August 20, 2009

Too Many Characters for Twitter

Well, folks… It finally happened.  I met one of those moms.  A CompetiMom.  Read about my experience over at the Imperfect Parent.

I haven’t yet read any books in the Twilight series. I’ve tried, believe me I’ve tried. I just cannot get into them. I read a few sentences of the first book (my sister owns all the books currently released) and I was bored. People think I’m crazy, and promptly tell me how awesome these novels are, and I’m sure they are amazing. Just not my thing right now. I’ve got other books piling up on my “to-be-read” list.

This morning Dawson dragged a chair from the dining room into the kitchen and was scavenging the cabinets looking for something to eat. Something he probably shouldn’t have, like fruit snacks or Froot Loops straight out of the box. When I went into the kitchen to bust him, he turned around and said, “This happens every time. Daddy brings home the treats, and BOOM! They’re gone!” I fought the urge to laugh and replied, “Who do you think you are? Madden?” To which my son rolled his eyes and said, “I have no idea what that means.” I promptly peed my pants from the incessant laughter that followed.

Even funnier morning tale:  Dawson was standing in the living room, playing with his new Transformers Bumblebee toy (that he conned me into buying when we went to K-Mart to pick up my prescriptions).  He was explaining how it worked and said something like, “So you move his arms and then his legs and BAM! He’s a robot!”   Continuing the witty reparte I said, “Dawson, you sound like Emeril.”  Again, my child looked at me funny and replied, “Mom, you gotta stop saying such crazy things.  I don’t know what a ‘Mer-ill is!”  That child cracks me up.

I’m sick of being pregnant.  I know that sounds horrible.  I’m just anxious.  I want to meet the little guy who kicks me incessantly.  I want the bloating, the horrible ligament pain and the bat-shit crazy mood swings to be over.  Nine weeks to go.  NINE. Will I make it?

The nesting phase has begun.  Yesterday morning, post work, post doctor appointments, I had this insane urge to organize the playroom slash exercise room.  I began moving boxes and realized I needed help, so my awesome sister came over and helped me make sense of all the crap in the basement.  All the holiday decorations were moved into the closet in our family room.  Toys and books were sorted, and two boxes were set aside for Goodwill.  Next, I cleaned out my closet and finally parted with some too small clothes I was clinging to.  My sister took the ones she liked, the rest were given to GW.  It was hard to get rid of some of those things, but I closed my eyes and the box before I changed my mind.  In total, seven boxes were loaded into the Jimmy, and Goodwill was very happy to receive them.

Today, I have a nagging urge to start organizing the room that Dawson and Baby O will share.  I’m starting to look at the things in my house as entirely too much crap.  Where did all this stuff come from?  And how do I decide what to save, what to toss and what to donate?

Both UPS and FedEx dropped packages at the front door yesterday.  I received the really awesome thing I won from bTrendie (in a BlogHer giveaway) and then we also got Hooked on Phonics (Parent Bloggers Network campaign) and Dawson and I are excited to try HoP.  Stay tuned for more details on that.

My wonderful husband has decided to finally get down to business and remove the old, ugly, yellow shag carpet from the other spare bedroom downstairs. (I have only asked four hundred times.)  I’ve decided I need an office, with a door, to work in peace. Currently, I do my work from the kitchen table or the sofa.  I’m thinking a desk is needed, too.  I just don’t want to spend too much money with a new baby on the way.  I’m sure we’ll figure something out.

I’ve got a confession to make.  I’m addicted to watching Roseanne re-runs on TV Land.  I can’t help it.  I love the early years of this show because it reminds me so much of my family (circa the 80s) when I was growing up.  We were the typical middle class family, two hard working parents trying to make ends meet, two daughters and one son… And then it became even more real when Roseanne had a son later in life, just like my mother had my youngest brother at 39.  Then the Conners won the lottery (JUMPED THE SHARK) and I couldn’t stand it anymore.  So, I suppose I’m reliving some old memories by watching those pre-lottery winning episodes.

