Bad Mumma Award

13 Apr

So I just got my bad Mom award for the day!  Not only did I send one of them away in tears, when the other one tried to help I sent her away, head hanging, dejected.  It’s not so much the times when I know I’m not being the best Mom I can be that I get the awards, it’s when I had no intention of disappointing or hurting either of them that the golden trophy gleams on the fridge!  My youngest has been sick for two days, thankfully sick to my kids means at worst a few episodes of throwing up and a scary fever throughout the night.  However whatever the level of sick, I still hardly sleep a wink when my child has a fever, having watched the opening sequence to “City of Angels” one to many times ( ironically before I ever had kids, but…it stuck ).  For those of you who don’t know what I’m referring to I’ll save you the heartbreak of a lengthy explanation and sum it up quickly, daughter, fever, helpless Mother, bad ending for Mother…  So… I haven’t really slept in two nights, and it’s not quite as easy to wave off pregnant as it is non-pregnant ( not that any of us parents have really slept soundly since they were born…I’m told sleep returns when they move out of the house).   It’s been raining all day and my oldest is tired of being stuck in the house, she’s been stuck in the house all winter, and now she’s had about two whole days of fun in the backyard and well let me tell you, she is a very sad sack right now with the rain.  Our next door monster broke through the door earlier and well there’s a whole post about my favorite 5 year old’s belligerence.  Let’s just say the phrase “If you can’t follow the rules of our house you can go back to yours” was repeated ad nauseam.  All followed up by the discovery that the little monster hadn’t even asked said Mother if she could visit, she just left while her mother was cleaning out one of the little monster’s many pet cages.  What makes this more disturbing though is the fact that the mother didn’t come to get the daughter for an hour or so!  She “figured” she was over here!  I mean, we live in a place where we don’t lock our doors, but…I can’t even fathom this kind of, I don’t even know what to call it…”parenting style”?  After all the excitement, my youngest finally fell asleep ( not a daily treat ) and I figured I’d better maximize the respite.  I say respite because much as I love my daughter and want her to be always healthy and happy, her standard operating procedure when she’s feeling ill is to basically try to crawl back inside me…all day!  I explained to her gently that not only is she far too big to get back inside, but it’s currently being used by her little brother or sister.  She in true 2 yr old fashion, doesn’t get it, or care!  So knowing I had limited time on my hands I rushed into the shower ( having not engaged in that particular practice in longer than I’m willing to admit ) and scurried around the upstairs sprucing up the bedrooms.  I did commit the ultimate clean up sin too, I swiped and shoved in my daughter’s room.  The swipe and shove, for those of you who aren’t familiar with this method of cleaning is to scoop up the toys ( all those little plastic one’s that get everywhere ) and just shove them in the nearest receptacle.  This is a method I learned from my husband, and I usually have very colorful things to say to/about my husband upon discovering he’s employed this method, since I’m the one that ends up putting everything back in it’s ‘”place”.  This method is very easy to use when “storage” consists of plastic bins.   Having “red up” as they call it in this area of the country, I figured I ‘d run downstairs, quickly do the dishes.  Alas,  I miscalculated when I decided to go ahead and shave my legs in the shower ( a feat I am normally unable to do caused by a combination of my youngest daughter’s affinity for showering with me and the broken faucet in the shower which doesn’t divert all the water to the shower head thereby shortening our shower time/ hot water amounts significantly )as this used the extra ten minutes I would later need.  I was halfway through the dishes when I heard the whining patter of little feet,  youngest daughter was awake, and well youngest daughter doesn’t wake up smiling and giggling, sick or not.   So there I was, halfway through the dishes and my littlest is crying “Mommy pick up” and I’m trying to do that drag out the sentence trick while I finish up the dishes, but she’s just not having it, so I commit the ultimate sin!  “Just let Mommy finish the dishes and I’ll come get you, it’ll just take me a second”.  Well of course that did not work, sending my youngest into tears, well my oldest can’t have that, so she excitedly decided she could fix everything by “helping” me do the dishes.  Well let me just explain if I even need to…she’s four.  Helping do the dishes is sort of a misnomer.  So I sent her away too, and then got hit in the head with the bad mom award.  If all the Mother’s of the world could bottle up the good intentions that somehow end in feeling guilty we could power the entire world for years to come.  They could call this energy source  “the guilt”.  We could solve the energy crisis!

