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Today was actually a good day. The sun was shining, the mercury hit 40-something, and I spent half the day in the company of another adult. Yes, it was my mother-in-law, but we ran errands together, she was a huge help with Miss M, and she paid for lunch.
Miss M’s nap was a total lost cause, though; I gave the kids dinner early and popped her into the bath. I had showered with AM in the morning, so he was pushing a plastic bus around the floor while I attempted to throw in a load of sheets. (Tomorrow is Thursday!) The fact that I left Miss M in the bath unattended isn’t even the irresponsible part; our apartment is only about 1,200 square feet and she is loud in there. Besides, AM was stomping in from time to time to pull up on the tub and cackle at her.
On one of my trips between the bedroom and the laundry closet, I stuck my head into the bathroom; AM was doing a pass-through. I saw a couple of rust-colored drops on the tile floor. Weird. Then I noticed that AM had orange drool. Bright orange. The color of orange Triaminic. (More or less freaky than a mouth full of blood? Discuss.) What the hell was he eating? As usual, I hadn’t a clue. What it was or where he got it. Food? Chewing one of Miss M’s multitude of art projects? A toy?
I flipped out, tried unsuccessfully to retrieve what it was, and called Taxman to treat him to a soliloquy about what a tool I am. I took a Q-tip to one of the drops on the floor, just in case. (Yes, I do watch crime procedurals, why do you ask?)
But AM seemed fine. In fact, it turned out to be the smartest thing he did all day, because the orange streaks of drool down his cute little torso necessitated joining his sister in the bath. I was just the fool who tried to keep him out of there in the first place!
It is 2:45 pm.
Nobody is sleeping. They should be. (To be really simplistic about it.) For everyone’s physical and mental health.
Total nap time today (for AM): 10 minutes at home & 15 minutes in the car. But not for lack of trying to go down. Life outside of the bedroom is apparently far too interesting for the likes of him.
If this is supposed to be karmic payback for the fact that everyone got up at 7:40 this morning, I am not amused. (It’s not like there weren’t the wakeups at 11:30 and 4:15 and 5:30 and Miss M nursing at 6:15.)
Maybe I should try to find a job.* With work and hours and expectations that are predictable. I don’t really know how much longer I will be able to hold on here without losing my shit entirely.**
UPDATE: Even better! I decided to attempt to get on with my day by making the soup I started preparing yesterday (a friend upstairs invited me for dinner). I let AM bang a pot around in the kitchen so he wouldn’t eat all the board books in the living room. This attracted the attention of our downstairs neighbor, who came up to find out what the hell was wrong with me (but she was nice about it)–and while I was attempting to convince her that I really was just having a bad day instead of a bad year/life, I left onions sauteeing. They burned. I think I can save the pot. I just don’t really want to right now. (If I leave it in the sink with a pretty bow do you think Taxman will get the message?)
What’s the chance these clowns will let me have a good cry and a cup of tea?
Huh. That’s what I thought.
* There are too many problems with this to list. But the worst is that Taxman will come home and say, “You should do whatever makes you happy. We’ll figure it out.” I need strong opinions right now. I am clearly not up to making any decisions by myself.
** Needless to say, the last week in February is not a great time for me to lose my shit. Because for the next 48 days I will be, in essence, a single parent from 8am to midnight six days a week.
So, at my mom’s suggestion, I am thinking of making up a “star chart” for Miss M. Which in a way seems ridiculous, because she’s 2 1/2. However, I think she’s all about the “reward” (see under: bribe), and I have a specific goal.
I don’t want to be a nag. I really don’t. But Miss M often refuses to pick up any of her toys. I don’t expect her to make the place spotless, because then I would be the biggest hypocrite in the universe. I just would like her to take a little responsibility for her stuff. Some of it has specific places to go (bins, toy boxes, bookshelves, etc.), and I’d like her to be inspired by some cheap trinkets–because my simply asking her once (like they do in school), twice, or 3,874 times is not enough–to just pick up one category of “things” before moving on to the next activity. That would probably carve a small path through the living room, and I’d be satisfied with that for now.
So I am thinking of a chart to do the nagging for me.
