November 13, 2010
TOO MANY TOYS
My children have way too many toys. I just spent an hour in the room that Dawson and Owen share, sorting through toys. I went in there to put laundry away and nearly had a nervous breakdown over the amount of CRAP they have.
Sure there are favorite toys like Legos and the little Star Wars action figures Dawson loves to play with, and Owen is mesmerized by the Mega Blocks, but still there are McDonald’s Happy Meal toys that are crammed in every corner, played with for 5 minutes and tossed aside.
We don’t go to the Arches that often, but we’ve acquired enough of those plastic pieces of junk and I’m sick of looking at them. I threw them all in an empty box and didn’t stop there. Things my kids haven’t touched in months also went into that box and I’m determined to take it to Goodwill. I think I’m going to have Dawson come along so that he can be the one to make the donation.
I just don’t understand how my kids got so spoiled. I don’t buy them toys unless it’s for a birthday or Christmas present. In years past I’ve gone a bit overboard, but I quickly learned my lesson when I was the one picking up the damn things.
Tonight I found toys I haven’t seen before and when I asked Dawson where they came from he replied, “Grandma bought me those when we went to Goodwill.”
I flipped my lid.
“Does anyone NOT see the irony of this situation? We should be DONATING toys to Goodwill, NOT buying more crap to fill this house!”
My husband just chuckled. He quickly shut up when I gave him the death stare.
I’m just at a loss. I hate giving away toys they love, but they can’t LOVE them all can they? I am tired of tripping over Tonka trucks and Matchbox cars. And those damn Little People! I truly believe they procreate at night.
And the Legos! Oh dear, God, the Legos. If I were to count how many tiny-choking-hazards-waiting-to-happen-pieces I find on the floor each day, I could retire tomorrow. It’s insane.
Is it cruel to just pack stuff up and drag to the curb? What do you do about the toy situation in your house?
February 26, 2010
He’s a Rebel
I think that Dawson is testing me. He wants to exert control over his life, at the ripe age of 5, and perhaps he’s just dipping his toes into the waters of rebelliousness, to see what he can get away with.
Every day is difficult. He does not want to listen to anything I have to say. Asking him to pick up his toys when he’s finished playing with them causes him to emit a scream that sounds like someone is dying. I’m certain the whole block can hear this wrenching noise. One day, very soon, cops will be called to the scene of whatever murder the neighborhood thinks is taking place.
This morning he refused to put on his shoes. I told him repeatedly that time’s a waistin’ and that the bus would be pulling into the driveway at any moment. My son told me, “THE BUS IS NOT HERE YET! I DON’T NEED TO PUT MY SHOES ON!”
When I saw the bus coming down the street and no shoes on the boy’s feet I yelled, “THE BUS IS HERE! WHERE ARE YOUR SHOES?”
And my child started to freak out, running around, looking for his shoes. I had to help him put them on because at that moment he was so frantic he didn’t know where his feet were.
I told him to run quickly to the bus and when I saw him walking solemnly, slowly, I felt a pang of frustration in my chest. The child will give me a heart attack one day. I just know it.
Things have been less than great here for a few months. Right after Owen was born, Dawson seemed to adjust well to having a baby brother. He loves Owen so much and he can’t stop hugging and kissing him. But I notice that when I’m nursing the baby or changing his diaper, Dawson begins to act up. I’m well aware this is a play for my attention and I try to respond lovingly, but I can only handle so much insanity before I crack.
I want to give my boys equal attention, but I have an infant who depends solely on me, and a 5-year-old who just wants me to acknowledge what he’s saying and doing, and I don’t know how to balance it all.
It doesn’t help matters that Doug is working many hours to keep our financial boat afloat. With me not working money has become very tight. We are now uber frugal and I carry most of the stress of balancing the budget and making sure our needs our met. It’s difficult to be alone with two cranky kids for many long hours with no break.
(On the job front: I’ve sent a few resumes out and made several follow-up calls only to find out these companies are still involved in the hiring process. I’m praying for an interview. I’m lucky to have had this time home with Owen, but I don’t believe I was meant to be a SAHM forever. It’s time to go back to work, not only for financial sake but for my sanity’s sake as well. I love my children so much and I’m happy to be with them for now. And perhaps winter is making us all crazy.)
