Alright, Folks. Be prepared. I am about to step up on my soap box.
Never ask someone when they're going to meet someone. Or get married. Or have a kid. Or another kid. It's just not nice. I get that you're excited, and that you want them to be happy. I understand that you can't wait to meet their perfect little bundle of joy. I get that babies are fun. And cute. And precious. I also get that they are even more fun, and cute, and precious when you can send them home. I get it. Really. But, please don't ask. Because while you are saying, "When do I get to celebrate Life's next milestone with you?", what you're also saying is, "Because your life is incomplete as it is."
This isn't a response to any one comment, or even any group of comments. Just an overall perception that we are constantly (subconsciously) telling others how to live their lives. Some examples that illustrate my point:
Stacey is probably one of the closest female friends I have ever had. She is smart, funny, silly, compassionate, and generous to a fault. She is also an integral part of our family. She is that third person we can call on to watch Miles for a moment when there is a household job that requires two people. She is the person who supports whatever decision I make, no matter what. And from what I've seen, she's fairly happy in this life. Does she want to get married and settle down? Sure. But she's also content with what she has right now. And yet, her own mother continually encourages her to 'lower her standards' and 'just get married already'. Why? Why would someone make their own daughter feel like the life she lives isn't good enough?
Example two:
My cousin has two amazing children; an eight-year-old daughter, and a five-year-old son. Both are well-mannered, cute as buttons, and darn near as close to perfect as any kids I've ever seen. She is happily married, and they both have good jobs, and a comfortable home. Yet, at Christmas last year, her mother asked when they are planning to have another. My cousin began with, "We're not, Mom," but my aunt continued. Finally, after a particularly long line of questioning, my cousin retorted, "Perhaps when I've grown all of my hair back and paid off my medical bills." Yes, this mom was pressuring her daughter to have more children, mere months after she had gone into remission from cancer.
And finally, the reason this is a personal pet peeve: Miles is an only child. He will probably remain so. Why? Because we do not feel the need, the desire, or even the slightest inclination to have another. So please, please, stop asking when we're going to have another.
Never. That's when.
Showing posts with label Whining. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Whining. Show all posts
Tuesday, August 9, 2011
Tuesday, August 2, 2011
Not to beat a dead horse or anything . . .
But geez, it is hot outside.
Record breaking temperatures all week.
Record breaking heat indices* all week.
During the day, the heat is bad enough to cause power outages because the air conditioners just can't keep up.
And at night? Usually the place of blessed relief?
It is nearly midnight, and it is still 88 degrees. And humid enough to feel sticky just by poking your head out the door. Add in the massive numbers of bugs and it is murderous.
Who do I contact about getting a cold wave through here?
*Grammatical note: indices is the plural form of 'index'. I hate that the rule for any word ending in x is to change it to a c and add es. It takes away a lot of the cool factor when you remove the x. I vote we change this rule. The rule should be to simply add 'es' to the end. Way easier to remember, and we get to keep the 'x'. From now on, you should say 'heat indexes' or refer to the 'appendixes' of a book.**
**Never mind. Now that I see that written out, it looks dumb. Let's stick with the old rule.
Record breaking temperatures all week.
Record breaking heat indices* all week.
During the day, the heat is bad enough to cause power outages because the air conditioners just can't keep up.
And at night? Usually the place of blessed relief?
It is nearly midnight, and it is still 88 degrees. And humid enough to feel sticky just by poking your head out the door. Add in the massive numbers of bugs and it is murderous.
Who do I contact about getting a cold wave through here?
*Grammatical note: indices is the plural form of 'index'. I hate that the rule for any word ending in x is to change it to a c and add es. It takes away a lot of the cool factor when you remove the x. I vote we change this rule. The rule should be to simply add 'es' to the end. Way easier to remember, and we get to keep the 'x'. From now on, you should say 'heat indexes' or refer to the 'appendixes' of a book.**
**Never mind. Now that I see that written out, it looks dumb. Let's stick with the old rule.
Tuesday, April 19, 2011
Long Weekend
I hate making weekend trips home.
Let me clarify. I love going home. I love visiting everyone, and spending time with family, and being in a place that holds my entire childhood within a thirty-mile radius.
I hate that there never seems to be enough time. Going home for a weekend means leaving after Patrick gets home from work on Friday night, and arriving after Miles' bedtime. It means spending a day and a half seeing everyone we know. My mother. My father and grandfather. My sister. Patrick's parents and sisters. Patrick's grandmother, who is sweet enough to give us crash space every time we visit. Needless to say, there's just not enough time to spend quality time with everyone.
And this weekend, we went home for their Renaissance Festival, accompanied by Bethany and Shelby and Stacey. Which meant that most of Saturday was reserved for that. I ended up getting to spend time with my mother, but only because I wasn't feeling well, and didn't want to be a downer at the Festival. But I never got to see my dad, my grandpa, or my sister. Which stinks. And I got to see my in-laws, but only very briefly, since they were all busy running the Festival.
Add in the fact that I spent the weekend battling a sinus infection (which was diagnosed yesterday), and that Miles was uber-clingy and whiny for much of the weekend, and it became a less-than-ideal weekend.
I miss everyone so much, and I just wish there was a way to spend as much time as I want with each of them. But, for now, I have to get as much as possible out of these whirlwind weekends.
<sigh>
Let me clarify. I love going home. I love visiting everyone, and spending time with family, and being in a place that holds my entire childhood within a thirty-mile radius.
I hate that there never seems to be enough time. Going home for a weekend means leaving after Patrick gets home from work on Friday night, and arriving after Miles' bedtime. It means spending a day and a half seeing everyone we know. My mother. My father and grandfather. My sister. Patrick's parents and sisters. Patrick's grandmother, who is sweet enough to give us crash space every time we visit. Needless to say, there's just not enough time to spend quality time with everyone.
