Missing out

I keep telling myself that if Bryce does not feel like he is missing out, I shouldn't feel sorry either. I was looking at another friend's blog, one who has a baby who is younger but far more physically able, and I was sad that Bryce couldn't walk by himself and hold his own trick-or-treat bucket tonight. According to his dad, he was not allowed to trick-or-treat at all because he couldn't walk. At first we towed him in a wagon, where he looked small and sad. Then he started to get angry about the whole deal. I think he realized the older kids were getting something good and he clearly was not. So I took him out and carried him to the door of the next house, where he hollered until I let him at the candy bowl. Then he acted afraid of the lady who tried to give him a piece and didn't really want to take the thing, acted like it was being forced upon him. Ugh. So much for being grateful. One of my pet peeves is people who dress up their babies and get candy those same kids can't even eat, and I am sure that is what we looked like. Or I wondered if people were wondering why that toddler wasn't walking by himself. Most likely no one really cared that much.

I tried to hang around in the back while the older kids got their candy and only go to the door if Bryce demanded it. He went to a few other places and the same sorry scene repeated, save one house at the end where they were very sweetly passing out boxes of animal crackers to the ones too little to eat candy. He did look very cute in his borrowed cow costume and that family was so charmed by him that they took a photo of the wife (a nice grandmotherly type) giving Bryce the cookies. That is the part of the night I want to remember, not him screaming to be put down on the wet pavement, where I was not going to let him just sit or crawl around in the dark, which is what he seemed to want to do, or squawking and refusing the candy he had just demanded. I got him to walk a little bit holding my hands, but he is still so unsteady and it hurts my back to hobble along over him that we couldn't keep it up for too long.

It did not help matters that our other child was whining loudly, saying she was too tired to go on and that her candy bucket was too heavy. Can you believe that? A kid complaining she has too much candy. What is wrong with my children?! At one point they were both in the wagon, and Bryce was NOT happy to be sharing it with his sister and her horse costume, pardon me, pegasus-unicorn costume. So they were both whining. Evidently neither one believes in that old adage about children being seen but not heard. Meanwhile our friends' children were skipping ahead, literally running to each house. The only thing they were scolded for was running too far ahead of us, unlike our whiny lumps who wanted to be carried to the next house, or to just sit in the wagon and eat candy.

I think part of the problem is that I have in my head what things should be like (for instance Halloween should be like our friends' kids, who were full of energy and excitement and just so happy to be a part of everything). And then when the reality doesn't match it disappoints me. I think that is part of being a planner (and also a worrier). I try to anticipate the outcome. Sometimes things turn out better than I expect, and sometimes not. But that doesn't mean I want to change the experience or don't appreciate it. I have been doing a pretty good job of focusing on all of the things my kids can do and not dwelling on their shortcomings. This has been really important for me to do as Bryce is being left in the dust by every single baby in our playgroup, even the one who isn't even a year old. No, Bryce can't walk yet. But he can build a Lego tower nearly as tall as he is! And so much more. He is happy (most of the time) with all that he can do and that is what matters.

 

If I just move the coffeemaker...

If the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results, my attempts to reorganize the kitchen have been fairly insane. Three or maybe four times I have moved the coffeemaker from the right side of the sink to the left, with the sincere belief that this would make the kitchen function better. There is really only one small prep area in the whole kitchen, and the coffeemaker was taking up part of it. So I moved it to the other side of the sink near the phone. But then that cluttered up a swath of counter that I need to remain clear for my sanity. The rest of the kitchen can be a disaster, but if at least that one area is clear I feel a tiny bit better. (I need to point out that quite often that area is not clear because certain family members are incapable of going the extra three feet to the recycling bin outside and pile up bottles, cans, etc. there on the counter despite my pleas for one clear area. But that is another post.) So I moved the coffeemaker back to the right. After a year or so, I once again thought it would improve the flow of the kitchen if the coffeemaker was out of the prep area and I repeated the whole unsuccessful experiment. Insane.