8 Apr

So much of parenthood is not at all like I imagined it, some of it is immeasurably better, and some is…well…how do I even say it?  It just sucks! It makes you feel horrible, the guilt, the irritation, the desire to forcibly fix the problem.  The problem, such as it is, is not my own children, I’m talking about my children’s friend…my child’s only friend, which produces some of the guilt as in shouldn’t she be having play dates?  I must be a bad mother since I don’t have her signed up for every class and educational experience available ( which I would drive her to in the good car, which my husband has, not our  uninspected,  17 yr old  non muffler having  teen dream “extra car” ).  Suffice to say, at this point in her little four-year old life, my oldest daughter has one friend…and I can’t stand her!  I am bad, a bad bad bad mother, human… soul.  I want my child to have friends, of course I do, my psychosis only goes so far, but does it have to be this one?  This child is 5 yrs old, she is for all intents and purposes a nice child, well sort of, she’s 5 so you have to take some things with a grain of salt.  I’m new to this whole thing, this kids having friends over thing, and again it’s not a playdate, first of all I’m not that organized, I’m still in my robe. ( I like to say it’s because I’m cold…is it?  I don’t know, I am the Queen of Delusion! )  The girl lives next door, so every few days there’s an obnoxious banging I can only assume is an attempt to break down the door and when I muster up the will to go to the door ( because I know who’s on the other side ) she barrels in barely pausing to say what I can only hope is a mere portion of the rehearsed with Mommy before she left the house speech requesting permission to come into my house and play with my daughter.  It usually goes something more along the lines of said child practically knocking me out-of-the-way as she rushes to the corner of the kitchen to take off her shoes ( her house rule, not mine, but one of the few rules she’ll actually follow without supervision, so I don’t interfere ) saying something  ( in her strange high-pitched monotone that’s rather akin to a marathon runner at the end of the race )like “I come to play with A___”.  I assume she means my older daughter because she’s not actually standing still saying this, the whirling dervish is halfway into the next room before she finishes the sentence.  So why am I a bad person?  Because I hate it when this child is in my house!  She puts a crimp in my HGTV watching Bon Bon eating day!  It’s one of those parts of parenthood that is so hard to get used to, at least for me anyway.  Will it become easier?  Or is it just this child?  I always said that I don’t like other people’s children, well I said that before I had children.  Since I’ve had children I’ve noticed that other people’s children don’t run in the other direction when they see me, so I feel I’m making progress.  But this child…this child!  She doesn’t fall into any of the categories that allow us to tell our child she can’t play with her, ” I’m sorry sweetheart but your mother’s high and your father just asked to borrow a 20 from my husband and we’re pretty sure that the bottle of Jack Daniels that we gave to him last night in fear for our safety was gone in less than an hour and ever since you had to stay at our house the night they arrested your father and pumped your mother’s stomach we’ve just been uncomfortable having you play with our daughter”.    While our next door neighbors aren’t winning any awards for their cosmopolitan lifestyle (unlike us! ) they are nice people ( the jury’s still out on the mother ) and their child is just a child…hence the horrible guilt and confusion.  Is this normal?  Are there other mothers out there who feel this way?  The child isn’t “bad” ( no child is, no one is, I tell my children that all the time )  but I think I might be!  This child bugs the sh__ out of me!  I think in part because I don’t know how to let go of complete control over what happens to my child!  I am the mother at the playground who’s ready to pummel any kid who’s mean to my children ( which I think is normal, to a certain extent, as long as you don’t act on it! ) It’s hard, oh so very hard for me to sit back and let the kids play and allow for strife and disagreement etc.  I try, oh I do, I don’t want my child to be so overprotected that she can’t function in the world, but at the same time I don’t want her to ever experience a moment’s pain.  Well she’s 4…she’s at the age where everything is either wonderful or the world is ending.  As I listen in on them now I hear her wonderful voice reminding said friend that they are not allowed to play in my room.  I know the longer I make that tether line the better it is for my beloved oldest daughter.  I think that most of the time I am unable to listen to the inner voice of reason because I’m so clouded by my own difficult childhood, and the fear that my children will grow up like me.  