And this weekend, we went home for their Renaissance Festival, accompanied by Bethany and Shelby and Stacey. Which meant that most of Saturday was reserved for that. I ended up getting to spend time with my mother, but only because I wasn't feeling well, and didn't want to be a downer at the Festival. But I never got to see my dad, my grandpa, or my sister. Which stinks. And I got to see my in-laws, but only very briefly, since they were all busy running the Festival.
Add in the fact that I spent the weekend battling a sinus infection (which was diagnosed yesterday), and that Miles was uber-clingy and whiny for much of the weekend, and it became a less-than-ideal weekend.
I miss everyone so much, and I just wish there was a way to spend as much time as I want with each of them. But, for now, I have to get as much as possible out of these whirlwind weekends.
<sigh>
Thursday, April 14, 2011
Breakthrough
Yesterday was awful. Completely and utterly awful. Like Tuesday was biding her time to strike a day late. Yeah, that kind of awful.
Miles is still working on getting those canines. At least one of them is almost completely in. The other three have all broken the surface, at least, but he won't let me look in his mouth long enough to evaluate past that. Regardless, the poor kid is still a drooling mess of teething. And he's still going through that growth spurt, though it appears to be winding down.
Now, we've added seasonal allergies to the mix. The poor kid is forever rubbing his watery eyes, and snuffling his nose - which is leaking like a faucet all.the.time. And when he sneezes? I'm not even going to give you that visual. Just trust that it's entirely disgusting.
To top it all off, Miles woke up at 5:00 am yesterday morning. And stayed awake. He had his 18 month well child check at the doctor. It was an hour of whiny, cranky, clingy toddler in a tiny room, asking repeatedly to go bye-bye. He was so upset, the doctor had a hard time making all of the checks she needed to make. And then, as the final insult, he had to get a shot. He hasn't carried on that much about a vaccine since his first ones at two months old. It was dreadful.
Miles fell asleep in the car on the way home, so I opted to pick Patrick up for a quick drive-through lunch. After a twenty-five minute nap, Miles woke up, cranky, and more tired than before. The afternoon was no better. He whined and carried on, screaming if I was not touching him for more than a few seconds. Eventually, he passed out on my lap, and slept for another 45 minutes. And woke up cranky.
In short, it was the sort of day that usually throws me into multiple panic attacks, and leaves me crying and shaking in a corner by the time Patrick gets home from work.
Not yesterday. I was frustrated. I was exasperated. But I was calm. At one point, panic crept in, threatening at the edges, waiting for an opportunity to take over. And I managed to fight it off. With a lot of effort and a little bit of time and luck, I banished that panic from my body.
The meds are beginning to work. Yesterday was proof.
Miles is still working on getting those canines. At least one of them is almost completely in. The other three have all broken the surface, at least, but he won't let me look in his mouth long enough to evaluate past that. Regardless, the poor kid is still a drooling mess of teething. And he's still going through that growth spurt, though it appears to be winding down.
Now, we've added seasonal allergies to the mix. The poor kid is forever rubbing his watery eyes, and snuffling his nose - which is leaking like a faucet all.the.time. And when he sneezes? I'm not even going to give you that visual. Just trust that it's entirely disgusting.
To top it all off, Miles woke up at 5:00 am yesterday morning. And stayed awake. He had his 18 month well child check at the doctor. It was an hour of whiny, cranky, clingy toddler in a tiny room, asking repeatedly to go bye-bye. He was so upset, the doctor had a hard time making all of the checks she needed to make. And then, as the final insult, he had to get a shot. He hasn't carried on that much about a vaccine since his first ones at two months old. It was dreadful.
Miles fell asleep in the car on the way home, so I opted to pick Patrick up for a quick drive-through lunch. After a twenty-five minute nap, Miles woke up, cranky, and more tired than before. The afternoon was no better. He whined and carried on, screaming if I was not touching him for more than a few seconds. Eventually, he passed out on my lap, and slept for another 45 minutes. And woke up cranky.
In short, it was the sort of day that usually throws me into multiple panic attacks, and leaves me crying and shaking in a corner by the time Patrick gets home from work.
Not yesterday. I was frustrated. I was exasperated. But I was calm. At one point, panic crept in, threatening at the edges, waiting for an opportunity to take over. And I managed to fight it off. With a lot of effort and a little bit of time and luck, I banished that panic from my body.
The meds are beginning to work. Yesterday was proof.
Tuesday, April 12, 2011
Wednesday, March 2, 2011
Revenge of Tuesday
If you've read this blog for at least the last two weeks, you know all about my arch-nemesis, Tuesday. It returned this week, with a vengeance.
It all started with a crazy-wild toddler, in a hurry to get out the door. In such a hurry, in fact, that he couldn't be bothered to get dressed. Or eat. Or do any of the other hundred little things you have to do to get out of the door in the morning. All he wanted to do was go bye-bye. After a hundred major temper tantrums, and a few minor miracles, I managed to get him out the door, and into the van.
When I turned the key, though, it began knocking like crazy - something it has never done before. So, I drove by Patrick's office and had him listen to it. He told me to drive it as little as possible, and we dropped it off at the mechanic's during his lunch break.
Three hours later, in the midst of another screaming fit, Patrick called with the diagnosis: the van needs a new engine.
Blargh. Tuesday wins this round, I guess.
[Disclaimer: We are figuring it out. We will manage, and I will update you on our new vehicle in the near future, hopefully. I just needed to vent a little.]
It all started with a crazy-wild toddler, in a hurry to get out the door. In such a hurry, in fact, that he couldn't be bothered to get dressed. Or eat. Or do any of the other hundred little things you have to do to get out of the door in the morning. All he wanted to do was go bye-bye. After a hundred major temper tantrums, and a few minor miracles, I managed to get him out the door, and into the van.
