The look I'm going for lately is HAGGARD

I have a very simple goal as a mom, at least this stage of being a mom, and that is Do Not Be Angry All The Time. You'd think this wouldn't be too hard to achieve, what with my having perfectly delightful children, the fact that I just got home from a weekend in pure sunshine, and also the fact that I am not a particularly angry person. I mean, unless you are my husband with a penchant for leaving socks in my living room, it takes a lot to get me angry. The screamy, foot-stampy, ragey angry. 

But where I am not particularly angry, I am decidedly and terribly selfish, and what I'm mainly selfish about is my time. I got things to do, Internet, and God help the preschoolers who get in my way. 

Emma... Emma is a baby, and therefore gets a pass. Sort of. I mean, I get angry at her too, but I'm grown up enough to realize that it is not EMMA'S fault she is a baby and cannot get her own pacifier. But I regret to say that I am rarely grown up enough around the older kids. The older kids who waltzed into my room at 6:30 this morning and, when I informed them they were not to come upstairs before 7 and to go play in their room until breakfast was ready, did indeed go back downstairs, but only to whine me to death over the monitor. 

(I went and took a shower to avoid the whining. But when Jack realized I was avoiding him, he took it upon himself to march into the bathroom and inform me that "Molly poked my eye" and it was a fleet of ANGELS that prevented his mother from dropkicking him out of the bathroom and into the nearest lake.)

In my defense, a lot of this is their fault. For some reason lately they are whinier than usual - and this started before I went on my trip, so you can't say they're punishing me for having a good time this weekend. And they whine about EVERYTHING. Snacks, their clothes, their toys, quiet time, dinner, lunch, breakfast, wanting to see friends, wanting to see Grandma, and I would add 'wanting to go outside' in there except yesterday, which was very nice out, I suggested they play outside and Jack said, "No, the sun will hurt my eyes."

They're also mean and nasty to each other, stealing toys, bursting into manipulative tears, chasing, playing keep away, and, in Molly's case, smacking her brother about the head on numerous occasions. I remember fighting with my own brother and I ACUTELY remember my own parents not caring AT ALL who did what first, so I feel like I should treat my own children with the respect my parents could not afford me - HAR HAR HAR, sorry, I couldn't finish that sentence without LAUGHING. The fact of the matter is that I do not care who did what first, you still have to clean up the @#$(%@& Tinker Toys. AND DO IT NOW!

There is also a particular someone still wetting her pants, often when she is in trouble, and I wish I had more sympathy for that. I really really REALLY wish I had more sympathy for that. But the "tired of cleaning it up" pretty much outweighs everything else and it is getting OLD.

I don't condemn myself for the occasional (okay, frequent) yell about cleaning up and eat your food and put on your clothes, FTLOG! But lately I am crossing a line. Not just with yelling, more like a temperament thing. I feel like more often I am gratuitously yelling and flailing and lecturing and gesticulating, not because it's productive but because it FEELS GOOD. I am mad about something and they are the nearest targets. 

I struggle SO MUCH with wanting to do other things besides Be A Parent. I want to write blog posts - I want to WRITE. I want to work on the Blathering website so that 1) I am not embarrassed to put my name on it when it goes live and 2) because it's something REAL and UN-MESS-UP-ABLE by my children! I want to paint my cabinet and decorate my bedroom and sometimes I even want to clean! I want to pay bills and cook dinner in peace and yeah, I want to surf Pinterest without some small person in my ear telling me his sister won't give him the flashlight. I mean, I am already NOT SLEEPING and FIXING YOU FOOD and WIPING YOUR BUTTS and MEDIATING YOUR STUPID LITTLE ARGUMENTS ALL THE LIVELONG DAY. Give me my Pinterest!

Clearly I was not cut out for this motherhood gig. 

It's not that I think I should suffer all of this in peace, or break up fights with a smile on my face, or get my value out of the glorious meals I cook and crafts I do with the kids. I just sort of think I could maybe NOT be so pissed off about it all the time. I mean, sometimes I'm not! But right now is not one of those times. Right now I am looking for jobs on Craigslist and thinking about grad school - not to get away from the kids or away from my life; I think I'm doing it because I don't want JUST THIS to be my life. 

Does that make sense?

Does it also make sense that I WANT this to be my life right now? And that I'm so GRATEFUL this is my life? Or does that, combined with the rest of this post, make me sound Crazy as well as Mad?

I need to get a pair of people ready for preschool and (gulp) the Preschool Playdate. I have to get Emma up and fed. I have to clean up the kitchen. I have to get the preschool snack ready and find the backpack and also my keys and if my reward for confessing all these sins to the Internet is that I get to do these things WITHOUT anyone whining at me for anything, I will consider it all worthwhile. 

