There are entire weeks that go by in great rushes of activity, so fast that when I look back on them, I feel like I never got a chance to do anything 'regular.' You know, like clean the house. Or cook a full meal. Or sit down. Or breathe.
This past week was juuuuust this side of ridiculous, which meant that there were these tiny swatches of regular time mixed in with the rushing times. Not that I cleaned, or anything--perish the thought!--but Baroy did find the time to replace a very yucky toilet seat (little boy+bad aim) with a shiny new one, and even to repaint the bathroom cabinets, which were peeling a bit. (OK, more than a bit. They were peeling in huge sheets of peelingness, if you must know. But 'a bit' makes me feel less bad about how long it took us to do something about it.)
Also, on Saturday, I had to return an overdue book to the library, and I took the kids with me and let them wander around for a while and take a few books out. Like regular people who have time for such things. (N took out a book called 'Caring for Your Pet Fish.' Out of all the books in the library...this is what he chose. No, we do not have a pet fish. He doesn't even really want a pet fish. And that, ladies and gentlemen, defines my son in a way no IEP writeup ever could.) Turns out, it was comic-book-giveaway day (at the library? Why? Because REAL BOOKS would be too appropriate?) which thrilled both kids to no end. So we left with books and comics and all the info we'll ever need about pet fish. Score!
But, hold on...it gets even more regular. Yesterday, on the way home from Religious School and the much-anticipated First Flush ceremony (new bathrooms...don't ask...), Em mentioned that she needed new sneakers, since the soles on the ones she has are getting pretty thin. I have done a full 180 in my mall-readiness (I used to practically live there, now I would rather drive 50 miles to a stand-alone store than try to find parking at the Galleria), so I tried to push her off with comments about needing to take N home because it wasn't fair to drag him around shopping...fully intending to convince Baroy to take her later in the day. But then N said, putting his foot up on the seat next to me, "I need new shoes, too, Mommy." And lo and behold, there was a hole in the sole of his sneakers wide enough for me to stick three fingers all the way through.
"How long have these been that way?" I asked, aghast.
"I don't know. A while."
Really, there are times when I'm THIS CLOSE to calling the Department of Child and Family Services on MYSELF. This was one of them.
So we stopped at the Galleria, and I cursed a lot about the traffic and the stupidity of people in a parking garage, and we went to Payless and found shoes for both kids. Well, after finding out the STUPIDEST THING EVER about how kids' sizing goes. Did you guys know this? Am I the only one just finding out? See, Em found the kids' shoes in her sizes to be just too young for her, and looking at them, I had to agree. She likes things plain and/or funky, not sequined and pink and with hearts on them. But she's a kid's size 4.5, and women's shoes don't really start until 5 or 6. So we were about to leave without buying her anything when she pointed to a display in the window near the cashier, saying, "See? THOSE are the kinds of sneakers I'd like!" And the girl at the register said, "Well, what size are you?" Em told her, and the girl replied, "OK...That makes you a 6 or a 6 and a half in women's."
WTF???
And, indeed, when we went back to the women's section, we found the shoes she liked. And, indeed, she needed a size 6.5, despite being a 4.5 in kids' sizes. How that translation makes ANY SENSE I'll never know. But there you have it. I had no idea. Maybe regular people do, but not me.
In any case, both kids were thrilled to have new shoes. N, especially, was glad to actually have a sole between his foot and the ground. Sigh.
Then we went home, and I made an excellent dinner (if I do say so myself) of shrimp and spinach picked fresh from my garden five minutes earlier (the spinach, not the shrimp) and sauteed in garlic and olive oil, served with rice pilaf. N, who would rather STARVE than eat shrimp OR spinach, had leftover fried chicken. We ate outside...because we could, and because Em loves eating outside...and thus we ended our semi-regular weekend.
Ta dah.
Hey, I said it was REGULAR. I didn't say it was INTERESTING.
Showing posts with label kids. Show all posts
Showing posts with label kids. Show all posts
Monday, May 4, 2009
Friday, January 16, 2009
That'll Show Me
In my soul, I am a clutterer. I have never NOT been a clutterer. I have a lot of stuff, and I like having it near me, and I can't always find places to put it, so it just becomes...clutter. And I'm OK with that.
Except, I'm not OK, really. In my heart, I wish to be an unclutterer. I'm sometimes more than a little ashamed by how messy my desk and bedroom are, and I hate the way years go by without my even looking at some of the stuff I claim is so precious to me.
And so every now and then, I'll try to be an unclutterer. I'll go through stuff, and I'll be MERCILESS. Well, merciless for me. Which means throwing three things out from a pile of 57. But hey. That's three less than I started with.
