Mawage. Mawage is wot bwings us togeder tooday.

Disclaimer: I love my husband, that is certainly not in question. This morning he about pushed me over the edge. As you know my grip on reality is already tenuous, and with this behavior, he has positioned himself as the centerpiece of today's bit of written therapy. I warned him. 

Now as if working out isn't hard enough; getting up at the crack of dawn to work out, well in my eyes you should get some kind of medal. It sucks, plain and simple. Sure, when you are done you feel pretty good about yourself, minus the fact that now you have to get in the shower and hopefully after, not before said shower, attempt to carry your stout three year old down the steps. Recall, he is very whiny in the morning and needs quite a bit of tlc, he does not care that you are exhausted. Of course the fact that your arms have little to no strength left to lift him is beside the point. Just hold on, but not with your arms, to the fact that you have accomplished something amazing. Then, try not to cry as the day is just starting! Go get em girl!

So, downstairs I go, spring in my step. (ya, right) Ready and willing to be tortured by the inane comments of our wonderful, and ridiculously fit instructor, Tony Horton. Turn on TV. Drag out weights. Make sure volume is low, as last week it was so loud upon start that it almost gave me a heart attack. AND, important to know, I do not want to wake children. In fact that is one of my main goals of this exercise session. COMPLETE SANS CHILDREN. Husband calls down, get started. I do. Warming up.

Bounding down the steps my darling husband decides (now wait a minute here. I don't know that this is a conscious decision, I think it is a similar condition to Tourette's. {see disclaimer on post number 2}) that now is the right time to start singing, at a very high volume,

Don't ask her on a straight tequila night.
She'll start thinkin' about him, then she's ready to fight.
Blames her broken heart on every man in sight,
On a straight tequila night.

Yes, he did.

Honey!
What?
The kids! You are going to wake them up!
No I'm not!
They listen for your voice, they can hear you!
They do not.
UGGG!

I exhale. continue with reps. This song has been in husband's head for a few days now. We could be sitting watching tv, driving in the car, eating dinner, anywhere really and he is compelled by some greater force to sing this song at top volume.

A few minutes pass. Bicep curls, husband turns to me and with mournful features says:

Here's a glass of Chablis, some quarters and change:
Maybe you can turn her love life around.
Then she won't need the salt or the lime anymore,
To shoot that old memory down.

What can I do but laugh. Obviously this man has lost his mind. And that is a good thing, as it will allow us to relate on an entirely new level. And you can't even get MAD at him, as much as I want to be because I KNOW HE IS GOING TO WAKE UP THE BABY, you have to admire his silliness. He makes me laugh more than anyone I have ever met. 

Trudging through the next set of dips I look over him. OOHH, AAHH, OOHH, AAHH. Boy I am really going deep on these! WOW! and he jumps up. Once again, he is overcome with emotion for this poor jilted woman:

Blames her broken heart on every man in sight,
On a straight tequila night.

MOMMMYYYYY!

Kids without pancakes

Yesterday, as I mentioned, I decided I would attend the Y's yoga class.

You really start to love yoga, once you get into it. Your body almost craves the stretches. I am no yoga master by any means, but downward dog has become my friend. Normally I am able to keep a relatively clear head during practice. Some scatterings of thoughts run here and there but usually I can control it. So I have been looking forward to this hour all day. Get my head into it, my body into and I am going to be golden.

Not yesterday. Could it be the day leading up to yoga that prevented me from reaching enlightenment? (okay, my own personal version of enlightenment, how is that?)

Could it be the process of getting in the car? (This is getting pretty ridiculous, the amount of time it took me to get my kids to exit the house and get into the car) I mean really. Could it be that I am a self handicapper and decided to eat a toasted English muffin with whipped cream cheese only one half an hour before yoga started? (Ugh I was so full, why did I do that!) So any of these reasons, and more. Like these two conversations for example:

Holden, lets get in the car. Why are you wearing sweat pants it is 95 outside.
Love warm pants.
Where are your shorts?
They wet. Me pee in them.
Oh. Okay. But it is very hot, you are going to be too hot.
NOOOOOO
Wait, your pants are twisted, let me help. Oh, your underpants are on backwards.
Let me fix them.
NOOOOOO
ugh. now where are those wet shorts?

