I just wanted to thank all of you who have been reading and commenting on my crazy life with a household of boys. Luckily, all of the viruses/rashes have been remedied and all of us are healthy. Well, except for our Black Lab Sadie, who we just found out, will need an expensive surgery to repair a torn ligament. Things are already tight so it will take some creative budgeting and borrowing to pay the $2-3000 for her to be the same lively pup once again.
The online magazine (www.mommiesmagazine.com) I have been working on is steadily doing better, although it still is not a source of income yet. As of now, I'm viewing it as editing and publishing experience for me. Something will have to change soon with the income situation, because I just may have to go back to work if I don't start making money freelance writing. That isn't necessarily a bad thing. The break from the household would probably be good for my sanity, but it would also mean less time spent with Robbie, since I would have to work nights and/or weekends. Plus, it would also take time and energy away from my writing. The other startup magazine I wrote a feature article for Total180! is set to be published in November, and I'm really hoping it will take off as well. Look for it on the newsstands and if you are a stay at home mom and can spare $15 (believe me, I understand if you can't!), go to www.total180mag.com and subscribe to this fun and fresh magazine. The incredible ladies are fronting a lot of the expenses of publishing the first issue, so every little bit helps.
So what is the point of all these ramblings? I think it is time to take a break from the blogging for awhile because Chops isn't napping anymore and I only have a tiny window of freedom where I can write and clean and shower, etc. I'm sure I will pick it up again someday when things have settled and I get into a better writing routine.
Everyone pray for me. Pray that the boys don't drive me completely nuts, that Sadie will recover nicely from her surgery, and that I will make the big time with my writing in the next few years! It's been fun stepping on the blogging bandwagon and I'm sure I'll be back!
Friday, September 30, 2005
Thursday, September 22, 2005
Always on Call
I remember when my stepfather used to work for a trucking company back when I was very young. There would always be those nights when he wore the beeper, meaning he was at the company's mercy, at all hours of the day and night. I remember thinking how unfair that was for him. He couldn't have too many drinks with dinner and it was inevitable that tiny pager would start blaring in the middle of his favorite show or mid-snore. But the beauty of his pager was that after his shift was over, he could finally turn the thing off.
Oh, if I could only be so lucky. I don't have a need for a pager. There are no annoying beeps to wake me in the middle of the night or to force me off the couch during a particularly juicy scene from "Desperate Housewives." I might as well have one, because it is during those times that the boys start in, needing a new diaper, more food, a fresh sippy cup, a toy repair, and on and on.
I am always under the radar. They have no qualms about waking me up from a deep sleep so I can stumble around a room and crawl under a crib in search of a binky. They don't care if the muse suddenly strikes me and I have to absolutely get something down on paper. Those are the moments they have a nasty diaper blow out or a conked head on the linoleum floor.
Even this past week, Robbie was on vacation and I was doing the happy dance. Finally! It won't be JUST MOMMY in the house all day. I had visions of sleeping in until 9:00, tapping away on the computer and sending off some stories...which of course would lead to riches and glory.
HA!
Monday morning I was all set to sleep in. Chops wasn't having it. He has no problem if Daddy is sleeping, but if Mommy dares to stay behind the closed bedroom door, he throws his full 35 pounds of boy into the door, screams, and whines until I completely give up on the stolen hours of sleep and stomp out to the kitchen for a pot of coffee. Ditto for a peaceful shower. Or for that story that will never be written.
Where is the off button on this Mommy pager? Can somebody please show me? I think the last time that it was truly off was during our girls trip to Tahoe back in May. There I could stay up as late as I wanted because no one would be waiting in my room to wake me up at dawn. There I could keep the shades closed and lounge in bed until 3 in the afternoon.
Oh, please take me there again!
Oh, if I could only be so lucky. I don't have a need for a pager. There are no annoying beeps to wake me in the middle of the night or to force me off the couch during a particularly juicy scene from "Desperate Housewives." I might as well have one, because it is during those times that the boys start in, needing a new diaper, more food, a fresh sippy cup, a toy repair, and on and on.
I am always under the radar. They have no qualms about waking me up from a deep sleep so I can stumble around a room and crawl under a crib in search of a binky. They don't care if the muse suddenly strikes me and I have to absolutely get something down on paper. Those are the moments they have a nasty diaper blow out or a conked head on the linoleum floor.
Even this past week, Robbie was on vacation and I was doing the happy dance. Finally! It won't be JUST MOMMY in the house all day. I had visions of sleeping in until 9:00, tapping away on the computer and sending off some stories...which of course would lead to riches and glory.
HA!