I did that back in September with my 'walk-in' closet (which is only walk-in if you consider scuttling along sideways for about three feet 'walking'). I really needed extra storage space for clothes, so we bought some cool little storage bins from Ikea to put in my side of the closet, and in order to fit them in, I had to get stuff off the floor. Most of which I simply folded and then put into the storage bins, of course. But in my attempt to be a Good Girl and to Unclutter, I did manage to toss a few things into a bag for Goodwill. Like a pair of size 6 pants that I bought THREE YEARS AGO because I thought they were size 12 (no, I don't know how that happened) and never got around to returning. And a linen suit a friend handed down to me that was two sizes too big and wrinkled if you looked at it. And a pair of duck boots that I'd had in college (from which I graduated 22 years ago, people), and which were the size my feet were pre-kids, but nothing vaguely resembling the size they are today.
Yay for me, right?
So we've been getting ready for our annual Trip Up the Mountain with our posse, for three days of snow (except it's 80 degrees here, and maybe as low as 60 up there, so, um, sorry kids) and food and drinking and laughing (all of which can be done in warmer weather, so yay for the adults). And, just in case there actually are a few patches of the white stuff that haven't melted, we've been gathering up cold-weather gear, trying not to spend too much money on stuff that only gets used once a year, and maybe not even this year. I don't DO snow anymore, having had my fill of it in my first 29 years living on the east coast. But the kids live for it.
So, we found a really cute Lakers snow jacket for N (throwing out the one he wore up until last winter, which was a 3T. He's about to turn eight; it was time) and a pair of snow boots he can use for a couple of years, both at a consignment store. Score! Em will use my old winter jacket which is adorable on her, and...whoops. Her old boots don't fit any more? Of course not, she's growing like a weed! And the consignment store only has kids' stuff, and her feet are pretty close to adult size. So, off to Target, except no snow boots there. Or at Ross. Or at Payless.
And then I had a brainstorm. Oh! No problem! Her feet are almost as big as mine were pre-kids, so I'll just go get my old...duck....boots........SHIT.
As god is my witness, I'll never throw anything out again.
Except, I'm not OK, really. In my heart, I wish to be an unclutterer. I'm sometimes more than a little ashamed by how messy my desk and bedroom are, and I hate the way years go by without my even looking at some of the stuff I claim is so precious to me.
And so every now and then, I'll try to be an unclutterer. I'll go through stuff, and I'll be MERCILESS. Well, merciless for me. Which means throwing three things out from a pile of 57. But hey. That's three less than I started with.
I did that back in September with my 'walk-in' closet (which is only walk-in if you consider scuttling along sideways for about three feet 'walking'). I really needed extra storage space for clothes, so we bought some cool little storage bins from Ikea to put in my side of the closet, and in order to fit them in, I had to get stuff off the floor. Most of which I simply folded and then put into the storage bins, of course. But in my attempt to be a Good Girl and to Unclutter, I did manage to toss a few things into a bag for Goodwill. Like a pair of size 6 pants that I bought THREE YEARS AGO because I thought they were size 12 (no, I don't know how that happened) and never got around to returning. And a linen suit a friend handed down to me that was two sizes too big and wrinkled if you looked at it. And a pair of duck boots that I'd had in college (from which I graduated 22 years ago, people), and which were the size my feet were pre-kids, but nothing vaguely resembling the size they are today.
Yay for me, right?
So we've been getting ready for our annual Trip Up the Mountain with our posse, for three days of snow (except it's 80 degrees here, and maybe as low as 60 up there, so, um, sorry kids) and food and drinking and laughing (all of which can be done in warmer weather, so yay for the adults). And, just in case there actually are a few patches of the white stuff that haven't melted, we've been gathering up cold-weather gear, trying not to spend too much money on stuff that only gets used once a year, and maybe not even this year. I don't DO snow anymore, having had my fill of it in my first 29 years living on the east coast. But the kids live for it.
So, we found a really cute Lakers snow jacket for N (throwing out the one he wore up until last winter, which was a 3T. He's about to turn eight; it was time) and a pair of snow boots he can use for a couple of years, both at a consignment store. Score! Em will use my old winter jacket which is adorable on her, and...whoops. Her old boots don't fit any more? Of course not, she's growing like a weed! And the consignment store only has kids' stuff, and her feet are pretty close to adult size. So, off to Target, except no snow boots there. Or at Ross. Or at Payless.
And then I had a brainstorm. Oh! No problem! Her feet are almost as big as mine were pre-kids, so I'll just go get my old...duck....boots........SHIT.
As god is my witness, I'll never throw anything out again.
Thursday, August 23, 2007
My kids are destroying my marriage
I'm not going to go all universal on you all, because hey, maybe having kids actually made your marriage better, and who am I to say it didn't? (I mean, it didn't. There's just no way. But if you want to believe it did, who am I to burst your bubble?) Over here in the land of the Temporarily Confused, however, not so much on the better as a result of the kiddage.
