The Kids: all sick with an evil bug, forcing bodily fluids out in practically every orifice. The bathroom looks (and smells) like a battlegrounds in the worst way; I don't know how much longer it will hold. Reinforcements needed but it is unlikely none brave enough will come.
The Cat: still fluffy and smelling of Men's Care Dove bodywash. She eyes me suspiciously, awaiting the growing madness to pounce upon her the more I, her ill-brained master, is kept indoors to tend to the natives.
The Kitchen: in fact dirty except for--lo!--one space between the sink and the window, there it is still unscathed and shiny. Yet as I approach ye spot, all virgin clean I am deceived--Alas! I have been tricked by the gods (said with a fist shaking in the air but actually saying other words than what might be made-for-TV; like in those 1950's movies when Hercules was actually in Italian but dubbed over by some golly-gee American voices)! It is only "shiny" because a clear coating of Pedialyte has oozed and dried over this falsely cleaned spot. Sadly (and sickly), I slough into the living room to retreat. Unfortunately, the natives spot me and attack with a hungry fierceness I had not perceived from the battlegrounds (bathroom)! "FOOOD! HUNNNGRY!! My TUMMMMY!" they shout like midget zombies. I wonder how much time I'll have before their poisened devilries take effect (one has a diaper the size of a human head, and is sitting on my neck). I close my eyes..."it's going to be okay...it's going to be okay..." The last thing I remember is hysterical laughter from the diaper-monger who hears my desperate attempts at coping and finds them utterly hilarious. "MWAMWAHAA!!" he laughs over me, as giant drool spiddles down onto my hair. "You crazy nuts, Mommy" he laughs. "Yes, yes I am, " say I.
Sitting up, I breathe through my mouth only and hug the natives tightly, poop neck (me), Giant-Dump-Diaper McGee, Drooly McFooly, and Major Trouble, and kiss them. Then I repeat this again. If this is what parenthood's about, then I'd hate to overcome all the insanity, only to fail in forgetting what's most important: to love and be loved.
Friday, June 10, 2011
Tuesday, May 17, 2011
Lost And Found
So I pose the question: where do our husbands go when they are taking all the time of ETERNITY when we send them into the store? When we are only to be left with screaming children, a stuffy car (because you're a dead woman if you open your window for a few precious breaths of air and the whole parking lot hears the wailing and gnashing of teeth coming from your automobile), and no way to let your kids run free. That's the worst part--that they act like you've tied them up, awaiting some torture because you really want to hear them screaming, yelling, and writhing like zapped worms. And WHY the car?--when all four sides of your rectangular vehicle are the smallest area you just might be in and that's precisely where they decide to lose it. And it never fails--you forgot the pacifier; you forgot to pack extra milk; the snacks you did pack have lost favor with the kids all within a 5 minute time frame of when they began screaming (because the screaming doesn't necessarily start right away, oh no--it seems to start right when you are getting comfortable in the car and listening to a good song thinking, 'Maybe this is like a little brea--'). And should you gain the courage and get out of the vehicle to let just one kid out, there's always that person walking by in all their youth and glamor and it's like being in dorm life and you're that loser that has to get to bed, wandering to the neighbors door asking if they'll turn it down and getting smacked with sound waves so powerful upon the door opening that you either peed your pants from the scare, or you just sauntered away as they looked at you like the nerd you were. (Oh...maybe this was just me...) And you never know if you should like, apologize for your kids screaming or pretend to be confident and smile as though this is just one of the many perks of having toddlers cooking in a car while your husband is doing--WHAT--smelling flowers? Manufacturing a new product, sure to please the whole family?! It was precisely this train of thought that got me through.
