A. is outside with Cubby. The MiL is in the kitchen making dinner. Charlie is asleep on the couch beside me. I am drinking a gin and tonic in the blessed quiet of the living room.
Small things? I'm all for 'em.
Saturday, August 11, 2012
Friday, August 10, 2012
Motherhood: Country Style
Being a mother is challenging wherever you live. I, for one, would never want to try to wrangle my children in a confining city apartment. Lord, no. But the outdoor life we live has its drawbacks too.
Like today.
Due to Cubby's insistence that outside is the only acceptable environment for entertainment, I spend a lot of time outside. Obviously. And now I have this other child, who frequently requires milk. Which comes from me. So he comes outside too. I have gotten quite adept at nursing him wherever I happen to be sitting. This morning, because Cubby was working with a car jack in the shed*, that meant I was nursing Charlie while sitting on a hay bale in the shed.
That's bad enough, but then I saw the sheep. On the other side of the fence. By the neighbors' house. And I could see one of the neighbor's cars, which meant she was home. And THAT meant that if I did not remove said sheep from her house post-haste, I would shortly be receiving a phone call of the "please get your sheep off my property" variety.
Damn, I hate those phone calls.
A. was at court and not due home for hours. The MiL was at work. That left me. Luckily, Charlie fell asleep as he was nursing, so I was able to put him in his car seat and put the seat in the shed, from whence I could hear him if he woke up. Cubby was busily engaged shoveling mulch, so I got a bowl of chicken food (because of COURSE we were out of corn), pulled down the electric fence, and trudged up the neighbors' driveway towards the sheep. There were only six or so milling around in the flowers. I can only hope they didn't eat anything too important.
Shaking the bowl of chicken food worked its Pavlovian magic, and I got them over the fence and into the paddock with no trouble and went back to my children to find them both where I had left them.
Then five minutes later I had to do it again with two different sheep, at which point I discovered that the fence to the pasture was just totally open in one spot, making it no trouble for the entire flock to stroll through at their leisure. So I tied it up in a half-assed manner with some baling twine, cursing those wretched animals all the while.
I would not be sad if the entire flock ended up on the grill.
* No, the jack was not under a car at the time. Even we are not that permissive. Or stupid.
Like today.
Due to Cubby's insistence that outside is the only acceptable environment for entertainment, I spend a lot of time outside. Obviously. And now I have this other child, who frequently requires milk. Which comes from me. So he comes outside too. I have gotten quite adept at nursing him wherever I happen to be sitting. This morning, because Cubby was working with a car jack in the shed*, that meant I was nursing Charlie while sitting on a hay bale in the shed.
That's bad enough, but then I saw the sheep. On the other side of the fence. By the neighbors' house. And I could see one of the neighbor's cars, which meant she was home. And THAT meant that if I did not remove said sheep from her house post-haste, I would shortly be receiving a phone call of the "please get your sheep off my property" variety.
Damn, I hate those phone calls.
A. was at court and not due home for hours. The MiL was at work. That left me. Luckily, Charlie fell asleep as he was nursing, so I was able to put him in his car seat and put the seat in the shed, from whence I could hear him if he woke up. Cubby was busily engaged shoveling mulch, so I got a bowl of chicken food (because of COURSE we were out of corn), pulled down the electric fence, and trudged up the neighbors' driveway towards the sheep. There were only six or so milling around in the flowers. I can only hope they didn't eat anything too important.
Shaking the bowl of chicken food worked its Pavlovian magic, and I got them over the fence and into the paddock with no trouble and went back to my children to find them both where I had left them.
Then five minutes later I had to do it again with two different sheep, at which point I discovered that the fence to the pasture was just totally open in one spot, making it no trouble for the entire flock to stroll through at their leisure. So I tied it up in a half-assed manner with some baling twine, cursing those wretched animals all the while.
I would not be sad if the entire flock ended up on the grill.
* No, the jack was not under a car at the time. Even we are not that permissive. Or stupid.
Thursday, August 9, 2012
Do I Have a Treat for You
Yesterday's post--which is entirely too depressing to leave up any longer, so we're changing the subject--made me think of the phrase "riding the storm out." Which, of course, means REO Speedwagon. And that, of course, means another visit to YouTube to find another hilarious video featuring extremely unfortunate fashion choices.
