Bad Mother, You Say?

We're skipping school again today. Eesh. "Bad mother," some would say. "Lazy" would be the word many others might choose. Irresponsible, even. But I don't care. I'm enjoying what little time I have left with my daughter before she starts kindergarten next year. Then she will be in school all day, every day, for thirteen years. And then college. And then she will be gone, moved away to live her own life, but I will have precious memories from days like this, when we "played hooky" for no other reason but to enjoy the beautiful day outside together. So call me whatever you'd like, but I tend to think of myself as a great mother. One who realizes the importance of an education, but who also sees the crucial need to slow down and enjoy the simple moments with my children before they are children no longer.

It's amazing outside; I hope you all can get out and enjoy it too!

Friday

It's gorgeous outside today. I think I'll clean up the house a bit and then take the kids outside to blow off steam. I am starting something new today... The Friday Five (this one's old, I know, but they haven't posted a new one this week yet):

1. Do you wear perfume or cologne? Yes. My favorite is Lovely by SJ Parker
   
   
2. What brand or kind of soap do you use? Dove
   
   
3. Do you use anything to scent your home (candles, potpourri, scented oils, etc.)? All of the above. I love cinnamon (or any spicy) scented fragrance.
   
   
4. What's your favorite scent on a member of the gender to which you're attracted? No scent in particular. I love a man fresh out of the shower; all of the products he has just used blend together into one very clean scent.
   
   
5. Have you ever tried aromatherapy? If so, describe your experience; if not, do you think it works? I've used aromatherapy bath salts and candles... I guess they work. When I am in the bath, the whole experience works together to relax me, so I'm not sure if I can give credit soley to the scents.

What I Really Think

List ten things you want to say to people you know but you never will, for whatever reason. Don’t say who they are. Use each person only once.

1. I hate your husband.
   
2. I ignore every one of your phone calls. I cringe when your number shows up on the caller ID. I plan to never call you back.
   
3. I fell in love with you the moment I saw you, I love you still and I always will.
   
4. I've given you so much advice about your problem and still, you do nothing. I don't want to hear about it anymore. Figure it out for yourself. I'm done listening to you complain.
   
5. I hate who you've become because of him.
   
6. You are beautiful, absolutely brilliant and astonishingly articulate. I'd like to be more like you and less like me sometimes.
   
7. I love you to pieces but your children are exceptionally rude little brats, and I find it torturesome to be around them.
   
8. You are a narrow-minded arrogant fuck.
   
9. I am sick of your opinions. You are an isolant know-it-all and that is the reason no one wants to be around you.
   
10. I miss you.
    

Okay, I need to do this at least once a week; that was invigorating. Now, if only I had the backbone to say these things out loud, then I would truly be liberated.

Sleep Quest

My mood has been despicable since awaking this morning. My children have been in trouble for truly contemptible behavior, such as: laughing and playing nicely together (can you believe the nerve of them?).

Ok, so just to be clear, it is not typical for me to be so foul-mannered with my kids, but given that my sleep pattern the last few nights has been erratic and incomplete, I cannot tolerate even the most ordinary of situations. Last night Norah, for some reason, was awake screaming all night long. No matter what I tried she would not settle down unless I walked with her. Finally around seven-o-clock this morning, I laid with her in my bed, and she finally started to doze. So did I. At the exact moment that Norah's and my eyes began to close, two wide-eyed and animated children came bounding down the stairs and pounced onto my pillows, screaming "Good morning, Mom!! Good morning, Norah!!"

Now I knew that their behavior was justified since they had, you know, slept 10 hours at this point already, but my behavior was justified too, I believe, since I was critically lacking rest. I barked at them, "Be quiet, put your heads down and watch cartoons while I take a quick nap with Norah! Do NOT make a sound! Got it?!"

My cowed children slowly eased themselves under the covers, watching each other with astoundment. I comforted Norah until she fell back to sleep, and then I too closed my eyes... for four minutes. Apparently, it took less than five minutes for their fear of my conniption to be appeased, and then Abby and Georgie were back onto their feet, jumping all over my bed. And me.

