Dirty Little Secret

Hot Guy and I are celebrating our anniversary today, because tomorrow (our real anniversary) we will celebrating the 4th of July (because my hometown is weird like that). Also, my parents have the kids.

After doing a lot of cleaning (and we don’t even have impending visitors. Hot Guy feels we should stop living like trailer trash. I say I would much rather live like people with servants, but he claims that’s not in our budget) we retired to the patio with books and drinks.

It was quite peaceful, except for the occasional blast of illegal fireworks. Which is sort of like our old neighborhood in KC, except there it wasn’t always fireworks. Anyway, given the time and the relative quiet, I was able to reflect upon the reasons that I love Hot Guy.

1. He’s hot. Duh.

2. He’s pretty understanding about my pathological need for alone time.

3. And about my crush on Tim Riggins.

4. He’s funny.

5. He’s an excellent father.

6. He cooks.

7. He can fix things.

8. He can answer all the kid questions I can’t.

9. He’s incredibly outgoing.

10. He can remember exactly when Pickett’s charge was, but not when the next pediatrician appointment is.

11. He never hides anything.

12. He accepts me exactly the way I am. (Except for the cleaning issue. Which I guess is sort of understandable.)

13. He lets me pick out his clothes.

14. He knows how to help around the house.

15. He can sing.

I swear to the Goddess that this post was going to be happy. I was going to list things I like. Or something. I really wanted to write a post that didn’t involve bitching. Possibly that’s too much to ask when I’m on the rag, the kids have spring break and my allergies are trying to kill me, I don’t know.

I do know that I was a shitty mother this morning and I feel the need to confess. I had this plan in my head. I would take my kids to the indoor play area and grab some fast food lunch (sorry Jamie Oliver, I really am trying to do better {more on that later} but I’ve got 48 hours of solo time, killer cramps AND a headache). It would be fun. They would be happy. And cramps like french fries.

There were a few other people there, one family with two boys and a pair of women with their 2 girls. Lovebug and Ironflower rushed to make friends. The older boy didn’t want to befriend Lovebug at first, which Lovebug took on the chin and moved on. Eventually, the boy changed his mind. Ironflower seemed fine with the younger girls. I spent my time chasing ChunkyMonkey and preventing him from getting trapped in the play area.

Until I saw the 2 girls, but no Ironflower. The place isn’t very big, so I found this surprising. Eventually I found her crying in the corner. The girls didn’t want to play with her anymore. Now, I try to be reasonable. I know my daughter can be bossy. The girls were younger and already knew each other. I said as much (well, I substituted “decisive” for “bossy”). She kept crying. I asked if they said anything mean. She shook her head. She rejected playing with her brother. And me.

And then. . .well, I got mad.

I told my daughter that she needed to get over it and not let those girls ruin our good time. Or we would have to leave. She got up and climbed slowly around. She bit my head off when I checked on her and then she cried some more.

Even after the girls left, she didn’t want to play. She was too sad about them not wanting to be friends with her. I hugged her and held her on my lap. And then I sort of went off about the whole situation.

It’s not that I wasn’t sad for her. But if this kind of thing is going to devastate her so much. . .how will she ever handle elementary school? How will I?

I pointed out that she was ruining our family fun time over 2 little girls that we would never see again and obviously weren’t very nice. I pointed out that she loves to play with Lovebug. I pointed out that I had gotten dressed  and paid money and dealt with 85 ChunkyMonkey tantrums so they could have fun, dammit, and why couldn’t she just have fun for the love of God??????????????? (I left out the dammit, but I’m not sure about the “for the love of God)

I am not a nice person.

The mood lifted as we left. We got McDonald’s. We read stories. We had quiet time. Now they are watching a DVD. Under calm questioning, Ironflower still cannot articulate (and if you know Ironflower, you know that’s very very strange. . . . Ironflower is nothing if not articulate) why she was so upset.

But I’m so afraid of the next time someone doesn’t want to play with her. We’ve always encouraged our kids to be friendly and to include all kids in their games. But maybe that’s not the best thing for Ironflower emotionally. I just don’t know.

Advice, internets? Also, feel free to tell me how to handle this without turning into an evil cow.

Dear Lovebug,

You have become such a little boy in the last few months. I think back to the first time something you said surprised me (you weren’t two yet and we were playing a “guess the animal” game with Ironflower and suddenly you popped up with the correct answer, even though you were hardly talking yet) and I realize how much you’ve grown up. Every day you say something that surprises me!

I love that you are so independent, that you enjoying playing by yourself and doing things for yourself and yet you still need lots of hugs. The other day I watched you playing rough and tumble games with your friends, constantly expecting you to get upset. But you didn’t. You were having fun, just like a big kid.

You are brave, Lovebug. I know a lot things worry you and new situations cause you anxiety. And I’m so glad that you’re opening up and telling us about it, which is brave. But not only do you do that, you’re starting to do things anyway, even if they do make you nervous. That’s makes me so proud.