And so I state: After nine days of just me and Baroy--after nine days of candlelight dinners at home where I got to try out recipes the kids wouldn't consider touching, after nine days of sex in places without a bed and movies and talking and just sitting together--it's quite clear that, at least in my household, the kids are destroying our marriage.
This isn't news to me, mind you. I'd always pretty much assumed that was the case. I often talk about how Baroy and I didn't have a single fight--not even a single significant argument that I can think of--until approximately three weeks after Em was born, which has become known as The Night When Baroy Threw Me Out of the House. (The story, in case I haven't told it ad nauseum: I wouldn't let him try to soothe a crying Em, because I knew I could calm her down more quickly and every single mommy hormone in my body freaked out whenever she cried...so he screamed at me to let him take care of it, put my car keys in my hand, shoved me out the door and locked it behind me. I drove around for 40 minutes, bawling my postpartum eyes out, but came home to a sleeping kid. I realized how right he was, and what an ass I was being, all SuperMommy and condescending, but I never really have forgiven him. Especially after he admitted to me, a few weeks later, that she'd cried for 37 minutes of the time I was gone and had only JUST passed out, exhausted, when I walked in the door. I'm sure she was permanently damaged by the experience, even if she does seem to be nothing but fabulous and brilliant and sweet and such at the moment. I'm sure there's a psychiatrist in her future who will back me up.)
In the ten years since, there have been too many skirmishes to count. Which is not to say we have a lousy marriage, because we don't. And it's not to say that we despise each other, because we don't. But it wasn't until somewhere around Day 5 of No Kids In The House that I realized...not only do we still really like each other, but when we're childless, we STILL don't fight. Because there's nothing to fight ABOUT. If Baroy wants to sit down in the front of the TV from the time dinner's over until the time he comes to bed, what does it matter...if there are no kids around whose baths need supervising or whose homework needs checking or who need a parent to help them floss, read them a book, tuck them into bed. When there are no kids, neither of us needs to give the other one a look that says, "Why are you being so hard on them?" or "Why are you being such a doormat?" or "What is WRONG with you? That's not the way to handle it." The bottom line: Neither of us needs a break from the constant demands of parenting if there is no one to parent. And that is what we fight about most often. Or at least it's what *I* get pissy about most often. I won't speak for Baroy.
But even the "we don't fight except about the kids and things related to the kids" wasn't the most interesting revelation about life in a kidless house. The most interesting revelation was how much TIME we spent with each other. On purpose. Because we wanted to. As if we enjoyed each other's company.
Frankly, it was almost creepy. Except for how much I enjoyed it.
So why don't we hang out together when the kids are home? Because there's tension. (See above.) But mostly because there's no alone time, and alone time is the most precious thing in the world to me. So, instead of hanging out together, we hand the kids off to one another. I'll take them to the park to give Baroy a chance to do whatever he needs to do, then come home and expect him to watch them while I go for a walk. Or he'll leave them with me while he goes running for a few hours, and then he'll take them to the movies while I catch up on some work. We do stuff as a foursome, but not as often or as enthusiastically as I would have assumed in my idealistic pre-kid world. And when there's down time at home, well, it's every man for himself. The first person to say, "Keep an eye on the kids while I..." is the one who gets to take a nap/watch an inappropriate movie/run to the store without taking a kid with him or her. Do stuff together? Well, sure, it sounds fun in theory. But in reality, it usually means that there's one more parent around than absolutely necessary, giving up the chance to work on his or her book/read/watch something the kids aren't interested in on TV/do crafts/fix stuff around the house/make some phone calls/send out some resumes/run errands/get in some exercise/etc., etc., etc. And that stuff is so precious. Even if it does make me a Bad Mom to admit it. I love my alone time. More than I love my kid time, quite often. There, I said it.
Which is not to say that I'm not deliriously happy to have my kids home. I am. Truly. Deliriously. I love those kids. They rock. They crack me up, and make me feel needed and important, and I love watching them live their lives and grow and learn and all that cool that's-why-I-had-kids stuff. It's worth it, even if my marriage does suck, relatively speaking, because of them.
In the end, here's what I realized: Despite all the doomsday psychologists who proclaim that if you neglect your marriage, there will be nothing left when the kids leave home, my marriage is doing fine...even great...despite the neglect. It's just not obvious right now. But when the kids are gone, and the nest is empty, and I'm desolate without my babies to cluck over (and trust me, despite it all, I will indeed be desolate), I have time with my husband to look forward to. We'll do just fine as empty nesters, in terms of our relationship. In fact, desolation aside, I'm looking forward to it now, having seen--in just nine days--just how nice it can be.