I think Dawson needs more time to play with friends, too. He’s cooped up with me and Owen and has so much energy (he’s resorted to burning it by chasing the dog, which drives me nuts). Thankfully, soccer clinic starts tomorrow. He’ll see his old pals and have some fun. Let’s just hope I don’t have to beg him to put on his shoes!
June 28, 2009
Open Letters
I’m ranting open letter style. If I don’t get this stuff off my chest, I’ll go mad. If you’re not in the mood for ranting, by all means skip this post.
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Dear Neighbors,
Yes, I realize the 4th of July is next Saturday, but does that really mean I have to endure several nights of home-grown explosives because you’ve decided to celebrate early? And why do y’all insist on lighting these damn things after 10 p.m.? Can we keep it down until this Friday? If you shut the hell up until then, I won’t say a word when you light the damn neighborhood on fire on Friday, Saturday and Sunday.
Thanks,
The tired pregnant woman down the street.
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Dear Dawson,
Your mother is tired. She is. I know you’d love to have every freakin’ toy that Nickelodeon advertises during commercials, but I’m not made of money. Bills must be paid.
I know you want to go on the “inner net” and check out PlayhouseDisney.com, Legos.com, LuckyCharms.com and Trix.com, but you have no idea what to do on some of these sites, and you hollar for me to come help you. I have work to do, so can you please ask your Dad to help?
Yes, I know you want to go vote for the Most Addicting Video Game because Spencer (no, I don’t know his real name) from iCarly says you should. But, seriously…I’m tired and crabby and I’m trying very hard not to scream and yell at you for constantly asking me to do things and get things for you. I love you very, very much, but PLEASE go bother your Daddy with your insane requests.
Love,
Mumma
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Dear Huz,
I know you work really hard at your job so that our mortgage is paid and food is on our table, but I work just as hard. I have a job, too, remember? It’s just as important as yours. Just because I work from home, that does not mean that all household responsibilities should fall on my shoulders, as they seem to do lately.
I’m tired of cleaning incessantly. I’m tired of picking up after you and Dawson. I’m tired of running errands all the time, because someone waits until the last minute to tell me that we’re out of toilet paper, paper towel, zest bar soap and dog food. You work in a place that sells every single one of these items (no, not Walmart) and I’m not buying that old excuse: “I work 8 hours and deal with crabby customers every day… The last thing I want to do is shop where I work.”
You know what? I work 6 hours from my living room while making sure our child is fed, entertained and not trying to ride the dog like a pony. The last thing I want to do is clean the house and then go get toilet paper so y’all can finally poop. Plus, I’m pregnant. And you’re damn right I’m playing that card.
Love,
The woman who makes sure shit runs around here.
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Dear Ditzy Gas Station Girl,
When my son begs for a corndog from your hot food warmer thing, and when said corndog falls through the bottom of your shitty wrapper and onto the floor, and when I tell you about it, I don’t want to hear you say, “So, does that mean you don’t want it anymore?” Duh!
And when I jokingly ask, “Well, how dirty is the floor?” I don’t want you to tell me, “Well, not that dirty!” in a very serious tone of voice.
Seriously, if the floor of a freakin’ gas station is really as clean as you think, YOU EAT THE CORNDOG. Right there, in front of me.
OF COURSE WE WANT A NEW ONE!
Sincerely,
Mom to a Corndog Lover
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Dear Person That Shall Not Be Named,
Yeah, I know we’re both pregnant and due on the same day. Yes, I enjoy commiserating about pregnancy and labor and delivery.
However, I’m tired of listening to you piss and moan about your ailments. I’d like to vent, too, but I never get a word in edgewise.
And, I’m tired of you trying to “one-up” me at every turn. I concede. You win. Your pregnancy is way more fascinating and exciting and problematic than any other pregnant woman’s on the planet. Now shut the hell up.
Best,
The woman who is sick of listening to you.
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Dear YOU KNOW WHO YOU ARE,
I know you want to voice your opinion on what we’ll be naming the baby, but for the 800th freakin’ time, we already have a name chosen and you are just wasting your breath. SHUT UP. I would tell you to your face, but instead I smile and nod, because something tells me you don’t listen anyway.
Love,
Dana
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Man, I feel better. Who would you write an open letter to?
