had a tough time financially. Not because of her but because he is in construction and when the housing market collapsed so did his business. There has been a lot of stress and strain on our relationship because of this and we have seen setback after setback trying to get back on track. I handle stress by wanting to be alone and he handles it by stuffing his frustration and basically believing that he's unhappy because of me. I in turn get stressed because I feel like he is blaming me unjustly and he gets more frustrated because I just don't get what hes stressed about and it keeps growing.
Getting to the Point:
We don't really fight. We like each other over all. But day to day life has intruded in such a way that literally weeks will go by and suddenly I will realize we haven't kissed since last month. I was talking to one of my single friends about this and he gave me this advice:
"Children learn what they live. If you two aren't happy together you should separate because it is better to have two happy parents apart than to have two miserable parents together. You're just depriving yourselves of true love and happiness elsewhere and children adjust." (This coming from a person whose parents stayed together until he was in his 20s and has never been married or had children.)
I am paraphrasing of course, but this brings me to the simple logic of life without children. The above advice makes total sense when you look at it on the surface. Before I had Lila, if I wasn't head over heels in love I totally would have felt deprived. I would have felt like something better was obviously around the corner and I would have known that I would be fine if I packed my shit and moved out.
But it isn't as simple with a family as it is with a couple. Because as much as I am NOT head over heels for HIM, per se, I LOVE our family. I love to watch Lila and Daddy playing and I love to go to the zoo or the beach or to dinner as a family. I love our house and love playing CandyLand with the two of them.
For much of my youth I assumed that "LOVE" and the chasing of what my friends and I called "the spark" was what life was all about. This lasted when I became "WE" and it was just Ben and I. And there were plenty of moments where I kind of felt that "spark" wavering and assumed it was only a matter of time before I'd have to be moving on. All that changed when we became a family. Suddenly I understood that this spark would certainly end up smoldering. The intense would eventually become so-so, and that although plenty of people believe that without that fierce desire and passion in a relationship that it is doomed (as evidenced by ever-rising divorce rates), I started to believe that there was something far more important to me: COMMITMENT.
Ben and I are not married. But at some point (around the time I decided I would have a kid with him) I decided that this was the life I was choosing. I decided that for as long as my child exists, I would be bound to him by her. Obviously, there are things that would negate this decision. For example, if he ever hit me or did anything to hurt Lila or me, or went to prison or buried body parts of hookers in the basement then I would certainly have my own permission to walk away. But in forming a family, I decided that there was "greater good" that I was now a part of in this unit, and that my individual happiness comes second to that.
There have recently been some instances that have made me question whether we even LIKE each other anymore. And when I sat down to try to consider my options, I couldn't just think about the practical stuff (I would have to leave my house because its in his name; the car's in his name; I would have to stay with my parents who are pretty heavy smokers; I would want Lila to have the comfort of her house but I would want to keep her with me). I had to consider the toll that this move would take on 3 people, individually and as a group. Lila would miss one of us every day. I am the parent who takes care of her when she's sick and does the day to day stuff like baths and medicine. He is the parent who has fun and does fun stuff. I am the one who sets the rules. He is the one who is more laid back. One of us would always miss that first trip to the ocean or getting the Christmas tree or watching the Wizard of Oz together on the couch with popcorn. We wouldn't do those things together anymore and each of us would be deprived of that wonderful occasion.
But what happens when you feel like you just don't care anymore What happens when the sight of this person makes you want to slap him? What do you do when you realize that if you have to listen to one more fucking Dave Matthews song blaring from the basement that you are going to burn the house down?
To be honest, I simply have to try not to think about it. Self help gurus and armchair clinical psychology has told us for a few decades now that our individual happiness is our inalienable right. We are told that if we do not pursue our own self-fulfillment then the people around us will suffer. And on some level, I know that to be true. But isn't there something to be said for sticking it out because it's the right thing to do? If no one is really suffering and in fact, you believe that the benefits to your child outweigh the detriment then don't you sort of HAVE to live up to the commitment you made? Not too many years ago, when society was considered much more civilized, people generally felt that loyalty and commitment were what made men great. Selfishness was abhored and altruism was an essential value to society. Many of our kids now don't even know what altruism is.
I don't want to be miserable in a relationship that I don't want. And I don't want to inflict that misery upon Lila. I have no idea what the fate of our relationship will ultimately be. But the decision to split is simply not just a matter of what will make me happy. It is a matter of voiding the existence of a family. I don't think that decision can be made just by looking at what the obvious answer would be. And I don't think it is something that should be done without really weighing all the options.
Well, this is total bullshit. Ann you quickly realize that this being that you have brought forth from your loins is not actually a dog to be broken and trained but is actually a person with likes, dislikes, a will and a really super cute pouty face that you adore so much that you would do just about anything to never see that face sad.
The same was true before I had Lila when considering how I would act in any given love relationship with the father of my kid(s). There were plenty of things I would NEVER put up with. Joblessness? Leaving dirty socks all over the house? Snapping at me because of something totally unrelated? Fuck that shit. I would NEVER tolerate that kind of behavior. Not to mention that it would never happen because I'll be damned if I am going to be with some broke-ass slob with a temper.
But you know what they say about the best laid plans? Yeah...well shit happens.
My relationship with Lila's father isn't thrilling. In fact, lately it's almost excruciating. Ever since having Lila we have had a tough time financially. Not because of her but because he is in construction and when the housing market collapsed so did his business. There has been a lot of stress and strain on our relationship because of this and we have seen setback after setback trying to get back on track. I handle stress by wanting to be alone and he handles it by stuffing his frustration and basically believing that he's unhappy because of me. I in turn get stressed because I feel like he is blaming me unjustly and he gets more frustrated because I just don't get what hes stressed about and it keeps growing.
Getting to the Point:
We don't really fight. We like each other over all. But day to day life has intruded in such a way that literally weeks will go by and suddenly I will realize we haven't kissed since last month. I was talking to one of my single friends about this and he gave me this advice:
"Children learn what they live. If you two aren't happy together you should separate because it is better to have two happy parents apart than to have two miserable parents together. You're just depriving yourselves of true love and happiness elsewhere and children adjust." (This coming from a person whose parents stayed together until he was in his 20s and has never been married or had children.)
I am paraphrasing of course, but this brings me to the simple logic of life without children. The above advice makes total sense when you look at it on the surface. Before I had Lila, if I wasn't head over heels in love I totally would have felt deprived. I would have felt like something better was obviously around the corner and I would have known that I would be fine if I packed my shit and moved out.