When I turned the key, though, it began knocking like crazy - something it has never done before. So, I drove by Patrick's office and had him listen to it. He told me to drive it as little as possible, and we dropped it off at the mechanic's during his lunch break.
Three hours later, in the midst of another screaming fit, Patrick called with the diagnosis: the van needs a new engine.
Blargh. Tuesday wins this round, I guess.
[Disclaimer: We are figuring it out. We will manage, and I will update you on our new vehicle in the near future, hopefully. I just needed to vent a little.]
Thursday, February 17, 2011
Dermatologist Appointment From Hell
As promised, from yesterday. Remember that this was all part of the evil plot of my arch-nemesis, Tuesday.
Scene: The Dermatologist's Waiting Room
Time: 9:00 am, Tuesday* Morning
Miles ran around the waiting room screaming his fool head off, leaving a trail of cheerios and soy milk, as I tried desperately to complete the endless pages of pointless paperwork that were required before they would even let us back into a room. I tried, desperately, to control him, offering him everything from toys to cookies, to no avail. After fifteen minutes of this, I finally gave up and sped through the paperwork, while my son did his best impression of a banshee.
Every patient and receptionist in the room gave me with that disapproving, "Control your child" look. Except one mom, with her perfectly-behaved four-year-old girl-child, who looked at me with pity. I tried to ignore it, finally finished the paperwork, then cleaned cheerios off the floor, scooped up Miles, and his sippy cup, and his snack cup, and my purse, and took all of it up to the front desk. As I was dropping off paperwork, and trying not to up-end my bag, Miles took a dive for the floor, and the stench of dirty diaper whacked me across the face. I excused myself, changed him, and returned just in time to be called back (finally) to see a doctor.
We had been in the office for fifteen minutes. It felt like days.
Once in the room, I answered questions about Miles' medical history and the Devil's Rash that covered him from top to toe, while Miles generally did absolutely everything he shouldn't. He opened and closed the drawers. He pulled the sheet off the bed. He screamed. He wanted up. He dove for the floor. He rustled through my bag until he found the secret stash of animal crackers, and then begged for them, "Cook! Cook!" until I finally gave in out of desperation.
He sat quietly for about 90 seconds while I answered more detailed questions. Then, he asked for more "Cook!" Ad nauseum.
Exit Doctor Assistant Lady (DAL). Five more minutes of Chaos in a Tiny Room. Enter Doctor Dermatologist Lady (DDL). More questions. More chaos. Ad nauseum.
Exit Doctor Dermatologist Lady (DDL), in search of Big Wig Doctor Dermatologist Lady (BWDDL). Five more minutes of Chaos in a Tiny Room. Enter both Doctor Dermatologist Ladies (DDL & BWDDL). More questions. More chaos. Ad nauseum.
In the end, it was determined that Something Terrible (but Unidentifiable, apparently) is wrong with his skin.** Prescriptions were written. Good-byes were said. The Monster was re-dressed, and the door finally opened.
Exit Bedraggled Mommy, chasing Mini-Monster of Doom, running at top speed through the maze of hallways.
Then, we had to stop to check out. While at the desk, I managed to finally succeed in dumping the entire contents of my bag on the floor, and Miles fell flat on his face, in front of everyone who was waiting in line, giving me that, "Control your child and get your shit together, I'm tired of waiting on you" look. And, we had to make a follow-up appointment.
It's set for Tuesday. My arch-nemesis is good.
*See, I told you. Evil plot. Arch-nemesis. It's all there.
**Wonderful. So glad that two specialists were able to collaborate to come up with this gem of a diagnosis.
Wednesday, February 16, 2011
Tuesdays. . .
It's not unusual to hate Mondays. The beginning of the work week. The end of the weekend. Totally understandable. But, honestly, Mondays don't bother me, much.
Tuesdays, on the other hand, have my undying hatred.
Mainly because at best, they're the blah day. Monday, I feel hopeful at the prospect of another week, another opportunity to get things right. Wednesdays are the halfway point. Thursday is so near to the weekend that you can almost taste it, and I don't even have to explain the appeal of a Friday.
Tuesday, however, is just there, taunting me. The weekend is still but a distant dream, but I have usually lost the motivation of Monday. So, it just hangs there. Being Tuesday. Wretched. I abhor it.
Which is probably the reason that Tuesday has decided to seek revenge. Perhaps it's psychological - the way expecting bad things tends to bring them about. Or maybe Tuesday is simply my arch-nemesis. I prefer the latter explanation. Let me give you an example as to why I think this:
Yesterday was Tuesday. It was also a simply awful day, for a million tiny reasons, each one seemingly innocuous on its own. But combined? They made for a rather hellish day.*
It started when my alarm went off, a full 40 minutes before Miles usually gets up. Usually, this gives me enough time to snooze once or twice, then come downstairs and have a nice cup of coffee before I launch into my day. Tuesday, however, had other plans. When I pushed the snooze button for the first time, relishing the idea of nine more minutes of blissful slumber before I had to drag my ass out of bed, I thought for a moment that I hadn't hit the right button. Several seconds later, my sleep-ridden brain finally figured out that those noises? Weren't coming from the alarm, but from the next room, where Miles was already wide awake and playing. Patrick got up, too, and helped, so I could at least brush my teeth, and by the time I got out of the bathroom, the two of them were already downstairs. I drank my morning coffee in between helping find Miles some breakfast and re-locating the remote.**
Our normal morning routine was planned to be somewhat different, anyway, since Miles had an appointment with the dermatologist at 9:00 am.^ So, just as Miles' second-favorite show was coming on, I had to whisk him upstairs to get him ready to go. Unfortunately, that meant that he spent the entire time fighting me in an effort to get back downstairs to find Boo. Blargh. I managed to dress myself and him, brush his teeth, and brush his and my hair in record time. And, like the Bad Mommy I am, I parked him in front of the end of Boo so I could get my shoes on and get the diaper bag packed.