Last time I was in this little Purgatory Zone, I tried several techniques, "I won't let my peace be disturbed!" I said with my She-Ra sword. "Heeeheeeheee!" sneered a Skeletor voice of Evil (or maybe I've finally cracked for good, and those were the early onset voices finally coming through...but either way, they sounded just like Skeletor) "Peace SCHMESE!" he heckled. First technique: Meditation. Hafta tell ya--unless you are the reincarnation of Ghandi or Christ Himself, this DOESN'T work with three screaming toddlers. I tried meditating on the image of the ocean I saw on my vacation...and all that kept coming through were images of the kids finding me on little toddler jet-skis. That was a no-go. Next, I tried a positive reframe--I tried telling myself that "Welp, even though this SUCKS, at least I'm not with the kids in the store..." Then, I decided that I don't even like the phrase positive reframe and that it makes me angry, very angry, inside. So my last ditch effort was to imagine worse scenarios than mine at the time: having my legs chopped off at the ankles and being forced to run through a sticker patch...living with my mom...bending over in a store to smell a flower only to have a part of it get stuck in my nose resulting in hospitalization etc. That's when it hit! I begin to imagine what could be waylaying Handsome Husband and that saved me because I began laughing out loud.
In fact, I was laughing so loudly that I even opened the windows, unashamed and unafraid of people seeing, "Honda CRV: The One-Car Freak Show." Here are just a few of my ideas but you know--be creative and think of your own and hell, write them down on a Steno pad for every time you are in this situation. The best part of this technique was that I got my nearly four-year-old in on the scenarios and he thought they were hilarious. (You might not think they are hilarious but cut me some slack--remember what state of mind I was in at this point.)
Possibility #1: In a desperate attempt to pick the perfect can of cream of chicken for me, Handsome Husband digs deeply through the display and picks it out, holding it up high in all it's Campbell's glory when suddenly, the display crashes down, burying him beneath boulder-like cans. He must use his stealth skills to come out alive.
Possibility #2: Unbeknownst to innocent Safeway shoppers, there in the very bakery of the store, lurks a witch. Seeing my Handsome Husband she thinks to herself whilst stroking her wart, "Ahhh, here is a very fair child--he looks a little lean but he'd be puhfect for my pie!" So offering him homemade brownies (his absolute favorite), the swarthy bakery wench lures him into the back. He is enjoying delicious bite upon bite of chocolatey brownie goodness when suddenly from behind, he hears an opening 'SCCREEECH!' he dives out of the way, foiling Witch Warts plan of pushing him into the oven. Unfortunately though for our hero, he has fallen into the pie concoction. Will Juan the Mopster hear Husband's desperate cries to toss him the handle of the mop or will he go on, mopping, listening to his Shakira remix?
Possibility #3: (This one is Child #1's favorite because he's into inappropriate body parts being a part of ANY story, and especially if they get lost or "broken." Don't look at me--I don't even have those body parts.) Whilst humming a happy tune and finding Mommy her favorite Lean Cuisine in the frozen section--the very last one--a giant oversized gentleman trying to shed a few pounds gasps in astonishment. "YOU don't need that Lean Cuisine! You're already skinny! Give it meeee!" In anger, he runs into Daddy, trying to smash him in the door. The good news is, Daddy isn't smushed but the really bad news is, his tush seems to have been snipped off by the big freezer door! It rolls sadly into the freezer. The Giant Man grabs the Lean Cuisine because Daddy is stunned, and takes Daddy's tush out of the freezer and puts it in a grocery bag and throws it across the store, miniscus-style, as hard as he can. "NOOO!!! My perfect TUUUSHH!!!" Daddy yells in despair. "Bob, we're gonna need assistance in aisle 12...and clean up in aisle 1.." interrupts a voice on the store intercom, "...there seems to be a...butt...that's nearly stuck in the meat shredder...Bob..." Running as fast as he can to the Deli, Daddy yells, "That's MY BUTT! Don't shred it!!" When he gets there it has not been shredded but packaged and--oh no!--someone is buying it! Well this is awkward. Pooor Daddy. "Please--I know this is odd but, that's my butt and uh...well, you can't buy it. It's mine so...it uh...won't fit you." What will happen? Will Daddy have to buy it back? Or will the bidder have mercy on his not-there-derriere?
Well, you get the idea. Hope this brought you a laugh. It made the kids laugh, the people stare, and it made my day. God bless!
