The last couple of weeks has been building up to this moment. There have been ups and downs...exhausting moments...and while last night was not necessarily the worst of it...it did pretty much sum up the frustration throughout the duration of my husband being gone.
I attempted to make dinner. That was my first mistake. Why, as a single mother, was I going to try and cook something from scratch? Perhaps it was the altruistic side of me that wanted to prove that I am capable of doing this...I do not need to resort to fast food or macaroni and cheese. I am going to feed my kids a healthy, home-cooked meal. I was going to make a healthy version of fish and chips...where I made my own breading from grinding toasted multigrain bread. I made the chips out of sweet potatoes...which took me nearly an hour to peel and try to slice with the side of a cheese grater, because I did not have the proper appliance for slicing vegetables into paper-thin slices. Connor watched for awhile. The older boy had to be brought down to watch the other little ones so my mother could hold Connor.
After stopping here and there to deal with issues with the teenagers, I finally got the sweet potato slices into the oven. My oven has been acting up for awhile now, but I've managed to somehow make it work by adjusting the temperature and keeping a close eye on the food. This was not a night I could make it work. I opened the door to find smoke billowing out...the bottom tray of chips were charred...the top tray not cooked at all. The smoke alarm went off...I still had to bake the fish. I had now been in the kitchen for almost two hours. My mother came in and fried the rest of the undercooked sweet potatoes in oil, while I started some macaroni and cheese, which I should have just done in the first place. The fish didn't have the same issues...but we did end up microwaving some of them. By this time I was ready to snap if a child came in one more time asking if dinner was ready...or what that burnt smell was...
We sat around the table. Owen squeezed some macaroni between his fingers and slid down from his seat. Connor proceeded to switch seats and eat Owen's macaroni after I told him he needed to eat his fish (he had already shoveled down all of his macaroni.) Irelynn asked how many bites she had to take. The older two poked at their fish as though they were examining some sort of crime scene evidence.
Needless to say, dinner was a bust.
Then came the frustrations of trying to get the teenagers to help clean up after dinner (I get the strong impression that doing dishes ruins their lives somehow.)
After a few attempts, we finally got Connor down to sleep. Owen was getting tired, and tried to snuggle up to me...I bent down to kiss him, and he jumped up, making contact...hard...with my lip. My teeth cut into the inside, and I could taste blood. Brilliant.
My mother managed to find one lonely can of beer in the basement fridge. Upon getting the last child to bed, we split the beer into two mugs. The phone rang...and I thought it might be my husband, calling to wish me a good night and perhaps apologize for making fun of my predicament earlier. No...it was the instant alert system for the public school system...due to inclement weather, the kids will have no school the next day. They had already had a long weekend, because they had no school that day, either, due to President's Day. Awesome.
We ended the night with a toast to endurance.
Tuesday, February 22, 2011
Monday, February 21, 2011
The Camel and the Business Trip
Men do not understand the phrase, "the straw that broke the camel's back." If they did, they would understand that the real reason we had a mental breakdown when the glass of milk spilled was not because of the milk, in and of itself. We are not crazy, overly-sensitive, highly emotional beings that cry over spilled milk. In fact...it is quite the opposite: if a man had to endure what a woman does on a daily basis, he would have several mental breakdowns before 8am. However, a man does not "get it." Unfortunately, when explaining the process of one of my meltdowns, I turn into Bill Cosby, circa 1983. My eyebrows raise. The corners of my mouth turn down. My voice becomes much more animated...much like Bill's descriptions of his own wife, when dealing with his children. I begin to time-stamp the events of my day.
"6:02am: I wake up with the boys."
"6:35am: I break up a fight over a wooden choo-choo train and a dinosaur, after the choo-choo train makes contact with Connor's head."
My voice starts to get higher.
"6:46am: I argue with the oldest girl as to whether or not a jacket is necessary in 18-degree weather and remind her that the younger girl is still sleeping so take the headphones out of her ears and stop yelling."
"6:59am: I drag the teenage boy out of bed and remind him he has fifteen minutes to get ready and get to the bus stop."
I pause to note his reaction.
"7:45am: I wipe yogurt off of the walls, the floor, and both boys."