Monday morning I was all set to sleep in. Chops wasn't having it. He has no problem if Daddy is sleeping, but if Mommy dares to stay behind the closed bedroom door, he throws his full 35 pounds of boy into the door, screams, and whines until I completely give up on the stolen hours of sleep and stomp out to the kitchen for a pot of coffee. Ditto for a peaceful shower. Or for that story that will never be written.
Where is the off button on this Mommy pager? Can somebody please show me? I think the last time that it was truly off was during our girls trip to Tahoe back in May. There I could stay up as late as I wanted because no one would be waiting in my room to wake me up at dawn. There I could keep the shades closed and lounge in bed until 3 in the afternoon.
Oh, please take me there again!
Thursday, September 15, 2005
A House Full of Sicklies
There is something about illness in a household of young children. Call it cruel fate and mass contagion. Cruel fate because we have our big camping trip planned for this weekend, which of course is now overshadowed by empty bottles of children's tylenol, cast off teething rings, and a lingering stench of vomit in Chops's room. Mass contagion, because what started as Bubba's feverish, listless weekend thought to be caused by hardcore teething, was actually a case of roseola...which he so lovingly passed to his brother, though Chops still hasn't broken out in the dreaded rash yet.
Not to mention our Black Lab Sadie is now nicknamed Tri-Pod, because she's only walking on three paws, with no apparent cause.
What's next? A nice case of chicken pox or a broken arm for Mommy or Daddy? The house burning down?
I know, I'm being morbid. You try being cooped up all week with two cranky, steaming hot kids who are only content when Boo-Bahs, Teletubbies, or Thomas the Train are on. You try sitting with your dog for half an our working over every inch of her toe pads, claws, ankles, and legs to solve the great tri-pod mystery.
This will be a short post because we are preparing to dash out of town to hopefully escape the madness. Unlikely, since we'll have the sicklies in tow with us. I'll probably return with tales of laughter and disaster from Lake Camanche next week.
Not to mention our Black Lab Sadie is now nicknamed Tri-Pod, because she's only walking on three paws, with no apparent cause.
What's next? A nice case of chicken pox or a broken arm for Mommy or Daddy? The house burning down?
I know, I'm being morbid. You try being cooped up all week with two cranky, steaming hot kids who are only content when Boo-Bahs, Teletubbies, or Thomas the Train are on. You try sitting with your dog for half an our working over every inch of her toe pads, claws, ankles, and legs to solve the great tri-pod mystery.
This will be a short post because we are preparing to dash out of town to hopefully escape the madness. Unlikely, since we'll have the sicklies in tow with us. I'll probably return with tales of laughter and disaster from Lake Camanche next week.
Friday, September 02, 2005
No More Whining
My household was swelling with whines this week. Chops may very well be the most guilty, whining and screaming for everything from ice cream cones, to the truck Bubba was playing with, or the fact that I wouldn't let him sit in the drivers seat of my minivan on the way to the library. And once we got to the library...ooooooh boy, the whining escalated into a full blown tantrum, to where we were literally escorted out of the children's section by one of the librarians. She was only trying to be helpful, I admit. She shooed us outside and took my library card and pile of books and brought them back out to us. I still felt like the naughty school girl with the dunce cap on, even though she was very understanding.
Bubba is more of the night time whiner, of the midnight variety. Blame it on incoming teeth, that chipotle marinated pork he devoured for dinner...whatever. Several times over the week, his screams burst out from his room and seemed to crawl over my skin. I felt bad for the little guy, but I was so incredibly frustrated and needing him to sleep so I could have some semblance of sanity.
I was probably the biggest culprit of them all. Luckily for everyone else in the household, the whines mainly seethed and swirled in my own head. They went something like this: "Another *&#*## dirty diaper!" or "He cannot be awake AGAIN." or "Chops, if you open that fridge one more time I may have to grab the cordless screwdriver and drill it through my eye!"
I know, not my finest hours, but at least I internalized it and didn't subject the boys to my inward rants, raves, groans, and sighs. Of course, everyone could sense Mommy wasn't a happy camper and that I was a tad edgy (exaggeration of the year, there.) Suffice to say, I was feeling a bit sorry for myself and very ready to give Robbie my two weeks notice so he could begin searching for a new mommy.
Then came Katrina. The sick and sad news footage that never goes away. Images of the sick, the dying, the deceased broadcast on all the networks. Last night, I watched World News Tonight with Brian Williams and a photographer shared his account from the confines of New Orleans, where a crowd of thousands gathered at the convention center. Bodies of the starved and dehydrated lined the walls. A man held out a 3 week old baby with listless eyes, who hadn't had any milk in three days and would probably die. A mother cradled a toddler who she couldn't wake up, he was so dehydrated.