Your interest in trains has grown to include cars, trucks and airplanes. You build complicated track systems and roads so well. What has really developed this year is your passion for Legos. I can’t wait to see what you’ll build every day. Even if it is during breakfast. Or lunch. Or dinner.

You are such an amazing brother. You look out for your baby brother and share with him more than anyone could expect. And you stood up to the boys from Ironflower’s class who chased her and her friends, even though they were bigger than you are. You miss Ironflower a lot when she has her long day at school.

You, Lovebug, are a really cool kid. And I am so lucky to be your mom.

I love you,

Mommy

I always thought I’d be one of those really creative moms, the kind that do amazing art projects with their kids on rainy afternoons and let them dress however they wanted. I thought I’d just quietly walk out of the room when angry, or quietly lecture them until they apologized and never did it again. I thought I’d always be happy to read a story. I thought I’d be good at this.

Which just goes to show that life must really begin at 40, because before I had kids, I certainly didn’t know myself very well. While it’s true that sometimes I liked to draw or color to relax, the only time I ever did amazing art projects was when I had to do them to make examples for my students, and even then I only did them while I was watching movies and talking on the phone. As for dressing, well, I tend to conform. And the only time I’ve ever been quiet while angry is right before I’ve exploded. With regards reading stories, sure I LOVE to read and I do enjoy quality children’s literature, but that’s not what my children want to hear. They want to hear Thomas stories and rehashings of Disney movies.

And as I struggle to convince my fiercely independent children that nose-picking is gross, that vegetables will not kill them, that they can let me direct the imaginary play just once and that matching socks are fun, I kind of want to laugh. Not at them.

At me.

How on earth did I think two stubborn, loud parents would produce quiet, malleable children? And turn flexible and quiet upon parenthood? What the hell was I smoking?

What’s really funny is that my belief in an easy child and my subsequent ideal motherhood were going to happen with ChunkyMonkey. Like any third child in our family wouldn’t realize that he’d have to yell just to be heard each day. And like adding a third child to the mix wouldn’t increase my older children’s independence and my own willingness to encourage them to entertain themselves.

And that’s how I know I’m done having kids (aside from the realities that we don’t have enough money or room to have another, of course). I may be a little sad to realize that I won’t be buying baby stuff anymore and that I’ll never nurse again, but the bloom has worn off. I know if we had a fourth s/he would be even more passionate and loud than the other three and that I would become even less of an ideal mother, possibly by barricading myself in my room during play time and letting them all fend for themselves.

Darling ChunkyMonkey,

Today you are 1. The nurses christened you ChunkyMonkey when you were born, with your 9 pounds of cuteness and great skill in nursing. You are not really chunky, but solid and definitely a good eater. The monkey part, however, is apt. You remind me of Curious George.

You love to know what’s inside of everything and you want to touch it all yourself. You are the only child of mine to take an interest in the water in the toilet and to try to eat dirt. If there’s an open door, you want to go through it. If there’s something new to see, you want to see it up close.

And how your face lights up when something makes you happy. It’s worth it to let you crawl in the dirt to see you smile. You have the most amazing smile, kiddo. You are learning about language; right now you can give 5, wave and gesture up and down on command. Your favorite speech sound is “Da”, but it’s many inflections can indicate your father (Dada), what’s this (Da Da?) or anything else you are trying to tell us. When you’re unhappy, you moan (Daaaa,Daaaa,Daaaa) and then progress to full on screaming.

You are very sure of your wants and preferences, even if I don’t always understand them. You love fruit and fruit juice, pretzels and french fries. You love to try new foods, but you’ll yell if you want something that isn’t offered. You are wonderful at playing by yourself, but more than anything you want to do what Lovebug is doing. You have just recently begun to enjoy books, and you favorites are the “Touch and Feel” series.

You are my surprise baby in so many ways, little one. And I look forward to all the rest of the surprises you have in store for me as you grow. I love you more and more each day,

Mommy

PS If you could stop biting and pulling hair, I’d appreciate it. And maybe get over the tantrums. Just a thought. XOXO

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.

It’s not that I claim to be a parenting expert or anything. I suppose I’ve got some basics figured out – don’t smack them upside the head even when they deserve it, keep them clean and fed, don’t let them watch R-rated movies, always have extra diapers. I also thought that encouraging them to learn the basic life skills was a good idea. And it appears that I’m in the minority on this.

Yesterday at Ironflower’s dance class, I observed another four year old come in, plop down on the dressing room floor and hold her feet up. Her mother then removed her shoes for her. I nearly fell off the bench. This mom has always seemed perfectly sane to me. I subtly checked out the other girls and moms and it was all the same. Seemingly loving and normal moms removing shoes and clothes for their able-bodied kids. After class it was the same thing – Ironflower is the only one expected to dress herself and ask if she needs help. All the other moms dress their four year olds.