I have been trying to move excess stuff off the counter and I had a sort of hole where the cat cookie jar (which holds tea bags) used to be. The cat is now on the windowsill. You've heard 40 is the new 30, well, the windowsill is the new counter: a place to display things, mostly gifts, which I can't seem to put in a closet somewhere. They have sentimental value, and also we have limited storage space. But I digress. So last weekend I had the brilliant idea to put the coffeemaker where the cat jar was. (Cat jar sounds sort of bad, like a jar full of cats.) This would free up my prep area and keep the area by the phone clear and still be near enough the sink and coffee cups. What more could I ask for?

Suddenly my insanity has turned into logic. The kitchen works better. I know this because I have managed to keep the counter tops clean for a miraculous five days in a row. Despite my husband. As I type this I see he has ditched a catalog, in my one little food prep area no less. Glad he is trying to keep my streak going.

The catalyst of burning rubber

I strongly dislike this house. I can't say I hate it, because it is our home, after all. But it drives me nuts on a daily basis. One of the keys to getting out of here is to finish what we've started, the biggest project being the basement. I got an estimate for the work a month or so ago and was stunned when it was more than double what we were told just a couple years ago. So I became temporarily paralyzed and just stopped thinking about it for a while. I got another number to call for a bid, but still did nothing. And then I smelled something burning.

I was preheating the oven to bake birthday cake for my husband and soon realized something was in the oven that shouldn't be. I have no idea how the little rubber stopper (for which we do not know the origin) ended up in the oven but it probably stuck to one of the pots and pans we store in there and fell to the bottom, which is where I found it, melting away. We have to store pots and pans in the oven because there is nowhere else to put them in the poorly designed kitchen. The poorly designed kitchen in which it is difficult to get anything done in the poorly designed house next to the annoying neighbors. A house in which we are stuck until it is finished (and the market goes up, ideally). Suddenly I was inspired. I scraped out the melting black thing and immediately looked up the phone number for the contractor a friend recommended. Amazing what a little burning rubber can do.

Self-inflicted torture

I have read that prisoners of war were tortured by being kept awake for days on end. It is psychological torture, one that doesn't leave physical marks and thus can be denied. And it is very effective. One's will can be broken after just a few days. As one POW described it, the need for sleep is incomparable, more powerful than even hunger or thirst.

So why would someone sign up for such torture? That is what I am currently asking myself. I knew I would lose some sleep after becoming a parent. It is a small price for pay for the endless joy my kids bring me. But I don't think I realized it would go on for so long. I left losing "some sleep" in the dust months ago. I am currently bordering on losing all sleep and comprehending all too well why the KGB used sleep deprivation to beat prisoners into submission. I certainly feel beaten. The worst thing is, I don't feel like I can complain much. I brought this on myself. It was my idea. I thought it would be fun. And it usually is fun. But it is hard to enjoy my kids when I am so tired I can't think straight. Or when one of them is likewise tired and not being particularly enjoyable.

I have it in my head that it is better to have my kids and be miserable than not have them at all. That I am lucky to be miserable. Even in my sleep-deprived state I see the irony. I don't, unfortunately, see an end in sight. I know years from now this will fade from memory. And I certainly don't want to wish this time away. I love my kids. I also would love some sleep. It makes me sad that the two are mutually exclusive at present. I know it will get better. It has to.

Stars

Last night I was out late watering my garden and I couldn't believe how many stars there were. I used to spend a lot of time looking at stars, wishing on stars. I remember many a night spent with one or both of my parents in our hot tub, my neck craned to search the dark sky for satellites or the rare but breathtaking shooting star. It was always so much more exciting when two of us spotted the same one. I don't think I could have articulated it at the time, but shooting stars, and many things in life, seem even more beautiful when shared. I would try to come up with especially important wishes for shooting stars, sure that they were more likely to come true. But I was happy to wish on regular stars in the meantime. I'd try to go outside with blinders on so that I only saw one star and could wish on it and truthfully say "first star I see tonight" even if there happened to be a dozen stars already visible. What a nut I was. Am. I still wish on stars occasionally. I find prayer more helpful, but wishing has its place in the world, too.