My husband jokes that it’s a father’s greatest job to keep his daughter off the pole, ( he’s not really joking though) I feel like my greatest job is to keep my daughter’s out of therapy!  The inner voice of reason tells me that my daughter can take care of herself,  and just now as my oldest comes whining down the stairs because the friend took a baby doll that “she had first”,  my younger daughter comes down the stairs with said baby doll to give to her big sis, having righted the wrong!  You and me against the world!  I think the biggest reason I have trouble with this girl, is she forces me to acknowledge things about myself that I don’t want to… I don’t like these things, I don’t !  Yet they are so ingrained in me ,such second nature it feels like I have no control over them.  O.K. I’ll just admit it, but you’ll hate me for it.  I guess if this blog is going to be about my journey to change I’d better be willing to risk complete strangers thinking I’m horrible.  The fact of the matter is this… the girl’s not smart!  There I said it…I am an intelligence snob!  Which you would laugh heartily at if you ever saw my college transcript.  I like to think I’m not like my irritating co-worker who feels compelled to express his “intelligence ” by reminding people of it, (often)  but he does consider me to be “as smart as he is” so perhaps the Queen strikes again.  I for the most part do not like people who aren’t smart.  ( unless they are intellectually disabled, that’s the new term now by the way, they don’t bother me, go figure, I’m more concerned with their superhuman strength, I’m not kidding, I’ve worked in that population)  It’s awful I know, but they bug me!  ( stupid people, not the disabled ) I’m not talking Stephen Hawking smart, (or disabled… oh lord!)  I sure as hell don’t know what he’s talking about half the time, I’m talking about people who just aren’t as smart as I am…so it’s all relative!  As I’m writing this I’m realizing how utterly ridiculous I sound ( yes, but! ) I know I’m not the only one.  Pause to get said friend more juice, a long drawn out process since I can’t control myself and must get her to actually ask me for the juice ( which is not how she functions,  she just sort of squirms and wiggles in the hopes that I’ll guess what she wants ) politely, using words like “may I”  and “thank  you”.  I have come to the conclusion that she is either terrified of me, or has never had to ask politely for anything in her life!  I’m hoping she’s terrified of me, see that’s just what a manners snob I am!  My manners aren’t the best which is why if you knew me you’d be pointing  your finger at me laughing!  Yes, but, I’m socially awkward, I have an excuse… She’s like a bull in a china shop with an on/off button on her ears.  Lo the many times I have said to that girl (as my daughter repeats “aren’t you gonna play with me?”)  Child, if you’re not going to play with my daughter you should probably just go back home!  She does this with regularity, she’ll come over sit down in front of the t.v. and ignore all else.  Sometimes I hear my daughter repeat the same thing  to her 5 and 6 times with no response and it’s all I can do not to swat the girl upside the head and say “Hey!  My daughter is talking to you!”  I don’t of course…yes, but I want to!  I hear the voice of my father as a child asking me if I’m just stupid…God we do turn into our parents don’t we?  This is not something I want to be!  She’s 5, her family doesn’t have cable so of course she’s mesmerized by t.v. …but oh God there’s the pronouns!  She doesn’ t use words correctly, yes I realize I’m not a grammar master.  I’m talking about phrases like, “hers hit me” , “why we can’t play her laptop”?  It’s like nails on a chalkboard, and I correct her God help me I can’t stop myself!  It’s uncontrollable.  This child has no idea what my name is, so she avoids having to address me ( I recognize this tactic as I use it to avoid calling my in-laws Mom and Dad ) she has been told my name repeatedly, but more disturbing is the fact that she doesn’t know my husband’s name ( whom she spends decidedly more time with, he’s not an asshole and doesn’t get irritated by her.  He also co-parents with her father at night when I work, yes I do tease him…relentlessly ) So I can barely stand to write this next part, that being, her father, and my husband, indeed, have THE SAME NAME!  She still doesn’t know what my husband’s name is!  I just went over it with her when during our juice getting saga she asked me why I had 2 towels on the oven door.  I responded haphazardly that sometimes B_____ does that, to which she responded “her’s father’s put this here? ”  Like  I said I can’t control it I had to go there and ask…”what is A____ daddy’s name”?  Why, why do I do this?  What is wrong with me?  Needless to say she looked at me blankly and when I asked her what her daddy’s name is she tell’s me, so of course the next question is…yeah, she doesn’t know.  I think I said it in 5-year-old terms, “your daddy and A___’s daddy have the same name, so if your daddy’s name is B____ what’s A___’s daddy’s name?”  She didn’t know…I rest my case.