May I present to you REO Speedwagon performing "Ridin' the Storm Out" on Burt Sugarman's Midnight Special (whatever the hell that was) in 1977.
Go watch it. It will make your day a little more bearable and will certainly inspire laughter, if not incredulity that ANYONE would choose such a hairstyle or make such facial expressions. (PLUS! White sateen trousers! And what appears to be an artfully tied shawl standing in for a shirt. Seriously. Go look.)
May I present to you REO Speedwagon performing "Ridin' the Storm Out" on Burt Sugarman's Midnight Special (whatever the hell that was) in 1977.
Go watch it. It will make your day a little more bearable and will certainly inspire laughter, if not incredulity that ANYONE would choose such a hairstyle or make such facial expressions. (PLUS! White sateen trousers! And what appears to be an artfully tied shawl standing in for a shirt. Seriously. Go look.)
Wednesday, August 8, 2012
No Gin, Just Tears
I'm sure you all remember this only partially-in-jest comment about Cubby breaking me by refusing to go to bed, reducing me to a sobbing pile of gin-sodden misery.
He refused to go to bed last night.
The first couple of escapes were dealt with relatively quietly. As per the conventional wisdom, I brought him back to bed very calmly and told him it was time to sleep. The third time . . . he lost it. As soon as he saw me he collapsed on the floor, screaming he didn't want to sleep. Attempts to bring him back to his bed and leave the room resulted in escalating hysteria. I tried reasoning with him. ("It's dark. We sleep when it's dark.") I tried distracting him. ("Can you hear the crickets? They're singing you a lullaby. Listen to the crickets and go to sleep.") I tried telling him a story.
When he tearfully said, "You want Mommy to stay awhile?" I did. I stood there by his bed in the dark, answering every time he asked, "I'm right here?" with, "I'm right here. Go to sleep." After a few minutes, I started backing up to the door. Every time I moved, I would hear, "I'm right here?" and would answer. Eventually I left the room and closed the door, still answering whenever he inquired if I was there.
And there were tears seeping out of my eyes the entire time.
They were tears of exhaustion, because I am just so, so tired. They were tears of frustration, because there's really not a goddamn thing I can do if he decides not to go to sleep. They were tears of sadness, because it's quite clear that Cubby is feeling pretty vulnerable these days. And they were tears of self-pity, because . . . well, because I was feeling pretty pitiful.
I finally got to bed around 10 p.m. and lay there for half an hour or so, telling myself that maybe this would be the night Charlie would sleep for four hours in a row. Maybe the fact that Cubby didn't fall asleep until 9 p.m. would mean he would sleep until the unheard-of hour of 7 a.m.
And then Charlie was up every two hours and Cubby was jumping on our bed at 5:10 a.m. I got up, got us all dressed, drank a lot of coffee, and reminded myself that this, too, shall pass. I'm not broken. Just waiting and coping. And still hoping that tonight will be better. Because it's all I can do.
He refused to go to bed last night.
The first couple of escapes were dealt with relatively quietly. As per the conventional wisdom, I brought him back to bed very calmly and told him it was time to sleep. The third time . . . he lost it. As soon as he saw me he collapsed on the floor, screaming he didn't want to sleep. Attempts to bring him back to his bed and leave the room resulted in escalating hysteria. I tried reasoning with him. ("It's dark. We sleep when it's dark.") I tried distracting him. ("Can you hear the crickets? They're singing you a lullaby. Listen to the crickets and go to sleep.") I tried telling him a story.
When he tearfully said, "You want Mommy to stay awhile?" I did. I stood there by his bed in the dark, answering every time he asked, "I'm right here?" with, "I'm right here. Go to sleep." After a few minutes, I started backing up to the door. Every time I moved, I would hear, "I'm right here?" and would answer. Eventually I left the room and closed the door, still answering whenever he inquired if I was there.
And there were tears seeping out of my eyes the entire time.