I could go on, but you get the point.
Now, this is a typical day. My meltdown usually occurs somewhere between the older children arriving home from school and post-dinner chaos.
Currently my husband is away on a business trip. This has been the longest one yet, spread over two weeks and three states. Luckily my mother has been here to help with the children, and offer emotional support. I do not have to time-stamp the day for my mother. We have this understanding...woman to woman...mother to mother. All it takes is a nod...a hug...and one of us breaks out a couple bottles of beer.
Over the course of two weeks we have gone through rounds of sickness. I lost my voice. The oldest girl had episodes of dizzyness so bad that she nearly passed out. Connor got an ear infection. Both my mother and I managed to throw our backs out (at different times.) The boys have not slept through the night since my husband has been gone. Our patience is wearing thin.
Everyday I am juggling children's medications, figuring out meals, breaking up fights, deflecting teenagers' snarky comments, and using my mad almost Kung Fu-like defense skills on two toddler boys who do not have a father to wrestle with right now. I have numerous bruises on my arms and legs. The older kids have been quite underwhelming when it comes to helping out while he has been gone. It is amazing how quickly they can disappear and hide when things get messy or chaotic downstairs.
When my husband comes home...Owen will inevitably throw his dinner on the floor...and I will say something clever, like, "that's it. I'm joining the circus. Don't call me, I'll call you," and my husband will then ask me, "what's your problem?"
I will calmly look at him and say, "do you remember me talking about the straw that broke the camel's back? Well, the camel's back broke about a week ago, when she tried to remove a jumping boy off of his sister's bed. She also lost her voice, and didn't get any sleep. Then that camel had to carry around two 25lb boys, juggle doctor's visits with screaming children, make sure the little camels got all their medication at the proper time, and make last-minute runs to the store for posterboard and printer ink because someone forgot to mention they had a project due the next day. There are only two things that can cure this poor, beaten animal that is foaming from the mouth (which may or may not be a direct result of being bitten by a toddler): put it out of it's misery...or let it have a vacation. Even one night would be good. A full night's sleep can do wonders."
If my husband is wise, he will not upset the camel.
"6:02am: I wake up with the boys."
"6:35am: I break up a fight over a wooden choo-choo train and a dinosaur, after the choo-choo train makes contact with Connor's head."
My voice starts to get higher.
"6:46am: I argue with the oldest girl as to whether or not a jacket is necessary in 18-degree weather and remind her that the younger girl is still sleeping so take the headphones out of her ears and stop yelling."
"6:59am: I drag the teenage boy out of bed and remind him he has fifteen minutes to get ready and get to the bus stop."
I pause to note his reaction.
"7:45am: I wipe yogurt off of the walls, the floor, and both boys."
I could go on, but you get the point.
Now, this is a typical day. My meltdown usually occurs somewhere between the older children arriving home from school and post-dinner chaos.
Currently my husband is away on a business trip. This has been the longest one yet, spread over two weeks and three states. Luckily my mother has been here to help with the children, and offer emotional support. I do not have to time-stamp the day for my mother. We have this understanding...woman to woman...mother to mother. All it takes is a nod...a hug...and one of us breaks out a couple bottles of beer.
Over the course of two weeks we have gone through rounds of sickness. I lost my voice. The oldest girl had episodes of dizzyness so bad that she nearly passed out. Connor got an ear infection. Both my mother and I managed to throw our backs out (at different times.) The boys have not slept through the night since my husband has been gone. Our patience is wearing thin.
Everyday I am juggling children's medications, figuring out meals, breaking up fights, deflecting teenagers' snarky comments, and using my mad almost Kung Fu-like defense skills on two toddler boys who do not have a father to wrestle with right now. I have numerous bruises on my arms and legs. The older kids have been quite underwhelming when it comes to helping out while he has been gone. It is amazing how quickly they can disappear and hide when things get messy or chaotic downstairs.
When my husband comes home...Owen will inevitably throw his dinner on the floor...and I will say something clever, like, "that's it. I'm joining the circus. Don't call me, I'll call you," and my husband will then ask me, "what's your problem?"