Norah started wailing and my jaw immediately clenched. Abby and Georgie were banished to 'the step' until I could calm down. I was so tired at this point that my whole body was in shut-down mode. My brain was foggy and off-course. My muscles ached. I walked over to where my bewildered children awaited their release from time-out, and I asked them if we could try again. I explained to them that Norah had kept me awake the night before, and that we were both in need of a quick nap. I promised them both large-scale rewards if they would let me sleep for an hour. They seemed eager to please, so the four of us snuggled contentedly back into my bed. Norah was sacked out in less than three minutes. I was snoring in less than five. Abby and Georgie were whispering to each other and giggling quietly in less than seven. My eyes flew open and I could feel my blood pressure rising. When I look back on it, I know that they were just bored, and they were truly trying to be respectful of Norah and me as best as a five and two-year-old could, but at that moment I was too exhausted to be reasonable. They were immediately transported back to the step where I irately lectured them. I short-sightedly scolded them on topics such as courtesy and respect, obedience and good behavior, and a considerable amount of material that had no relation to the situation at hand. When I stopped for a breath and saw the frightened looks in my children's eyes, I saw that I was unrestrained and out of line. I quickly apologized to them for my impetuous behavior and excused myself to the bathroom. After washing my face and counting backwards from sixty, I took the walk of shame to apologize (again).

I am still on edge, but now, at least, I have stopped slamming doors and tantrumming. I am more aware of my short-fuse and can control it better when it begins to rise up. Norah just went down for a nap (finally) in her crib, and I think that if I keep Abby home from school today so that I have a better chance of uninterrupted sleep while Georgie naps, this evil quintessence will die out, and Abby and Georgie will have their mom back. Here's hoping.

Waypost

I found Norah crying in her crib tonight because she pulled herself up and couldn't figure out how to sit back down. Oh man, we are in for it now!

"Good Grief." There's An Oxymoron If I've Ever Heard One.

Okay, so I thought long and hard and decided that honesty was probably the best policy. As much as it broke my heart to break hers, I told Abby the truth about Strawberry. She cried harder than I expected. She will "be sad forever," she said. After all, that guinea pig was her pet - no one else's - and no one loved her like Abby did. She was the one who would always feed her and play with her, and make plans to take her to school for show-and-tell, and enter her into the "Guinea Pig Show." But instead of planning a 'guinea pig circus' like she was last week, today she is changing all of the happy faces to sad on all of the old pictures she drew of her and Strawberry together, and is deciding on what to say at her 'memorial' tonight.

She is trying to be brave and continue on with her day as best as her sorrow will allow, but every now and then, out of nowhere, she stops whatever she is doing and begins to sob quietly to herself. Georgie has been truly empathetic, bringing her tissues, hugs, and words of comfort as she cries. But I know that, no matter how much solace she decides to accept, inside her little heart she will always ache for her first, and cherished little critter.


Goodbye, Strawberry. You certainly were a cute little thing.

Her Bestest Friend

Our little friend Strawberry 'paid a visit to the doctor last night.' Or so we told Abby. She will be there for a few days. Or atleast until I can find a resembling replacement. I thought about telling Abby the truth, but when she came downstairs this morning, I heard this:

"Moooooooooooommmmmy!!!! My guinea pig is..... (sob) GONE!! Where is Strawberry?! I looked everywhere, but she's not in my room! The cage and everything disappeared!! Where is she mom?! Did daddy sell her? I neeeeeeed her... she's my (sob, sniffle) bestest frieeend!!"

As she continued to sob, I incoherently tried to explain, "She, uh.... well, you see, Abby. Um... the truth is that.... Strawberry was, oh god. Abby, don't be upset but.... meh."

While getting puzzled and frantic looks from my five year old, I continued, "Strawberry-had-to-go-to-the-doctor!" I blurted. "She'll be home in just a few short days. Really. She will. I, I prom..." I cleared my throat and tried again. "Ahem... I promise!"

Abby quickly wiped her tears away with the back of her hand, and asked, "She's at the vet? Oh! I thought Daddy taked her back to the store!! Can I call her on the phone? How many days until she gets home again? I can't wait until she's all better!"

Before I was able to explain that she could not, in fact, call the guinea pig on the phone, she ran off to tell Georgie that Strawberry needed her shots and that she would be home when she was not 'tagious' anymore.

