M: Can you open the back of this phone?
Me: Um, no. I don't really want you playing in there.
M: But I need to put in new batteries.
Me: But I don't want you playing with batteries.
M: No, they're just pretend batteries.
Me: Okay, then why don't you pretend open it?
M: But then I can't put in the batteries!
And yes, that did continue, just in that circular fashion, all the way home.
Wednesday, August 26, 2009
Friday, August 21, 2009
Ups and those other things
I'm having a bit of a turbulent week. We're in the process of having our asbestos-laden retro popcorn ceilings scraped, textured, and repainted. If you haven't tried this before, go for it! It's fun! Just move all of your earthly possessions, wall-hangings, curtains, and whatnot into the very small spaces that weren't sprayed to looking like a woolly coat. Then continue to live in those small spaces while all work is completed. Oh, and if you're looking for the bathroom, it's the big red bucket in the garage.
You mean that doesn't sound like fun? Well, you're right, sort of. It's not fun. It's not easy. It's certainly not convenient. But we are lucky to have big enough small spaces to make it work, and wonderful grandparents who will host the kids for a week while it's done. And we're blessed to have enough money to put a little into our beloved home. I kept my eye on the prize: pristine hand-textured, non-cancer-causing ceilings. I can already tell, post-scraping, that it's going to look marvelous.
I can also tell that the ceiling scrapers didn't tape their plastic well enough. I know this because their water got underneath and now my pristine, beautiful, ever-so-well-loved-as-our-best-home-improvement-ever laminate floor (the one the inspired this favorite post) is bubbling everywhere. There is no fixing this, short of replacing the swollen boards, and there's a lot of them.
My heart hurts, as we say in our house. But even with this--the impending arguments with the flooring company, the turmoil as we will once again be uprooted from our house, the frustration at trading one problem for another--I try to appreciate the bright side. What? There's no bright side? Nonsense. God came that we have life abundantly, and that means relishing in the up times and also relishing in whatever comes between. Already I have called the project manager and very patiently explained what happened and asked what we do next. This is a huge thing for me: shy, shirking me. And I am proud that I stood up and did it. And if I can do that, then I can pick myself and my hurting heart up and march forward, onward and, hopefully, eventually upward. In the end, this too shall pass, as everything, good or bad, does. And when it does, I will hopefully be able to see the character-building that took place. It's so easy to see after the fact, as with the cake, that I'm proud of myself too for seeing it now. It's actually when I need it most.
And it's not all bad. I have a weekend with B, the kids are having fun with their grandparents, and we got to hear my favorite band play for 2.5 fantastic hours. Plus I learned something: you should always keep your razor in a case. Or, if not, at least remember that when your toothbrush won't come out of the overnight bag and you think maybe you should pull really hard, DON'T. It could be stuck on said un-cased razor, which is apt to take off a hefty strip from the top of your index finger when you pull. Yes, let's say it altogether: ouch.
You mean that doesn't sound like fun? Well, you're right, sort of. It's not fun. It's not easy. It's certainly not convenient. But we are lucky to have big enough small spaces to make it work, and wonderful grandparents who will host the kids for a week while it's done. And we're blessed to have enough money to put a little into our beloved home. I kept my eye on the prize: pristine hand-textured, non-cancer-causing ceilings. I can already tell, post-scraping, that it's going to look marvelous.
I can also tell that the ceiling scrapers didn't tape their plastic well enough. I know this because their water got underneath and now my pristine, beautiful, ever-so-well-loved-as-our-best-home-improvement-ever laminate floor (the one the inspired this favorite post) is bubbling everywhere. There is no fixing this, short of replacing the swollen boards, and there's a lot of them.
My heart hurts, as we say in our house. But even with this--the impending arguments with the flooring company, the turmoil as we will once again be uprooted from our house, the frustration at trading one problem for another--I try to appreciate the bright side. What? There's no bright side? Nonsense. God came that we have life abundantly, and that means relishing in the up times and also relishing in whatever comes between. Already I have called the project manager and very patiently explained what happened and asked what we do next. This is a huge thing for me: shy, shirking me. And I am proud that I stood up and did it. And if I can do that, then I can pick myself and my hurting heart up and march forward, onward and, hopefully, eventually upward. In the end, this too shall pass, as everything, good or bad, does. And when it does, I will hopefully be able to see the character-building that took place. It's so easy to see after the fact, as with the cake, that I'm proud of myself too for seeing it now. It's actually when I need it most.
And it's not all bad. I have a weekend with B, the kids are having fun with their grandparents, and we got to hear my favorite band play for 2.5 fantastic hours. Plus I learned something: you should always keep your razor in a case. Or, if not, at least remember that when your toothbrush won't come out of the overnight bag and you think maybe you should pull really hard, DON'T. It could be stuck on said un-cased razor, which is apt to take off a hefty strip from the top of your index finger when you pull. Yes, let's say it altogether: ouch.
