Wordless Wednesday

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(If I were to title this "Wordless Wednesday", it would be called "Please, Mini-Master- let mommy and daddy sleep just a few more hours"... or, would that be too long of a title?)

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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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.

Letter to my son

Dear Smallest Child 'o' Mine,

Right now you are sleeping- and that is a good thing for many reasons, not the least of which is the fact that you were nearly auctioned off on eBay. I toyed with the thought, but after realizing that no one would buy you in the state you had been in- that I would have had to pay THEM to take you- I walked away from the virtual auction house.

Today -at only 4 months old- you gave me a glimpse of your teenage years. Your insatiable appetite, your refusal to sleep, your constant cries in response to my pleading...

There's a chance I may revisit the eBay idea at a later date, but if that doesn't pan out, I might post you on Craigslist... or possibly FreeCycle.

You're 4 months old. It boggles my mind as to what you could POSSIBLY have to complain about. You weren't wet. You were constantly eating, so hunger was out of the question. I gave you the option of choosing what you wanted to wear today, but you stared at me blankly, so if the problem was your outfit, well, that's purely on you. You cried when I held you; you cried when I put you down. You cried when I talked to you; you cried when I sang to you- though, I don't blame you there. Vocally blessed, I am not.

My sweet, precious 4 month old- do you realize how close you came to being a sweet, precious 4 month old in a basket on someone else's doorstep today? The basket was negotiable- a laundry basket would have worked. Heck, you can't crawl- I thought about just setting you there, like a crying, little lump of wet clay. That when I passed by those doorstep's that held 'Welcome' mats, I looked at them as beacons of hope, beckoning me to leave my worries at their doorstep.

You -my love, my light- YOU are the reason why some animals eat their young. I can only imagine that the decision making process goes a little something like this:

“Aw, honey- our cubs are adorable! See that one? See how quiet she is? She's a thinker- we won't ever have to worry about HER getting picked off by a hunter.”

“What about that rowdy one?”

“Oh, he's a fighter! He's going to be a great leader of our pride one day!”

“And that one? The one that won't stop crying?”

“He's lunch.”

I'm not saying I'm thinking of eating you- that's horrible and wrong.

I WILL however be bookmarking eBay.

Love,

Mom

Coffee does, too, count as a food group!

As I sit here in the wee afternoon hours, eyes drooping, body beginning to collapse from complete exhaustion, I'm staring at my coffee maker with longing. I'm typing with one hand while holding the tiny dictator with another, so I'm praying that by using “the Force”, I can start another pot. The phrase “If you don't succeed, try, try again” comes to mind, but Jacob is staring at me, asking me why I'm making faces and squinting at the kitchen, so I should probably get up and practice my one handed coffee making skills and leave the Jedi tricks to Luke Skywalker.

My gramma would disapprove. She has told me more than once that I need to wean myself off of my black liquid of love and acceptance, but I'm not a quitter. I know that I love coffee more than a normal person should, and in all honesty, I've been drinking it so long that it doesn't REALLY have an effect on me anymore- so why am I trying to get all “Jedi Master” on my Black and Decker? Because, if nothing else, my mind has started to associate coffee with mental clarity. Plus, it keeps my hands busy so that I don't end up trying to strangle my adorable children when they start imitating the wild apes on the Animal Planet.

I used to refer to my love of coffee as an addiction and coffee as my drug of choice ; used to, that is, until the day that Cameron went to his first grade teacher and told her that his mommy was addicted to drugs. Mental note: kids listen to everything, they repeat everything, but they don't stop for explanations. It took some doing, but I'm pretty sure that I was able to convince her that I didn't need to go to rehab. I probably didn't help the situation, though, when I jokingly went into a small rant about the health benefits of coffee and how, really, the USDA should include coffee as a main staple for nutritional completeness. APPARENTLY, pointing out how a single cup of coffee can be everything from a serving of protein to a serving of fruit (depending on what area you're lacking in at the time), makes you look like a lunatic.