What’s this Lemonsool

7 Apr

So hopefully you’ve come across this blog, for reasons only luck and God would know, but you’re here and you’re wondering what this is all about…oh great another diary.  Maybe that is great cuz you, like me, like to escape your own life by looking at others and imagining how much better it is than yours.  Of course I will fail you…I plan to show the nitty and the gritty.  I have a wonderful life.  I just have a problem seeing that on a regular basis.  I have a wonderful husband that I dearly love, we’ve been married for 7 years this May, and I have two beautiful daughters, 4 and 2, and one on the way.  We have a roof over our head, food in the refrigerator and a car to drive to go get that food.  Sometimes in my better moments I look at all of them and I wonder “how did I get so lucky”?  Unfortunately there’s one little enormous problem, my wires are crossed…sometime in my childhood my wires got crossed.  Not that I was in some kind of accident, slowly gradually as a child my systems went awry, things stopped working for me the way they do for so many other people.  One thing I do know though, is that I am far from alone.  Don’t get me wrong, I’m not psychotic, unless we’re speaking “new age”, well then we are all psychotic!  It comes in many guises: “why can’t you get your shit together”?    “You’re so smart why do you sell yourself short”?  “You’re so cynical” oh I could go on… I’m the highly trained actress, actually I am a trained actress, I have a degree in theatre but that’s not what I’m getting at…I’m the person you meet who you think is so funny, intelligent, neat, cool, insert some positive adjective here,  (at least I used to be until I let my world get incredibly small)  that you are so surprised to discover that I have terribly low self- esteem, that I’m a self-sabotoger,  that I have an incredibly negative worldview under my Pollyanna facade.  Ironically most people never figure this out because the people who are able to see these things

a. aren’t allowed to spend much time around me, so as not to shine a light on things, and

b. these people don’t actually want to spend time around me, cuz to them, I’m a bummer.  So my world consists of people who don’t see the facade, or people who see past it, like my husband ( God bless him ) which as you get older means very few people are in your life.  In other words, I have no friends.  It sounds so sad when I see it written on this page!  But this is the truth, in a manner of speaking…there’s always a loophole with me, I am a “yes, but” girl.  I have made many friends over my lifetime, since I have bounced around so much ( we lemonsool always do ) and thanks to the brilliance/evil of facebook I have re-connected with many of them ( notice I didn’t say keep in touch )  so I can FB stalk them and see what they’re up to without committing.  For this I equally love and hate FB.  It’s…well I guess it’s not hard to explain, it’s hard for some people to understand…I care about these people and I wish them health and happiness and I want to see that they’re lives are happy…but I don’t want the “burden” of having to write to them, and keep them current with my goings on ( I’m referring to the fact that I’m pregnant for example, not that I had oatmeal for breakfast ).  I believe this is partly to do with my belief that they’re just humoring me and they don’t actually like me (this is a hard one to explain, but I’ll try here at some point ) and partly because I can’t be bothered also sometimes known as lazy.

If you are recognizing yourself in any of this, you then like me, are a lemonsool.  What is a lemonsool?  Lemonsool stands for lemons out of lemonade.  A little dyslexic”esque”  saying I’ve used for years without

a. realizing I was saying it backwards,  ( I am so much my mother, more on that later ) and

b.  that backwards placement was more than a Freudian slip.  I have indeed been making lemons out of my lemonade pretty much my whole life.  How does one make lemons out of lemonade?  ( I feel I should mention the humorous irony that I make my lemonade with store-bought lemon juice, not fresh squeezed lemons, more on my thoughts about irony later ) You find the one tiny piece of crap in an otherwise beautiful life and you focus on it, and obsess it to death so that you are incapable of actually seeing the wondrous life you are living.  You do this year after year after year, until you pretty much can’t stand yourself anymore…You sabotage any good that comes your way, you see yourself as less than and live a life that reflects that, all the while knowing deep down that this is not how it is supposed to be…

Sorry had to take a break to make bread…no don’t even go there, I only dream of being a domestic goddess…we’re running out of bread and if I don’t make any we won’t have any for peanut butter and jelly sandwiches tomorrow, which might be why I made bread, or it might be because I do aspire to be a domestic goddess ( I haven’t made bread in 2 yrs and it only happened about 5 or 6 times then anyway), or it more than likely was due to my daughter asking me to get something for her to eat, and I let that distract me ( cuz otherwise I’d feel that frightening feeling of accomplishing something, that is having posted an entry to this blog! ).