Isolated?

Whenever people start talking about how Stay At Home Moms Are Isolated I want to roll my eyes. I want to say, "Um, have you heard about THE INTERNET?" And I've told countless people ABOUT the internet, including Mental Health Professionals who count SAHMs among their clientele. I also tell SAHMs, but my success rate on that is about zero percent, if you count success as "being even moderately interested". Which is disappointing, isn't it? Because if I can count to one single thing that's kept me afloat over the last four years, it's my website. Cue the Orchestra of Internet Harmony. 

But while I'm rolling my eyes I also have to acknowledge the real life army of support that lines up behind me. I have amazing parents, amazing in-laws, and a whole bunch of amazing mom friends. Sure, I talk to people in the computer all day long, but I am FAR from real-life-isolated. Nearly all my friends had kids the same time I had kids and we made huge efforts to see each other during the week. Not just the organized mom groups, but random spur of the moment get togethers at the zoo or the wading pool or (my personal favorite) someone's house where we could just sit on a couch and let the kids entertain themselves. 

And then I also had friends to go out with at night. We'd leave our husbands with the kids and go to happy hour at the Italian restaurant or just hang out at Whole Foods sharing one of those giant desserts. Friends to meet for coffee on Saturday mornings or a walk around the lake. I did - I DO - all of these things. 

So it's weird to me, nearly five years into the mom thing, that NOW I'm starting to feel isolated. Last night I stood in front of Emma's window, rocking her to sleep for the umpteenth time, and worrying about Phillip's trip next week. It used to be that I could call up anyone to come over and babysit me (us!) for a while, but life has totally gone on, for everyone.

Is it harder to see people now? At this stage of the game? Is it just me? I feel like preschool schedules (and SCHOOL schedules, gah!) have really cemented when I can and cannot be around adults. Like I used to see my working friends on their off days, but now the various preschool schedules get in the way of that. And there are just more KIDS. We're not all new moms with new babies anymore. Now we're wrangling grade schoolers and toddlers and infants and you have to work ballet lessons around morning naps and Tuesdays are really the only good days to hang out, but that friend WORKS on Tuesdays so that's not going to happen. ETC. ETC. Plus I used to just jump in the car any day I felt like it and go visit my parents. Now I have to take SCHOOL into consideration. 

What is kindergarten going to do to me? I'm scared!

Maybe it's also my not so central neighborhood. My house in a wooded area. The fact that nearly all of my mom friends work part-time. Beholden to a school schedule. Trying to get a baby on a nap schedule. A husband going out of town. It's dark. It's January. We're freaking SNOWBOUND. 

And I'm to blame too. I tend to see the same lovely people fairly often, and with one or two of them we've TALKED about how it's harder now and we decided to make Every Other Thursday our day or whatever. Which is awesome. But then there are the friends I miss, who I don't see because of my OWN laziness (JANET I LOVE YOU YES I'M AROUND MONDAYS AND THURSDAYS!!!) 

But yeah. I'm feeling it. My internet people are real-er than ever, but my real life people feel distant. OH BOO HOO I hear you saying. GO CRY INTO YOUR FIRST WORLD PROBLEM HANKIE. 

I'm going to go say good night to my big kids now. Everyone say a little prayer that Emma has a better night. Maybe I won't have to write another angsty blog post. (HA HA HA.)

Resolutions Day Two!

This is not a fun one. 

A month or two ago a Preschool Dad suggested we get our boys together for a playdate. This is an entertaining story in itself, as the first time he suggested it, it was in front of the kids and I looked down at Jack and said, "Oooh, doesn't that sound fun? A playdate with Preschool Kid?!" and he just sort of looked at me doubtfully and said, right in front of them, "How about a playdate with Other Preschool Kid." 

AND THEN I DIED. 

So I've been under the impression that Jack is not a huge fan of Preschool Kid (although he seems perfectly nice to me). Then, at the parent teacher conference, Preschool Teacher told us that Jack almost always plays with Preschool Kid. HUH! And whenever I saw Preschool Dad, which was at virtually every single drop off and pick up, he was telling me about how much his kid loooooves Jack and how he makes up STORIES about Jack and writes them down and LOOK, he brought one to school today - which made me think two things. One, that Preschool Kid is perfectly nice but also a wee bit precocious which Preschool Dad has turned into Sheer and Utter Brilliance and TWO, perhaps this is why Jack elected to playdate with someone else because GEE, PRESSURE? 

