Oh, so tired...

(This was SUPPOSED to be published YESTERDAY, so sorry for the delay.)

"Come to me, all you who are weary and heavy burdened and I will give you rest."  Matthew 11:28

Its days like today that reading something like that really speaks to me.

If you've ever traveled Stay At Home Rd., you know how exhausting it can be.  I remember working at one of those jobs where you put on grown up people clothes and you get in a car to go there; and when you got there, you'd speak to other adults!  Sure, some of those adults had less commonsense than my 7 month old, but they had considerably larger vocabularies, so that almost made up for their VAST stupidity.  The fact was, I had conversations with them that allowed me to flex my grey matter and practice synonyms- like dimwit, stupid, blockhead, bonehead... you get the picture.

And just as I was about to bang my head against a wall until everything was fuzzy and less complicated, it was time to go home.  I'd clock out, get in my car, and head to the place where there was peace... to a degree.

And, when I got tired of home, well, you see how this goes.

Working away from home gave me a change of scenery and a change of frustrations.  No matter how hard I had it one place, I was able to escape shortly.

The fact is, when you're a stay at home mom, you LIVE with your most annoying, clingy, bossy, horrible customers.  There's no escaping...

(Well, there is, but we'll get back to that in another entry I think I'll title: "Running toward paradise".)

But, when you're a responsible parent, there isn't any other option but to stay and take it.

Today, I dealt with an 11 year old child that doesn't QUITE get the fact his birthday is only supposed to be ONE day.

Not 2.

Not a week. 

In fact, if he would have REALLY analyzed the situation, he would have grasped the fact that he was only having a birthday because of ME, therefore, I'M the one who should have been celebrated.

But, no.  My sweet, little, ungrateful, entitled newly 11 year old son thought that not only could HE fight with me, but that he would bring in his brother and 2 of his friends to back him up in certain conversations.

Did I mention, I had just baked my gorgeous, highly selfish son cupcakes for his birthday?

How dare I, though, suggest that we should do anything but what HE wanted to do.

Ok, so there was my rant. 

After all that, though, I still had a ton of other items on my mile long to do list.  To be perfectly honest, I was near my breaking point.

How did I get myself into this mess?  WHY did I get myself into this mess?  I'm just SO TIRED...

Come to me... I will give you rest.

Its funny how sometimes I'll be in a particular situation and something will jump out at me or creep into mind to remind me that I have another person that knows what exactly I'm dealing with.  And, no, I'm not talking about my husband.  He's probably going to be the co-writer on that other entry I'm thinking about writing.

Its nice to know that when I'm ready to give up, there's Someone who's willing to take it from me.  When I'm ready to collapse, there are arms outstretched that I can collapse into that won't let me go.

Arms that will give me rest.

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Public Service Announcement

I posted this once before on another blog I used to have, but after some things I've witnessed lately, I think it deserves to be re-posted here.  I hope you all enjoy.

Do YOU or someone YOU know suffer from an MTD?

MTDs- or Mentally Transmitted Diseases- are a growing concern in our society. To date, 1 out of every 2 people suffers from this condition, and with the advancement of technology and breweries -combined with the declined use of birth control- that number is on the rise. Studies have shown that by the start of 2012, more than 75% of the U.S. will come down with some degree of an MTD (w/ nearly ALL of California being affected).

Mentally Transmitted Diseases -also referred to as 'Chronic Stupidity' in most medical journals- is a tricky condition with a quick progression and no known cure. After contracting it, most patients won't notice a difference, but their condition will most definitely be visible to the rest of the unaffected population- often through words and actions, but sometimes through just a few wordless expressions.

The horror of this disease is that, if you don't know what you're dealing with, you could accidentally and unnecessarily expose yourself. More often than not, it can take repeated exposure to contract an MTD, but for some -the really young, really old, or those with a hereditary connection- it can sometimes take just once.



So, how can you protect yourself and those you love? Nothing is guaranteed, but with a few simple precautions you can decrease the chances of contracting what can be a lifelong, debilitating disease.

~Remember 'the 3Rs'

• If you have found yourself in a situation where you've noticed that the person you're speaking with is particularly stupid, REDUCE your exposure, if at all possible. Obviously, if this person is your boss, this will be next to impossible, but there are 2 other Rs to ensure your safety: REVIEW all information given to you and RECHECK all facts that pertain to you. (The chronically stupid often offer up needless information. For example, a coworker says to you,"I heard its going to rain today- it rained in Germany yesterday." Chances are, they're wrong on both accounts, but you only need to recheck the weather in your area, since even stupid people can be right 50% of the time. You can disregard the Germany reference OBVIOUSLY, unless you're planning on traveling there anytime soon.)

