Dirty Little Secret

I have six first cousins, 3 on each side. As an only child, they are the closest thing I have to siblings and I adore them all. But growing up I was probably closest to my cousin Greg – he was the closest to me in age. We used to make up fake newscasts on my tape recorder when we were bored. None of them survived, alas, but proof that at least was one of us was funny can be seen here:

Skewer System’s Tweet It video.

You can check out their other videos on YouTube. Or you can read  my cousin’s blog.

I don’t think my family is good at fun.

Last night was the “Family Fun” night at the kids’ preschool. Hot Guy had to work, so I decided that ChunkyMonkey should stay at home with my mom, 2 kids being enough for one tired woman to keep track of at a gathering filled with sugar and small children.

Of course Ironflower was drawn to the painting activity like moth to flame. . .which meant that I spent a lot of the evening cleaning blue paint off of her costume.

And Lovebug hated the noise. He ran into classmates, but they were all shy with each other (as opposed to how they’d been at the hay ride the day before) and overwhelmed by the crowd. So he pretty much wanted to leave from the moment we got there.

I spent most of my night dragging Lovebug around in search of Ironflower. Until the reptile show. Which my kids had enjoyed at a small play date last year, but this year it freaked Lovebug out. And Ironflower claimed not to like it, but I think what she didn’t like was the large number of kids between her and the animals. Meanwhile I stood with some other preschool moms, having nothing to say while I fretted over my children’s unhappiness.

Somehow I’m reminded of some of  last events I attended in school gyms – junior high dances. Before every dance, I’d have this image in my head of how it would go – the boy I liked would ask me to dance, I’d look impossibly cool while dancing, my friends would all tell me how great I looked – and it NEVER went that way.

These family events seem to go the same way for me. Before we go, I have this image in my head of the fun we’re going to have – the kids will laugh and smile, I will chat amiably with acquaintances, the kids will behave – and it never works that way. Lovebug hates something about the event and clings, they both grab food and drink like mannerless heathens, I have brief conversations that I’m too preoccupied to pay attention to and at the end,  Ironflower says it wasn’t good enough anyway.

I guess I’m just not destined to live up to the images in my head. Maybe I should stop trying.

I am a yeller.

I didn’t think I would be. I never yelled (okay, except for that one time, but that class totally deserved it and it’s just wrong that my principal happened to be giving a school board member a tour that day) as a teacher. I am much more likely to mutter obnoxious comments under my breath, or write them during meetings to the amusement of my colleagues.

But then my kids started to, you know, bite each other. And I discovered yelling was effective.

I realized recently that I may have been doing a little too much of it, as I’ve had to get really loud for them to notice. Though that may be because once unleashed, my yelling voice has also appeared in traffic and around customer service representatives. So I decided to quit yelling. No matter how naughty the kids were, no matter how frustrated I was, I would not yell.

Today was Day 1.

I awoke at  5am to hear the boys talking to each other. Not that ChunkyMonkey talks, but he sure makes noise. I tried to ignore them, because I’ve discovered that I can’t force them to sleep and that when I talk to them at 5am I am tempted to yell.

By 7am, I had discovered that Lovebug had clogged the toilet with too much toilet paper . . .and pooped on top of it.

At 7:45am, a huge, full, glass jar of salsa fell onto the tile floor of kitchen. While I tried to clean up, Lovebug and Ironflower got into a wrestling match and knocked ChunkyMonkey over.

At 9:05am, a man began tailgating me and flashing his lights at me after I dropped Ironflower off at school. I was doing 36 mph in a 35 zone and he was in a hurry, I guess.

We avoided problems in the grocery store because I bribed the boys with toys and food. My grocery bill was $20 more than it should have been. (Does this mean my children would be well-behaved if we were rich?)

10;45 saw us driving home from the grocery store, with Lovebug yelling, ” I have to pee right now!”. We were 10 minutes from home and I did not want to clean up pee in addition to the poop and salsa, so I pulled over on a side street. This caused ChunkyMonkey to wail loudly as he wanted out too. I brought Lovebug over to a tree. I reviewed how to pee standing up because he generally likes to sit down. I don’t know why. Because of that, he kept trying to squat and I kept trying to make him stand up straight. Eventually he peed .. . . .correctly. . .onto my shoe.

12:00pm Ironflower, in her frustration over having to leave school, threw a rock in her brother’s general direction.