Although I still don't understand playing with him all the time at school and then acting like a playdate would be a date with chickenpox or something. 

MOVING ON! 

We have only playdated once before, with a kid from the old preschool and this was after a year of ATTENDING that preschool. I didn't really know the family, but we'd gone to a birthday party and I saw the mom around all the time and she seemed really nice if maybe not my future BFF. Also, and maybe this is unfair of me, she is a MOM. It went well! Perhaps you remember my well-documented pre-playdate freakout!

Preschool Dad? Perfectly nice! Devoted dad! I've met his wife! They seem lovely! But when the playdate talk finally got serious a few weeks ago and he suggested the kids come to their house on Friday afternoon because that's when he works from home... yeah, I wasn't super excited about that. In fact, I may have had a slight - SLIGHT! - stirring of understanding re: the fact that my parents never ever EVER! let me stay the night at anyone's house EVER! Until I was a senior in high school I SWEAR TO GOD THIS IS THE TRUTH. 

(But now I might be that kind of parent too. Right now my mom and dad are all: VINDICATION!)

I just... I JUST DON'T KNOW. I'm sure it's FINE. But I don't KNOW them. Also he is the DAD. I know that's super unfair, but OH WELL. They can have their playdate at MY house.

So (big sigh) this is the year I teach my kids about Stranger Danger. I know most people, by which I mean everyone who comments at Parenting, thinks Age Four And A Half is waaaay late to learn this, but it seriously breaks my heart. I'm a stay at home mom and until this preschool stuff my kids were rarely out of my sight. I was/am in no rush to teach them the anatomically correct terms of anything, to talk about good touches and bad touches, to go anywhere NEAR that stuff. Blargh! Times a gazillion! These are my babieezzzzz!

A doctor who wasn't OUR doctor, you know, like the SUBSTITUTE doctor, once went on and on about how "this is okay because I'm a DOCTOR but blah blah blah" and it totally annoyed me. She was even sort of creepy about it, maybe because she just had a creepy voice and creepy look and what is this woman doing being a pediatrician?! But then OUR doctor did the same thing recently (only in a MUCH more kid-friendly not-annoying way) and my feeling this time was, "Oh crap. I am totally falling down on the job." Break my heart or not, this is stuff I have to deal with and teach my kids about, no matter how UNFAIR and ANGRY-MAKING it is. 

I've started. I have mentioned a thing or two about who gets access to what ETC. And then Jack being Jack wants to discuss it FURTHER in more DETAIL and what about all these OTHER situations and I'm all THIS IS KILLING ME, KID. Let's go watch Diego!

In addition! I plan to teach these shorties how to call 911 on my phone and then hope to God they don't, you know, try it for kicks one day. We've already had some major yelling sessions about unlocking and opening the front door. I don't CARE if they saw Aunt FPC out the window, THEY STILL HAVE TO ASK ME BEFORE THEY OPEN OUR FRONT DOOR OMG. And all the other Stranger Dangerish things (and safety, ie: let's learn to call 911 for when Mommy falls off her ladder painting something!) I haven't thought of yet.

So, stuff like that. YUCKETY YUCK YUCK YUCK. I am mad at the world for being the sort of world where have to DO this, and mad at myself for not just DOING it and knowing the right and age-appropriate things to say. I am totally making it up as I go. But you read about things and see things and especially some of the things that have happened over the last year, they fill me with this speechless RAGE and so you just HAVE to tell your kid what's what, don't you? 

Ugh, I hate this blog post! I would much rather be re-napping the fussy baby! Where is she! SEE YOU TOMORROW!!!

What to do today?

There's a picture of Emma and me at Parenting today. My mother took this picture and thinks it's great and all I can see is CIRCLED EYES OF TIREDNESS. 

But you know, the waking every two hours at night wouldn't be so awful if I could just get her to take a decent nap during the day, instead of putting her back to sleep every 15 or 20 minutes - WAIT. I already wrote all of this at Parenting. I am stealing my own content. 

We were going to visit my parents today until Phillip remembered we have a his-side-of-the-family dinner tonight and can't go anywhere. (When we visit my parents we stay all day - Phillip takes the commuter train to their town after work, we have dinner together, and HE drives home in the dark instead of me.) SOOOO. Right now Jack and Molly are playing with [torturing] Emma and I'm trying to figure out what we're going to do with ourselves. Because they've already started asking for more things to doooo and I'm already tired of screeching, "LOOK AT ALL THE STUFF YOU GOT TO DO FOR CHRISTMAS!"

These children need to go to SCHOOL is what I'm saying. Even Molly, the preschool dropout. I think ballet lessons will work, don't you?