I will calmly look at him and say, "do you remember me talking about the straw that broke the camel's back? Well, the camel's back broke about a week ago, when she tried to remove a jumping boy off of his sister's bed. She also lost her voice, and didn't get any sleep. Then that camel had to carry around two 25lb boys, juggle doctor's visits with screaming children, make sure the little camels got all their medication at the proper time, and make last-minute runs to the store for posterboard and printer ink because someone forgot to mention they had a project due the next day. There are only two things that can cure this poor, beaten animal that is foaming from the mouth (which may or may not be a direct result of being bitten by a toddler): put it out of it's misery...or let it have a vacation. Even one night would be good. A full night's sleep can do wonders."
If my husband is wise, he will not upset the camel.
Friday, January 28, 2011
Wednesday, January 26, 2011
Can I Get Double the Xanax?
I have been afraid to update my blog.
Updating my blog means that I have to actually take the time to sit down, compose something worth reading, and do it in the amount of time it would normally take to check my Facebook newsfeed before extracting Owen from the cat's water dish and then figure out how Connor changed everything to Spanish on the cable box.
Life with the twins has been a struggle lately. The "Terrible Two's" has a whole new meaning with them...because the ripe old age of two would be much easier to deal with if there wasn't two of them going through this marvelous developmental stage at the same time. Owen might not manage to scale the shelf in the living room if Connor didn't get down on his hands and knees to allow him to step on his back first. Connor might not have the time to change the settings on the Wii if Owen didn't distract me by stripping down and peeing on the carpet. And I'm sure that on their own they would not be able to construct a tower out of chairs, plastic bins and stuffed animals so that they could reach their sister's CD's on a high shelf.
They would also not have the fights that only children of the same age could conjure up. A certain toy can cause an eruption that might involve throwing things, smacking, or hiding said toy down one's diaper (or DVD, in Connor's case.) We are trying to gather digital copies of their favorite DVD's as the boys get very possessive...apparently licking a DVD and stuffing it down the front of your diaper is a clear declaration of ownership.
I see the dark circles forming under my eyes...and the lines on my forehead that used to only appear when I raised my eyebrows, but are now permanently etched into my skin. I do not see the gray hairs, however, because I did find time late one night to dye my hair.
The older kids are definitely stressing me out as well, with the usual teen issues, some more prominent than others...but, for better or worse, the twins have made it so that I do not have long to sit and stress about those issues. I'm too busy wiping applesauce off of the wall...and the cat.
I see Owen is naked, and Connor has found a fruit snack. We haven't had fruit snacks in the house for over a month...so I suppose I should go take care of that.
((sigh))
Updating my blog means that I have to actually take the time to sit down, compose something worth reading, and do it in the amount of time it would normally take to check my Facebook newsfeed before extracting Owen from the cat's water dish and then figure out how Connor changed everything to Spanish on the cable box.
Life with the twins has been a struggle lately. The "Terrible Two's" has a whole new meaning with them...because the ripe old age of two would be much easier to deal with if there wasn't two of them going through this marvelous developmental stage at the same time. Owen might not manage to scale the shelf in the living room if Connor didn't get down on his hands and knees to allow him to step on his back first. Connor might not have the time to change the settings on the Wii if Owen didn't distract me by stripping down and peeing on the carpet. And I'm sure that on their own they would not be able to construct a tower out of chairs, plastic bins and stuffed animals so that they could reach their sister's CD's on a high shelf.
They would also not have the fights that only children of the same age could conjure up. A certain toy can cause an eruption that might involve throwing things, smacking, or hiding said toy down one's diaper (or DVD, in Connor's case.) We are trying to gather digital copies of their favorite DVD's as the boys get very possessive...apparently licking a DVD and stuffing it down the front of your diaper is a clear declaration of ownership.
I see the dark circles forming under my eyes...and the lines on my forehead that used to only appear when I raised my eyebrows, but are now permanently etched into my skin. I do not see the gray hairs, however, because I did find time late one night to dye my hair.
The older kids are definitely stressing me out as well, with the usual teen issues, some more prominent than others...but, for better or worse, the twins have made it so that I do not have long to sit and stress about those issues. I'm too busy wiping applesauce off of the wall...and the cat.