Thursday, August 13, 2009
Did I mention I need a pep talk today?
Did I mention that two weeks ago, I bought a Costco cake for a baby shower held the very morning that we were leaving for Las Vegas (or as M puts it, Lost Vegas, which is probably unlikely since it's the only bright, shiny water filled object in a very large desert)? I bought this cake because it seemed like way too much work to bake and decorate a whole cake when I had cleaning and packing and busyness to attend to. Plus I wasn't even going to the shower anyway.
Did I also mention that I left this cake in the back of the van while I took the first load of groceries into the house, even though I could clearly see K heading toward the back of the van? But of course she could wait thirty seconds for me to return and move said cake out of the way so that she could climb out.
Did I also mention that K is two? Very, very two?
Oh, you know where this is going. I'm not sure what body part dragged across the cake, but it was something that allowed her to run past me as I stood staring, google-eyed, at the smooshy mess that was once my ticket to a quiet, pre-vacation afternoon. I strode back over to my daughter, who was happily wheeling around on her tricycle, and tried to keep my voice in the semi-human tenor of supremely-pissed-but-still-sane as I explained, demonic like, that some things are very delicate and that she should not try to climb across them. She turned her bright little smile up to me, at which point I strangled her with my bare hands. Oh, no, just kidding (we obviously wouldn't be enduring the binky crisis of 2009 if that had happened... hmm). No, I stared at her for a few seconds, totally unbelieving that she didn't comprehend for a microsecond that she'd just destroyed something of value, when it occurred to me that she wouldn't have any way to know that the cake was that delicate. I mean, sure, probably should climb over stuff, but eh, it probably looked stable enough.
I took the cake and kids inside and we all stood there for a while. I cried a little, and K talked sweetly, and M reminded her that Mommy was not happy with her right now, which didn't phase her in the least. I called B, cried a little more, then went back to staring. Finally, I scraped the frosting from the top, took a break to feed everyone lunch, and after they went down for nap (back when we were actually sleeping--joy!), I spent that afternoon redecorating the cake I never meant to decorate in the first place. Then I spent that evening packing , and I got my rest on vacation, like a good vacation should provide.
The moral to this story--wait, is there a moral to this story? You do remember all that sleep we're not getting. Yes, the moral! The moral is that we endure so much, so many big and little triumphs and tragedies in life, and that in the end, whatever you think you can't handle or do or survive any longer usually ends up handle-able or do-able or survivable. Two weeks later, I hardly remember that afternoon, or the ire I felt, or the exhaustion-induced tears. I remember that I had a messed-up cake and that it got suitable fixed, and we still went on vacation and everything. And no one died, not even me. Sometimes we just have to give ourselves that due credit, and (wo)man up to the task at hand. Living life to the fullest isn't always pretty, and sometimes that's the best part. Perfection breeds happiness, but imperfection breeds character.
Did I also mention that I left this cake in the back of the van while I took the first load of groceries into the house, even though I could clearly see K heading toward the back of the van? But of course she could wait thirty seconds for me to return and move said cake out of the way so that she could climb out.
Did I also mention that K is two? Very, very two?
Oh, you know where this is going. I'm not sure what body part dragged across the cake, but it was something that allowed her to run past me as I stood staring, google-eyed, at the smooshy mess that was once my ticket to a quiet, pre-vacation afternoon. I strode back over to my daughter, who was happily wheeling around on her tricycle, and tried to keep my voice in the semi-human tenor of supremely-pissed-but-still-sane as I explained, demonic like, that some things are very delicate and that she should not try to climb across them. She turned her bright little smile up to me, at which point I strangled her with my bare hands. Oh, no, just kidding (we obviously wouldn't be enduring the binky crisis of 2009 if that had happened... hmm). No, I stared at her for a few seconds, totally unbelieving that she didn't comprehend for a microsecond that she'd just destroyed something of value, when it occurred to me that she wouldn't have any way to know that the cake was that delicate. I mean, sure, probably should climb over stuff, but eh, it probably looked stable enough.
I took the cake and kids inside and we all stood there for a while. I cried a little, and K talked sweetly, and M reminded her that Mommy was not happy with her right now, which didn't phase her in the least. I called B, cried a little more, then went back to staring. Finally, I scraped the frosting from the top, took a break to feed everyone lunch, and after they went down for nap (back when we were actually sleeping--joy!), I spent that afternoon redecorating the cake I never meant to decorate in the first place. Then I spent that evening packing , and I got my rest on vacation, like a good vacation should provide.