But it isn't as simple with a family as it is with a couple. Because as much as I am NOT head over heels for HIM, per se, I LOVE our family. I love to watch Lila and Daddy playing and I love to go to the zoo or the beach or to dinner as a family. I love our house and love playing CandyLand with the two of them.
For much of my youth I assumed that "LOVE" and the chasing of what my friends and I called "the spark" was what life was all about. This lasted when I became "WE" and it was just Ben and I. And there were plenty of moments where I kind of felt that "spark" wavering and assumed it was only a matter of time before I'd have to be moving on. All that changed when we became a family. Suddenly I understood that this spark would certainly end up smoldering. The intense would eventually become so-so, and that although plenty of people believe that without that fierce desire and passion in a relationship that it is doomed (as evidenced by ever-rising divorce rates), I started to believe that there was something far more important to me: COMMITMENT.
Ben and I are not married. But at some point (around the time I decided I would have a kid with him) I decided that this was the life I was choosing. I decided that for as long as my child exists, I would be bound to him by her. Obviously, there are things that would negate this decision. For example, if he ever hit me or did anything to hurt Lila or me, or went to prison or buried body parts of hookers in the basement then I would certainly have my own permission to walk away. But in forming a family, I decided that there was "greater good" that I was now a part of in this unit, and that my individual happiness comes second to that.
There have recently been some instances that have made me question whether we even LIKE each other anymore. And when I sat down to try to consider my options, I couldn't just think about the practical stuff (I would have to leave my house because its in his name; the car's in his name; I would have to stay with my parents who are pretty heavy smokers; I would want Lila to have the comfort of her house but I would want to keep her with me). I had to consider the toll that this move would take on 3 people, individually and as a group. Lila would miss one of us every day. I am the parent who takes care of her when she's sick and does the day to day stuff like baths and medicine. He is the parent who has fun and does fun stuff. I am the one who sets the rules. He is the one who is more laid back. One of us would always miss that first trip to the ocean or getting the Christmas tree or watching the Wizard of Oz together on the couch with popcorn. We wouldn't do those things together anymore and each of us would be deprived of that wonderful occasion.
But what happens when you feel like you just don't care anymore What happens when the sight of this person makes you want to slap him? What do you do when you realize that if you have to listen to one more fucking Dave Matthews song blaring from the basement that you are going to burn the house down?
To be honest, I simply have to try not to think about it. Self help gurus and armchair clinical psychology has told us for a few decades now that our individual happiness is our inalienable right. We are told that if we do not pursue our own self-fulfillment then the people around us will suffer. And on some level, I know that to be true. But isn't there something to be said for sticking it out because it's the right thing to do? If no one is really suffering and in fact, you believe that the benefits to your child outweigh the detriment then don't you sort of HAVE to live up to the commitment you made? Not too many years ago, when society was considered much more civilized, people generally felt that loyalty and commitment were what made men great. Selfishness was abhored and altruism was an essential value to society. Many of our kids now don't even know what altruism is.
I don't want to be miserable in a relationship that I don't want. And I don't want to inflict that misery upon Lila. I have no idea what the fate of our relationship will ultimately be. But the decision to split is simply not just a matter of what will make me happy. It is a matter of voiding the existence of a family. I don't think that decision can be made just by looking at what the obvious answer would be. And I don't think it is something that should be done without really weighing all the options.
Wednesday, November 17, 2010
I watch WAY too much TV.
I know that I complain a lot about commercials, but there is a Toyota commercial out there with a pain in the ass kid who looks right into the camera and tells me, "Just because you're a parent doesn't mean you have to be lame." And I beg to differ...
Because, you see smart-ass kid, the thing I am learning is that although you do not HAVE to be LAME, very often you END UP being LAME because your asshole kids suck the very life force out of you that would allow you to be un-LAME.
Before I had Lila, I cared about things like fashion and hairstyling and sexy bras. I used to drink sexy drinks and make out with strangers in clubs (this also being before Lila's dad). I used to want a cool little sports car or maybe I'd be a hot chick in a big pick-up truck. Maybe I'd get a motorcycle or a Vespa and ride with my hair blowing out from under my helmet. I used to shave my legs more than once a month and sometimes even got waxed. I used to subscribe (YES. I COMMITTED) to fashion magazines and go out to the movies on opening nights.
Now I worry about vaccinations, head lice and processed foods. I mostly drink coffee because it keeps me from sleeping at my desk at work and the only strangers I talk to now are those annoying tech support people in India, who I can't understand. I have a used Toyota Camry that is so full of filthy sippee cups and fast food wrappers that I am ashamed when I get pulled over. I haven't shaved my legs since Labor Day and haven't even bothered to have my hair trimmed because it's just easier to put it in a pony tail. The only magazines I read are Cooking Light and Parents. I haven't seen a new movie IN A REGULAR FULL-PRICE THEATER since Lila was born.
And WHY are these things so? Is it because I HAVE to be this lame? Did I wake up today and think, "Shit, I'd really LOVE to fly off to the South of France, but that would be totally anti-lame so I cannot do it,"? No. No I did not. Instead, it is simply because being Lila's mother takes a tremendous amount of time, mental energy and mostly, MONEY.
I cannot buy un-lame new clothes when I have to buy Lila school clothes. And then a month later when I think I will have some extra cash to get myself a new sweater or something because it's freezing at work, it turns out Lila has grown out of all 6 pairs of her brand-new pants (which were a size big when I bought them) in the span of 4 weeks, so now I have to go get her some that don't look like capris because the snow is about to fly. This is why SNL made that skit about MOM Jeans where they say "I'm not a woman anymore. I'm a MOM." Because it's fucking true!
(Here's the Mom Jeans video)
I cannot take half an hour in the morning to properly apply eye make-up because Lila will decide that there is ONE perfect moment to try to fly off the top of the couch with her fairy wings, and that moment is when I have my eyelashes squeezed in an eyelash curler.
I could go on and on about all the things that make me lame and all the reasons why BEING A PARENT is the thing that made me this way, but I won't.
And as far as the Toyota Van or Highlander making me "un-LAME" and having my kid be embarrassed by the car I drive as suggested in those fucking ads, I have this to say:
"FEEL FREE TO WALK, ASSHOLE."
That's what my parents told me when they pulled up to school in their rusted out AMC Eagle and I asked them to PLEASE park down the street. And I will tell Lila the exact same thing.