Overhear in the back of the car:
Ella: I need my bag from school!
Holden: why ella need bag?
Ella: I need to make pancakes.
Holden: why make pancakes?
Ella, with conviction: Holden, not everyone gets pancakes. They are for kids without pancakes.
Holden: ME MAKE PANCAKESSSSSSSSSSSS


So we reach the Y. Bribery consisting of high fructose corn syrup fruit snacks ensues. You can only imagine that I am setting myself up for failure by allowing 3 and 5 to each hold 4 quarters. By the time we actually reach the vending machine we are somehow down seventy five cents. Don't ask me how, I just don't know.

Containment, at last. They are in child care I am in yoga. Breathing deeply. Until I realize I have a nose whistle. Breath very deep hoping to eliminate it. Doesn't work. Try again. Still doesn't work. And if I keep up this breathing rate I am going to pass out. Seems to be getting louder. Am I the only one who hears this thing? It seems really really loud. I look around. I mean we are in the middle of centering ourselves and all I can think about is this whistle!

Downward dog has devolved into downward spiral. During triangle I notice I have missed shaving a hair on my leg. What the hell has it been like two months since I shaved it? How did I miss this one? Gross! Try to pull it. Ouch! Can't get it.

And then, somebody toots, just to make it worse. I have now completely left the yoga room, at least mentally. It happens that the toot-er has been chewing their gum very loudly, and I suspect that nobody could hear my nose whistle over that anyway.

So my conclusion to this exercise in frustration: yoga plus nose whistle = fail. Kids plus fruit snacks = Holden falls into a high fructose corn syrup sleep coma on the couch at 9:00pm and stays in it until 8:00am. Thank you God!

Morning Rant

6:00 am Alarm goes off. Husband and I are working out every morning at 6:30. Well the attempt is being made anyway. Have been doing well, are in week 2. Due to an early trip to DC he is unable to today. Due to a fried egg topped large cheeseburger, shoestring fries and a glass of wine, I am unable to. (see my favorite bistro: www.bluetalonbistro.com) I instead will sleep in, which is almost as decadent as the cheeseburger. I have to note that Tony, the powerhouse fitness instructor specifically said DO NOT EAT A CHEESEBURGER. Aaah well, I am paying the price. No worries Tony, I plan on attending power yoga this evening at the gym.

6:35. I hear the first "Mommmmmyyyyyy" of what promises to be a whiny mommy filled day. HOW do I know this, you ask? What can I say, its a gift. That and 3 has only just gone to bed at 11:00pm! Are you kidding me, I think as I wrench my eyes open. Hubby is in shower, no luck there. Well he is lucky anyway.

I yell back, I am sleeping. Come into bed with me. It is too early for your shows.
He comes in my room, and is not interested in any snuggle time.
3: NOOOOO. Me want hot tea!
This is possibly the only child in the US, born of American parents who has a required 3 cups of English tea per day. This family is nuts.
I bring him downstairs, and now we are both cranky.
Drop him off at the couch and with one eye open assemble hot tea. (yes, it is decaf, I am not completely out of my mind. Yet.)
Teapot, microwave, fill cup halfway with milk, slight teaspoon sugar. hand it to child as I pass couch. tell him I am going back up to bed. please enjoy the next episode of whatever mind numbing show nick jr has to offer. Oswald? Ack. honestly I can't remember what was on. He nods, already slipping into his hot tea coma.

Crawl back in to bed. Hubby is out of shower, says I hear something downstairs, is Holden playing your computer? No, I grunt, I brought him down. Did he get hot tea? (that question alone tells you we have lost our minds. We don't ever say tea. We always say HOT tea. It follows someone would ask if he wants one lump or two, or if he raises his pinky while drinking.) Yesssszzzzzz.