Well, there was my reality check and a big slap in the face. Here I had been, whining to myself all week. And in another part of the country, people are losing everything. My boys can be maddening and draining, but they are so full of life and energy and vibrance. As of now, we are the richest family in the world. And I promise, no more whining.
Now, if only Chops would make that same promise....
Bubba is more of the night time whiner, of the midnight variety. Blame it on incoming teeth, that chipotle marinated pork he devoured for dinner...whatever. Several times over the week, his screams burst out from his room and seemed to crawl over my skin. I felt bad for the little guy, but I was so incredibly frustrated and needing him to sleep so I could have some semblance of sanity.
I was probably the biggest culprit of them all. Luckily for everyone else in the household, the whines mainly seethed and swirled in my own head. They went something like this: "Another *&#*## dirty diaper!" or "He cannot be awake AGAIN." or "Chops, if you open that fridge one more time I may have to grab the cordless screwdriver and drill it through my eye!"
I know, not my finest hours, but at least I internalized it and didn't subject the boys to my inward rants, raves, groans, and sighs. Of course, everyone could sense Mommy wasn't a happy camper and that I was a tad edgy (exaggeration of the year, there.) Suffice to say, I was feeling a bit sorry for myself and very ready to give Robbie my two weeks notice so he could begin searching for a new mommy.
Then came Katrina. The sick and sad news footage that never goes away. Images of the sick, the dying, the deceased broadcast on all the networks. Last night, I watched World News Tonight with Brian Williams and a photographer shared his account from the confines of New Orleans, where a crowd of thousands gathered at the convention center. Bodies of the starved and dehydrated lined the walls. A man held out a 3 week old baby with listless eyes, who hadn't had any milk in three days and would probably die. A mother cradled a toddler who she couldn't wake up, he was so dehydrated.
Well, there was my reality check and a big slap in the face. Here I had been, whining to myself all week. And in another part of the country, people are losing everything. My boys can be maddening and draining, but they are so full of life and energy and vibrance. As of now, we are the richest family in the world. And I promise, no more whining.
Now, if only Chops would make that same promise....
Milestones: A Pile Up of Memories
Bubba has been crawling for almost a month now. A milestone of all milestones. With a few reckless, flailing arm and knee movements, my household was propelled into one of two mobile, energy draining sons. No longer can I set one down and be guaranteed that I will find him in the same vicinity when I return from the laundry, the bathroom, or wherever I escape to. A mixture of sadness and pride fills my heart. Sadness, that the days of babyhood will soon be over and I will have another full blown toddler careening through the household, banging his head on various exposed corners and table edges. Pride in his ability to master a skill, his glee in finally being able to go after anything his heart desires, or at least anything he wishes to mouth.
All of these milestones my two sons reach. I feel they come and go faster than reckless tides, that come in and out of the ocean and wash away memories with the newer ones. Where once I always had a charged video camera within arms reach for Chops's victories, now I have none. I had every intention of capturing that steep learning curve of Bubba's new crawling career. How, at first, he just swam on the carpet, his chubby arms working front and back, like one of those killer whales that the trainer motions up to the side of the pool, head and tail in a perfect arch. From swimming to the constant rocking, on hands and knees, punctuated by cries of frustration for the toys just out of reach, of his older brother, teasing him, just out of reach. Then the baby yoga antics of last week. The downward dog, where Bubba's body made the perfect V: his hands planted firmly under his shoulders, knees straight and off the ground, only his tiptoes grazing the carpet.
First it was a feeble one, two, three baby crawls before he reached the elusive toy and collapsed back onto his stomach to investigate his find. Another milestone, also within this same week, was pulling himself up to sitting by himself. Which usually ended up with Bubba so excited and impressed with himself that he would fall straight back and smack his head on whatever was behind him...carpet, chair legs, Chops's dump trucks. The shrieks, the quick cuddle from mama, and he went right back to doing it again.
Last week Chops had his own major milestone. He suddenly decided he didn't need to sleep in the crib anymore and graduated to his monstrous race car bed that takes up half of his room. We've had both beds set up in his room since Bubba was born 10 months ago, convinced then that Chops was a big boy and ready to plan great escapes from behind the bars of his crib. He never quite escaped and the overflow of toys from his room seeped into our living room. But NOW, he is such the man cuddled in his hot wheels comforter, surrounded by his five blankies, his bucket of cars and a litter of books around the perimeter of his mattress. And he did it all on his own...one day actually staying in his race car bed during naptime instead of playing 'sneak up on Mommy when I'm supposed to be sleeping.'