It’s now 2 and I am proud to say that I have not yet bitten though my tongue.

What do you do about your frustration?

PS If you happen to be a person who links to me – all three of you – could you please, please change your link to jerseygirl89.com? Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you.

I mean that in the nicest way possible, of course. It’s just that much like Rock of Love contestants and Hills cast members, dogs will do anything for human attention and affection. So while it was entertaining to watch the dog act at Ringling Brothers, Barnum & Baily circus last night (they went on slides! they danced!), I didn’t feel that it was the same level as the other acts. Watching the elephants, tigers and even the horses and zebras perform their tricks was so much more exciting and compelling and slightly disturbing. Almost like watching a great actor in a really bad television movie: you can almost feel them swallowing their pride and dignity. But you watch the movie anyway – and it turns out that you kind of enjoy it. Whereas you watch Rock of Love just to see how far the whores contestants will go to win a bone from Bret.

But aside from over-analyzing the animal acts, I had the BEST time at the circus last night. My lousy mood? Gone. Completely. Totally. Utterly gone. The circus is still a magical experience, and Ringling Brothers really caters to kids. Because of fantastic and wonderful Mom Central, we got to go early and meet the ringmaster and the lead clown. They did a little act for us and posed for pictures. Ringmasters have changed since my childhood – this one was young and hot. Er, not that I noticed that or anything. Anyway, because we were there early already, we got to go to the pre-show before it got crowded.

The pre-show starts an hour beforehand – you get to walk around the arena floor and meet the clowns, see tight rope walking, ponies and an elephant up close and even try on clown costumes. Ironflower and Lovebug were overwhelmed in a good way. But as it got more crowded, Mommy and Daddy got overwhelmed in a bad way so we went back to our seats. I fed the kids my snack arsenal (because WOW, stuff was expensive and of course they’d been too excited to eat much at the Mom Central event) in the few minutes before the show began.

And then WOW. Except for having to repeatedly explain to Lovebug that he couldn’t actually go down and join the performers, the show was a dream. Ironflower was so enchanted that she was quieter than she’s been in her entire life. All the cool rope stuff and trapeze work and cannons and tight ropes and tumbling (now with platforms) and those spinning circles and dancing and wild animals and a story line. . .was so completely cool. It was a great mix of the traditional idea of the circus and all the new ideas more recent circuses (I really wish I could write “circi” there, my two years of Latin – will they ever leave me alone?) have started.

It’s still the greatest show on earth, thank you very much. *

*Except possibly for the elephants and tigers sacrificing their dignity for entertainment. But it’s not like being hunted was probably all that great either.

One of the things I love about traveling is that you can learn so many things. I mean, sure I loved being in a warmer part of the country (have I mentioned that it actually got down to freezing while we were there? It did.) and having my parents to share so many child-rearing duties, but the best part was going somewhere new. Okay, all the alone time Hot Guy and I got was pretty cool too, but still, I loved exploring. Seeing new things and new for the kids things was fabulous too. But nothing beats the learning.

I learned things about my family:

Hot Guy has an odd affinity for Kool and the Gang.

Feeding Ironflower donut holes and lemonade is a very BAD idea, especially when she’s going to be riding in a car that day.

Lovebug has traindar – he can find a train no matter where he is and no matter what he is doing.

ChunkyMonkey must go to sleep at 9pm if he is to sleep through the night – any other time and he wakes up.

My Dad has amazing putting baby to sleep powers.

My mom has mastered her iPhone but is freaked out by the ATM.

I learned things about life south of the Mason-Dixon line and east of Alabama:

Apparently no one there has ever seen a triple stroller. Seriously, people stared at us wherever we went – I now have so much sympathy for those families that are “different” for some reason.

Everyone seems to have missed the highway driving section on the driving test. Also lacking: the parking skills section.

Warm Saturdays are not the day to try to park anywhere near any Smithsonian museums.

All the straight men sound like Larry the Cable Guy.

No one in Florida got the memo about tanning being bad for you.

You can find good NPR and decent country music everywhere except the New York area.

ALL senior citizens want to know “What aisle did you find that baby in?” whenever and wherever you take your infant shopping.

I learned even more about traveling with small children:

Never try it without at least one electronic entertainment device.

Museums are fine, but beaches and playgrounds are better.

And nothing beats having a TV in your vacation bedroom.