Other than my misgivings surrounding the principle of it, another big stumbling block is what else to add to the chart. Even though she can be very demanding of attention, she’s really great in a lot of ways, especially for a two-year-old. She eats vegetables. She loves to take a bath and doesn’t mind a hairwash. She allows her teeth to be brushed without complaint and even asks for multiple tooth brushings a day. She used to be excellent at sharing toys and taking turns, but her little pals are getting very into “mine!” and she’s starting to follow suit–can’t blame her for that. One of her favorite things in the world to do, and I’m not kidding, is to help schlep groceries up to the apartment and unpack them. (I know!)
Not pushing AM away by the head needs to be part of the family contract with or without a prize. Potty stuff is still on the periphery for the birds.
I am feeling naive. Anybody walked through this fire before?
Two weeks ago we hired a babysitter for the first time. She’s in 10th grade, the daughter of people we know (and like) from synagogue. She showed up with a backpack full of homework to a quiet house with two sleeping babies. As we were leaving, I casually asked her to check on AM once or twice, “to make sure he was still breathing.”*
Said babies slept for the entire time we were gone, so Taxman and I thought that it had been easy money for her.
Then today we saw her parents. Her mom mentioned that she was so worried about my comment that she checked on AM every 10 to 15 minutes.
I didn’t know whether to laugh or be thoroughly embarrassed.
* Tongue-in-cheek much? I just wanted her to check on him once or twice!
Just now, instead of putting on a video for Miss M while AM nursed to sleep, I pleaded with her to play quietly in her room with her Little People. The seventh (or so) request was the charm, and AM got a solid six minutes of blessed silence in which to fall asleep and completely ruin the rest of my Friday schedule.
I tucked him onto the floor of our bedroom and popped my head into Miss M’s room. “Octopus very clean,” she told me, proffering the turquoise octopus from the Little People Pirate Sea Skiff set.
“Oh,” I said, not really sure where she was going with this.
“Octopus very clean,” she repeated. I took the octopus and there was some tacky transfer to my hands. The scent was unmistakably grape-y and sweet. What had she gotten into? The infant tylenol? No, I got it.
Her toothpaste. (Aside: Oh, no, did they stop making this fluoride-free?)
She had used her (brand new, as of last night) toothbrush and her (brand new, as of last week) toothpaste to “clean” her octopus. In a bizarre twist of fate, I didn’t yell; I merely took the toy to our bathroom to wash it off and survey the damage. Miraculously, there were just a few purple dots in the sink, and the toothbrush was carefully laid on top of the toilet tank.
Someone without kids would probably be horrified that I had left her unsupervised for 10 minutes, that she had gotten into the toothpaste (our unsafe-to-swallow fluoride-filled Colgate Total was right next to hers), or that I meted out absolutely no consequences besides, “Oh, Miss M, please only use your toothbrush for your mouth. And only when a grown-up is helping you.”
I just lost my head because I was so entirely relieved that my bathroom (newly cleaned) wasn’t awash in sticky purple ooze. And she had ”cleaned” only one toy. Hallelujah to that. The rest is just funny.
- This was actually the least stressful Thursday morning I’ve had in ages, because the house had to be ready by 10 (when she shows) instead of 8:40, which is when we leave for school.
- But the house was pretty much ready by 9 anyway, which meant that I plunked Miss M in front of Sesame Street to make sure it stayed that way.
- Oh, and then Signing Time, so that I could get AM down for a nap without her parading around, keeping him awake, and driving me absolutely nuts.
- (That’s some quality parenting, no?)
- I came up with the brilliant idea of asking the cleaning lady to work backwards (kitchen to bedrooms) so AM could keep napping. (Chichimama, I felt guilty about this! I am sick, sick, sick.)
- On the way to New Jersey, I told Miss M we’d get her a bagel for lunch. I wanted a salad. Somehow the casual place we’ve been to before evolved into a “cafe” sporting tablecloths. Weird. So Miss M got her bagel, I got a salad, I added a fruit platter for the table (AM was there too), and somehow this cost $20 (including the relatively big tip I left because our server was very nice and helpful with the kids). Oh yes, because my Mug of Tea–as it was referred to on the bill–cost $2.50. TWO DOLLARS AND FIFTY CENTS FOR HOT WATER AND SOME PEPPERMINT LEAVES. It wasn’t even a big mug! (Maybe 10 oz, max.) It was nice to have a hot drink on a drizzly day, but come on! Hot water and a teabag!