Someday, my kid will be a teenager. I am sure that no matter what I do she will be appalled. She will constantly tell me that I ruined her life and that I am totally embarrassing her. And I look forward to doing all the lamest things in the world to make her life hell when the time comes. But I don't need to preview that with someone else's asshole pre-pubescent kid telling me how shitty and lame I am now. Toyota needs to work a little harder on their image as a maker of shitty unsafe cars and work a little less on trying to show how UN LAME they are.
Because, you see smart-ass kid, the thing I am learning is that although you do not HAVE to be LAME, very often you END UP being LAME because your asshole kids suck the very life force out of you that would allow you to be un-LAME.
 |
| Now take off those headphones before I smack them off your head! |
Before I had Lila, I cared about things like fashion and hairstyling and sexy bras. I used to drink sexy drinks and make out with strangers in clubs (this also being before Lila's dad). I used to want a cool little sports car or maybe I'd be a hot chick in a big pick-up truck. Maybe I'd get a motorcycle or a Vespa and ride with my hair blowing out from under my helmet. I used to shave my legs more than once a month and sometimes even got waxed. I used to subscribe (YES. I COMMITTED) to fashion magazines and go out to the movies on opening nights.
Now I worry about vaccinations, head lice and processed foods. I mostly drink coffee because it keeps me from sleeping at my desk at work and the only strangers I talk to now are those annoying tech support people in India, who I can't understand. I have a used Toyota Camry that is so full of filthy sippee cups and fast food wrappers that I am ashamed when I get pulled over. I haven't shaved my legs since Labor Day and haven't even bothered to have my hair trimmed because it's just easier to put it in a pony tail. The only magazines I read are Cooking Light and Parents. I haven't seen a new movie IN A REGULAR FULL-PRICE THEATER since Lila was born.
And WHY are these things so? Is it because I HAVE to be this lame? Did I wake up today and think, "Shit, I'd really LOVE to fly off to the South of France, but that would be totally anti-lame so I cannot do it,"? No. No I did not. Instead, it is simply because being Lila's mother takes a tremendous amount of time, mental energy and mostly, MONEY.
I cannot buy un-lame new clothes when I have to buy Lila school clothes. And then a month later when I think I will have some extra cash to get myself a new sweater or something because it's freezing at work, it turns out Lila has grown out of all 6 pairs of her brand-new pants (which were a size big when I bought them) in the span of 4 weeks, so now I have to go get her some that don't look like capris because the snow is about to fly. This is why SNL made that skit about MOM Jeans where they say "I'm not a woman anymore. I'm a MOM." Because it's fucking true!
(Here's the Mom Jeans video)
I cannot take half an hour in the morning to properly apply eye make-up because Lila will decide that there is ONE perfect moment to try to fly off the top of the couch with her fairy wings, and that moment is when I have my eyelashes squeezed in an eyelash curler.
I could go on and on about all the things that make me lame and all the reasons why BEING A PARENT is the thing that made me this way, but I won't.
And as far as the Toyota Van or Highlander making me "un-LAME" and having my kid be embarrassed by the car I drive as suggested in those fucking ads, I have this to say:
"FEEL FREE TO WALK, ASSHOLE."
That's what my parents told me when they pulled up to school in their rusted out AMC Eagle and I asked them to PLEASE park down the street. And I will tell Lila the exact same thing.
 |
| Theirs was not this nice. And once the muffler fell off it was also extremely LOUD. |
Monday, August 16, 2010
I'm just going to say it...
I seriously couldn't care less if i ever have sex again.
Ben is not happy to hear this. Like most people, he views regular, satisfying sex as an important part of a good, healthy, long-term relationship. Me? Not so much.
For the first year of Lila's life, it was obvious why I was never even remotely in the mood. Having an infant that never sleeps, that demands constant attention, and that gets cuddled all day pretty much leaves NOTHING left for anyone else. During her second year, we faced serious financial issues, moved back to New York State (into an apartment about 1/3 the size of our old house) and we let the stress cause us to just "not particularly like" eachother.
But now, things are settling down. We are both working steadily. Lila, although still crazy and demanding is old enough to understand that just because I don't hold her every minute, that doesn't mean I don't love her. Although Lila still wakes us up at least 3 times a week, it is getting better and we are getting more sleep. And yet, I still don't care to get naked.
Part of this is the way being a mother has changed my body. To be frank, I am fatter than I was before. This is not the result of pregnancy weight that I can't get rid of...the anxiety that I had during my Post-partum Depression caused me not to eat a lot and so 6 months after I was back to my pre-pregnancy weight. The way my body stores fat has changed. No longer does it go into my boobs first (which was a serious blessing in my twenties because up to that point I was an A-cup), or even into my butt (which although not exactly thrilling, is somthing that plenty of rappers seem to think is sexy). I have developed a GUT. I have a big belly now. One of my 11-year-old neighbors asked me if Lila was getting a brother or sister a few days ago...And there is nothing, anywhere that is going to convince me that when I take off my clothes and that thing flops out, that it is anything but kind of gross to look at. Hell, I won't even look at it. I have gotten to the point where I often shop at the "big girls" stores. And just a few short years ago, before my pregnancy, I was a size 6. I have never cared about how my body looked and used to roll my eyes when girls in school complained about being heavy, so for me to be so self-conscious about myself is completely foreign to me. I thought I would always love my body, no matter what it looked like. But I suppose it's easy to feel that way when you have the kind of body everyone wants. Maybe I am being punished for not being more sympathetic back then.
There is another component to this though. Besides feeling totally and completely PHYSICALLY unsexy, I also psychologically feel un-sexy. My daughter is 3 years old. Right now, the entire universe revolves around her. I am Mommy all day, every day, even when I am at work. None of the kids in the neighborhood know my name. I don't know if half of the adults do. Everyone knows me as "Lila's Mommy". That's my official name and position right now. And although logically I KNOW that this is bullshit, I still FEEL that Mommy's are not supposed to be into sex...Unless, of course, they want to be "Mommy" to yet another person, which brings me to my next issue.
I am terrified of getting pregnant again. If I had known in my teenage years what I know now, I would have stayed a virgin until marriage. Having what we nicely refer to as "a difficult" child, I have sworn off ever reproducing again. Not only do I know that I would never survive if I had a second child with anything remotely like Lila's first-year scream fests, but I don't think society at large needs that either. I know the liklihood of having two kids with the same temperment is unlikely. I also know that I can use birth-control. But I got pregnant the first time while using birth control, so I am not one of the faithful practitioners.