Last time I was in this little Purgatory Zone, I tried several techniques, "I won't let my peace be disturbed!" I said with my She-Ra sword. "Heeeheeeheee!" sneered a Skeletor voice of Evil (or maybe I've finally cracked for good, and those were the early onset voices finally coming through...but either way, they sounded just like Skeletor) "Peace SCHMESE!" he heckled. First technique: Meditation. Hafta tell ya--unless you are the reincarnation of Ghandi or Christ Himself, this DOESN'T work with three screaming toddlers. I tried meditating on the image of the ocean I saw on my vacation...and all that kept coming through were images of the kids finding me on little toddler jet-skis. That was a no-go. Next, I tried a positive reframe--I tried telling myself that "Welp, even though this SUCKS, at least I'm not with the kids in the store..." Then, I decided that I don't even like the phrase positive reframe and that it makes me angry, very angry, inside. So my last ditch effort was to imagine worse scenarios than mine at the time: having my legs chopped off at the ankles and being forced to run through a sticker patch...living with my mom...bending over in a store to smell a flower only to have a part of it get stuck in my nose resulting in hospitalization etc. That's when it hit! I begin to imagine what could be waylaying Handsome Husband and that saved me because I began laughing out loud.
In fact, I was laughing so loudly that I even opened the windows, unashamed and unafraid of people seeing, "Honda CRV: The One-Car Freak Show." Here are just a few of my ideas but you know--be creative and think of your own and hell, write them down on a Steno pad for every time you are in this situation. The best part of this technique was that I got my nearly four-year-old in on the scenarios and he thought they were hilarious. (You might not think they are hilarious but cut me some slack--remember what state of mind I was in at this point.)
Possibility #1: In a desperate attempt to pick the perfect can of cream of chicken for me, Handsome Husband digs deeply through the display and picks it out, holding it up high in all it's Campbell's glory when suddenly, the display crashes down, burying him beneath boulder-like cans. He must use his stealth skills to come out alive.
Possibility #2: Unbeknownst to innocent Safeway shoppers, there in the very bakery of the store, lurks a witch. Seeing my Handsome Husband she thinks to herself whilst stroking her wart, "Ahhh, here is a very fair child--he looks a little lean but he'd be puhfect for my pie!" So offering him homemade brownies (his absolute favorite), the swarthy bakery wench lures him into the back. He is enjoying delicious bite upon bite of chocolatey brownie goodness when suddenly from behind, he hears an opening 'SCCREEECH!' he dives out of the way, foiling Witch Warts plan of pushing him into the oven. Unfortunately though for our hero, he has fallen into the pie concoction. Will Juan the Mopster hear Husband's desperate cries to toss him the handle of the mop or will he go on, mopping, listening to his Shakira remix?
Possibility #3: (This one is Child #1's favorite because he's into inappropriate body parts being a part of ANY story, and especially if they get lost or "broken." Don't look at me--I don't even have those body parts.) Whilst humming a happy tune and finding Mommy her favorite Lean Cuisine in the frozen section--the very last one--a giant oversized gentleman trying to shed a few pounds gasps in astonishment. "YOU don't need that Lean Cuisine! You're already skinny! Give it meeee!" In anger, he runs into Daddy, trying to smash him in the door. The good news is, Daddy isn't smushed but the really bad news is, his tush seems to have been snipped off by the big freezer door! It rolls sadly into the freezer. The Giant Man grabs the Lean Cuisine because Daddy is stunned, and takes Daddy's tush out of the freezer and puts it in a grocery bag and throws it across the store, miniscus-style, as hard as he can. "NOOO!!! My perfect TUUUSHH!!!" Daddy yells in despair. "Bob, we're gonna need assistance in aisle 12...and clean up in aisle 1.." interrupts a voice on the store intercom, "...there seems to be a...butt...that's nearly stuck in the meat shredder...Bob..." Running as fast as he can to the Deli, Daddy yells, "That's MY BUTT! Don't shred it!!" When he gets there it has not been shredded but packaged and--oh no!--someone is buying it! Well this is awkward. Pooor Daddy. "Please--I know this is odd but, that's my butt and uh...well, you can't buy it. It's mine so...it uh...won't fit you." What will happen? Will Daddy have to buy it back? Or will the bidder have mercy on his not-there-derriere?
Well, you get the idea. Hope this brought you a laugh. It made the kids laugh, the people stare, and it made my day. God bless!