I wonder when I stopped making a point to watch the stars. When I started college, got busy with life? I am not sure, but I know it's been a while since I really stopped and looked. Last night there were so many stars it made me sorry I haven't noticed for so long. It is nearly a full moon so the sky is especially bright right now. I wished my daughter could see but of course I was not foolish enough to wake her up! She has had a fascination with the night sky lately and has been getting up in the middle of the night to peer out her window and stargaze. I know this because she tells me, "I counted seven stars last night!" or something similar. I also know this because her blinds are all askew in the morning. I can't tell her not to do it because she doesn't bother anyone. She thinks stars are beautiful and magical and who am I to discourage her from counting them or wishing on them? I taught her the "Star light, star bright" poem and her version is not quite right but very endearing. She wished one night for a scooter and not three days later did her friend Mitchell pass on his scooter to her when he couldn't take it to his new home. Coincidence? I think not!

So tonight after bath, I was very glad when I remembered the full moon and the starry sky and how much I knew she'd enjoy it. We spread out a blanket and stargazed for nearly an hour. I pointed out what I thought was Mars. She pointed out what she thought were all the other planets. And she counted stars. I think she got up to 37. She said there were probably a hundred. I told her probably a hundred million, though I realize that concept is a few years away from her grasp. She also had the idea to make letters with our bodies and I was surprised how good she was at this! The two of us parallel with my arms touching her made an H. If she laid perpendicular to me at my head, it made a T. And we did O and A and R and P and B. I never would have thought to do this with her and I love that she has such a good imagination. She is already so smart. I kept looking at her, at the adorable cheeks, the wide eyes, the wonder written all over her beautiful face, and felt like my heart might burst. Sometimes I can't believe she is really ours.

I hesitate to use the word perfect, but tonight came close. Being with my girl (and my husband, who was so tired he fell asleep next to us on the deck) appreciating the stars, the trees framing the night sky, the house where we have this amazing view, is about as good as it gets. I thank God for moments like this, when I am reminded of how much I have. Life is definitely more beautiful when shared.

Just a stay-at-home mom

Someone said this to me today, an old friend (former coworker) who was visiting. So you're just a stay-at-home mom. It wasn't a question, but a statement. I said we stay as busy as we want to and have a very active social life between the MOMS Club and preschool. It sounded lame as the words came out of my mouth and I didn't care, didn't bother to explain it is the best job in the world and everyone should be so lucky. She is someone who has always worked and always had to work, as far as I understand. I thought, maybe she is saying it with some envy, wondering what her life would have been like, what she would be like now, if she had been able to stay home with her child. Or maybe she was saying it with pity, with distaste, wondering how I can be wasting my life and my master's degree. I didn't press the subject.

I consider the joy of being a full-time mom to be a well-kept secret. I don't really want the world to know how amazing it is. Kind of like my life, I would like my job to stay under the radar. It is one of those things you can't understand until you experience it. And there are plenty of moms who do NOT enjoy staying home with their kids and don't understand how anyone could like it. There are days when I have wanted to go back to work just to get a break, but most days I am fully aware how good I have it. I really can't relate to someone who doesn't enjoy the job that gives me the greatest satisfaction I have ever had. It is a debate in which I don't want to engage.

Just a stay-at-home mom. I've been trying to come up with a parallel. Like saying oh, you're just the CEO of Microsoft. You're just the president of the United States. Okay, okay. I realize that isn't quite the same thing. But nonetheless I feel I have one of the most important jobs in the world. In some ways I am sorry that moms like me don't get the respect we deserve. But as I said, I consider it to be a well-kept secret. Let "them" think it's a mindless, thankless job. I know the truth, and that is all that matters.

Fear and Steel Magnolias

I have a ridiculous notion held on from childhood that if I don't speak about bad things, they won't happen. I am even too superstitious to write about some of them, though I have touched on a few fears here.

My solution to this is to pray. And pray and pray. I am beginning to feel a little bit like Annelle from Steel Magnolias, who took her faith a little too far, stopping to pray every other minute over something or other and raising the eyebrows of the other ladies. You have to have seen the movie. She got over it, was able to have faith in God and not be overly, what, prayerful? But I understand that feeling, that I can somehow protect my family and myself if I just pray hard enough. I guess it is better to pray too much than to live in fear. Sometimes I manage to do a little of both. I am a work in progress. A good friend lent me a book about faith and I am hoping it will help me to sort out some of my feelings. Perhaps someday I can write about that. I should be outside working but it is pouring rain, so maybe I should sit down with my book (and tune out Barney singing in the background).

Note: I really don't mind Barney, and I especially don't mind the little cutie who is clapping along. I truly am blessed.