Then, we had the dermatologist appointment from hell. More about that tomorrow.
Afterward, I put Miles in the van, where he promptly fell asleep, and I used that opportunity to get his prescriptions filled. I dropped them off, then went to get a chai from Starbucks, since I have a gift card. The chai? Which was supposed to be a delectable treat? Tasted like butt. And when I got back to the pharmacy, there was some sort of problem that prevented me from being able to pick up the prescriptions right away. So, I drove home, anxious to sit in the van in the driveway, just breathing for five minutes.
And that's when Miles woke up.
We went inside, to find that the dog had, once again, escaped his kennel while we were gone, and had strewn dirty laundry all over the house. For the second time this week. Only this time? He decided to tear some of it to shreds. Just for giggles apparently. I cleaned it up, got Miles some lunch, and then fell into my chair in a heap. The clock read 11:34 am.
Tuesday is a bitch.
*Okay, okay. I am being dramatic. What else is new?
**No way can this mommy face a Tuesday without a cup of coffee. If that means television first thing, so be it.
^Right during Sesame Street. That was some bad planning. :)
Tuesdays, on the other hand, have my undying hatred.
Mainly because at best, they're the blah day. Monday, I feel hopeful at the prospect of another week, another opportunity to get things right. Wednesdays are the halfway point. Thursday is so near to the weekend that you can almost taste it, and I don't even have to explain the appeal of a Friday.
Tuesday, however, is just there, taunting me. The weekend is still but a distant dream, but I have usually lost the motivation of Monday. So, it just hangs there. Being Tuesday. Wretched. I abhor it.
Which is probably the reason that Tuesday has decided to seek revenge. Perhaps it's psychological - the way expecting bad things tends to bring them about. Or maybe Tuesday is simply my arch-nemesis. I prefer the latter explanation. Let me give you an example as to why I think this:
Yesterday was Tuesday. It was also a simply awful day, for a million tiny reasons, each one seemingly innocuous on its own. But combined? They made for a rather hellish day.*
It started when my alarm went off, a full 40 minutes before Miles usually gets up. Usually, this gives me enough time to snooze once or twice, then come downstairs and have a nice cup of coffee before I launch into my day. Tuesday, however, had other plans. When I pushed the snooze button for the first time, relishing the idea of nine more minutes of blissful slumber before I had to drag my ass out of bed, I thought for a moment that I hadn't hit the right button. Several seconds later, my sleep-ridden brain finally figured out that those noises? Weren't coming from the alarm, but from the next room, where Miles was already wide awake and playing. Patrick got up, too, and helped, so I could at least brush my teeth, and by the time I got out of the bathroom, the two of them were already downstairs. I drank my morning coffee in between helping find Miles some breakfast and re-locating the remote.**
Our normal morning routine was planned to be somewhat different, anyway, since Miles had an appointment with the dermatologist at 9:00 am.^ So, just as Miles' second-favorite show was coming on, I had to whisk him upstairs to get him ready to go. Unfortunately, that meant that he spent the entire time fighting me in an effort to get back downstairs to find Boo. Blargh. I managed to dress myself and him, brush his teeth, and brush his and my hair in record time. And, like the Bad Mommy I am, I parked him in front of the end of Boo so I could get my shoes on and get the diaper bag packed.
Then, we had the dermatologist appointment from hell. More about that tomorrow.
Afterward, I put Miles in the van, where he promptly fell asleep, and I used that opportunity to get his prescriptions filled. I dropped them off, then went to get a chai from Starbucks, since I have a gift card. The chai? Which was supposed to be a delectable treat? Tasted like butt. And when I got back to the pharmacy, there was some sort of problem that prevented me from being able to pick up the prescriptions right away. So, I drove home, anxious to sit in the van in the driveway, just breathing for five minutes.
And that's when Miles woke up.
We went inside, to find that the dog had, once again, escaped his kennel while we were gone, and had strewn dirty laundry all over the house. For the second time this week. Only this time? He decided to tear some of it to shreds. Just for giggles apparently. I cleaned it up, got Miles some lunch, and then fell into my chair in a heap. The clock read 11:34 am.
Tuesday is a bitch.
*Okay, okay. I am being dramatic. What else is new?
**No way can this mommy face a Tuesday without a cup of coffee. If that means television first thing, so be it.
^Right during Sesame Street. That was some bad planning. :)
Tuesday, February 8, 2011
I Hate Shopping
Seriously. Especially if Miles is with me. What could have been a ten minute run in to Wal-Mart by myself turned into an hour-long ordeal that included a zillion mini-meltdowns.
I mean, I get it. Wal-Mart is about the worst place in the world for a toddler*. It's huge. And over-poweringly bright. Everywhere you look, there are products stacked from floor to ceiling in endless rows. Around every corner is a TV, blaring out a commercial for a nearby product. People run in every direction, often with no patience or concern for those around them. And finding anything is a challenge. I almost always walk out with a headache.
I can only imagine what it must be like for Miles. Everything that I already mentioned? He sees that, too, except intensified. A small gym seems like a huge space to a toddler - something the size of your average Wal-Mart must seem like an impossible distance. The brightness makes it hard to look up, which is terrible if everything is above you. The walls of products must seem like a never-ending labyrinth of products so bright that your eye jumps from one to the next before it has had a chance to process. There is simply so much input. And his little brain? Is a sponge. And on top of all that? He is confined to the cart - an extremely small and uncomfortable space that he has zero control over.