Nothing can drown out the sound of a four year old girl’s voice or a two year old boy’s tantrum, no matter how big the minivan or how loud the radio.

Construction vehicles stop being exciting after ten minutes of construction zone traffic.

Parents should have access to alcohol and/or chocolate at all times.

Merry Christmas!

I hope everyone is having a wonderful day, whether it’s filled with family and presents or Chinese food and movies. Or some combo thereof.

We are with my father-in-law’s side of the family. I am watching Aunt Frankie for signs that she hates my children, simply because they are younger (and, okay, really, cuter) than her grandchildren and last year it pissed her off when everyone fussed over them. I used to like Aunt Frankie until I found out about the jealousy issues and this will be our first holiday together since I found out. I’m not supposed to know about her issues, so I’ll have to maintain the WASP front and be nice.

But if either one of my children is upset by her (or her over-active grandsons) in any way, I’m so going Jersey on them.

(This is one of those times that I’m glad no one in my husband’s family reads my blog.)
Labels: Aunt Frankie, Christmas, jealousy

I am currently in Kansas City. Well, actually, I’m about 40 miles outside of it. In a house with no internet access. Oh, and did I mention that we have no car at our disposal? We are having a very peaceful holiday at my in-laws’, who are wonderful but don’t really get the whole internet craze.

My own mother will be putting my posts up until we get back. Because she’s supportive like that. But she’s not so supportive that she’ll be answering comments. (Well, she might, but I won’t let her. Because I’m territorial like that. And my mom’s a great writer.) But that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t comment. In fact, it means that you should comment more because I will need a HUGE bloggy fix when I get home. And I’ll reply when I get home, I promise. And I’ll catch up with all of your blogs too. Really.

I am spending one night at my (internet-connected) girlfriend’s, but since we plan on drinking and playing cards all night I probably won’t check in. No offense, but I can count on one hand the nights I have had adult time with friends since I moved LAST MARCH.

Anyway, merry Christmas Eve!

My young cousin
is getting married next year
which is fantastic

shopping for dresses
not so fantastic really
I missed a nap

the saleswomen rude
snippy and so insulting
their choices were awful

this dress after that
on and on and on and on
no place to sit down

mirrors everywhere
do I really look like that
must go on diet

Did she find a dress?
No one got a commission
for their bitchiness

Ha ha ha ha ha
though we all liked this one
let’s buy it elsewhere

I am so tired
How long does tryptophan work?
I was up too late

Lovebug had a dream
He was so unhappy that
he could not calm down

Poor little baby
He seems very happy now
I am relieved

Ironflower sits
enchanted by Little Bill
no bad dreams for her

Daddy is sleeping
how long should we let him rest?
He hates the morning

Someone said to me recently, “Well, I have a JOB.”

This was in response to an attempt to make plans.

Of course I didn’t respond the way I wanted, “You try to take care of Ironflower, Lovebug and Hubby while attempting to make money blogging and any other way that doesn’t interfere with the children’s outings, schedules and moods and that allows the house to be clean and organized enough to satisfy your Martha Stewart mother and THEN you can brag about your job.”

The transition from working outside the home to working inside the home has been a challenge for me. I never thought I’d stay home. But around here, with the cost of quality daycare for toddlers, not to mention the years I’d have to sub just to get a classroom teaching job that I don’t even want anymore, it makes sense for us. Most of the time I’m glad to spend enough time with my children so that they can drive me insane but I’m tired of being dismissed as lazy and/or stupid. I’m tired of friends and family members asking, “But what do you do all day?”

Look, I realize that I am lucky to be able to stay at home. But while I do take a break every day during nap time, I spend about twelve – fourteen hours everyday engaged in childcare, household or writing related activities. Lovebug is a very challenging child and his tantrums exhaust me to the point of tears at least twice a week. Ironflower needs constant stimulation. I’ve given up an extra hour of sleep so I can have time to exercise in the mornings.

When I was a teacher, I trained myself to let go of work issues on my drive home. I cherished my commute. Now there is no letting go. I keep a notebook by the bed so that when I wake up in the middle of the night with writing ideas and parenting strategies I can write them down. Even when Hubby or grandparents are watching the kids, I usually feel some sort of residual guilt and worry. I can’t help it.

Not that this makes me different than any other mother out there, of course. But I’ll be damned if I’m going to let one more person imply that his/her JOB is more important than all three of mine.