I’m in love with the DVR.  We’ve had it for a month now, and I don’t know how we ever got along with out it.  I record Phineas & Ferb for Dawson, and that Transformers cartoon that airs at 5:00 a.m., and movies I’d like to see but don’t have the time right now.  It’s entertainment magic.  Love, love, love.  It will come in handy when Dancing With the Stars airs in three weeks.  Yay!  Miss that show terribly, but I’m sure a certain baby arriving will make it hard to watch the show live.

I think I’m suffering from ADD.  I want to read seven different books all at once, good books, from the library.  Due in 12 days.  I’m starting to mix up the story lines and information (some are non-ficiton).  Perhaps I should just stick to one book at a time.

Back to pregnancy… I’m feeling a wee bit claustrophobic.  Antsy.  And my arms and legs and stomach itch every so often.  I’m starting to think the baby is trying to bust out.  October, please hurry.

June 5, 2009

He Was Only Thirty-Nine

A friend’s husband passed away on Sunday after a long battle with cancer.  He was 39 years old.

Thirty nine.

Ever since I heard the terrible news, I’ve been in a state of shock.  Even though he was sick, even though he battled the illness for three years, even after doctors discovered the cancer had spread to his brain and gave him a month to live (and he died just days later), I cannot believe he is really gone.

I cannot imagine the grief his wife and children are going through.

I cannot believe that someone so young was taken from this Earth so soon.

My husband is only a few years older than our friend’s husband.

Doug and I are 10 years apart in age, and it was never a concern of mine until Dawson was born.  Then I became afraid that he would die unexpectedly and leave me a young widow.  It was an irrational fear, and I knew it.  But I still worried about car accidents and heart attacks and homicidal maniacs taking my husband from me.

I worried about what I would do if I were forced to raise Dawson alone.  I remember waking up in the middle of the night and making sure Doug was still breathing.  Maybe it was postpartum depression or out-of-whack hormones, but I still remember being frightened about all the morbid thoughts.

Eventually my fears subsided and I began to realize that Doug was alive and well and we would grow old together.  But when R. passed away, my fears came back to haunt me.

I cannot bear to think about it, and yet it’s been on my mind these last few days.

Thirty-nine.

I don’t know if this is affecting me more, now that I’m 30 years old, but I keep thinking about how young R. was.

Why do tragedies like these happen?  Why do we have to lose those we love?

I think I’m going to cry again.  It’s just too painful to think about.

January 6, 2009

I’m Feeling a Little Melancholy

The Christmas Tree has finally been taken down, and let me tell you, that was my workout for the day.  Seriously.  Dragging Rubbermaid boxes (big and heavy ones, too) up and down the stairs was like my step class at the YMCA.  Multiplied by an intensity of 20.  Or maybe it just felt that way because I hadn’t been to the gym in so long, post injury.

I felt kind of sad while I packed away all the ornaments and other holiday decorations.  Even though I’m glad I survived the holidays without killing anyone, I feel like the Christmas season goes by so quickly.  I tried to enjoy all the festivities, but last month was difficult for me.  Dealing with all the infertility stuff and then falling down the stairs sort of took the wind out of my sails.  I was just happy to get through it all.

I’ve spent the last two days cleaning and getting things done.  The hubs is trying to be helpful, but I think I prefer doing it all by myself because he has no idea where anything goes, so he puts it wherever he sees fit, making more work for me.  And this adds to my frustration because I find myself saying, “where the heck is the…” at least ten times a day.

Right now Doug, Dawson and Murphy are at Grandma’s house and I’m enjoying every moment of silence.  There’s something about doing chores while no one else is around to get in the way or ask millions of ridiculous questions or cause too many distractions.

I’m going to attempt to clean Dawson’s room, but the “mom” in me is telling me to wait until he gets home so he can put all his toys away (while I supervise).  I refuse to do anything for him.  I don’t want him to think that it’s my job to pick up after the messes he makes.  I still haven’t even put his laundry away.  I know he’s only four, and he can’t fold a shirt to save his life, but I figure I might as well try to teach him which drawers his socks and underpants belong in.  And since most of the laundry is folded, I can instruct him as to where his clothes belong.  (It all sounds well and good, but I just know I’ll lose my patience and just put it away for him.)