I can totally understand why my kid was the Tantrum King today. In fact, I'm kinda surprised I didn't throw a few fits, myself.
Oh, glorious internet, become awesome enough that I don't have to step foot in one of those evil stores ever again. Deliver everything to my door, please. Or, better yet, bring back the dimly lit frontier General Store, with its few shelves of dry goods, attended by a clerk who brings everything to the counter for you.
Because this whole Wal-Mart/Target/Grocery Store idea? It sucks.
*And honestly? Every store is like this. I just happened to be at a Wal-Mart today.
I mean, I get it. Wal-Mart is about the worst place in the world for a toddler*. It's huge. And over-poweringly bright. Everywhere you look, there are products stacked from floor to ceiling in endless rows. Around every corner is a TV, blaring out a commercial for a nearby product. People run in every direction, often with no patience or concern for those around them. And finding anything is a challenge. I almost always walk out with a headache.
I can only imagine what it must be like for Miles. Everything that I already mentioned? He sees that, too, except intensified. A small gym seems like a huge space to a toddler - something the size of your average Wal-Mart must seem like an impossible distance. The brightness makes it hard to look up, which is terrible if everything is above you. The walls of products must seem like a never-ending labyrinth of products so bright that your eye jumps from one to the next before it has had a chance to process. There is simply so much input. And his little brain? Is a sponge. And on top of all that? He is confined to the cart - an extremely small and uncomfortable space that he has zero control over.
I can totally understand why my kid was the Tantrum King today. In fact, I'm kinda surprised I didn't throw a few fits, myself.
Oh, glorious internet, become awesome enough that I don't have to step foot in one of those evil stores ever again. Deliver everything to my door, please. Or, better yet, bring back the dimly lit frontier General Store, with its few shelves of dry goods, attended by a clerk who brings everything to the counter for you.
Because this whole Wal-Mart/Target/Grocery Store idea? It sucks.
*And honestly? Every store is like this. I just happened to be at a Wal-Mart today.
Sunday, January 23, 2011
Reason #1 My House Will Never Be Clean
Exhibit #1: Living room at the end of Miles' nap. (Literally, he woke up about 2 minutes after this shot)
Don't you feel so much better about your own houses, now? :)
Tuesday, January 18, 2011
The sleeps. I need them.
And for once, it's not Miles' fault that I'm not getting them.
I have been exhausted lately. Probably because I have slept through the night only a handful of times since the New Year. There's always something waking me up. Occasionally, it is the toddler, waking around 2:00 am, and crying for a moment before finding Glow Worm and going back to sleep. More often, though, it's the dog.
I love Dominic, and honestly, I think getting him was one of the better decisions we made for our family. Miles adores him. He and the dog are a pair, chasing each other back and forth all day. Miles throws things for the dog, which Dominic promptly chases with great gusto, making Miles giggle. Many a time, I have found the two of them snuggling on the couch, or staring out the window together, or simply sitting close together while Miles plays. Yes, Miles and Dominic are buddies, and I am happy he is here.
Until 2:00 am, that is. Dominic has an innate ability to wake me up in the middle of the night, without even trying. He loves to run up and down the stairs for some reason, in a crazy rush to get nowhere, the tags on his collar jangling me awake like a bad alarm clock. So, we started taking his collar off at night.
That apparently does not stop the Sleep Stealer. Last night, even without the collar, he woke me three times. I went to bed at 9:30 to try to battle this exhaustion (plus the sickies I feel coming on). At 10:30, Dominic decided to try to find all of the squeaky parts of the floor in our bedroom. I sent him out, and went back to sleep, only to be awakened at 2:20 to the sound of him peeing on something. I don't know why. He's housetrained, and had been out not long before, according to Patrick. By the time the mess had been cleaned and the dog disciplined, it was 2:45, and I was wide awake. I think I finally fell asleep around 3:15.
At 3:30, Dominic jumped on my feet and woke me again.
I'm tempted to rent a hotel room, just so I can get a full night's sleep. :)
I have been exhausted lately. Probably because I have slept through the night only a handful of times since the New Year. There's always something waking me up. Occasionally, it is the toddler, waking around 2:00 am, and crying for a moment before finding Glow Worm and going back to sleep. More often, though, it's the dog.
I love Dominic, and honestly, I think getting him was one of the better decisions we made for our family. Miles adores him. He and the dog are a pair, chasing each other back and forth all day. Miles throws things for the dog, which Dominic promptly chases with great gusto, making Miles giggle. Many a time, I have found the two of them snuggling on the couch, or staring out the window together, or simply sitting close together while Miles plays. Yes, Miles and Dominic are buddies, and I am happy he is here.
Until 2:00 am, that is. Dominic has an innate ability to wake me up in the middle of the night, without even trying. He loves to run up and down the stairs for some reason, in a crazy rush to get nowhere, the tags on his collar jangling me awake like a bad alarm clock. So, we started taking his collar off at night.
That apparently does not stop the Sleep Stealer. Last night, even without the collar, he woke me three times. I went to bed at 9:30 to try to battle this exhaustion (plus the sickies I feel coming on). At 10:30, Dominic decided to try to find all of the squeaky parts of the floor in our bedroom. I sent him out, and went back to sleep, only to be awakened at 2:20 to the sound of him peeing on something. I don't know why. He's housetrained, and had been out not long before, according to Patrick. By the time the mess had been cleaned and the dog disciplined, it was 2:45, and I was wide awake. I think I finally fell asleep around 3:15.
At 3:30, Dominic jumped on my feet and woke me again.
I'm tempted to rent a hotel room, just so I can get a full night's sleep. :)
Tuesday, January 11, 2011
Cabin Fever
I hate being stuck inside.