The moral to this story--wait, is there a moral to this story? You do remember all that sleep we're not getting. Yes, the moral! The moral is that we endure so much, so many big and little triumphs and tragedies in life, and that in the end, whatever you think you can't handle or do or survive any longer usually ends up handle-able or do-able or survivable. Two weeks later, I hardly remember that afternoon, or the ire I felt, or the exhaustion-induced tears. I remember that I had a messed-up cake and that it got suitable fixed, and we still went on vacation and everything. And no one died, not even me. Sometimes we just have to give ourselves that due credit, and (wo)man up to the task at hand. Living life to the fullest isn't always pretty, and sometimes that's the best part. Perfection breeds happiness, but imperfection breeds character.
Tuesday, August 11, 2009
Bunk Bed Challenge
You'd think, after four years as a parent, that I'd know not to mention things to the kids that we are not, at that precise moment, prepared to do. Like, say, buy bunk beds and have the kids start sharing rooms. But no, didn't really think through the inevitable ensuing events. So after a fruitless morning of bunk bed hunting, we've arrived at the following scenario:
(1) K is not napping because she wants to sleep in M's room.
(2) I have promised to move them into the same room right after nap, even though we have an afternoon playdate.
(3) M does not want to share rooms unless there are bunk beds involved.
You have one hour to solve this fantastic parenting dilemma, but no fair telling me I shouldn't have put myself there in the first place. Go!
(1) K is not napping because she wants to sleep in M's room.
(2) I have promised to move them into the same room right after nap, even though we have an afternoon playdate.
(3) M does not want to share rooms unless there are bunk beds involved.
You have one hour to solve this fantastic parenting dilemma, but no fair telling me I shouldn't have put myself there in the first place. Go!
Friday, August 7, 2009
Suck on this
We spent last weekend in Las Vegas. The answers to your next three questions are: "Yes, with the kids," "106F," and "Fantastic." Really. I didn't know what to expect, since we'd never done the hotel thing with the kids before, but they took to their beds (and their bedroom companions) like champs. And Mom and Dad took to their own room like champs too, just for the record. The bar downstairs helped with that just a little.
So for whatever positive, vacation-induced reason, I decided that we were ready to give up binkies upon our return. K went right along with it, enthusiastically. We took them over to a new baby friend. Leaving them behind, K's smile waned a little. At bedtime, it had waned a lot. And an hour into bedtime, it had turned from "Baby J can have my binkies" to "Baby J has my binkies!"
And so, on this, Day three, I'm listening to K cry her way through another naptime. I feel this is entirely my fault because (A) I introduced said binkies (although to be fair, the NICU started it) and (B) I took said binkies away. But for heaven's sake, she's well over two and perfectly capable of going to sleep on her own. I see her do it all the time.
But on the flip side, my heart is breaking over more than just her sobs. There's a huge part of me that would like to give them back to her, just to see her sleeping peacefully, sucking happily, like a baby. I know she's not a baby. I know this is worse because she's so grown up and used to them and defiant right now. But the binky brings back baby for me. The thought that in a few more days, I will be throwing all binkies in the trash FOREVER makes me want to hold on to her babyhood for as long as possible.
So this is one of those times when being the grown-up sucks. Not only do I have to make the right decisions and stick with them, but I have to do so even when they're not the decision that I want to make. I really never appreciated the time in my life when I could make MY decisions all the time.
Speaking of growing up, we gave M a clock. Now I get an update on the time every 2-3 minutes. So now I know that I have only been tolerating this for 52 minutes, and that I have 20 more updates before naptime is through. It's a good thing that vacation really was fantastic.
So for whatever positive, vacation-induced reason, I decided that we were ready to give up binkies upon our return. K went right along with it, enthusiastically. We took them over to a new baby friend. Leaving them behind, K's smile waned a little. At bedtime, it had waned a lot. And an hour into bedtime, it had turned from "Baby J can have my binkies" to "Baby J has my binkies!"
And so, on this, Day three, I'm listening to K cry her way through another naptime. I feel this is entirely my fault because (A) I introduced said binkies (although to be fair, the NICU started it) and (B) I took said binkies away. But for heaven's sake, she's well over two and perfectly capable of going to sleep on her own. I see her do it all the time.
But on the flip side, my heart is breaking over more than just her sobs. There's a huge part of me that would like to give them back to her, just to see her sleeping peacefully, sucking happily, like a baby. I know she's not a baby. I know this is worse because she's so grown up and used to them and defiant right now. But the binky brings back baby for me. The thought that in a few more days, I will be throwing all binkies in the trash FOREVER makes me want to hold on to her babyhood for as long as possible.
So this is one of those times when being the grown-up sucks. Not only do I have to make the right decisions and stick with them, but I have to do so even when they're not the decision that I want to make. I really never appreciated the time in my life when I could make MY decisions all the time.
Speaking of growing up, we gave M a clock. Now I get an update on the time every 2-3 minutes. So now I know that I have only been tolerating this for 52 minutes, and that I have 20 more updates before naptime is through. It's a good thing that vacation really was fantastic.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
.JPG)