Oh, that reminds me, I have Deep Thoughts on why we schedule our kids up for all these things - or at least why *I* am thinking of scheduling them up... but I don't feel like writing that now. I feel like eating chocolate cake for breakfast. Of course we don't HAVE any chocolate cake because I am doing stupid WEIGHT WATCHERS HATE. 

(I have lost all the Christmas weight, though. Now I can actually start to lose the baby weight again. HO HUM.)

I am trying to figure out how horrible it would be to drag all three kids to Home Depot to buy the supplies to paint my new craigslist furniture (OH YES WE BOUGHT IT) (GAK). The big kids are actually quite good in stores, and in Home Depot they stand in front of the Disney paint display and pick out colors for their rooms. It's just the car seat hassle and the shopping cart hassle and the not knowing what I really need to buy, so I have to look at everything on the shelf hassle. But then I could START my project instead of sitting around all day wanting to start my project. 

Then I think of the Parenting commenters who tell me that this stage of life is not about MEEEE it's about the CHILLLLDREN and then I get grouchy because they are RIGHT. Well. They are right-ISH. I would tend to take them more seriously if they weren't so sanctimonious about it. Another discussion for another day!

Point being: perhaps I should just be a mom today. For once. MAYBE. Hmm. 

On track to eat all the fudge

It hasn't been the greatest day. One of those, "Gee, what do I do with all of us TODAY?" kind of days, with the added bonus of doing bedtime and night wakings on my own. Also the added bonus of three Potty Incidents (one tub related) and incessant requests for "what project can we do NOW, Mommy?" 

I have coped by yelling a lot, also eating whatever looks good in the freezer - mostly leftover chocolate things from the party. This helps until, in the case of the first coping method, one child starts to bawl, therefore making it abundantly clear that I'm Losing It. Or, in the case of the second method, I happen to walk in front of the bathroom mirror and notice, for the millionth time, the rounded face, muffin top, and love handles. 

Perhaps this is why I've parked the children in front of Dora's Christmas Carol and I am perusing the internet for something obscenely expensive. (Note: at least the internet got turned back on!)

The only grown up I've talked to today is The Therapist, who is just lovely, and today she said it was really fun to see what Jack and Molly can do, because she works with that age group and they're not... up to the Cheung kiddos' speed, shall we say. Not because the Cheung kiddos are brilliant - The Therapist, of course, works with an entirely different group of preschoolers, the ones who've already been through more than I will ever know. While this does make me feel grateful - that I've been given the responsibility (gift?) of decently parenting at least three children in the world - it doesn't really make me feel better about a bummer day. My averageness does not cheer me up.

I've been looking at jobs online, not because I want to go back to work, but because the idea of Doing Something Else sounds appealing. A paycheck, even a paltry one. Responsibility for other things. Feedback. Gold stars. Making a difference in a much more visible way. 

I know I'm feeling this way because Phillip is on a business trip. At least he's not also in school.

AND I don't know why I'm sabotaging myself by eating all the fudge. My size depresses me, but right now, skinny does not taste nearly as good as fudge. At first I was going to get back on track the week of the party, now the week after the party, now I'm thinking after Christmas, maybe in time for my trip to Palm Springs. Even if I honestly don't have time or space to exercise on my own, even if it's going to take a lot longer than it did with Molly, I can still NOT EAT THE FUDGE. But I do! Because it's there! And it DOES MAKE ME FEEL BETTER! 

Let's think about good things, shall we? 

My new couch is being delivered tomorrow. In a time frame that borders Jack's Christmas concert, which is slightly distressing, but we're just going to think positive vibes about it all working out, right? 

My family is all getting together at my house this Saturday - ALL of us - and I'm REALLY excited about it. I plan to set up the hot chocolate bar again, chocolate spoons and all. 

The kids were super cute picking out presents for each other at the dollar store today. 

I talked my MIL into having Christmas Day at our house this year which means I get to plan a brunch. A simple, FIL-friendly brunch, but there WILL be some sort of baked French toast. 

Last night with Emma wasn't awesome (ie: she did not sleep through the night) but it wasn't horrible and scary (ie: she was up all night with only me to hold her) so I'm not SO nervous about tonight. 

My in-laws will be up tomorrow to see Jack's Christmas concert, which means I have help around dinnertime, which is great. 

Phillip will be home in time to put the kids to bed on Thursday. 

I've been rocking the baby chair with my foot the entire time I've been writing this post and Emma is asleep. Also my leg. 

 

The kids were even halfway pleasant!

Oh lovely Internet. I have a website to work on and a treadmill to break in, but I just wanted to say that I had SUCH AN AWESOME DAY. 