Sunday, March 6, 2011
Well, here I am again. I am actually working on a more transition-into-this-blog-blog but I have writer's block of it and need a break. So I am here talking about...(drum roll, please) that stupid punk cashier at the grocery store who makes you feel like you wanna chuck a big poop diaper in his waxed little face. Granted, we go to one of the most ghetto-fabulous, worst-service-ever-at-a-grocery-store-because-it's-ran-by-17-year-olds (no offense to 17 year olds) who all think they are the epitome of Chicano Shiznay with a name tag. Don't get me wrong--I've (sort of) been there: being so young and so not attached to many of the world's woes or even...anything going on in the real world...at all, for example, other than flirting with the female sackers and barking out tough-guy orders to the newbies who aren't fast enough "Ay-yi-yiee! What are you doing, Chewy? Do your job right--go push some baskets okay? It's Mexi-CAN, not Mexi-'I-don't-wanna'!" I love my heritage. We're just, so classy and humble...
So the store's being "remodeled" to look more...store-like and tasteful. Funny, the workers are still there though...So the whole store is upside down (diaper wipes were found next to Romance novels and Hallmark cards) and each aisle about half the size it used to be, and the produce section is now all fancy with the fruit on these super high wooden tables--much too high for us Hispanic folk. It looks like Hispanic Hobbit-Ville with all of us jumping up and down, having to ask the 17 year old Anglo moppers to get avocados down for us.
So, back to brooding Don Juan De Cashier Man: I go to get my groceries and after ringing up our gigantic bill (because our boys eat like they're preparing to go into deep space hybernation), my card won't go through for some reason. Anxiety creases my once wrinkle-free eyelids and I say, "Okay. Please run it again, I know there is money on it." [Obnoxious sigh from Don Juan De Cashier Man]. "What's going ON here?" barks Mullet Man from the back of the line (he spent the entire two hours I was wandering the store yelling--yelling I tell you--"What the f*** did they do with my TOMATO sauce?!") And now, I had the privilige of having him in my line. "Pardon me? Are you speaking to me?" I say with a smile dripping sweetly of anthrax. Mullet Man glares at me but goes back to talking on his phone. The register bleeps absurdly loud, announcing that the card didn't go through again. "Okay;" I say, "I'm sorry about this but can you please just hold my things up here while I call my husband?" I begin to dial Husband with all eyes and ears listening. Me: "Honey--the card's saying "not authorized." Honey: "Well then that means there wasn't that much money on the card." Me grinding my teeth together: "Um. Then WHY did you give me that card, Honey?" Honey: "Because I thought there'd be enough. Just come home and get the other card." Oh! SILLY ME! I'll just drive home and let 50 people in line chillax while I cruise home. I relay this to Don Juan and ask if he can just hold my stuff up there while I go get the other card with money on it. Don Juan: "[BIG heave of a sigh with agitation] Well if I did that, I'd have to void everything. Can't we just put it all back and you get it all again when you get back? It is your fault you don't have money on your card and plus, I'll be late for my lunch break." Did he say that? Did he really say that? Now I have my Mad Eyes on. In fact I kind of had a Garth moment and turned into a crazy pants. (If you don't know what I'm talking about, please oh please, watch Wayne's World the movie sometime. It's a classic to be sure)."Look son, I am aware this is frustrating. Once not so long ago, I had a job too but not now. So when you have three little kids, stretch marks, and no money, and you have to choose between light bulbs or cleaning sponges because you're too poor to have both, and did I say stretch marks?! Can you be a little patient? I just walked through your Maze of Madness for TWO hours to find this stuff so you're NOT putting it all back. VOID it please. P.S.--isn't it your JOB to do your job?!"
Don Juan De Cashier Man froze and looked very afraid of Psycho Grocery Mama. Manager Man came over and did the whole, "What seems to be the problem?" Needless to say, they held my groceries. I ran from the store exodus to the car looking like a person who shouldn't be able to run that fast without unhealthy palpitations, drove home real quick, got the other card, and repeated the running scene into the store. After making me wait almost twenty minutes to "find" the cart of groceries (I know, it must have been SO hard to spot an abandoned cart of $200 worth of groceries! Tough job!) I was finally re-rung up. When I got home I realized that we were charged about $50 less. When I called about it later the next day I was told, "Consider it providence. Sounds like you had it comin' to ya." I am pleased to say that it ended this way, though in some ways I would have rather just thrown a diaper pie in Don Juan's face, this way was much better for our finances however.