Correction: I love being stuck inside, by myself, with an endless supply of cocoa and good books. I hate being stuck inside with an active toddler who is easily bored.
So far, we have played with his Duplos, played in the tent, played crawling chase games and tickle wars, wrestled with his teddy bear, chased the dog, eaten breakfast, rolled and jumped on the bed, watched TV, pushed toys around in the wagon, chased the dog again, played with magnets, and loaded the dishwasher. And he went down for his morning nap. It's 10:00 am. Which means I have roughly 7 more hours until Stacey gets home from work, and up to 9 hours before Patrick gets home.
How am I ever going to entertain him?
I would take him out somewhere, but the wind chill is a toe-numbing -8 degrees. Eek. No way do I want him out in that. Especially since the roads are still a little yucky from all the snow. And the drivers around here are notorious for freaking out over even the least bit of precipitation. No, unfortunately, it's safer all around to just stay indoors. Again. And try not to go completely insane.
Correction: I love being stuck inside, by myself, with an endless supply of cocoa and good books. I hate being stuck inside with an active toddler who is easily bored.
So far, we have played with his Duplos, played in the tent, played crawling chase games and tickle wars, wrestled with his teddy bear, chased the dog, eaten breakfast, rolled and jumped on the bed, watched TV, pushed toys around in the wagon, chased the dog again, played with magnets, and loaded the dishwasher. And he went down for his morning nap. It's 10:00 am. Which means I have roughly 7 more hours until Stacey gets home from work, and up to 9 hours before Patrick gets home.
How am I ever going to entertain him?
I would take him out somewhere, but the wind chill is a toe-numbing -8 degrees. Eek. No way do I want him out in that. Especially since the roads are still a little yucky from all the snow. And the drivers around here are notorious for freaking out over even the least bit of precipitation. No, unfortunately, it's safer all around to just stay indoors. Again. And try not to go completely insane.
Monday, January 10, 2011
Snow
I know some people love the snow, and are all excited about this storm that has blanketed so much of the country. I am not one of those people. I hate the snow. It's cold. And sticks to you, then melts, so you're cold and wet. Yuck.
Which is terrible for me, because the stuff just won't stop falling from the sky. In buckets. Big, fat flakes, blowing in the crazy-cold wind. The ground was covered when I let the dog out this morning. Only three hours later, his prints are almost filled with snow again. You almost can't tell he was out there at all. The snow plows keep on coming, but an hour later, you can hardly tell they've been by.
The worst part is that I'm stuck inside. I could brave the cold and snow, but to what end? Risking a car wreck just to get out of the house irresponsible, at best. Add in the fact that I'd have to drag Miles along, and it becomes downright stupid.
Oh, and he's cranky and tired, to boot. Blargh.
Only ten more weeks until spring. Only ten more weeks until spring. Only ten more weeks until spring . . .
Which is terrible for me, because the stuff just won't stop falling from the sky. In buckets. Big, fat flakes, blowing in the crazy-cold wind. The ground was covered when I let the dog out this morning. Only three hours later, his prints are almost filled with snow again. You almost can't tell he was out there at all. The snow plows keep on coming, but an hour later, you can hardly tell they've been by.
The worst part is that I'm stuck inside. I could brave the cold and snow, but to what end? Risking a car wreck just to get out of the house irresponsible, at best. Add in the fact that I'd have to drag Miles along, and it becomes downright stupid.
Oh, and he's cranky and tired, to boot. Blargh.
Only ten more weeks until spring. Only ten more weeks until spring. Only ten more weeks until spring . . .
Wednesday, December 1, 2010
Lessons of Mommyhood
Lesson #106: Never take a sick toddler anywhere. Especially somewhere that requires waiting. Even if it's just for a minute.
Today was Dominic's first vet visit since coming to live with us. We wanted to get him checked out, and establish a relationship with a vet, just in case we need one in the future. (We had one for Lilo, but we weren't crazy about him, and his office was 20 minutes away.)
I got there a few minutes early, anticipating the inevitable barrage of paperwork that comes with going anywhere new.* We arrived, and were immediately taken to an exam room and handed a clipboard and a pen. I rolled up my sleeves and dove into the paperwork frenzy.
It was a single page. Front only. Lots of white space.
Which meant that I now had several minutes to wait in the tiny exam room with a Very Worried Dog and a Very Cranky Toddler. Not a good mix. Dominic laid under my feet, whining, probably expecting to be left here or worse. Miles, meanwhile, ran laps around the room. In the space of two minutes, he asked for Goldfish and a book, pushed the doctor stool around the room a half-dozen times, threw his Goldfish angrily at the floor and tried to take the dog's leash from me. And then I wiped his nose.
All hell broke loose. He threw his head back, arched his spine, and wailed. He punched and kicked and tossed and turned like a fish flopping around on a dock. Snot and saliva flew. Eardrums were pierced. Bruises were inflicted upon an unsuspecting and helpless Mommy.
Who was still trying to hold on to the dog and keep him calm.
Blargh.
In the end, the vet came in, Miles calmed down, the dog was given a clean bill of health, and we went home. Where Miles promptly fell into a deep sleep, exhausted from his first-class tantrum. And I fell into a heap in my chair to blog and watch the neighbors call the cops on each other repeatedly. For an hour.
Ahh, it's so relaxing to be a stay at home mom!
* Seriously, there's a reason I don't go to new restaurants anymore. By the time I finish the paperwork, I'm famished! :)
Today was Dominic's first vet visit since coming to live with us. We wanted to get him checked out, and establish a relationship with a vet, just in case we need one in the future. (We had one for Lilo, but we weren't crazy about him, and his office was 20 minutes away.)
I got there a few minutes early, anticipating the inevitable barrage of paperwork that comes with going anywhere new.* We arrived, and were immediately taken to an exam room and handed a clipboard and a pen. I rolled up my sleeves and dove into the paperwork frenzy.