~Wear Sunglasses

• Ok, so maybe this form of protective eye gear won't always work, but the theory is that if they can't SEE your eyes, then there's a chance they won't be able to look directly into them. Direct eye contact seems to be a frequent source of transmission for MTDs. Why? Well, the most we can deduce is that since stupid people TRULY believe what they're trying to convey to you, their words mixed with eye contact can cause you to question all you believe.

~Ignore them and/ or stare at them with a blank expression

• MTD patients enjoy back and forth banter, so if you take this away, they will often leave you alone. Use this precaution with care, though, because stupid people often carry blank expressions and you take the possibility of passing for one.

~Distract them

• Its a long shot, but if all else fails, you will need to distract the infirmed with something shiny and RUN.

So, what are some of the signs and symptoms, and what can you do if infected? We've already discussed a couple, but in the event that there is an infected person reading this, here's a run down:

~a glazed over look when you ask a simple question (an exception should be noted not to necessarily worry in the early morning/ pre-coffee hours)

~an affinity for offering up pointless information during important times

~an inability to distinguish between the gas and the brake peddle (an exception should be noted for those with the occasional mental lapse during frustrating times- like driving with kids or stupid people)

~the confusion over what a turn signal is and how to use it

~noting a long line, and then deciding to either stand aside and make their own line and/ or waiting til their asked to get in line and cutting to the front

~the inability to ever admit wrong doing and/ or the inability to apologize when wrong

~the idea that all their thoughts and opinions will magically be known to you, although they have failed to open their mouths

~the idea that you CARE about all their thoughts and opinions

~the inability to distinguish between thoughts and opinions that matter




The list goes on and on, but I'm sure that you've gotten the point.


If you've found yourself in any of these descriptions and you're wondering about what to do next, here's the answer:

~Do something that requires you to use more brain-power than normal and DO NOT STOP until you feel your mental capacity increasing.  If you've gone for too long without help, it may take a while and you may not remember what it feels like to be using your brain, so try answering a few simple questions, such as:

• Is it a good idea to text/drink and drive? (the answer should be 'no')

• Are raising animals EXACTLY like raising kids? (you might want to answer 'yes' because of how they can act, but as long as you truly realize the answer is 'no', you'll be fine.

• Is it ok to leave your baby in the bath by itself while you play games on Facebook? (um, 'no')

The feeling that follows  will be like a light turning on or like you've just woken up- you might feel groggy and out of sorts.  Eat something, you'll be fine- you're on your way to recovery.

~If, however, that exercise doesn't work, I'm sorry, but there's no hope.  RUN, don't walk, to the nearest clinic and get a prescription for birth control, or better yet, ask for sterilization.  You shouldn't feel bad, though- you probably don't understand anything I've just explained, so... Look!  Something shiny!

Remember- only YOU can prevent MTDs.

Let's get ready to RUMBLE!

“Is she awake?”

“I don't know- check.”

“How do I check if she's awake?”

“Poke her.”

“If I poke her, then she'll definitely wake up.”

“Mom, you awake?”

“I TOLD you to poke her.”

“I'M AWAKE!”

Thus begins the start of my day. I could try and act like I'm sleeping for a little bit longer, but it just postpones the inevitable.

Every day is like this- a fight to sleep a little bit longer, a fight to get them dressed in an outfit resembling something other than an extra from Les Miserables, a fight to get them to do their hair so they don't -once again- look like street urchins...

My life, as much as I love it, has started to look like a dialed down version of a WWE match- without the pile drivers and what not...

...though those MIGHT not be far behind.

My parents got me a program by one of those M.D.'s with all the credentials that promises “for $400, you'll have your kids saying 'Yes, Ma'am and Sir' in NO time!”

The problem isn't always them fighting with ME, though. I often find myself shouting out to the Heavens, asking if there's a program that will help with sibling bloodshed/maiming. I've yet to hear God answer me back, but it could be because I can't hear Him over the cacophony in the background. To be honest, though, I think -if we're going to go down the Biblical route- if God allowed Cain and Able to fight like cats and dogs for a reason, well, maybe there's a reason for the continual boxing match in MY house; and if THAT'S the case, it shouldn't be too long til I hear one of them shout out, “I'm not my brother's keeper!”

And all this happens before breakfast.

When I pictured my life with kids, the daily battles weren't part of the sweet scenery I envisioned. I know I was naïve, but I had a lapse in memory of how things had been with MY parents. I briefly forgot about the grand confrontations my brother and I had- one of which broke the back of a recliner and involved a stick.

I let it slip from my mind that “Yes Ma'am and Sir” weren't part of our vocabulary- that we had embraced the word “No” from the time we could talk.

I had discarded the memory of when my mom tried DESPERATELY to get me to dress in something she had wanted me to wear, and I adamantly refused.