Milestones. My video camera battery has been dead for months and I'm missing it all. The baby book collects dust on my shelf. I know Bubba is the last baby, yet I don't clutch to his babyhood as one would normally presume. I spend a lot of time living for the future, when the boys are finally out of diapers and we can use all that money we are saving for family camping trips, sports leagues, trips to amusement parks and baseball games. Meanwhile, the boys transform before my eyes. Each day, each moment, is some milestone. I woke up one day and realized Chops had gone from a babbling toddler, to a little boy that was actually stringing words together as on a carefully beaded pearl necklace. First, slowly and gingerly, but now, actually sounding like a real boy. What was once whines and finger points are now "Git white milk now, please..." I want to tie a recorder around his neck and record it for posterity.
It is a household of milestones occurring everyday. Bubba's first time wolfing down a chicken nugget. I foresee many hours of the boys begging for McDonald's in the future. Chops's first lefty pitch. Do we have a future major leaguer on our hands? Yet I get caught up in dreams of the future, where things will surely be easier than changing diapers and trying to reason with a tantrum-throwing two year old. Instead of marveling in the tidbits of everyday, I'm drowning in overflowing laundry baskets and kitchens always drained of food.
I gather up these most recent milestones and sit quietly with them in my mind. Soon there will be first words and first steps for Bubba. Soon there will be first days of school and first back-talking for Chops. In the now, the milestone is this: everyone is perfect and healthy. Everyone is developing at their perfect pace. And the love in my house is surely enough to crowd out the dropped dog hairs, overflowing diaper pails, and empty pantry.
All of these milestones my two sons reach. I feel they come and go faster than reckless tides, that come in and out of the ocean and wash away memories with the newer ones. Where once I always had a charged video camera within arms reach for Chops's victories, now I have none. I had every intention of capturing that steep learning curve of Bubba's new crawling career. How, at first, he just swam on the carpet, his chubby arms working front and back, like one of those killer whales that the trainer motions up to the side of the pool, head and tail in a perfect arch. From swimming to the constant rocking, on hands and knees, punctuated by cries of frustration for the toys just out of reach, of his older brother, teasing him, just out of reach. Then the baby yoga antics of last week. The downward dog, where Bubba's body made the perfect V: his hands planted firmly under his shoulders, knees straight and off the ground, only his tiptoes grazing the carpet.
First it was a feeble one, two, three baby crawls before he reached the elusive toy and collapsed back onto his stomach to investigate his find. Another milestone, also within this same week, was pulling himself up to sitting by himself. Which usually ended up with Bubba so excited and impressed with himself that he would fall straight back and smack his head on whatever was behind him...carpet, chair legs, Chops's dump trucks. The shrieks, the quick cuddle from mama, and he went right back to doing it again.
Last week Chops had his own major milestone. He suddenly decided he didn't need to sleep in the crib anymore and graduated to his monstrous race car bed that takes up half of his room. We've had both beds set up in his room since Bubba was born 10 months ago, convinced then that Chops was a big boy and ready to plan great escapes from behind the bars of his crib. He never quite escaped and the overflow of toys from his room seeped into our living room. But NOW, he is such the man cuddled in his hot wheels comforter, surrounded by his five blankies, his bucket of cars and a litter of books around the perimeter of his mattress. And he did it all on his own...one day actually staying in his race car bed during naptime instead of playing 'sneak up on Mommy when I'm supposed to be sleeping.'
Milestones. My video camera battery has been dead for months and I'm missing it all. The baby book collects dust on my shelf. I know Bubba is the last baby, yet I don't clutch to his babyhood as one would normally presume. I spend a lot of time living for the future, when the boys are finally out of diapers and we can use all that money we are saving for family camping trips, sports leagues, trips to amusement parks and baseball games. Meanwhile, the boys transform before my eyes. Each day, each moment, is some milestone. I woke up one day and realized Chops had gone from a babbling toddler, to a little boy that was actually stringing words together as on a carefully beaded pearl necklace. First, slowly and gingerly, but now, actually sounding like a real boy. What was once whines and finger points are now "Git white milk now, please..." I want to tie a recorder around his neck and record it for posterity.
It is a household of milestones occurring everyday. Bubba's first time wolfing down a chicken nugget. I foresee many hours of the boys begging for McDonald's in the future. Chops's first lefty pitch. Do we have a future major leaguer on our hands? Yet I get caught up in dreams of the future, where things will surely be easier than changing diapers and trying to reason with a tantrum-throwing two year old. Instead of marveling in the tidbits of everyday, I'm drowning in overflowing laundry baskets and kitchens always drained of food.
I gather up these most recent milestones and sit quietly with them in my mind. Soon there will be first words and first steps for Bubba. Soon there will be first days of school and first back-talking for Chops. In the now, the milestone is this: everyone is perfect and healthy. Everyone is developing at their perfect pace. And the love in my house is surely enough to crowd out the dropped dog hairs, overflowing diaper pails, and empty pantry.
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