It was a single page. Front only. Lots of white space.
Which meant that I now had several minutes to wait in the tiny exam room with a Very Worried Dog and a Very Cranky Toddler. Not a good mix. Dominic laid under my feet, whining, probably expecting to be left here or worse. Miles, meanwhile, ran laps around the room. In the space of two minutes, he asked for Goldfish and a book, pushed the doctor stool around the room a half-dozen times, threw his Goldfish angrily at the floor and tried to take the dog's leash from me. And then I wiped his nose.
All hell broke loose. He threw his head back, arched his spine, and wailed. He punched and kicked and tossed and turned like a fish flopping around on a dock. Snot and saliva flew. Eardrums were pierced. Bruises were inflicted upon an unsuspecting and helpless Mommy.
Who was still trying to hold on to the dog and keep him calm.
Blargh.
In the end, the vet came in, Miles calmed down, the dog was given a clean bill of health, and we went home. Where Miles promptly fell into a deep sleep, exhausted from his first-class tantrum. And I fell into a heap in my chair to blog and watch the neighbors call the cops on each other repeatedly. For an hour.
Ahh, it's so relaxing to be a stay at home mom!
* Seriously, there's a reason I don't go to new restaurants anymore. By the time I finish the paperwork, I'm famished! :)
Tuesday, November 30, 2010
Icky Sickies
I am the mother of a snot-monster.
Seriously, the kid's nose hasn't stopped running since yesterday morning. And this morning, when I got him out of bed, he had dried snot all over his face. Disgusting, but true. And, of course, his nose hurts, so wiping it has become this major struggle. Every two minutes.
So, I pulled out the snot-sucker. I have never, ever used the thing on him. But then, he's never been this congested before. I held him down, and fought with him, and in the end, he was breathing through his nose. Briefly. Then, exhausted from our epic struggle, he fell fast asleep.
I'll probably be cleaning dried snot again in an hour.
It wouldn't be so terrible, except the kid was already on the verge of extreme crankiness because he has four molars coming in, all at once. We have been fighting these teeth for almost three weeks now. So far, he's done wonderfully. He gets a little fussy for awhile, sometimes, and then I put on the Orajel and life returns to sunshine and rainbows.
But now, with this cold, he just can't force himself to be happy. He tries. He played with eighteen toys in the space of ten minutes this morning in an effort to distract himself. When that didn't work, he climbed into my lap, put his head on my chest, and whimpered.* I tried comforting him, but he assumed I was trying to put him down for a nap, and he bucked backward and climbed back to the floor, looking again for comfort in his toys. And so the cycle continued. Over and over again for the next hour. Until I pulled out the snot-sucker and he finally fell asleep.
As if that weren't enough, I woke up with congested sinuses this morning. It's going to be a long week.
*And then blew his nose on my robe.
Seriously, the kid's nose hasn't stopped running since yesterday morning. And this morning, when I got him out of bed, he had dried snot all over his face. Disgusting, but true. And, of course, his nose hurts, so wiping it has become this major struggle. Every two minutes.
So, I pulled out the snot-sucker. I have never, ever used the thing on him. But then, he's never been this congested before. I held him down, and fought with him, and in the end, he was breathing through his nose. Briefly. Then, exhausted from our epic struggle, he fell fast asleep.
I'll probably be cleaning dried snot again in an hour.
It wouldn't be so terrible, except the kid was already on the verge of extreme crankiness because he has four molars coming in, all at once. We have been fighting these teeth for almost three weeks now. So far, he's done wonderfully. He gets a little fussy for awhile, sometimes, and then I put on the Orajel and life returns to sunshine and rainbows.
But now, with this cold, he just can't force himself to be happy. He tries. He played with eighteen toys in the space of ten minutes this morning in an effort to distract himself. When that didn't work, he climbed into my lap, put his head on my chest, and whimpered.* I tried comforting him, but he assumed I was trying to put him down for a nap, and he bucked backward and climbed back to the floor, looking again for comfort in his toys. And so the cycle continued. Over and over again for the next hour. Until I pulled out the snot-sucker and he finally fell asleep.
As if that weren't enough, I woke up with congested sinuses this morning. It's going to be a long week.
*And then blew his nose on my robe.
Wednesday, November 24, 2010
I'm a Klutz
So, I fell down the stairs.
Yeah, that sounds way worse than it was. Honestly, my feet slipped out from under me and I landed on my back, bruising my back and my tail bone, and whacking the back of my head hard enough that I had a headache all day, yesterday.
Yes, I'm really talented at falling. Also, I think Stacey's staircase is trying to kill me.
For anyone out there who doesn't know about our living situation, here's an overview:
We are renting a townhome, with Stacey, who may as well be my sister. Miles and Patrick and I have the two bedrooms on the second floor, Stacey's bedroom is in the basement, and the main floor is a common area. Rent is way cheaper, and honestly, she was at our place 90% of the time anyway. This way, I just don't have to worry about her driving home when she's so sleepy she can hardly keep her eyes open.
So far, it's been awesome to have her here. And I'm not just saying that because I know she'll read this. It really is awesome. I'm not even sure if she's human. Humans should have more flaws and annoying habits. Her worst one? Blaring Disney music while she showers. Which I can totally dig.* I'm sure my list of annoying habits is about to drive her away, but in the meantime? She does the dishes most days, which lightens my load considerably. And she watches Miles while I cook dinner, or any other time I ask. And last night, when I was so stiff and sore from my tumble, Stacey took over so I could just sit and whine about how much I hurt. And she sat, and listened, and sympathized. Because she's an awesome friend.
Even if her stairs are trying to kill me.