I went to Costco and spent an obscene amount of money. 

I put up a whiteboard in the playroom (I'm going to use the whiteboard paint in the kitchen, for ME), stuck the corkboard tiles to the wall, and cleaned up the whole thing. I am SO HAPPY. I still have a lot to do in there, but it's starting to look like what I envisioned, and Jack pretty much wants to marry that whiteboard. 

I hung the kids' coat rack in the entry way and started hanging pictures. 

I priced out an entire mid-winter mental health trip to Disneyland with some friends, plus Palm Springs in case a massage sounds better than Mickey. 

I made the beds in the kids' room which looks so much nicer than when THEY make their beds. Which isn't really the best thing to do, I know, but it made me happy. 

I rearranged the toys upstairs so that they playhouse and kitchen and doll changing table form a little play area. I folded up their table and put it in the closet and moved all the crayons and papers and other things that littered my living room to the little room off the kitchen. The kids can use the table in there for coloring instead. 

My baby fell asleep on her own, AGAIN, except this time was by mistake - I put her down and didn't immediately go back when she started to cry because... I don't remember. I was helping Molly in the bathroom? Something. And by the time I got back to Emma she'd fallen asleep. I will take it. 

When the Therapist came over Emma fell asleep again, and I left to clean up my whole kitchen and start dinner. I've figured that at least once a week I will have a nice clean kitchen, since I can't exactly hop on the internet when the Therapist is here. 

I made a YUMMY dinner. I often make dinner, but it's not always yummy. 

Doing all this stuff makes me feel AWESOME. Awesome in a way that, say, cleaning the whole house and folding all the laundry does not do, unfortunately. ORGANIZING, UPDATING, PLANNING - those are the things that float my boat. AM HUGE DORK. 

I REALLY want to get to work on the website, the title of which rhymes with Flabbering, but Phillip has all three kids occupied and the treadmill is shouting at me. "MAGGIE! REMEMBER ALL THAT CHOCOLATE COVERED BOY SCOUT POPCORN YOU ATE TODAY? YEAH. THAT." 

I would also like to ask about spitting up, if anyone out there is an expert: WHAT THE HECK. This is WAY more than "just a teaspoon". She doesn't seem SUPER bothered by it. Sometimes she's obvious uncomfortable, but other times it just spills out. And then today it was venturing into projectile territory. I hesitate to call her a Happy Spitter because she hardly seems HAPPY. But... yeah. Not a big deal? (This is the correct answer, btw.)

OKAY SEE YOU LATER

Gassiest Baby On The Block

Today I meant to sit down and write the dozens and dozens of thank you notes I owe to practically everyone. I wanted to get started on packing away summer clothes and cleaning out the closet in Jack's future bedroom. I wanted to finally get rid of the styrofoam and cardboard from the treadmill box and hang up the lantern in the playroom and figure out paint colors - well, maybe just writing thank you notes would have been a good first step. But I ended up holding Emma nearly all afternoon. I was either feeding her, burping her, bouncing her, rocking her, anything to try and get her to be comfortable and fall asleep. So, uh, no thank you notes went in the mail today. SORRY PEOPLE WHO GAVE ME STUFF!

I still think Emma's a pretty easy baby, although I think part of the reason I feel confident saying that is because I am well versed in The Internet and I know just how rotten babies can be. All three of my babies have been CAKE compared to a lot of Internet babies. So part of me just thinks I should shut up and count my blessings. Emma! Is an easy baby! MOST OF THE TIME!

See, this kid spits up, like, every four minutes. It doesn't matter if she ate recently or not, there is white goop spilling out of her mouth. It leaks into her ears, down my shirt, all over all the clothes, EVERYWHERE. I have been looking at this issue as A Laundry Problem. Phillip looks at it as a personal affront to his hygiene. But neither of us have been particularly worried about it. 

Then last night we could NOT get the gas out of that kid. All the GRUNTING and STRAINING and PAINED FACE MAKING and LOUD SCARY COUGHING. And she'd get all frantic, like she wanted to eat again, and so I'd nurse her again and we'd have another round of Attack of the Bubbles. And every time she fell asleep, there was no putting her down flat. 

She seemed fine in the morning, but in the afternoon it happened all over again, just worse. I swear she spit up everything she'd eaten, and then wanted to eat again. And she was SO uncomfortable. I still didn't think anything was REALLY wrong because she's not crying or shrieking or screaming or any of the other things that describe refluxy babies. But it was obvious after a while that the poor kid just wanted to fall asleep and couldn't. 