They were tears of exhaustion, because I am just so, so tired. They were tears of frustration, because there's really not a goddamn thing I can do if he decides not to go to sleep. They were tears of sadness, because it's quite clear that Cubby is feeling pretty vulnerable these days. And they were tears of self-pity, because . . . well, because I was feeling pretty pitiful.
I finally got to bed around 10 p.m. and lay there for half an hour or so, telling myself that maybe this would be the night Charlie would sleep for four hours in a row. Maybe the fact that Cubby didn't fall asleep until 9 p.m. would mean he would sleep until the unheard-of hour of 7 a.m.
And then Charlie was up every two hours and Cubby was jumping on our bed at 5:10 a.m. I got up, got us all dressed, drank a lot of coffee, and reminded myself that this, too, shall pass. I'm not broken. Just waiting and coping. And still hoping that tonight will be better. Because it's all I can do.
Monday, August 6, 2012
The Rejects
My parents asked me yesterday to send them some photos that they could print out and send to older relatives who don't use computers and so have not had the opportunity to come to this here site to see photos of Charlie.
And so of course, Charlie has now come down with a nice case of baby acne. Photogenic!
But I am nothing if not obliging, so I took a bunch of pictures yesterday and today in the hopes of getting a good one.
Here are some that I'm pretty sure will not make the cut:
Kids are way entertaining. (When they're not making their mother wish she could plunge her entire head into a tub of water. And leave it there until she passes out, because that would be preferable to listening to one more second of screaming.)
And so of course, Charlie has now come down with a nice case of baby acne. Photogenic!
But I am nothing if not obliging, so I took a bunch of pictures yesterday and today in the hopes of getting a good one.
Here are some that I'm pretty sure will not make the cut:
Kids are way entertaining. (When they're not making their mother wish she could plunge her entire head into a tub of water. And leave it there until she passes out, because that would be preferable to listening to one more second of screaming.)
Saturday, August 4, 2012
Ain't That America
Small town America doesn't get much better than festivals centered around agricultural events. Our local festival is a wheat harvest festival in a nearby village. The main event is supposed to be the horse-drawn machine that harvests the wheat field on the grounds of the historical society, but it has grown over the years into something much more.
We had never taken Cubby to this festival, and A. was determined to make it this year. So this morning we loaded up the whole family and arrived just in time for the parade. By sheer luck, we happened upon a spot in the shade that was right where the parade participants turned off the street and onto the grounds of the festival. There were also no other small kids in the vicinity, which meant that when the parade people threw candy at Cubby, he got it all without a bunch of older kids with candy bags scurrying around and grabbing it all up.
Not that he knew what the hell was going on with the candy throwing. Especially since the first elderly gentleman on a tractor that tossed him some candy accidentally beaned him in the head. Whoopsy.
But no matter! Nothing could detract from the excitement of that parade. A veritable army of antique tractors, horse-drawn wagons, old cars, fire trucks with sirens wailing . . . in short, Cubby's idea of heaven.
After the parade, Cubby and A. set off to see everything up close. Charlie had been sleeping all this time and didn't appear inclined to wake up, so I put him on a blanket in the shady grass and sat there in a lawn chair for an hour while he napped.
After A. and Cubby rejoined us, we all set off to find some lunch and watch the horse-drawn harvester in action. Charlie slept some more.
By 1 p.m. it was 90 degrees and Cubby was the approximate shade of a ripe tomato, so I decreed it was time to go home. We got in the car and he looked like he was going to pass out in short order. I spent the ten-minute drive home talking to him, trying to keep him awake. Then we got home, A. brought him upstairs for his nap, and the pounding commenced. All I could hear from upstairs were the sounds of Cubby running back and forth from his room to ours. Whatever he was doing up there, it was definitely not sleeping.
And so here we are at 2:30 in the afternoon, still not sleeping. Amazing. Not even the wheat-harvest-festival-induced exhaustion could overcome his stubborn refusal to fall asleep. Dammit.
Edited to add: It is now 3:45 p.m. Cubby is asleep on the couch. A. is asleep upstairs. Charlie is asleep in the bassinet. Bedtime is going to be fun around here tonight.