Whatever.

I'm going to go now and make a pot of probiotics.

The Greatest Diet Plan EVER!

Tired of all the weight you gained during pregnancy- either your own, or your wife's? I've got a GREAT diet plan. I guarantee you that if you follow this -to the letter- that you'll be back in your pre-pregnancy pants in no time. As a precaution, I must inform you that -before starting any diet plan- you should check with your doctor first.

First, make sure your baby has colic. If you're baby doesn't have colic, but is just difficult (i.e.-a normal baby), this will still work, but you might have to try a little harder. If you were one of the blessed individuals who had an easy baby, whisper a prayer of thanks and stop reading here. Chances are you were also one of the ones that wore your pre-pregnancy pants out of the hospital, and therefore you have no need to read any further.

Now that you have your colic-y/ difficult baby in hand, you are permitted a brief moment in which to cry hysterically and throw a brief tantrum. Its good for the soul, but its also good for getting your heart rate up. There now- you just lost a few warm up calories. I bet you're feeling skinny already!

The next step in this incredible diet is to listen to your baby cry hysterically until you finally give in and walk him/her around the block a couple of times. Since most colic-y babies have their witching hour around the same time every day for longer than a half an hour, this will ensure that you not only get the doctor recommended half hour of exercise, but you'll probably rack up some bonus hours as well. “But his crying will cause the neighbors to think that I'm torturing him!”, you might say. All the better, I say! You'll be forced to walk faster (since the cracks in the sidewalk will help to tame his demons), thereby increasing your heart rate and metabolism. Presto! Quicker fat loss!

After you've walked around the block until the soles of your shoes have worn off, you'll probably be hungry, which brings me to my next secret of dieting success- little food. I don't mean eating small objects. I mean, eating small amounts. Let's face it, if you're experiencing the horror that is a colic-y baby, you epitomize the definition of “fast food”. Anything that can be held in one hand and eaten quickly is your meal of choice: sandwiches, corn/hot dogs, small hamburgers, Snickers candy bars, etc. “But none of that is very healthy!”, you might complain. Well, #1, neither is skipping meals altogether, but also, you're only eating what can fit into one hand, and isn't portion control what doctors everywhere stress when speaking to their patients? And, let's not forget- you're burning off all those unwanted calories (see last step described).

If you're either unable to walk around the block for some reason; it has no positive affect on your baby's cries; or you're just looking to increase your workout benefits, you also have the alternative option of what I like to call “Rocking Sit ups”. In this twist on an oldie but goodie, you sit on the edge of the bed and rock your body back and forth while holding your baby. If you'd like, you can combine a couple of the steps- maybe try this while crying? Screaming burns calories, as well, but I wouldn't recommend adding that to the routine unless your baby is out of ear shot, as it has a tendency to cause your tiny dictator to increase his own volume. This exercise also has a fun twist as you can change it up once your kiddo is older: when you're past the point of frustration and starting to lose it, find the nearest corner and rock back and forth.

If, however, you've reached a point where you're just too tired to walk or rock, here are two routines you can try that are more of a band-aid than a solution, but they still work. Sometimes you just need a quick fix to boost your self esteem, anyway:

Once your baby has you in tears from exhaustion and frustration, take a quick peek in the bathroom mirror- the tears will instantly distort your vision and take away your ability to see your body fully. Voila! Instant fat loss! Sure, at the back of your mind you know its still there, but before you allow that to drive you into deeper depression, remember that your red face with puffy eyes and snot running out of your nose is now bound to draw a LOT more attention than those few pounds you gained during your pregnancy.

Yeah, your right- that doesn't help nearly as much as the other routines I just posted. Well, as I said, these non-exercise routines are merely band-aids- not solutions.