And I couldn't do anything except hold her and bounce her around. And I REALLY needed to stuff both older kids into boxes and store them in the garage for the remainder of the evening. OH THEY WERE HORRID TODAY. 

So I just up and called the doctor. I have no idea if anything is REALLY wrong. But I figure Not Being As Difficult As Some Of The Internet Babies I've Read About is not a particularly good reason to NOT go to the doctor. According to the one bit of research I did on kellymom.com, you can still have a bit of reflux without the screaming. And 'a bit' is still too much, you know?

Because my doctor's office is awesome, we have an appointment tomorrow morning with our actual doctor, not just someone in the practice. I am totally one of those moms who's embarrassed to call the doctor unless the kid is, like, bleeding out of three different orifices. But that's not so great for the kid, right? I'm trying to be better about this. And maybe I might get a little more sleep. 

P.S. I wrote more about my Terrible Horrible Day at Parenting. You = POSITIVELY THRILLED TO READ THAT!

Where is my house elf

I would kill for some chocolate chips right now. Day Two of No Carbs and I'm already pining. I almost wish I were still pregnant, so I could justify sending my husband to the store for CHOCOLATE CHIPS. That's pretty bad, people. 

The only thing that is keeping me from publishing the new weight loss blog is the lack of a name. I'm so bad at names. Suggestions? Don't make me go with 'Fine By Summertime'. 

Anyway, GUESS WHAT. Our neighbors are coming over to play tomorrow. I KNOW. I'm so happy about neighbor friends I'm not even nervous about it. They HAVE to like us, the end. 

What I AM fidgety about is my house. It's a dump. No really. I was sitting on the couch feeding the baby tonight and looking at all the JUNK on the floor. Toys, papers, markers, baby stuff, Halloween costumes, books, socks, STUFF. I immediately go to the "why can't anyone put anything away!" place, the "why do I have to clean up after you people every single night!" place. But the real question is: why am I not making THEM clean up? HMM? 

Seriously, I do a super bad job at this and I think it's because 1) I'm impatient and 2) I'm lazy. I'm impatient and it's quicker for me to do the picking up myself. I'm lazy and it's easier for me to pick up than it is to fight my kids (cough andmyhusband cough) to pick up. Also it seems like whenever I make anyone clean up it's a huge huge fight and I get really obscenely angry and I don't LIKE being obscenely angry. 

But again, this seems to be MY fault. Perhaps I shouldn't wait until there's a giant disaster to initate the cleaning up. Perhaps I should be more consistent about it. Perhaps I could make it a THING: you always pick up before you go to bed. Boom. Done. 

It's harder to do lately with a baby. EJ likes to eat and eat and eat and eat beginning around 7 or 8pm, right when the kids are going to bed. So I'm not often on top of things right then. But really, the mess is beginning to screw with my mental health and I need to make some changes. 

Like one of the things that makes me the MOST angry is clothes on the floor. Clothes on the floor make me CRAAAAZY. Dirty clothes go in the hamper! Pajamas go under your pillow! When you change into your Batman costume, do not leave your pants flung over the couch! I swear, there are days when all I do is go around the entire house picking up everyone's CLOTHES off the various FLOORS. (This does not apply, of course, to the piles of clothes on my desk chair in my bedroom. Having nothing that fits requires many wardrobe changes, plus I don't have time to brush my teeth in the morning let alone put my clothes away. BUT I PUT THEM AWAY EVENTUALLY BECAUSE I DON'T HAVE ANYONE TO DO IT FOR ME.)

No, I just need to be consistent about this. We WILL clean up the markers when we're doing coloring - EVERY SINGLE TIME. We WILL clean up the blocks and the papers and the puzzles before we go to bed. We WILL NOT leave our socks on the floor for days on end. 

I suspect I'm being a little passive aggressive here. Ahem. Also, my mother is probably laughing her face off.

I just... well, no one else feels mentally unbalanced by a house smothered in junk. I realize this. And I even think I have a relatively high threshold for junk. But it will hit me suddenly, you know. I will realize I live in a sty and then I get angry and then I write an angry blog post and then I... do nothing about it, apparently.

I just hate how angry it makes me, and I hate how angry I get at the kids/husband when I decide to DO something about it. 

I would go on. OH BELIEVE ME I WOULD GO ON. But this baby wants to eat AGAIN! I know! 

I am the boss of me

I feel sick tonight (sick does not equal labor UNFORTCH) so Phillip offered to make the kids lunch/snack for tomorrow. So I go off to be sick (SORRY) and when I come back Phillip is still sort of standing uncertainly in the kitchen having no idea what to put in those overpriced lunch boxes. So then I'm hunting around in our [super empty] fridge and our [full of carbs and HFCS] pantry, pulling this out and that out and saying, "Molly won't eat sandwiches" and "Jack doesn't mind apple peel" and later Phillip says, "Thanks for doing that because, uh, I HAD NO IDEA."