I see Owen is naked, and Connor has found a fruit snack. We haven't had fruit snacks in the house for over a month...so I suppose I should go take care of that.
((sigh))
Sunday, December 26, 2010
Big Foot Sightings
My daughter (the magical bird) wanted many things for Christmas. The most important thing, however, was not princess-related, nor was it an Easy Bake oven. No, my little girl wanted a Fisher Price Big Foot Monster. He walks. He talks. He throws a ball. He does somersaults. And he sings. He also happens to terrify my son.
Oddly enough, the twin that finds this growling, singing creature frightening is not the clingy one. No, Connor finds him fascinating. He pats his head and tries to take the remote from his sister. Owen, my rough and tumble boy who makes noises that oddly resemble Big Foot's sound effects is the one who keeps a distance.
He will stand close enough to watch the thing in action...but he always has to have an escape route. I walk into the kitchen where Irelynn and Connor are laughing as she makes the monster sing. Owen is peering around the corner of a cabinet. The monster says, "BUDDY..." Owen inches a little closer. The monster moves his eyes back and forth as he makes silly sounds. Owen creeps a tiny bit closer. Then, the monster exclaims, "WATCH OUT!" He proceeds to do a somersault.
"SON A BEETCH!!" Owen shrieks as he bolts out of the room.
I contemplated correcting our son on his language...but then I figured the tumbling monster was punishment enough, as I saw him hiding in the other room.
Man, if only these things existed when I was a kid...it would have been so much more fun tormenting my younger siblings. We had to pretend my brother was kidnapped by aliens, having been replaced by a robot version of himself, to terrify my sister. Although, as I recall, that worked just as well...
Oddly enough, the twin that finds this growling, singing creature frightening is not the clingy one. No, Connor finds him fascinating. He pats his head and tries to take the remote from his sister. Owen, my rough and tumble boy who makes noises that oddly resemble Big Foot's sound effects is the one who keeps a distance.
He will stand close enough to watch the thing in action...but he always has to have an escape route. I walk into the kitchen where Irelynn and Connor are laughing as she makes the monster sing. Owen is peering around the corner of a cabinet. The monster says, "BUDDY..." Owen inches a little closer. The monster moves his eyes back and forth as he makes silly sounds. Owen creeps a tiny bit closer. Then, the monster exclaims, "WATCH OUT!" He proceeds to do a somersault.
"SON A BEETCH!!" Owen shrieks as he bolts out of the room.
I contemplated correcting our son on his language...but then I figured the tumbling monster was punishment enough, as I saw him hiding in the other room.
Man, if only these things existed when I was a kid...it would have been so much more fun tormenting my younger siblings. We had to pretend my brother was kidnapped by aliens, having been replaced by a robot version of himself, to terrify my sister. Although, as I recall, that worked just as well...
Wednesday, December 22, 2010
Magical Birds and Solid Houses
I love that my daughter has an imagination. I'm not really sure where she got it from. Certainly not her father. The closest thing he has to imagination is the desire to have the Star Trek universe actually exist. I have my moments, but for the most part I am a pretty boring person, as my older children can attest to...and my older children, for that matter, are not the most imaginative kids. My son is a very literal, black and white kid. In fact, if you begin to get into anything abstract, you begin to confuse the poor boy. My older daughter does not like to do activities on her own...she is more than happy to have someone else take the lead in any form of entertainment.
So how did my 4-year-old become so...creative? I'm not sure, but she is quite entertaining. Like, last night, for example: she came up to me wearing Owen's mittens and my colorful scarf.
"Mom...I am a magical bird."
"A magical bird? How are you magical?"
"Well...I can make it snow. I can also make it rain. And I can make it rain...candycanes."
"That is magical."
Then she started making shapes with her hands, asking me to guess what they were.
"Um...is it...a planet?"
"No, silly...it's a submarine. Can you guess what this one is?"
"Um...a plane?"
"Nope. Just a triangle. Mom...I think we should paint our house with green and red stripes. Right now it's too solid."
I hope she never loses that sense of imagination. She helps me realize that we could all use a little magic in our lives...especially when we live in solid houses.
So how did my 4-year-old become so...creative? I'm not sure, but she is quite entertaining. Like, last night, for example: she came up to me wearing Owen's mittens and my colorful scarf.