The weather here is rather cold, and I’ve been watching the forecast on the Weather Channel.  It’s supposed to get extremely cold tonight and I’m not happy.  I don’t mind Winter, and I can tolerate snow, it’s the below zero temperatures I can’t stand.  It’s safe to say that I’m looking forward to Spring.

Dawson has been begging to go sledding again, but I’m afraid it’s just not warm enough to be outside.  Freezing winds and icy paths are just not safe, especially for me and my knee.  Speaking of the knee, it’s getting much better.  I had my first yoga class last night, and the stretching is slowly working it’s magic.  I’ve also been doing leg raises (with out any weights) and I can finally bend the knee past a 90 degree angle.  I’m so excited about this, because I really did not want to go to physical therapy.  Next follow-up with the doctor is January 20th.

Also on the 20th, I have a follow-up with Dr. F (my fertility doc) to have an ultrasound (to check the ovaries) and if I’m not pregnant (we’ll see if the period arrives as scheduled next week.  I’m hoping it doesn’t.) I will be trying a round of Clomid.  I’m not really looking forward to that.  I wanted to conceive as naturally as possible, but Dr. F says sometimes Mother Nature (and God?) needs a kick in the pants.

This month I didn’t even worry about pregnancy.  I knew when my fertile days were and we planned our rendezvous accordingly, but I went in with the mindset that this may not be the month.  I’d rather be surprised than disappointed yet again.  I guess I’ve been dealing with this for so long that I’ve become rather indifferent about it all.

To snap myself out of this depressing winter mood, I’ve decided to take Dawson to Appleton this weekend.  We’ve got a date at the Children’s Museum and I’m taking him to Chuck E. Cheese, too.  (I know, after last time, I should be running far away from that place.)  It will give us something fun to do and nothing makes me happier than seeing Dawson smile.   Hopefully I’ll stop feeling so melancholy, too.

November 30, 2008

I’m the One

I am a woman above everything else. — Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis

———-

Wife.  Mother.  Daughter.  Sister.  Friend.  As a mother I wear many hats.  Too often, I must fulfill many roles and expectations in any given day.

I’m the one who primarily takes care of the child.

I’m the one who does the grocery shopping and bill paying.  I’m the one who sorts the mail and files the important papers.

I’m the one who kisses boo-boos and makes the macaroni and cheese.

I’m the one who works all day and still feels like nothing is ever accomplished.

I’m the one who loses her mind more than once a day.

I’m the one who takes the child to preschool and picks him up each day.

I’m the one who makes frequent trips to the public library for children’s books and to allow said child some playtime.

I’m the one who plans fieldtrips to the Children’s Museum, YMCA and various parks to keep life with a child interesting.

I’m the one who wishes she could have just one day — one entire day — all to herself.

I’m the one who yearns to do things she enjoys instead of sacrificing her wants and needs to those of a 4-year-old.

I’m the one who longs for her husband to say just how much he appreciates everything she does for him and their child.

I’m the one ensures her child spends quality time with his grandparents, aunts and uncles and cousins.

I’m the one who tries to take care of everything because it is expected of her.

I’m the one who sometimes cries at night because those expectations are too high.

I’m the one who feels she must be in control ALL THE TIME, because losing control would mean failure in her mind.

I’m the one who feels that motherhood has stolen her identity.

I’m the one who wants ME back.

It might sound like I’m complaining.  It might sound like I don’t like being a wife and mother, but that’s not at all true.  I love my husband.  I love being a wife.  I love my son.  I love being a mom.  I just didn’t realize it would be this hard sometimes.

How do I balance it all?

After more than four years of mothering, and more than seven years of marriage, I still don’t know what the hell I’m doing.

And maybe I’m not supposed to “know.”  Maybe it’s just something you “do.”  Maybe I’m just supposed to go with the flow and hopefully learn the ropes along the way.  Like on-the-job training or whatever.

I started thinking about all of this over the last few weeks.  I don’t know if it’s the fact that I’m becoming physically fit that is making me want to be spiritually, emotionally and mentally “fit” as well?

How do I do that?  How do I achieve that balance?

I’m the one who strives for balance.