I felt like such a mom right then. SUCH A MOM. 

This is why I'm in awe of working moms because God knows THEIR husbands don't know how to make lunches either (right? Unless they've been trained?) and they have to make lunch AND earn money. While I just get to sit here and feel sick. 

I don't know, I guess I'm not really in the SAHMs are SUPERHEROES! camp. I mean, a lot of us are, no doubt. But me? I know I've said this a dozen times now, but I am getting away with MURDER. Phillip has to deal with all manner of worky things I cannot stand, while I get to wear my pajamas as long as I like, decide whether to go to Target or the park or the library, never answer the phone, nap in the afternoons, and bake cakes whenever I feel like it. I can up and paint the kitchen if that's how I feel. Like, uh, today. (AM PAINTING AGAIN. CANNOT HELP MYSELF.) I DO have a boss and he is four years old (his VP is three and just mimics his every move, she's easily managed) but on occasion I find the energy to exert myself and shout, "YOU ARE NOT THE BOSS OF ME, FOUR-YEAR-OLD!" and send him to his room. And when does a working person get to send their boss to his room? NEVER! 

Am I giving SAHMs a bad name? It definitely has its sucky moments, I'll tell you that. Like Phillip is scheduled up with fancy work dinner after fancy work dinner this week and SURE maybe I TOO would like a fancy work dinner once in a while that didn't involve chicken nuggets or SURE maybe I TOO would like to go out with my fun coworker people while someone ELSE fed the beasties their chicken nuggets. And there's that whole personal matter of struggling with Self Worth and No Paycheck To Prove I Am Not A Total Drain On Society. But eh! I manage to get over that pretty easily. 

Today we hung around until the library opened. Then we went to the library where I picked up the next Tana French book, we colored, we played with the felt board, then we ran outside to the playground and met new friends. Me, even! I keep meeting these moms of preschoolers who, five minutes into the conversation, reveal they also have MIDDLE SCHOOLERS and then I am disappointed because OBVS they are past the wanting to have a playdate mom friend stage. But whatever, it was still fun and then I painted half my kitchen and convinced the kids to eat omelettes for dinner and YEAH! I mean, if it wasn't for the feeling sick part (NOT LABOR, BOO) I'd be all I ROCKED THIS SAHM DAY, INTERNET! Time to lounge in front of some crappy television, yes?

Speaking of, I have availed myself of several Television Premieres and I am Not Impressed. I am waiting for The Good Wife, which I suppose will tide me over nicely until Mad Men comes back. I'm TiFauxing that Zooey Deschanel show, but I'm not sure if I want to love it or hate it. THOUGHTS? 

Time for this week's edition of Stellar Moments of Weekend Parenting!

Can I just say, first of all, that this is the first night of the entire summer that I have been HOT? Yes, I have a house surrounded by very tall trees and we don't get a lot of afternoon sun and I'm not sure it will EVER be hot on the first floor of my house, but most of the living is done on the second floor and IT IS HOT. Sweat sweat sweat. (Sorry, Texas. I know. We are up to what? 80 degrees?)

So anyway, this weekend I was an excellent mother to BOTH of my precious children. 

First there was Jack, at my parents' house, being kind of a twerp. He's often twerp-like but I think I'm especially sensitive to the twerpiness at Grandma and Grandpa's house because, well, I worry that my twerp tolerance level is a little higher than theirs. ANYWAY. I don't even remember what he was being awful about, but I was getting embarrassed and I followed him upstairs to their play area so I could chew him out in private, and in so doing I grabbed his arm and perhaps yanked? twisted? a little too hard. He looked up at me with his giant puppy eyes and just started to BAWL. And I felt like CRAP. 

All of a sudden it was clear to me that 1) even though he HAD been twerpy downstairs he WAS following directions UPSTAIRS 2) the thing he'd been whining about was actually for real, when both my mom and I thought he was making it up and 3) my embarrassment caused me to act out more than was necessary. I just felt horrrrrrrible. It wasn't that I should have been NICE to him, but I just went too FAR, and not even FAR in the right direction. It was just a pointless gesture that ended up hurting my kid and I sat there holding him and apologizing and feeling like I would never get over it. I don't think I have much longer (or any time at all?) to reassure myself that he won't remember this when he's older. I'm sorry, Future Jack. I really am trying to do right by you, kid. 