*She has no idea that I sing and dance along downstairs with Miles every time she showers.**
**Oops. Guess she does now! :)
Yeah, that sounds way worse than it was. Honestly, my feet slipped out from under me and I landed on my back, bruising my back and my tail bone, and whacking the back of my head hard enough that I had a headache all day, yesterday.
Yes, I'm really talented at falling. Also, I think Stacey's staircase is trying to kill me.
For anyone out there who doesn't know about our living situation, here's an overview:
We are renting a townhome, with Stacey, who may as well be my sister. Miles and Patrick and I have the two bedrooms on the second floor, Stacey's bedroom is in the basement, and the main floor is a common area. Rent is way cheaper, and honestly, she was at our place 90% of the time anyway. This way, I just don't have to worry about her driving home when she's so sleepy she can hardly keep her eyes open.
So far, it's been awesome to have her here. And I'm not just saying that because I know she'll read this. It really is awesome. I'm not even sure if she's human. Humans should have more flaws and annoying habits. Her worst one? Blaring Disney music while she showers. Which I can totally dig.* I'm sure my list of annoying habits is about to drive her away, but in the meantime? She does the dishes most days, which lightens my load considerably. And she watches Miles while I cook dinner, or any other time I ask. And last night, when I was so stiff and sore from my tumble, Stacey took over so I could just sit and whine about how much I hurt. And she sat, and listened, and sympathized. Because she's an awesome friend.
Even if her stairs are trying to kill me.
*She has no idea that I sing and dance along downstairs with Miles every time she showers.**
**Oops. Guess she does now! :)
Saturday, November 13, 2010
It's Thanksgiving, Darnit!
I know this has been said over and over again, but I just have to state for the record that I hate when Christmas comes too early.
When I was a kid, I once told my mother that I wished Christmas was every day. My mother, like most sane people in the world, wisely stated that too much of a good thing is bad for you.
Well, it's gotten to be too much.
Christmas displays go up in the stores as early as September. Now, I love Christmas and all, but not next to the skeleton candy dishes.
September through December - four months of Christmas.
Then, there's the inevitable "after-Christmas" hubbub, which lasts most of January - until Valentine's Day generally appears around the end of the month.
January - one month
Then, for those who just can't wait for December to roll around again, there's this insanity known as Christmas in July.
July - one more month
All told, the stores are shoving Christmas down our throats for six solid months - that's half of every year. And I, for one, am tired.
I want to enjoy Christmas again. I want it to be something I anticipate as Thanksgiving approaches - rather than dread the sight of when I'm shopping for Halloween costumes. I want to close my eyes on Thanksgiving night, excited about the upcoming Christmas season. And awaken the day after to my first Christmas song of the year.
Part of my issue is that we have begun to skate directly from Halloween to Christmas, completely skipping my favorite holiday. I love Thanksgiving. It's the only holiday that really can't be commercialized - it's about food and family and football. There's not much you can do to ruin that combination. And it's one of two days of the year that my family gets together without (much) arguing. We fast until the dinner is ready - usually at least an hour later than planned - and then we gorge ourselves silly. The men retire to the living room to doze off and on throughout the football game, while the women (and any men who dislike sports) move to the kitchen table for cards or board games. It's a very peaceful day, full of warmth and the friendship of family.
I just wish I could enjoy it before the Christmas songs start.
Wednesday, July 7, 2010
Mold
We're not moving. Because apparently, painting over mold will kill it.
Right. I'm still not letting my son sleep in that room. That means three months of living crammed into one bedroom. Ugh.
Anyhow, anyone who reads this has already heard this whole story. I'll not beat a dead horse. Just look forward to three months of me whining about sharing a bedroom with a nine month old, my allergies to mold causing my eyes to itch until I can't see straight, and my utter frustration with the laws that are supposed to protect us as tenants.
Yay.
Monday, June 28, 2010
I have only one thing to say today: Ugh.
I had planned to write some tonight, but I have two more pressing issue:
1) My ceiling is leaking. In a big way. Either our air conditioner has a major leak, or the one in the apartment above us does. Either way, ugh.
2) I have to find a new home for my dog. I've had her for seven years, and I love her so much. But she growled at Miles, and now continues to do so. Until I find her a good home (without children), I'm not going to rest easy.
So, sorry. Life sucks, so no updates. Rest assured that Miles is, in fact, still cute.
Wednesday, June 23, 2010
Coming Soon: Flying Baby!
I read an article once that theorized that babies sleep a lot less when they are trying to learn something new. The article pointed out that babies are notorious for being sleepless around four months old - right around the time that they are "waking up" to the world around them. And they tend to be sleepless just before they pass each subsequent milestone.
If that's true, Miles should be learning to stand independently, walk, run, jump, climb trees, and possibly fly.
In other words, it's been a sleepless week so far. He had just started to hit a routine of sleeping all night, and taking two long naps and a short nap during the day. Yesterday, he had two naps all day long - one was twenty minutes, and the other was thirty. And last night, he didn't fall asleep until almost 1:30 in the morning. And he was awake and bright eyed at 8:00. (He did fall back asleep, around 8:45, and slept for another twenty-five minutes. . .)
Thank goodness for Patrick, who let me go to bed early (midnight-thirty) and stayed up with Miles. I don't know how he does it, but I could never do this without him. If I slept as little as he does, I wouldn't be able to function.
And honestly, I can see that Miles is so close to walking. He stands independently for a few seconds at a time, much longer if he's distracted and doesn't realize what he's doing. And he keeps trying to lift his feet and walk, but it scares him, and he sits down quickly.
Hopefully, he figures it out soon. Otherwise, this blog may be written by a zombie from now on. :)
P.S. Thanks for reading, even when I complain. As a reward, here is a cute picture of Miles! :)
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