I have this friend who unexpectantly got pregnant less than 6 months after her first baby. Then it turned out it was going to be twins. Then the twins came 3 months early. Are you doing the math? That's THREE kids in a year. Although this makes me think that any possible combination I could have wouldnt be as bad as that, the prospect of having THREE of them running around is enough to make me want to take some roofies to forget the thought of it. Twins run on both sides of my family.
But the honest to God truth of the matter is that I just don't care. On my list of things to do today, getting sexy and losing a half hour (or more) of sleep to sex just doesn't seem like a great idea for me. I can pretend there is some deep-seated psychological issue at hand, but my libido just isn't there. And it isn't there for fantasy and it isn't there for "alone time". It just isn't something I care much about these days.
I remember in my twenties when I wanted to jump on any hot tattooed fella who winked at me but those days are long gone. Now the only people winking at me are dirty old men. I have heard about how the thirties are supposed to be the horniest time in a woman's life. I have heard all about Cougars. And I just wonder "where do you find the energy?" Am I missing something?
Ben is not happy to hear this. Like most people, he views regular, satisfying sex as an important part of a good, healthy, long-term relationship. Me? Not so much.
For the first year of Lila's life, it was obvious why I was never even remotely in the mood. Having an infant that never sleeps, that demands constant attention, and that gets cuddled all day pretty much leaves NOTHING left for anyone else. During her second year, we faced serious financial issues, moved back to New York State (into an apartment about 1/3 the size of our old house) and we let the stress cause us to just "not particularly like" eachother.
But now, things are settling down. We are both working steadily. Lila, although still crazy and demanding is old enough to understand that just because I don't hold her every minute, that doesn't mean I don't love her. Although Lila still wakes us up at least 3 times a week, it is getting better and we are getting more sleep. And yet, I still don't care to get naked.
Part of this is the way being a mother has changed my body. To be frank, I am fatter than I was before. This is not the result of pregnancy weight that I can't get rid of...the anxiety that I had during my Post-partum Depression caused me not to eat a lot and so 6 months after I was back to my pre-pregnancy weight. The way my body stores fat has changed. No longer does it go into my boobs first (which was a serious blessing in my twenties because up to that point I was an A-cup), or even into my butt (which although not exactly thrilling, is somthing that plenty of rappers seem to think is sexy). I have developed a GUT. I have a big belly now. One of my 11-year-old neighbors asked me if Lila was getting a brother or sister a few days ago...And there is nothing, anywhere that is going to convince me that when I take off my clothes and that thing flops out, that it is anything but kind of gross to look at. Hell, I won't even look at it. I have gotten to the point where I often shop at the "big girls" stores. And just a few short years ago, before my pregnancy, I was a size 6. I have never cared about how my body looked and used to roll my eyes when girls in school complained about being heavy, so for me to be so self-conscious about myself is completely foreign to me. I thought I would always love my body, no matter what it looked like. But I suppose it's easy to feel that way when you have the kind of body everyone wants. Maybe I am being punished for not being more sympathetic back then.
There is another component to this though. Besides feeling totally and completely PHYSICALLY unsexy, I also psychologically feel un-sexy. My daughter is 3 years old. Right now, the entire universe revolves around her. I am Mommy all day, every day, even when I am at work. None of the kids in the neighborhood know my name. I don't know if half of the adults do. Everyone knows me as "Lila's Mommy". That's my official name and position right now. And although logically I KNOW that this is bullshit, I still FEEL that Mommy's are not supposed to be into sex...Unless, of course, they want to be "Mommy" to yet another person, which brings me to my next issue.
I am terrified of getting pregnant again. If I had known in my teenage years what I know now, I would have stayed a virgin until marriage. Having what we nicely refer to as "a difficult" child, I have sworn off ever reproducing again. Not only do I know that I would never survive if I had a second child with anything remotely like Lila's first-year scream fests, but I don't think society at large needs that either. I know the liklihood of having two kids with the same temperment is unlikely. I also know that I can use birth-control. But I got pregnant the first time while using birth control, so I am not one of the faithful practitioners.
I have this friend who unexpectantly got pregnant less than 6 months after her first baby. Then it turned out it was going to be twins. Then the twins came 3 months early. Are you doing the math? That's THREE kids in a year. Although this makes me think that any possible combination I could have wouldnt be as bad as that, the prospect of having THREE of them running around is enough to make me want to take some roofies to forget the thought of it. Twins run on both sides of my family.
But the honest to God truth of the matter is that I just don't care. On my list of things to do today, getting sexy and losing a half hour (or more) of sleep to sex just doesn't seem like a great idea for me. I can pretend there is some deep-seated psychological issue at hand, but my libido just isn't there. And it isn't there for fantasy and it isn't there for "alone time". It just isn't something I care much about these days.
I remember in my twenties when I wanted to jump on any hot tattooed fella who winked at me but those days are long gone. Now the only people winking at me are dirty old men. I have heard about how the thirties are supposed to be the horniest time in a woman's life. I have heard all about Cougars. And I just wonder "where do you find the energy?" Am I missing something?
Saturday, June 26, 2010
You can dress them up, but you can't take them out.
Ben believes in "family time". He is big on going out on adventures and taking the kid and bonding or whatever. Every weekend, rather than stay at home and sleep (my preferred way to spend a Sunday) Ben wants to go out somewhere to some park or event or kid-friendly venue to "have some fun" together. But it's never actually any fun.
The idea of this is not entirely familiar to me. My parents learned really early that when you take a small child out to do something, it is hardly ever actually for their enjoyment and almost always for yours. So they stopped taking me to Chuck E Cheese and started just letting me tag along when they went to cookouts and bar hopping. And I didn't know the difference. I thought it was awesome that everyone would give me quarters for the video games and let me raise hell inside the house while the adults got drunk in the backyard. To me, that was family time.
Ben on the other hand had a mother who took him places. Fun places. Ben went to Disney World. And to gigantic amusement parks and to Hawaii. Ben has all these great memories that he wants Lila to have. And to a point, I think it's nice and all. But here's the thing...
Lila is just about 3. First off, I don't think she is going to remember whether we went to the zoo or sat in the backyard and threw rocks at squirrels. She will most likely only remember the way we traumatized her when we made her sit on the potty at the restaurant and the auto-flush went off and (literally) scared the piss out of her.
But even more importantly, going anywhere with this kid requires a lot of planning and a lot of patience. We have to go early enough so that she isn't grumpy and tired but late enough so that she can have a decent breakfast. We have to bring things to amuse her but not the same things we brought last time. We have to make sure we are going somewhere close enough that if she has another "potty" incident, we can get home in time to not have her pooping in her pants. And the truth is, it's stressful.