And yet I’m really bothered that almost three year old Lovebug can’t/won’t put on his own shoes. He also needs help removing shirts because he has such a big head. (No, seriously, it’s that big. I’m going to be helping him in that department until he’s like 8 or so, I swear.) But even he’s been taking off his own shoes forever. And he takes off everything else and we’re working on dressing himself.

At first I was all proud of my kids and their skills. But then I realized that maybe these kids CAN do all of these things, they just don’t have to. And I started to wonder if I should be doing these things for my kids too. Am I forcing them to be too independent? Should they just expect me to take their shoes off for them?

Fortunately I then remembered that martyrdom does not become me, so this is all really moot. Independent kids make a much less stressed Jerseygirl. In fact, I’ve even got Ironflower helping Lovebug with his shoes now, so frustrated have I become trying to teach him (or will him, rather) to put on his slip-on shoes. And we’re all a little happier in the morning.

But still, is this forced independence going to make them feel unloved? Or are those other kids being taught that they’re incapable? What are your thoughts?

PS – Leslie over at My Mommy’s Place is having another one of her haiku contests. Check it out!

South Carolina is pretty boring on I-95 I can’t wait until we get to Savannah I love Savannah. Garmin Girl is telling us to go a different way than the hotel website said but of course we have to listen to her though it is a relief to get off of 95 wow there’s no traffic here.

Oh my look at that bridge I’m going to have to admit that Garmin Girl sent us a good way this view is AWESOME now we are going to find the hotel wow this neighborhood looks dodgy are those project houses? They totally are but this can’t be right because the website said we’d be in the historic district and I’m pretty sure they don’t put section 8 houses in historic districts oh my that’s the hotel well at least the lobby’s nice and we’re blocks from the historic district

GOOD LORD the historic district seems far poor Hot Guy pushing this behemoth triple stroller oh my Goddess I am hungry at least these projects don’t seem as bad as the ones I used to teach by we are never going to make it down to River Street with this stroller where are the ramps? Maybe we can find a place up here on Bay Street oh look a pub. I want a beer.

Hmmmm . . .this is good and they have kids’ food and what the hell are those girls wearing? They look like sorority and fraternity kids but those dresses look like hooker dresses from the ’80′s and the shoes are trampy too oh please god don’t tell me all those nice looking young frat guys brought hookers to a formal I am NOT staring, Hot Guy, and anyway they wouldn’t notice if I was, I’m old. I like this mixed aged happy hour crowd but I don’t like dragging Ironflower through it on the way to the bathroom oh the bathroom lady moved here from NJ and loves it I want to move to Savannah too

This walk back sucks and I don’t like the way that homeless guy is looking at us and I don’t care if that makes me prejudiced against the homeless or the mentally ill or whatever God I am SWEATING. . . .I love it here.

I can’t believe ChunkyMonkey is sleeping through the night but Lovebug is waking me up. . Uggghhhhhh. ..need sleep. ..so tired. … .

We are finally going to get to the Gulf Coast of Florida today but wow, northern Florida is kinda ugly. I was thinking that I would enjoy driving on this smaller road connecting 95 to 75 but I was so wrong I feel like I’m in Deliverance country and the traffic is so SLOW and we’re never going to get there. . .

Gainesville is the ugliest college town I have ever seen.

How come no one in Florida understands the basic traffic laws? I can’t believe all these crazy people passing on the right at 100 mph and the people on the left chugging along at 60 this is nuts and totally freaking me out God bless Hot Guy for driving oh please stop crying and whining Lovebug I want out of the car too JUST SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP.

Oh my poor baby Chunky has been such a trouper he’s finally done too bad the drive isn’t I hope he stops crying soon he’s full and and his diaper is new he’s just sick of the seat poor baby STOP CRYING, FOR THE LOVE OF GOD.

I wonder if pulling my hair out of my head would make me feel better we have been on the road for over 20 hours all together and I just want to get there and THESE OLD PEOPLE ARE FUCKING INSANE DRIVERS it would be so tragic if we died now and my last thoughts were about how sick I am of I Spy and why didn’t I spend money on DVD players? Why?

Introducing Baby Z, weighing in at 9 lbs. He’s 21 inches long and – just like his older brother – the doctor’s first comment was remarking upon his big head.  He is beautiful and already a champion nurser.

Mommy is doing well enough to be typing this herself. The pain management system at this hospital kicks SERIOUS ass.

It’s Father’s Day and I feel like I should write something meaningful and profound about Hot Guy and my dad. But as we all know, I’m kinda in a blogging lull these days. So instead, I’ll have others speak for me.

A song for Hot Guy, which has nothing to do with fatherhood and everything to do with why he’s the father of my children (oh, and he has a crush on Bernadette Peters):

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DKEP48sLvdk&hl=en]

A movie excerpt for my dad:

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GojJXpu6pv4&hl=en]