And poor Molly. The potty training issues continue to drive us around the bend. Phillip and I will both swear up and down that she knows exactly what to do and when to do it, but there are moments when she Just Doesn't Wanna. Or it doesn't appear to be IMPORTANT to her. Or something. So a week will go by without an accident and then BOOM. We're washing all the sheets. Or mopping up the kitchen floor. Or, in the case of yesterday, finding some pimply faced kid at Target to mop up for us. 

I was already upset. I'd taken the kids out so Phillip could have some time to do this wiring project in our house, and the entire time we were out, Jack was demanding a toy. And I would say, "Not if you talk to me like that, you're not getting anything, ever." So he'd be quiet for a while, then he'd ask to go to the toy aisle. Or we'd go to a different store and he'd ask for a toy all over again. It was never QUITE snotty enough for me to, uh, go berserk on his arm again. But I'd HAD it and by that time I'd told him he could forget Christmas and MAN. Do these kids not know that I'm DYING to buy them stuff and I'd love to buy them something EVERY SINGLE TIME and I LOVE to spoil them in the Target dollar section but NOT IF YOU'RE GONNA ACT LIKE THAT I'M NOT. 

So I'm angry. But it'd subsided a bit, because he'd apparently got the point and was being sweet and cooperative again, and we're happening to stand in the way back of Target where there are baby pools on clearance for, like, ten bucks or something. This was going to be a super hot weekend and our baby pool is a little too small and boring and I thought something new (and cheap!) would be fun. The kids were playing with these little outdoor toys across the way while I'm standing there deciding. Then Molly looks up at me, with a toy in her hand, and says, "Mommy, I need to go potty."

I'm ready to drop everything and race to the bathroom, but no, she meant NOW. So WHILE SHE CONTINUES TO PLAY WITH THE TOY, a little puddle forms under her legs and I'm just standing there like WTF DO I DO? 

I'd just switched out my purse that morning, so I had no wipes, no pull up, no extra pants, no Kleenex, NO NOTHING. All I had in the absorbent category was a clearance summer outfit in the cart. WHICH I CONSIDERED USING. I just stood there IN HORROR watching the pee puddle up. I could not think of what to do. Seriously. I just stood there. So did Molly. Like, "No big thing, Mom!"

A Target aisle is not an appropriate place to have a break down or scream at your kid or rail at God or anything like that. Thank goodness she was wearing a dress, so you couldn't TELL that she wet her pants. But I had to go FIND SOMEONE and CONFESS. (I considered just leaving. Oh yes I did.) 

We left, and the whole time I am asking Molly, "What were you thinking? WHAT WERE YOU THINKING?" This kid wears underwear all the time except at night. She has accidents, but usually they're at home or at a friend's house and lately they've been few and far between. We were starting to be hopeful! And she's never wet her pants at a store or a restaurant or anywhere PUBLIC. It was my mistake in forgetting to have her go before we went out, but still. We have used the Target bathrooms before. SHE KNOWS THEY ARE THERE. 

We got to the car and I'm buckling them in and I'm just on the verge of tears. I was so tired, so frustrated. I was furious with Molly for not appearing to be sorry or embarrassed or ASHAMED. I wanted SOME reaction out of her. Anything except, "Whatever." To my credit, I didn't yell or anything like that, but I did start crying while buckling her into her car seat. And I made sure she knew exactly what I was crying about. And then SHE started to cry - and not because I was being mean, I don't think. It was more like she was sorry that she made me cry. Awesome. It's one thing to want your kid to feel ashamed in your head, it's another to SHAME THEM ON PURPOSE. And for what? An accident? WHAT IS MY PROBLEM?

So I bawled all the way home. I was still bawing when I unbuckled them and I was bawling in the entry way as they took their shoes off and Phillip came downstairs all, "Um, is there a problem?"

I had to go sit in my room. I had to, I don't know. GATHER myself. I wasn't just crying about a puddle I couldn't clean up in Target, you know? There are just moments when I feel so out out my league and so out of whatever resources I need to do this parenting thing properly. I feel ashamed for not being able to control MYSELF. Up to this point I've just felt like: people have three kids and they survive. They have MORE than three kids and things are FINE! I will too. People are not perfect. There will be hard spots and we will fail, but we love our kids and we love each other and Things Will Work Out. But now I'm like... HOW AM I GOING TO DO THIS? HOWWWWW?

Then today... today they were happy shrieky and amenable to cleaning things up and not picky about their clothes and didn't mind when we kept changing plans on them and ate their dinners and right before it was time to go to bed, Jack yelled at me to come look at him and "Do I look like an airplane, Mommy?"