And what do we usually seem to get for all the stress of making this wonderful outing for our 3-year old? A screaming miserable brat. Any time we plan to take her somewhere that is specifically a kid place, she is a total asshole the entire time. I hate carnivals. But Ben insisted that we take her. And what did she do? She cried because she was tired. She cried because they only had Sprite and not orange soda. She cried because she needed to be a full 4 inches taller to ride on one of the rides and then screamed because she was terrified on one of the kiddie rides.
Even when we do things that are supposed to be "fun for the whole family" it isn't any fun. We went to the beach last weekend. Previous to Lila, the beach was one of my favorite things to do. Its hot and sunny and I can people watch and read and just relax. But there is absolutely NOTHING relaxing about going to the beach with a 3 year old. Besides the 2 trips from the car we had to make because we needed to bring enough toys, food, and drinks to keep her content for a few hours, I barely got to sit down because she likes to run in the sand. Ben took her in the water and the entire time I had to watch because I quite frankly don't trust that he wouldn't let her out of his site just long enough for her to be a subject of a "human chain" (which, by the way I cannot believe they still do. I have NEVER heard a story about the human chain kicking someone under the water). Between the crying to go into the water, the crying because the water is too cold, the crying because the sand castle wouldn't stand up and the crying because we tried to help her with her sand castle, I wanted to walk straight into the water with rocks in my pockets and just keep on going...
Ben says he wants to have nice memories with her. He says he wants her to have these nice memories and to have a better childhood than I did. And although I highly doubt I will be taking Lila to any bars in the near future (it was a different time then), I still don't see the point of taking the kid out anywhere if she is going to be just as miserable as she is at home bored.
I hope this changes as she gets older because I am ready to just quit the fucking family outings in favor of "family chore day" and "family watch TV day" every weekend.
The idea of this is not entirely familiar to me. My parents learned really early that when you take a small child out to do something, it is hardly ever actually for their enjoyment and almost always for yours. So they stopped taking me to Chuck E Cheese and started just letting me tag along when they went to cookouts and bar hopping. And I didn't know the difference. I thought it was awesome that everyone would give me quarters for the video games and let me raise hell inside the house while the adults got drunk in the backyard. To me, that was family time.
Ben on the other hand had a mother who took him places. Fun places. Ben went to Disney World. And to gigantic amusement parks and to Hawaii. Ben has all these great memories that he wants Lila to have. And to a point, I think it's nice and all. But here's the thing...
Lila is just about 3. First off, I don't think she is going to remember whether we went to the zoo or sat in the backyard and threw rocks at squirrels. She will most likely only remember the way we traumatized her when we made her sit on the potty at the restaurant and the auto-flush went off and (literally) scared the piss out of her.
But even more importantly, going anywhere with this kid requires a lot of planning and a lot of patience. We have to go early enough so that she isn't grumpy and tired but late enough so that she can have a decent breakfast. We have to bring things to amuse her but not the same things we brought last time. We have to make sure we are going somewhere close enough that if she has another "potty" incident, we can get home in time to not have her pooping in her pants. And the truth is, it's stressful.
And what do we usually seem to get for all the stress of making this wonderful outing for our 3-year old? A screaming miserable brat. Any time we plan to take her somewhere that is specifically a kid place, she is a total asshole the entire time. I hate carnivals. But Ben insisted that we take her. And what did she do? She cried because she was tired. She cried because they only had Sprite and not orange soda. She cried because she needed to be a full 4 inches taller to ride on one of the rides and then screamed because she was terrified on one of the kiddie rides.
Even when we do things that are supposed to be "fun for the whole family" it isn't any fun. We went to the beach last weekend. Previous to Lila, the beach was one of my favorite things to do. Its hot and sunny and I can people watch and read and just relax. But there is absolutely NOTHING relaxing about going to the beach with a 3 year old. Besides the 2 trips from the car we had to make because we needed to bring enough toys, food, and drinks to keep her content for a few hours, I barely got to sit down because she likes to run in the sand. Ben took her in the water and the entire time I had to watch because I quite frankly don't trust that he wouldn't let her out of his site just long enough for her to be a subject of a "human chain" (which, by the way I cannot believe they still do. I have NEVER heard a story about the human chain kicking someone under the water). Between the crying to go into the water, the crying because the water is too cold, the crying because the sand castle wouldn't stand up and the crying because we tried to help her with her sand castle, I wanted to walk straight into the water with rocks in my pockets and just keep on going...
Ben says he wants to have nice memories with her. He says he wants her to have these nice memories and to have a better childhood than I did. And although I highly doubt I will be taking Lila to any bars in the near future (it was a different time then), I still don't see the point of taking the kid out anywhere if she is going to be just as miserable as she is at home bored.
I hope this changes as she gets older because I am ready to just quit the fucking family outings in favor of "family chore day" and "family watch TV day" every weekend.
Monday, July 6, 2009
OMG! Did I become a housewife without even getting married?
There are things in my life that I have always held dear, and through the strain of motherhood, very few of those things have remained intact. But one thing keeps on slapping me in the face. I don't want to be somebody's housewife. So much so that when Ben and I were talking about marriage we decided not to because I have such an issue with being his legal property even if in modern times it isn't REALLY like that (right?).
So (and here's a bomb being dropped) Ben and I have been going to couple's counseling because we had a hell of a transition from AZ to here and also because he believes I can be a real asshole sometimes and I think he can be too much like a nagging wife. So we've been working all this out and it seems to be going really well and we're getting along and then it occurred to me that Ben no longer nags me. And he no longer complains that I am working too much (because I only work part time now) and he also refuses to do bedtime because "he hates it" and financially, the whole house rests on him.
Through the wonders of couples counseling, I have tried to be more open and loving and attentive to him when he has a rough day. I am trying to understand that I can't pass Lila off to him immediately when he walks in from work no matter how much I want to strangle her at that moment. I am primary parent who spends the most time with her and I have come to accept that. Its me she wants when she falls down and its me that gets up with her at night.
When the fuck did I become Donna fucking Reed? How did this happen? I was happy being the reluctant mother. I am still pissed off. I still hate doing dishes. And yet I DO THEM. ALL THE TIME. Whoever said the only constants in life are death and taxes never lived with a 2 year old because toys on the floor and dishes in the sink are ALWAYS a-plenty.
I am pissed that I am his housewife without the benifits of being a wife. I am pissed that I got suckered into it. And the worst part is that he still wishes that I was working full time! Why, so that I could also work 40 hours a week but then come home and pick up your shit and tend to a kid that learned to say bad words at Grandmas house? No thanks.