"Mom...I am a magical bird."
"A magical bird? How are you magical?"
"Well...I can make it snow. I can also make it rain. And I can make it rain...candycanes."
"That is magical."
Then she started making shapes with her hands, asking me to guess what they were.
"Um...is it...a planet?"
"No, silly...it's a submarine. Can you guess what this one is?"
"Um...a plane?"
"Nope. Just a triangle. Mom...I think we should paint our house with green and red stripes. Right now it's too solid."
I hope she never loses that sense of imagination. She helps me realize that we could all use a little magic in our lives...especially when we live in solid houses.
Tuesday, December 21, 2010
Finding Common Ground
The difference in my twin boys' personalities is quite striking at times. They are certainly individuals. Both of them get put in "time out" for different reasons: Owen is usually on a rampage, throwing remote controls, smacking his brother, or head-butting me because I told him that he could not, in fact, have chocolate for breakfast. Connor, on the other hand, is put in "time out" because he just dismantled his father's device that connects the TV to the internet and external hard drives thus making it possible to watch YouTube...or his vast collection of Christmas movies.
Once in "time out" (which is basically their crib...the only unit still capable of containing them...or, well, Connor...for the couple of minutes needed to teach them a lesson,) they both cry. If Owen stops crying, I know it is because he has either cried himself to sleep...or he has escaped "time out." If Connor stops crying, I know it is because he managed to get ahold of the baby monitor, and is busy changing frequencies...and most likely trying to send out coded messages in hopes of contacting extra-terrestrial life. If the boy had a screwdriver and a wire hanger, I'm sure he could do it.
One thing that the boys both agree on, however, is that it is fun to repeat naughty words. Especially when their father is angry. The other night we decided to make them some peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. I was spreading the peanut butter, as my husband was trying, in vain, to open a new jar of jelly.
"Son of a BITCH!"
The boys look at each other, smile, and repeat.
"Son a BEETCH!"
Bruce, not capable of controlling himself, continues...
"SHIT!"
The boys, in unison: "SHIT!"
Bruce, now getting the look from me, tries to catch himself mid-swear.
"GO...ah.....ARGHHHHHHH!!!!" He is now denting the lid of the can as he beats it against the counter.
The boys giggle.
"Gahhhhhh....ARRRRRRGHHHHHHH!" I was impressed that Owen actually repeated it, and did not resort to the actual phrase, as I'm sure he knows it by now.
The lid finally let loose, and all was well in the Sawdon household again.
However, now Owen gets put in "time out" because when he doesn't get his way, he smacks his brother and yells, "SON A BEETCH!"
Once in "time out" (which is basically their crib...the only unit still capable of containing them...or, well, Connor...for the couple of minutes needed to teach them a lesson,) they both cry. If Owen stops crying, I know it is because he has either cried himself to sleep...or he has escaped "time out." If Connor stops crying, I know it is because he managed to get ahold of the baby monitor, and is busy changing frequencies...and most likely trying to send out coded messages in hopes of contacting extra-terrestrial life. If the boy had a screwdriver and a wire hanger, I'm sure he could do it.
One thing that the boys both agree on, however, is that it is fun to repeat naughty words. Especially when their father is angry. The other night we decided to make them some peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. I was spreading the peanut butter, as my husband was trying, in vain, to open a new jar of jelly.
"Son of a BITCH!"
The boys look at each other, smile, and repeat.
"Son a BEETCH!"
Bruce, not capable of controlling himself, continues...
"SHIT!"
The boys, in unison: "SHIT!"
Bruce, now getting the look from me, tries to catch himself mid-swear.
"GO...ah.....ARGHHHHHHH!!!!" He is now denting the lid of the can as he beats it against the counter.
The boys giggle.
"Gahhhhhh....ARRRRRRGHHHHHHH!" I was impressed that Owen actually repeated it, and did not resort to the actual phrase, as I'm sure he knows it by now.
The lid finally let loose, and all was well in the Sawdon household again.
However, now Owen gets put in "time out" because when he doesn't get his way, he smacks his brother and yells, "SON A BEETCH!"
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