I don't get to deny it any more, though. Those thoughts drift in and out of my mind- poltergeists, intent on tormenting me; reminding me, in every action my boys do, that I am their mother.

“Go do your hair.”

“I like it this way.”

“What way? You didn't even DO it.”

“And that's how I like it.”

They may win the battle, but I will win the war...

I hope.

Lists, lists, and...cookies???

Why is it we always have the most amount of stuff to do on the days when we have the least amount of time?

I keep wondering this today as I get ready to add yet another item to my 'to do' list; meanwhile, I'm still knee deep in items I've yet to cross off.

I'll admit, a lot of it is of my own doing. I always joke around that cleaning up after my kiddos is a lot like trying to nail Jell-o to a tree- pointless and impossible- but every day, I find myself stressing out over the laundry, the dishes, the crumbs that seem to multiply before my eyes on the counter...

And I'm not positive, but I BELIEVE that the toys have all called in reinforcements.

It just seems like its a never-ending job.

Oh.

Yeah.

It is.

When I add in all the other things- the eye/doctor appointments to schedule, the play dates that keep me and Jacob sane, the cooking (no matter how much I love cooking, its still one more thing)- looking at my list is a lot like standing at the bottom of the Empire State building and trying to see the top.

And yet...

And yet I keep adding to it. Today I chose to make cookies in addition to my list of “musts”. Why? Well, I thought that if I was going to die from stress, cookies might be a nice accompaniment. Because, if Mary Poppins has taught me nothing its that a spoonful of sugar helps the medicine go down- as well as the stress.

Not to mention, they taste good.

Warm, tasty, chewy stress relievers.

Thank you, Mary, for your flash of brilliance. Sugar- especially in cookie form- really DOES help you deal with the less sweet parts of life.

Mommy Guilt

In the last 10 years that I've been a mom, the biggest annoyance I've found isn't with kids that argue- although that IS annoying; it isn't with finding the curdled milk sippy cups stuffed under the couch that I had told my preschooler to put in the sink...a week ago- though, that IS disgusting; it isn't even with the constant battle over messy rooms.

No. The biggest annoyance? Mommy guilt.

Its like a fly that won't leave you alone.

“You should take your kids to the park!”

Bzz.

“You should be spending more time with your kids!”

Bzzz.

“Your kids should have nicer clothes!”

Bzzzz.

“You should be breastfeeding!”

BZZZZ!!!

Now, usually these statements that go through my mind are followed by the tiniest, most pitiful of whimpers in defense of my actions, and they usually all stem from me trying to do something for myself or something out of my control:

“But its raining.”

“But you're trying to eat, sleep, clean, etc.”

“But you can't afford it.”

“But your boobs were getting ripped off by that little creature and you look SO much nicer with a set.”

The problem is that they're merely whimpers and its difficult to hear whimpers over loud, blaring THX surround sound volume.

Its a bit pathetic, actually. Personally, deep down, I know I deserve a medal just for keeping them alive. I mean, if you knew me, you'd understand- I don't have a green thumb. Mine is black. Plants only come to me if they're looking for a way to die. I've tried growing plants from seeds- they die. I thought that my problem was that I didn't know how to nurture them into mature, strong, independent plants, so I bought plants that were already mature, strong, and independent. All that did was prove that I know how to take away the will to live from plants of all ages. In fact, I'm pretty sure I saw one plant take its own life when it realized who was taking it home, because it was slumped over the stake in its pot (describing the type of plant it was) as if it was trying to drive it through its heart. That one was brown by the time we reached my house.

All that to say, I'm doing a pretty awesome job of just keeping 3 kids alive and thriving, so I shouldn't feel bad when things don't go EXACTLY according to my wacked out fairy tale idea of mommyhood, right?

So, I'll TAKE that shower so I'm not stinky and dirty looking! I can wrestle 5 minutes to myself. I washed my hair last week anyways.

I'll eat that sandwich- heck, I'll eat it at the table sitting down! Ok, that's pushing it. The counter maybe. I'll eat it AT the counter. A half a sandwich. Ok, a piece of bread! I'll eat that piece of bread without fear of neglecting my kids!

And I won't worry about the breastfeeding, bottle feeding battle!  If I choose to breastfeed, well, God gave me 2 boobs for a reason, right?  Isn't one of them supposed to be a spare?  And if I choose to bottle feed then I will accept the consequences of possible BPA poisoning and psychological damages that stem from not having a mommy who gave him her boobs to give him life.


Oh, who am I kidding?

I WILL win the Mommy of the Year award!

Um, can you send it to the tired, dirty looking, boobless, anorexic gal rocking back and forth in the corner? Yeah, that's me.