Maybe I am just having another bout of my typical commitment phobia. Maybe it's a little too late for that though.
So (and here's a bomb being dropped) Ben and I have been going to couple's counseling because we had a hell of a transition from AZ to here and also because he believes I can be a real asshole sometimes and I think he can be too much like a nagging wife. So we've been working all this out and it seems to be going really well and we're getting along and then it occurred to me that Ben no longer nags me. And he no longer complains that I am working too much (because I only work part time now) and he also refuses to do bedtime because "he hates it" and financially, the whole house rests on him.
Through the wonders of couples counseling, I have tried to be more open and loving and attentive to him when he has a rough day. I am trying to understand that I can't pass Lila off to him immediately when he walks in from work no matter how much I want to strangle her at that moment. I am primary parent who spends the most time with her and I have come to accept that. Its me she wants when she falls down and its me that gets up with her at night.
When the fuck did I become Donna fucking Reed? How did this happen? I was happy being the reluctant mother. I am still pissed off. I still hate doing dishes. And yet I DO THEM. ALL THE TIME. Whoever said the only constants in life are death and taxes never lived with a 2 year old because toys on the floor and dishes in the sink are ALWAYS a-plenty.
I am pissed that I am his housewife without the benifits of being a wife. I am pissed that I got suckered into it. And the worst part is that he still wishes that I was working full time! Why, so that I could also work 40 hours a week but then come home and pick up your shit and tend to a kid that learned to say bad words at Grandmas house? No thanks.
Maybe I am just having another bout of my typical commitment phobia. Maybe it's a little too late for that though.
Monday, June 29, 2009
That BASTARD!!!
Yesterday, we were having dinner at my mother's house and Lila was in the form she always is in at Grandma's... "Total Brat Mode" (TBM). During dinner Lila starts whining and crying about something and since she probably didnt really know what it was that she wanted she couldnt tell us and it turned into a fiasco of whining and screaming and trying to wiggle out of the high chair.
My aunt was there and gave me a sorry look and I said "welcome to my whole day, every day". Ben had the fucking nerve to say to me "Really? How do you think I feel? I had her all day today and most of the day yesterday. I am sick of hearing you bitch about how hard it is."
Now besides the obvious "FUCK YOU," which I couldn't say in front of everyone there, I wanted to clarify something. BEN DID NOT HAVE HER ALL DAY. We were both home with her. We both took her to the grocery store. He thinks that just because I am in the next room doing the dishes and he is responsible for making sure she doesnt crack her skull on anything that he "has her all day" and I find that fucking offensive. Like I was out of town on a spa date for the weekend and it was just him alone with her for days at a time (I fucking WISH!!!).
During the week while he gets to be a productive member of society, I get to tend to her every whim (and believe me, there are millions of them) and try to stay sane while watching Calliou for the 400th time before noon. And because a couple of days a week my mother keeps her while I work part time just to have some grown up time, she is spoiled and has no sense of boundaries or rules. When Lila falls down or cries dramatically for 45 minutes because her doll fell off the couch, there is no one else there so that I dont have to drop everything and comfort her. There is no second parent to keep an eye on her so I can take a quick shower. There is no other parent there to give her lunch so that I can get a few things done. And that is the luxury that Ben has when he claims he "has her all day" on Sundays.
I shouldnt complain too much. I realize that most people dont have the help I have with Lila. I realize that Ben helps more than many Dads and that he tries to participate as much as possible. But we are FAR from equal in our parenting and this kind of traditional arrangement is something that I vehemently protest because I figured that I was more evolved than that.
And yet, he has the NERVE to tell me he's tired of hearing ME complain about how hard it is? Maybe I need to take more time for myself to show him what it's really like to have her ALL DAY.
My aunt was there and gave me a sorry look and I said "welcome to my whole day, every day". Ben had the fucking nerve to say to me "Really? How do you think I feel? I had her all day today and most of the day yesterday. I am sick of hearing you bitch about how hard it is."
Now besides the obvious "FUCK YOU," which I couldn't say in front of everyone there, I wanted to clarify something. BEN DID NOT HAVE HER ALL DAY. We were both home with her. We both took her to the grocery store. He thinks that just because I am in the next room doing the dishes and he is responsible for making sure she doesnt crack her skull on anything that he "has her all day" and I find that fucking offensive. Like I was out of town on a spa date for the weekend and it was just him alone with her for days at a time (I fucking WISH!!!).
During the week while he gets to be a productive member of society, I get to tend to her every whim (and believe me, there are millions of them) and try to stay sane while watching Calliou for the 400th time before noon. And because a couple of days a week my mother keeps her while I work part time just to have some grown up time, she is spoiled and has no sense of boundaries or rules. When Lila falls down or cries dramatically for 45 minutes because her doll fell off the couch, there is no one else there so that I dont have to drop everything and comfort her. There is no second parent to keep an eye on her so I can take a quick shower. There is no other parent there to give her lunch so that I can get a few things done. And that is the luxury that Ben has when he claims he "has her all day" on Sundays.
I shouldnt complain too much. I realize that most people dont have the help I have with Lila. I realize that Ben helps more than many Dads and that he tries to participate as much as possible. But we are FAR from equal in our parenting and this kind of traditional arrangement is something that I vehemently protest because I figured that I was more evolved than that.
And yet, he has the NERVE to tell me he's tired of hearing ME complain about how hard it is? Maybe I need to take more time for myself to show him what it's really like to have her ALL DAY.
Monday, June 22, 2009
Dining-in, forever.
It's not very often that Ben and I feel brave enough to take Lila out to eat. But occasionally, insanity strikes and we decide that it may be okay.
Yesterday was Fathers day and Lila and I went to breakfast with Daddy. We chose a hole in the wall little diner thinking that if nothing else it would be quick and quick is good when you have a kid that only sits still for about 15 minutes. It was trouble immediately. We should never have gone. Lila woke up extra early which meant she was extra tired and grumpy and by the time we arrived at the diner she was already fighting us about our choice of music in the car ("Duck song! Duck song!" she yelled over Led Zepplin).
We alowed her to sit in a big girl seat (booster) instead of the high chair and for about 45 seconds that was thrilling. Then the whining started. Then the yelling. We are not barbarians, we have established rules and for several minutes I tried to ask her "What do we do when we go out to the store?" "NO yelling, No running, no screaming," she reported back to me. "Then why are you yelling?" "NO MOMMY!!!!" She relplied and then let out a mind blowing shrill scream.