We had never taken Cubby to this festival, and A. was determined to make it this year. So this morning we loaded up the whole family and arrived just in time for the parade. By sheer luck, we happened upon a spot in the shade that was right where the parade participants turned off the street and onto the grounds of the festival. There were also no other small kids in the vicinity, which meant that when the parade people threw candy at Cubby, he got it all without a bunch of older kids with candy bags scurrying around and grabbing it all up.
Not that he knew what the hell was going on with the candy throwing. Especially since the first elderly gentleman on a tractor that tossed him some candy accidentally beaned him in the head. Whoopsy.
But no matter! Nothing could detract from the excitement of that parade. A veritable army of antique tractors, horse-drawn wagons, old cars, fire trucks with sirens wailing . . . in short, Cubby's idea of heaven.
After the parade, Cubby and A. set off to see everything up close. Charlie had been sleeping all this time and didn't appear inclined to wake up, so I put him on a blanket in the shady grass and sat there in a lawn chair for an hour while he napped.
After A. and Cubby rejoined us, we all set off to find some lunch and watch the horse-drawn harvester in action. Charlie slept some more.
By 1 p.m. it was 90 degrees and Cubby was the approximate shade of a ripe tomato, so I decreed it was time to go home. We got in the car and he looked like he was going to pass out in short order. I spent the ten-minute drive home talking to him, trying to keep him awake. Then we got home, A. brought him upstairs for his nap, and the pounding commenced. All I could hear from upstairs were the sounds of Cubby running back and forth from his room to ours. Whatever he was doing up there, it was definitely not sleeping.
And so here we are at 2:30 in the afternoon, still not sleeping. Amazing. Not even the wheat-harvest-festival-induced exhaustion could overcome his stubborn refusal to fall asleep. Dammit.
Edited to add: It is now 3:45 p.m. Cubby is asleep on the couch. A. is asleep upstairs. Charlie is asleep in the bassinet. Bedtime is going to be fun around here tonight.
Thursday, August 2, 2012
Please Indulge the Maudlin
There are a lot of babies around lately. My own, obviously, who will be three weeks old tomorrow and is so far an absolute delight in all respects, but also my brother and his wife had their second daughter yesterday (YAY FOR COUSINS!). And A.'s brother and his wife have a five-month-old daughter.
Point is, we're currently in the Young Parents stage of life, along with many of our family members. And I found myself thinking yesterday, in the midst of the toddler screaming and the newborn nursing and the changing of diapers and the embattled potty visits and everything else that this stage entails, that . . . I kind of miss it already.
I know. Perhaps I am certifiable. Perhaps I am totally delusional from lack of sleep. Perhaps Cubby's shrieking has pierced to my very brain and rendered me senseless, but, well, I anticipate this will be the last newborn I will ever have. And so I can see now that all of these stages, they are finite. They all end. Both the good and the bad.
There are many things that I will emphatically not miss. Like the aforementioned shrieking. But the shrieking is prompted by the fact that my older son depends on me so much, loves me so much, trusts me so much to keep loving him despite the atrocious behavior. And I know that will change. Just as I know that Charlie will change, that he will never again be three weeks old and making the absolutely hilarious faces that newborns make when they want to eat.
I can't stop the change, but I can remind myself that even on the very worst days, I wouldn't trade any of this for anything.
Point is, we're currently in the Young Parents stage of life, along with many of our family members. And I found myself thinking yesterday, in the midst of the toddler screaming and the newborn nursing and the changing of diapers and the embattled potty visits and everything else that this stage entails, that . . . I kind of miss it already.
I know. Perhaps I am certifiable. Perhaps I am totally delusional from lack of sleep. Perhaps Cubby's shrieking has pierced to my very brain and rendered me senseless, but, well, I anticipate this will be the last newborn I will ever have. And so I can see now that all of these stages, they are finite. They all end. Both the good and the bad.
There are many things that I will emphatically not miss. Like the aforementioned shrieking. But the shrieking is prompted by the fact that my older son depends on me so much, loves me so much, trusts me so much to keep loving him despite the atrocious behavior. And I know that will change. Just as I know that Charlie will change, that he will never again be three weeks old and making the absolutely hilarious faces that newborns make when they want to eat.
I can't stop the change, but I can remind myself that even on the very worst days, I wouldn't trade any of this for anything.
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