Now, the next routine only usually works for first time moms (since most well-seasoned moms said good bye to sleep LONG ago), but if you've got 2 or more kids already, you MIGHT be able to do this step, due to the pure exhaustion of the multitude of tasks on your already full plate. I'm talking about INSOMNIA. During this step, the lack of sleep causes you to LITERALLY forget who you are, what you originally wanted for yourself in the first place, as well as, the inability to care about what you look like. A word of caution in performing this routine, though: performed incorrectly, there's a chance you could alienate everyone around you, defeating the purpose of losing weight.

Sure, you could argue that you're trying to lose weight for HEALTH reasons, but who are you fooling?

I must also point out that BORROWING someone's colic-y baby to lose non-pregnancy related weight gain is not only allowed, but its encouraged!  I'm sure the parents of that baby would embrace the idea of handing over their crying baby to you to further your weight loss goals, if you so chose.  You might want to do one of 2 things if you take this route, though:  either, 1- write up a contract stating that you'll take the baby for its first 6 months of life (since continuous work on the program is the fastest way to your goal weight), or 2- find out the times that the baby is most colic-y, and write up a contract stating you'll take him/her during those times.  This will help you tremendously, as the parents of colic-y babies quickly fall unknowingly into this weight loss routine and you don't want to lose out.

As I said at the beginning, I urge you to check with your health care professional to be sure that this diet is the right one for you before trying it, but I'm sure that there are many of these routines you are already performing- its just a matter of combining some of them and working on them daily. After all, dedication to the diet plan is the surest way to ensure optimum results.

Let me know if any of these techniques work for you! I always love to hear feedback!

And I made this choice 3 TIMES...

I want the instruction manual that was supposed to come with my kids.


I also want to know why I was never allowed to register my kids to receive a longer warranty.

Ya know, you bring home this soft, sweet smelling, adorable little bundle and you think "Wow, he's all mine." And that first night you start looking around for the missing manual.

Its nowhere to be found.

Still, you think "I can do this", so you stick it out. Little do you know that he's prepping his lungs because- like any other muscle- he knows that if you don't use it, you lose it.

You tell yourself "At least he's healthy" and then its "Wow, do his lungs really inflate THAT MUCH?".
Then after awhile you find yourself sleep deprived muttering useless things like "Now, now. There are coyotes in 3rd world countries that don't have lungs as strong as his".

Doesn't make much sense, huh?

Did I mention "sleep deprived"?

As you continue to rock this child (secretly starting to wish that you could rocket him into orbit) it hits you that you'll never be able to give him back.

You think about calling the hospital and asking about the return policy, but you remember how they gave a nervous chuckle when you joked about taking one of them home to help out, and you think better of it.

You console yourself with the fact that he won't always be this age- needing you so much. Days turn into weeks, weeks into months, months into years. Suddenly you're looking at this CHILD who isn't a BABY anymore and you find yourself thinking "He's not a baby anymore. He doesn't need me at all."

From somewhere in the distance you hear a subtle ticking.

As it gets louder and louder, the logical side of your brain tells you "Run!!! Run while you have the chance and don't look back!!!"

Yet you reminisce about the soft, sweet smelling, adorable little bundle you brought home from the hospital.

You don't stop to think about why hospitals have decidedly short stay times for new moms.

Baby with colic?

No problem- he'll be going home in 1 DAY!!

As the ticking becomes the only sound you hear, the logical side becomes less of a yell and more of a pitiful whimper in anticipation of what's to come.

For months you hear nothing but joyful thoughts of cribs and play pens.

And then it happens.

Your blessed first born starts to realize that he isn't going to be the only one, and the acting out begins.

Suddenly, the logical side of your brain wakes up from the self-induced coma and starts to wail- too late.

Now you're back at the beginning, and its not so bad.

The labor wasn't THAT difficult- now that its over.

And he's just this tiny, little, helpless thing.

So soft.

So cuddly.

A sweet scent of baby powder.

Oh, poor baby... he's crying...