The waitress saw our struggle and brought over a big box of crayons and a coloring book which appeared to save the day...For the moment. We ordered our food, and Lila sat contentedly coloring until the food came. She actually ate like 7 bites and then decided that good-girl-time was over. Nothing could get her to stop the yelling and screaming and whining until finally, half-way through my meal, I picked her up and took her out to the car and Ben got our remaining breakfasts to go.
Here's my question...What's worse? Being that parent who yells at their kids in public or being the one that tries to talk to them in public? Either way, people look at you like you are doing it all wrong. I would love to be the kind of parent who just throws Lila a look and she KNOWS that it's time to knock it off. But instead, I try to talk to her. No negotiation. No pleading. Just simple "Stop it." But when she doesnt listen, and I am sitting there and everyone is being made to listen to my kid yell at me, all I want to do is be that parent who nobly stands up to her 2-year-old and says, "I AM NOT TAKING THIS ANYMORE," and have her understand that I mean business.
Since I dont spank her, I am left to wonder (along with Lila) what "meaning business" actually means. Leaving is often what she wants so to get up and leave isn't really a punishment. And sitting there isn't necessarily an option.
Sometimes, like yesterday, I sit there with my head in my hands and think, "I hate being a mother."
It's not very often that Ben and I feel brave enough to take Lila out to eat. But occasionally, insanity strikes and we decide that it may be okay.
Yesterday was Fathers day and Lila and I went to breakfast with Daddy. We chose a hole in the wall little diner thinking that if nothing else it would be quick and quick is good when you have a kid that only sits still for about 15 minutes. It was trouble immediately. We should never have gone. Lila woke up extra early which meant she was extra tired and grumpy and by the time we arrived at the diner she was already fighting us about our choice of music in the car ("Duck song! Duck song!" she yelled over Led Zepplin).
We alowed her to sit in a big girl seat (booster) instead of the high chair and for about 45 seconds that was thrilling. Then the whining started. Then the yelling. We are not barbarians, we have established rules and for several minutes I tried to ask her "What do we do when we go out to the store?" "NO yelling, No running, no screaming," she reported back to me. "Then why are you yelling?" "NO MOMMY!!!!" She relplied and then let out a mind blowing shrill scream.
The waitress saw our struggle and brought over a big box of crayons and a coloring book which appeared to save the day...For the moment. We ordered our food, and Lila sat contentedly coloring until the food came. She actually ate like 7 bites and then decided that good-girl-time was over. Nothing could get her to stop the yelling and screaming and whining until finally, half-way through my meal, I picked her up and took her out to the car and Ben got our remaining breakfasts to go.
Here's my question...What's worse? Being that parent who yells at their kids in public or being the one that tries to talk to them in public? Either way, people look at you like you are doing it all wrong. I would love to be the kind of parent who just throws Lila a look and she KNOWS that it's time to knock it off. But instead, I try to talk to her. No negotiation. No pleading. Just simple "Stop it." But when she doesnt listen, and I am sitting there and everyone is being made to listen to my kid yell at me, all I want to do is be that parent who nobly stands up to her 2-year-old and says, "I AM NOT TAKING THIS ANYMORE," and have her understand that I mean business.
Since I dont spank her, I am left to wonder (along with Lila) what "meaning business" actually means. Leaving is often what she wants so to get up and leave isn't really a punishment. And sitting there isn't necessarily an option.
Sometimes, like yesterday, I sit there with my head in my hands and think, "I hate being a mother."
Friday, June 12, 2009
And here is what apparently makes me a terrible person...
I am back to work part time. It's a shit job but it gets me out of the house and puts spending money in my pocket.
You would think that after a full day at work that I would be excited to see Lila and that perhaps she would be happy to spend some time with me. But that is not the case. Today I went to pick her up thinking that since Grandma had taken her "shop for toys" that it would be an easy later afternoon until Daddy got home.
I was SOOOO wrong. Lila started in on me immediately. Not with the excited frenzy of someone happy to see you, but with the kind of psychotic energy that I usually reserved for ex boyfriends that I stalked when I was 20. "Mama...Mommy...mama...MAMA...MOMMY...MOMMY....MAMA!!!!!!"
"Mommy needs a minute" but no 2-year old understands that. On the way home she had a near nervous breakdown because her toy fell on the floor and I couldn't reach it. Once home she decided that she wanted to take a walk with "mommy 'round a block". I usually enjoy that because it kills a bit of her energy and she is usually (USUALLY) really good. But for some reason she decided today that what she really wanted to do was wait until we were at the exact farthest spot from home and sit down. She wasn't tired...she didnt want to be carried. She wanted to sit down and sit. Normally, I see this whole "stop and smell the roses" thing as cute, but I had a backpack full of library books that I wanted to drop off so I told her we had to go (NOW!), to which she proceeded to pound her little forehead on the pavement. Yeah, I stopped her but she kicked and screamed because now I was holding her and I managed to carry her home. No one tells you how fucking heavy a 2 year old can be.
What I wanted to do was take a break when daddy came home. Hell, thats all I ever want. But Daddy is now picking up side work so that we can save for a down payment on a house and I am not allowed a break from her when he comes home from a 12 hour day and I "technically" only put in a 5 hour shift at work. Because my "OTHER" job doesn't count. I dont get lunch breaks or time off. I don't get paid. So it isn't a job. I am supposed to cherish my time with Lila, even when she is a monster. Chasing her around and keeping her from killing herself and keeping myself from killing her (figuratively, of course [?]) does not count as a "shift". And I am some kind of asshole for wanting to be left alone for half an hour.
I have had all my friends tell me it would get better. They lied. And she STILL doesnt sleep through most nights.
You would think that after a full day at work that I would be excited to see Lila and that perhaps she would be happy to spend some time with me. But that is not the case. Today I went to pick her up thinking that since Grandma had taken her "shop for toys" that it would be an easy later afternoon until Daddy got home.
I was SOOOO wrong. Lila started in on me immediately. Not with the excited frenzy of someone happy to see you, but with the kind of psychotic energy that I usually reserved for ex boyfriends that I stalked when I was 20. "Mama...Mommy...mama...MAMA...MOMMY...MOMMY....MAMA!!!!!!"