Back to the originally scheduled programming…we the lemonsool are too smart for our own good, we can diagnose just about any non chemical psychological issue, if it’s not our own, we can give some of the best advice about relationships, again if it’s not our own, we can clearly see what goes on in everyone elses world, we think ( we are often horribly wrong , but that would shatter our fodder if we knew others were screwed up too )…pause for chocolate milk…

We tend to be highly creative, but only see maybe 10% tangible results of that creativity.  We are underachievers, pause to get Ariel umbrella ( I’m not superstitious, you can open an umbrella in my house, oh wait, I am superstitious I throw spilled salt over my shoulder )

We’ve never lived up to our “potential”, we resent those that do, but we especially resent those whose aspirations are so attainable, what must it be like we wonder?  I remember in my early twenties I resented the heck out of ( what I can only describe in what hopefully will not be an offensive way )  girls whose aspirations were to have a steady hourly wage job ( read minimum wage ) , a nice car ( read a sporty red one, probably about 5 years old ) and perfect hair ( I’ve never liked my hair, but we’ll save that for another time ) no I didn’t resent these girls, I hated them, under the guise of looking down my nose at them of course…oh how they must have laughed at the college dropout who couldn’t pay her bills and  worked at the same minimum wage job they did, yet looked down her pointy little nose at them.  That is if they took the time to notice…I can delude myself with the best of them.

So if you see yourself in any of this, you too are the lemonsool.  I’d like to change the definition, and that’s what this blog is all about, I’ve decided to document my attempts to change.  Maybe the idea of some phantom audience that’s interested in what I have to say, the idea that out there somewhere are girls just like me who might find some inspiration, camaraderie, or just a laugh, might be enough of an impetus for me to commit to something that doesn’t have an actual heartbeat.  So here goes… I will try to do something every day toward changing my lemons even if it’s just writing about my lemons ( which is for me therapeutic in some way ).   Hopefully one day I can say that I make lemonade out of my lemons!

Oh What a Beautiful Morning

24 Mar

It takes me a while to get started in the morning, a combination of working late on my feet, being pregnant with what at this point seems to be quadruplets, and taking care of a family during the day… well let’s just say I don’t rise in the morning with songbirds attending me!  It’s more like a series of grunts and groans and please dear God don’t start fighting already or for God’s sake, for my sake, one of my little cherubs is still sleeping don’t wake her up!  My youngest daughter is in that stage of not really being able to handle,  well, anything… she is pretty much reduced to tears or heads in that direction for any small slight or disappointment.  This is compounded by the fact that she’s one of those little girls who for whatever reason just can’t get the hang of consonants so she’s very hard to understand which only adds to her and my frustration.  So it usually starts something like this;  the cats are going berserk and my youngest is the first one up, and she’s trying to tell me that the cat is chewing off her foot, but I’m too groggy to understand what she’s saying let alone understand that this isn’t a dream and I have to actually get up out of bed and address the issue ,  I’m griping and moaning something about letting me sleep and my daughter’s crying because the cat won’t leave her alone and I’ve only just realized where I am, and what that pain in my side is…oh it’s my other daughter’s elbow, who apparently crawled into our bed ( I use the term our loosely ) at some point in the night in a vain attempt to crawl back inside the womb.  I keep telling her the space is leased until sometime in September, but what with being 4, she doesn’t get biology or my humor.  By some act of God I have a moment where a little voice inside my head reminds me that this is the good stuff…I try to injure the voice in my head, but to no avail, now I’m just punching myself  loosely in the head which is using the only energy that I have so I give up.  My daughter finds this very entertaining but not enough to distract her from the fact that I am indeed still sitting on the bed.  She has mastered the words “Get Up Mommy”  with a guilt inducing tone that has me on my feet with a speed that speaks to the fear that this one failure on my part will have her sitting in the therapist chair years from now saying things like ” It was always so hard to wake my mother up in the morning I always felt like I wasn’t important enough for her, like she just didn’t care”.   If children only knew the guilt and feelings of inadequacy that they inadvertently hit upon with such regularity it makes you question if they weren’t a Catholic Mother in a previous life.

Getting started

17 Mar

So true to form I created this blog on March 10 and here it is March 17 ( Happy St Patricks Day ) and I haven’t posted anything yet…this is actually my second attempt to write my first post.  I do my best writing while I’m doing the dishes, which as you can imagine poses a  problem.  My wonderful husband though didn’t even bat an eye when I said I wanted to get a digital voice recorder, o.k. I’m fibbing, I actually didn’t know such things existed as digital voice recorders, I told him I wanted one of those little tape recorders.  He loves me, clearly, not only for going out that day to buy me one,  not schooling me on what technology is available,  ( I don’t like to be schooled…  it’s a favorite family pastime ) but absolutely the number one reason my husband clearly loves me… this would be the six hundred billionth time I’ve concocted some new I’m gonna’ do this scheme/idea  ( I probably don’t need to explain that I don’t ever finish, and or start most of them ) and his response was ” don’t even tell me what you’re doing I don’t want to do or say anything to mess it up, just let me know if  you need anything to do it”.  See he loves me!