Moral of the story: stand your ground, stand firm, and definitely throw in as MANY uses of the words "stretch marks" as possible.
So the store's being "remodeled" to look more...store-like and tasteful. Funny, the workers are still there though...So the whole store is upside down (diaper wipes were found next to Romance novels and Hallmark cards) and each aisle about half the size it used to be, and the produce section is now all fancy with the fruit on these super high wooden tables--much too high for us Hispanic folk. It looks like Hispanic Hobbit-Ville with all of us jumping up and down, having to ask the 17 year old Anglo moppers to get avocados down for us.
So, back to brooding Don Juan De Cashier Man: I go to get my groceries and after ringing up our gigantic bill (because our boys eat like they're preparing to go into deep space hybernation), my card won't go through for some reason. Anxiety creases my once wrinkle-free eyelids and I say, "Okay. Please run it again, I know there is money on it." [Obnoxious sigh from Don Juan De Cashier Man]. "What's going ON here?" barks Mullet Man from the back of the line (he spent the entire two hours I was wandering the store yelling--yelling I tell you--"What the f*** did they do with my TOMATO sauce?!") And now, I had the privilige of having him in my line. "Pardon me? Are you speaking to me?" I say with a smile dripping sweetly of anthrax. Mullet Man glares at me but goes back to talking on his phone. The register bleeps absurdly loud, announcing that the card didn't go through again. "Okay;" I say, "I'm sorry about this but can you please just hold my things up here while I call my husband?" I begin to dial Husband with all eyes and ears listening. Me: "Honey--the card's saying "not authorized." Honey: "Well then that means there wasn't that much money on the card." Me grinding my teeth together: "Um. Then WHY did you give me that card, Honey?" Honey: "Because I thought there'd be enough. Just come home and get the other card." Oh! SILLY ME! I'll just drive home and let 50 people in line chillax while I cruise home. I relay this to Don Juan and ask if he can just hold my stuff up there while I go get the other card with money on it. Don Juan: "[BIG heave of a sigh with agitation] Well if I did that, I'd have to void everything. Can't we just put it all back and you get it all again when you get back? It is your fault you don't have money on your card and plus, I'll be late for my lunch break." Did he say that? Did he really say that? Now I have my Mad Eyes on. In fact I kind of had a Garth moment and turned into a crazy pants. (If you don't know what I'm talking about, please oh please, watch Wayne's World the movie sometime. It's a classic to be sure)."Look son, I am aware this is frustrating. Once not so long ago, I had a job too but not now. So when you have three little kids, stretch marks, and no money, and you have to choose between light bulbs or cleaning sponges because you're too poor to have both, and did I say stretch marks?! Can you be a little patient? I just walked through your Maze of Madness for TWO hours to find this stuff so you're NOT putting it all back. VOID it please. P.S.--isn't it your JOB to do your job?!"
Don Juan De Cashier Man froze and looked very afraid of Psycho Grocery Mama. Manager Man came over and did the whole, "What seems to be the problem?" Needless to say, they held my groceries. I ran from the store exodus to the car looking like a person who shouldn't be able to run that fast without unhealthy palpitations, drove home real quick, got the other card, and repeated the running scene into the store. After making me wait almost twenty minutes to "find" the cart of groceries (I know, it must have been SO hard to spot an abandoned cart of $200 worth of groceries! Tough job!) I was finally re-rung up. When I got home I realized that we were charged about $50 less. When I called about it later the next day I was told, "Consider it providence. Sounds like you had it comin' to ya." I am pleased to say that it ended this way, though in some ways I would have rather just thrown a diaper pie in Don Juan's face, this way was much better for our finances however.
Moral of the story: stand your ground, stand firm, and definitely throw in as MANY uses of the words "stretch marks" as possible.