And so I state: After nine days of just me and Baroy--after nine days of candlelight dinners at home where I got to try out recipes the kids wouldn't consider touching, after nine days of sex in places without a bed and movies and talking and just sitting together--it's quite clear that, at least in my household, the kids are destroying our marriage.
This isn't news to me, mind you. I'd always pretty much assumed that was the case. I often talk about how Baroy and I didn't have a single fight--not even a single significant argument that I can think of--until approximately three weeks after Em was born, which has become known as The Night When Baroy Threw Me Out of the House. (The story, in case I haven't told it ad nauseum: I wouldn't let him try to soothe a crying Em, because I knew I could calm her down more quickly and every single mommy hormone in my body freaked out whenever she cried...so he screamed at me to let him take care of it, put my car keys in my hand, shoved me out the door and locked it behind me. I drove around for 40 minutes, bawling my postpartum eyes out, but came home to a sleeping kid. I realized how right he was, and what an ass I was being, all SuperMommy and condescending, but I never really have forgiven him. Especially after he admitted to me, a few weeks later, that she'd cried for 37 minutes of the time I was gone and had only JUST passed out, exhausted, when I walked in the door. I'm sure she was permanently damaged by the experience, even if she does seem to be nothing but fabulous and brilliant and sweet and such at the moment. I'm sure there's a psychiatrist in her future who will back me up.)
In the ten years since, there have been too many skirmishes to count. Which is not to say we have a lousy marriage, because we don't. And it's not to say that we despise each other, because we don't. But it wasn't until somewhere around Day 5 of No Kids In The House that I realized...not only do we still really like each other, but when we're childless, we STILL don't fight. Because there's nothing to fight ABOUT. If Baroy wants to sit down in the front of the TV from the time dinner's over until the time he comes to bed, what does it matter...if there are no kids around whose baths need supervising or whose homework needs checking or who need a parent to help them floss, read them a book, tuck them into bed. When there are no kids, neither of us needs to give the other one a look that says, "Why are you being so hard on them?" or "Why are you being such a doormat?" or "What is WRONG with you? That's not the way to handle it." The bottom line: Neither of us needs a break from the constant demands of parenting if there is no one to parent. And that is what we fight about most often. Or at least it's what *I* get pissy about most often. I won't speak for Baroy.
But even the "we don't fight except about the kids and things related to the kids" wasn't the most interesting revelation about life in a kidless house. The most interesting revelation was how much TIME we spent with each other. On purpose. Because we wanted to. As if we enjoyed each other's company.
Frankly, it was almost creepy. Except for how much I enjoyed it.
So why don't we hang out together when the kids are home? Because there's tension. (See above.) But mostly because there's no alone time, and alone time is the most precious thing in the world to me. So, instead of hanging out together, we hand the kids off to one another. I'll take them to the park to give Baroy a chance to do whatever he needs to do, then come home and expect him to watch them while I go for a walk. Or he'll leave them with me while he goes running for a few hours, and then he'll take them to the movies while I catch up on some work. We do stuff as a foursome, but not as often or as enthusiastically as I would have assumed in my idealistic pre-kid world. And when there's down time at home, well, it's every man for himself. The first person to say, "Keep an eye on the kids while I..." is the one who gets to take a nap/watch an inappropriate movie/run to the store without taking a kid with him or her. Do stuff together? Well, sure, it sounds fun in theory. But in reality, it usually means that there's one more parent around than absolutely necessary, giving up the chance to work on his or her book/read/watch something the kids aren't interested in on TV/do crafts/fix stuff around the house/make some phone calls/send out some resumes/run errands/get in some exercise/etc., etc., etc. And that stuff is so precious. Even if it does make me a Bad Mom to admit it. I love my alone time. More than I love my kid time, quite often. There, I said it.
Which is not to say that I'm not deliriously happy to have my kids home. I am. Truly. Deliriously. I love those kids. They rock. They crack me up, and make me feel needed and important, and I love watching them live their lives and grow and learn and all that cool that's-why-I-had-kids stuff. It's worth it, even if my marriage does suck, relatively speaking, because of them.
In the end, here's what I realized: Despite all the doomsday psychologists who proclaim that if you neglect your marriage, there will be nothing left when the kids leave home, my marriage is doing fine...even great...despite the neglect. It's just not obvious right now. But when the kids are gone, and the nest is empty, and I'm desolate without my babies to cluck over (and trust me, despite it all, I will indeed be desolate), I have time with my husband to look forward to. We'll do just fine as empty nesters, in terms of our relationship. In fact, desolation aside, I'm looking forward to it now, having seen--in just nine days--just how nice it can be.
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