- AM refused to nurse at the beginning of lunch, ate some pieces of grape and melon, and refused to nurse at the end of lunch. Twenty minutes later, he was screaming like he was being tortured as I hurtled toward a gas station to fill up the car. He stopped as soon as he was released from the indignity that is his Roundabout, and then nursed for a solid 10 minutes. Apparently, he was hungry for lunch, but how stupid was I to attempt to rectify that when there were other people! and music! and bagels! and fruit! and teaspoons! around?
- Miss M is skipping her nap again. Five more days until she is back at pre-school. Yes, I am counting.
- But my in-laws will be here in ten minutes for some intensive toddler amusement. I will try, and fail, to do all of my shabbat cooking in the 90 minutes they are here.
- The house still looks pretty good, but it’s four hours until bedtime.
It is vacation week. There is no school tomorrow.
My cleaning lady comes Thursdays. When I signed Miss M up for school a year ago, the only day that I requested was Thursday.
Miss M’s carefully planned playdate for tomorrow friend from school has a fever.
My mother-in-law has a dental appointment tomorrow and will be unavailable to play.
Despite a fun-filled morning with her great-aunt (and being endlessly entertained on the 30-minute drive home), Miss M did not nap today. I almost literally bit her head off. It was ugly.
Because of Miss M’s dried fruit obsession, I changed five poopy diapers today. (Just from her.) I am so not letting her eat it again until she uses the potty.
Infinte chaos reigns in my apartment. The laundry that has been clean and even folded for days has yet to make it to the bedroom. Entire pieces of furniture are lost under it. There is crap everywhere. Normally this doesn’t bother me, but today it is making me want to burn down the house just to get rid of the disorder.*
The weather has been really super nice for the past two days, but the playgrounds are still a wreck of snow and huge puddles. Yesterday Miss M spent some time at one in snowpants and a parka, but she got them filthy. Guess who didn’t do laundry last night?
So, yeah, tomorrow. I have an errand to run in New Jersey, so that can kill maybe 45 minutes there and back. There is absolutely no way our apartment can be cleaned in that period of time.
What would a virtual playdate look like?
* My stepmom was always like this before she got her period. Could I be getting my period? I haven’t had one in 3 1/2 years. Coincidentally, it was 3 1/2 years ago that I last slept from 11p-6a.
The Blogger/WordPress debate has been settled by my complete and utter ineptitude in all things computer. (Particularly, it seems, so-called push-button publishing. Yes, push a button, lose everything you’ve done.)
My little brother could probably help me, but he’s busy being an engineering major and long-distance boyfriend, so I’ll leave him alone.
In any event, welcome to my new pad. Hot water’s up; I’m taking tea orders.
I seem to be failing in the mother/wife department.
To wit:
1. Last night AM skooched over in his sleep and fell out of bed. I woke to the awful thump and accompanying shriek of horror. He recovered nearly instantly, but I stayed awake for an hour. I couldn’t figure out how I had left him on the outside of the bed instead of in the middle. Who does that?
2. I wouldn’t serve Miss M her dinner until she cleaned up her Legos.
3. Taxman’s cholesterol test came back higher than normal. I quickly blamed it on the fact that he’s 99.9% sedentary. And now he’s over 30. But he pointed out that we used to eat a lot better. More fish, more soups, fewer eggs, less cheese. Less pizza. He’s totally right.
I used to get home from work at 5:30 and cook. Taxman used to get home around 7 and wash dishes. We weren’t spending a gazillion dollars a year on diapers. Life was different. I really need to try to get a little of it back.
After a rough few nights (teething), this morning I was sprawled on the couch, pajama-clad, glasses-free, and trying to gather my strength for a crappy weather, no-school day. Taxman came over to offer sympathy and a kiss on the forehead. Miss M looked up from her mosh pit of Little People, scrutinized me carefully, and pronounced:
”Abba, Ema’s grumpy.”
Kid, you have no idea.