So there it is. One dead guinea pig, and one solemn promise that, somehow, she will return in three days or less. I just hope I can find her guinea twin soon enough.

Does anyone know what time it is?

I am here to inform you that I am still awake; Georgie is too. He took a six hour nap today, so it is with good reason that he should not be tired. I, however, cannot rationalize my own indisposition to sleep. Does anyone remember when staying up this late was the objective for the night? When there was chemical stimulation to make the goal worthwhile? When sleep was..... um........ oh, for chuff's sake!! I can't remember where the hell I was going with this. I accept that I have begun to rattle on, and so here concludes my quick and scintillating tale of how I am spending my Saturday night (or Sunday morning I guess, technically). Here's to dreaming of far off places.

I've been voted 'Most Unproductive Wife'

Today has turned out to be another one of "those days." Again. The kind of day that has drowned away any feelings of motivation, and my last reserves of patience have been cleaned out. The house is a disgrace, laundry is piled up to my neck, and so far I have wasted the day staring at the wall. So here I sit, posting a fruitless blog. I have nothing to say; my wit has forsaken me. I think I'll stop here and rent a movie, but first I will leave you with this:

Finding drunks in a bar -- what are the chances?

Spiderman-iac

I took Abby to Kyle's birthday party tonight. When the movie ended, the last of the pizza and cake had been eaten, and the games had all been played, Abby and I made our way back to the car, party bags in hand, where I noticed that I had three missed calls from home on my cell. (I had kept the phone in the car to charge, since the battery was beyond dead.) A small wave of panic washed over me since George doesn't usually ring my cell when I'm out unless it's pretty important. I returned George's call on the way home and learned that Georgie had come down with a fever and had not eaten anything all night. In fact, he had stayed curled up in my bed most of the time Abby and I had been gone, which is rare for him especially since his Mom-Mom and Pop-Pop were over for a visit. When Abby and I walked in the door, I pulled Georgie onto my lap, and sure enough, he was hot as hell from head to toe. As Abby told him all about the party, his head hung towards the floor. I figured he must have felt pretty bad, so I coaxed him into chewing a Motrin to bring the fever down quickly. After he reluctantly swallowed his medicine, I asked him about his night, but he would not speak a word to me, or anyone else, and continued to stare down at his feet. I asked George if he had been this quiet all night, but he said, "No, actually. He was crying about a Spiderman car for the first hour or so after you left. He cried so much, I wonder if that's what made him sick."

"Spiderman car?" I asked. "What Spiderman car, Georgie?"

"Tile." Georgie responded miserably, but finally with a little interest in conversing.

"Tile? What are you talking about - tile?"

"Tiii-ile! Ti-ile!" he whined, and so I continued asking him insane questions about floor tiles and game tiles until I figured out that he was not, in fact, referring to tiles after all. He was talking about Kyle (clearly pronounced "tile" in two-year old dialect) and the Spiderman car that Abby had bought for the party.

"You want the Spiderman car that Abby bought for Kyle?" I asked him.

"Yes," he said. "Tile's bider-man tar. Not Tile's. Mine. My bider-man."

I should have foreseen this "spidey-envy" when we were at the toy store buying Spiderman toys. I should have realized that I could never get away with bringing a Spiderman product into our house and then back out again for any reason. Who was I kidding? I have the boy who does not waste time pretending to be Spiderman, but instead has convinced himself, and truly does believe, that he is in fact the superhero himself. I reassured Georgie that first thing in the morning, I would take him to the store to buy him his very own Spiderman car. The instant this promise was made to him, his temperature instantly plummeted back to 98.6°, his mood elevated significantly, and he has been happily coloring at the table (in his Spiderman coloring book, wearing his Spiderman pajamas) with his sister for over an hour, chattering away the entire time (about, who else, Spiderman).

I've been sitting and thinking about what new illness Georgie may be coming down with, but then I started to wonder: is Georgie really falling ill with the flu, or could it be that he is literally sick without Spiderman? And was it really the Motrin that brought down his fever so rapidly, or was it the promise of a new "bider-man tar" that healed him?

I think that we are, without a doubt, dealing with a Spidermaniac.

I'm glad I can finally look back on this day and laugh.