Wednesday, February 23, 2011
The First Time You Feel "It"
First and foremost, get your mind out of the gutter, otherwise you will be undoubtedly disappointed. Let me define "it" as: the feeling you get as a new stay at home mother when it hits you that this might not be what you expected; that you might rather be sitting in some dentist's torture chair, waiving the lidocain rather than being in your exact moment in your home. It's a specific moment and feeling because you really don't wanna feel it, and in fact, you wonder just how guilty you should be by feeling it, and at the same time tell yourself, "Expression of feelings is healthy, I need to be honest with how I'm feeling, so I can move on from this moment." Afterall that's what all the magazines say but then desperately, you flip through hundreds of mental articles in your brain and fail to find any that quoted the moms saying they'd rather hump a cactus than clean the poop in your unpotty-trained-toddler's bathtub. Hmmm...nope can't think of any...
Anyway, I bring this up in my first post not to spend all my writing lamenting and boo-hooing but really, just to point out that it's tough to hear the real stuff sometimes, and even tougher to get support in it. I want moms and/or dads to read this and to feel some small comfort in knowing they are not alone in struggling or feeling a little...insane. The funny thing is, I am surrounded by wonderful mothers and supporters but would still find myself feeling like, "Are my kids the only ones who don't sleep?" or "Do my kids have some sort of psychotic energy disorder only to occur during Mass, at the most quiet times, yelling, "I HATE THE LORD! I DON'T WANT JESUS!!" The uncouth, embarrassing, and often all-too-revealing truths of parenthood as ugly as they can be as well as rewarding come down to this: we may be parents but we're still people. People have insecurities, fears, breakdowns, and...relapses into eating entire boxes of chocolate and drinking the cooking wine just to cope.
The last thing I bring up, is important because it will probably determine whether or not you continue to read my posts: I am a Catholic, Christian, Woman. Yes, I am aware of the grammatical flaws I just made. I did that on purpose because while they are representative of me in one phrase, they are also each individually a profound part of what makes me ME and that is as much what this blog will hopefully be about as anything (not ME but being real, being honest, and seeking to find authenticity as a person in my journey of motherhood etc.). I promise not to push any sort of religious schtuff at you such as, "Believe in ___ and you will be HEALED from every ill and bad day--FOREVER!" Well that wouldn't be real, now would it? I am opinionated, and straightforward in my beliefs but again, I want to say that my posts aren't really at this point, intended to sway or push anything. They are a means to see inside someone else's life, hopefully laugh, and hopefully have a little inspiration. In short: I'm inviting you to laugh at my life so I can too. That's all.
I hope I can hear (respectful)feedback eventually and all that is left to say until next time is, are you ready for this jelly?
Anyway, I bring this up in my first post not to spend all my writing lamenting and boo-hooing but really, just to point out that it's tough to hear the real stuff sometimes, and even tougher to get support in it. I want moms and/or dads to read this and to feel some small comfort in knowing they are not alone in struggling or feeling a little...insane. The funny thing is, I am surrounded by wonderful mothers and supporters but would still find myself feeling like, "Are my kids the only ones who don't sleep?" or "Do my kids have some sort of psychotic energy disorder only to occur during Mass, at the most quiet times, yelling, "I HATE THE LORD! I DON'T WANT JESUS!!" The uncouth, embarrassing, and often all-too-revealing truths of parenthood as ugly as they can be as well as rewarding come down to this: we may be parents but we're still people. People have insecurities, fears, breakdowns, and...relapses into eating entire boxes of chocolate and drinking the cooking wine just to cope.
The last thing I bring up, is important because it will probably determine whether or not you continue to read my posts: I am a Catholic, Christian, Woman. Yes, I am aware of the grammatical flaws I just made. I did that on purpose because while they are representative of me in one phrase, they are also each individually a profound part of what makes me ME and that is as much what this blog will hopefully be about as anything (not ME but being real, being honest, and seeking to find authenticity as a person in my journey of motherhood etc.). I promise not to push any sort of religious schtuff at you such as, "Believe in ___ and you will be HEALED from every ill and bad day--FOREVER!" Well that wouldn't be real, now would it? I am opinionated, and straightforward in my beliefs but again, I want to say that my posts aren't really at this point, intended to sway or push anything. They are a means to see inside someone else's life, hopefully laugh, and hopefully have a little inspiration. In short: I'm inviting you to laugh at my life so I can too. That's all.
I hope I can hear (respectful)feedback eventually and all that is left to say until next time is, are you ready for this jelly?
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