"Mommy needs a minute" but no 2-year old understands that. On the way home she had a near nervous breakdown because her toy fell on the floor and I couldn't reach it. Once home she decided that she wanted to take a walk with "mommy 'round a block". I usually enjoy that because it kills a bit of her energy and she is usually (USUALLY) really good. But for some reason she decided today that what she really wanted to do was wait until we were at the exact farthest spot from home and sit down. She wasn't tired...she didnt want to be carried. She wanted to sit down and sit. Normally, I see this whole "stop and smell the roses" thing as cute, but I had a backpack full of library books that I wanted to drop off so I told her we had to go (NOW!), to which she proceeded to pound her little forehead on the pavement. Yeah, I stopped her but she kicked and screamed because now I was holding her and I managed to carry her home. No one tells you how fucking heavy a 2 year old can be.
What I wanted to do was take a break when daddy came home. Hell, thats all I ever want. But Daddy is now picking up side work so that we can save for a down payment on a house and I am not allowed a break from her when he comes home from a 12 hour day and I "technically" only put in a 5 hour shift at work. Because my "OTHER" job doesn't count. I dont get lunch breaks or time off. I don't get paid. So it isn't a job. I am supposed to cherish my time with Lila, even when she is a monster. Chasing her around and keeping her from killing herself and keeping myself from killing her (figuratively, of course [?]) does not count as a "shift". And I am some kind of asshole for wanting to be left alone for half an hour.
I have had all my friends tell me it would get better. They lied. And she STILL doesnt sleep through most nights.
Sunday, May 31, 2009
Things I don't want to admit but I have to.
1. I often lie and tell Ben that I have really bad stomach cramps so that I can go and sit in the bathroom alone for 20 minutes by myself. At least half of that time, Lila is pounding at the door. I do not feel guilty when Ben tells her to leave me alone because "Mommy's tummy hurts".
2. I put my kid in front of the tv a lot. Breakfast time...It's Calliou time. Lunch time...It's Yo Gabba Gabba time. It's the only way to keep her mellow enough so that she will eat and leave me alone to do quick productive things.
3. I enjoy some of the kids shows that all parents are supposed to hate. Yo Gabba Gabba is fun. The Doodlebops kind of Rock. Thomas the Tank Engine is awesome because it is often narrated by either Alec Baldwin or George Carlin, who may be the two least likely people on earth to narrate a kids show.
4. The only songs I listen to in my own car cheesy kids songs. From "Twinkle Twinkle" to "the Little Teapot" song, I am no longer allowed to listen to real, grown-up music.
5. I totally get it now. I was always super judgemental toward parents when I was still just me. I always thought that leashes and in-car DVD players and Gymboree classes were for losers who just didn't want to really deal with their kids. I have longed for all three in the last 2 hours.
2. I put my kid in front of the tv a lot. Breakfast time...It's Calliou time. Lunch time...It's Yo Gabba Gabba time. It's the only way to keep her mellow enough so that she will eat and leave me alone to do quick productive things.
3. I enjoy some of the kids shows that all parents are supposed to hate. Yo Gabba Gabba is fun. The Doodlebops kind of Rock. Thomas the Tank Engine is awesome because it is often narrated by either Alec Baldwin or George Carlin, who may be the two least likely people on earth to narrate a kids show.
4. The only songs I listen to in my own car cheesy kids songs. From "Twinkle Twinkle" to "the Little Teapot" song, I am no longer allowed to listen to real, grown-up music.
5. I totally get it now. I was always super judgemental toward parents when I was still just me. I always thought that leashes and in-car DVD players and Gymboree classes were for losers who just didn't want to really deal with their kids. I have longed for all three in the last 2 hours.
Wednesday, February 27, 2008
The Family Portrait, and other shit I hate
Ben took it upon himself to schedule the three of us for a family portrait. On Friday. Up until yesterday, he led me to believe that the appointment was for Lila so that we could get some cute spring-timey pics of her. Then he decided to just drop this on me.
"So what do you think we should wear when we get our pictures done on Friday," he asks casually, as if I had been planning it for weeks.
"Didn't you see what I picked out for her? I still need to get her shoes though." I went back to typing an email.
"No...what are WE going to wear? Don't they say you should dress in similar colors or something?"
This is where I started yelling. It doesn't take much. "OH NO...We are not one of those couples that has a family fucking portrait. NO way no how. We have not done anything traditional and I refuse to have this be something that we hang on the wall so that our friends can see what a couple of douchebags look like with their kid. No way...No how."
Ben was visibly upset. "The appointment is for three people. It is on Friday. Pick something out to wear. I want to do this. That's it"
I was obviously backed into a corner. On the one hand I absolutely hated our friends who did full family portraits and sent them out as Christmas cards or thank you notes or just because. To say that it was corny and cheesy and ridiculous still didn't quite sum up my sentiments on the matter. But then again, Ben gets roped into doing a lot of stupid shit that I insist that we do for the sake of the kid (like having her baptized Catholic this summer because my mom is suddenly worried about where the souls of babies go if they aren't baptized and something terrible happens).
"Could you at least have given me a few days to get something decent to wear?" I was obviously folding.
"I did. Today's Tuesday. In fact, here's some cash. Get the kid shoes too. Now shut up." I was obviously going to have to let him win this one. Bribing me with cash for a new shirt was a low blow, but the guy knows how to win a battle.
"So what do you think we should wear when we get our pictures done on Friday," he asks casually, as if I had been planning it for weeks.
"Didn't you see what I picked out for her? I still need to get her shoes though." I went back to typing an email.
"No...what are WE going to wear? Don't they say you should dress in similar colors or something?"
This is where I started yelling. It doesn't take much. "OH NO...We are not one of those couples that has a family fucking portrait. NO way no how. We have not done anything traditional and I refuse to have this be something that we hang on the wall so that our friends can see what a couple of douchebags look like with their kid. No way...No how."
Ben was visibly upset. "The appointment is for three people. It is on Friday. Pick something out to wear. I want to do this. That's it"
I was obviously backed into a corner. On the one hand I absolutely hated our friends who did full family portraits and sent them out as Christmas cards or thank you notes or just because. To say that it was corny and cheesy and ridiculous still didn't quite sum up my sentiments on the matter. But then again, Ben gets roped into doing a lot of stupid shit that I insist that we do for the sake of the kid (like having her baptized Catholic this summer because my mom is suddenly worried about where the souls of babies go if they aren't baptized and something terrible happens).
"Could you at least have given me a few days to get something decent to wear?" I was obviously folding.
"I did. Today's Tuesday. In fact, here's some cash. Get the kid shoes too. Now shut up." I was obviously going to have to let him win this one. Bribing me with cash for a new shirt was a low blow, but the guy knows how to win a battle.
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