7:25 Drag my butt to shower. Trying to drown/burn this sleepy feeling with some very hot water. Door opens and scares the crap out of me. It is 3. COME DOWN STAIRS. WANT HOT TEA. I jump out of my skin. And breathe deep as not to react in the way I SO want to. In my best mommy voice I say, Yes darling, I will be downstairs as soon as I am done in the shower. Then I will make you some hot tea. I smile, as I remember that I should reflect the love I feel for said child in my face. Then he will reflect it back and become a "whole" individual. Here is hoping anyway.

7:29 (just a guess really) Door to shower opens again. Again startles me, although you would think I would be getting accustomed to it. This time it is not 3, but hubby. Oh Honnnnnneeeeyyyy...I offer a soapy kiss goodbye and finish washing my hair.

So lets now fast forward to the part of the morning that has left me popping vitamin B, as my mother calls it, the stress buster vitamin. You would think that these little things, the minutia of motherhood would roll off your back, well news flash, THEY DON'T.

Holden it is 8:55. You have five minutes left on the computer. I am setting the timer. We have to go to school.
NOOOOOO. Me want stay with you! and Me want to go work with daddy! and Me want to hug papa! NOOOOOO schoooooooolllllll!
heh heh. not a chance kid.

Ella, honey finish up we have to get going for school.
This is a good movie, huh? (She has crazy eyes btw)
This is the today show honey.
I love this show. Do you think it is better than the Princess and the Frog? As she asks she licks the inside of her elbow.
I raise an eyebrow. what are you licking?
Yogurt, she says matter of factly.
Oh, I say and nod.
I think I like the Princess and the Frog better. and then she licks her shoulder.
You have yogurt on your shoulder?
She nods, yes. I do. Thats okay though, right mom? Sometimes kids get yogurt on their shoulders.
Um, yeah, I guess they do. sigh.

Mom, how does my brain know that I want to move my arm. Or that I want to move it again somewhere else.
Um, I am still on the yogurt question.

Lets get in the car!
Oh crap, one car seat is still in the back. Holden's shoes are nowhere to be found. Ella keeps saying, I am a good girl Mom. Holden is whiny. I am not. Thanks Ella but that is hardly helpful right now. Try to move the seats so Holden, who is lately prone to colossal meltdowns over well, everything, won't have one. A morning without meltdown makes for easier drop off into his classroom. Moving seat as Holden's head is completely up my butt. Trying to latch it and begging him to back up at the same time. Ella continues her self evaluation. I bang my head on the ceiling. Get Holden in seat. Mommy want hot tea. Ha! No way babe we are on the way to school. Get in front seat after almost falling out of the side door as my foot gets caught in...oh who the hell knows. Throw car in reverse. Do not realize back is up. Bang loudly (and may I say this is not a new concept, just look at the back of my minivan) into door. ACK! Forward. Close back. Try to remove shoulders from ears. MOMMMMMMM. Cannot identify child who has just called me, or refuse to anyway. Instead I say, NO MORE TALKING!

Drop off goes relatively smoothly until I realize that in the commotion I have forgotten snack/project bags. Head home, pick them up, head back to school. Of course children are assembled in hallway and 3 has eagle eyes. My plan to avoid him seeing me: fail. Luckily he is engrossed in a story (Jesus is in our hearts, I know is on the tip of his tongue). He is across the room, unable to get up to hug me and settles for blowing a kiss.

Luckily, I caught it.

Quack. Quack.

25/35
Over the last few months my darling husband and I have been working on/questioning/exploring our ideas for the next few years of our lives. You know, the plan. The family goals.

Sounds reasonable enough. Too bad it has left me gripping the door frame for my life. White knuckled panic. WHY? I am not that person! I love change, I am here I am there, I move all the time, I mean I am open to new experiences, I am all over it!

Reality check time. I don't seem to be that person anymore.

That free spirited bedouin is twenty-five year old Sharon, not thirty-five year old Sharon. (see above picture) What happened to her? I mean, one minute I am living in NYC doing freelance design at Loreal, Macys, Avon, you name it. If I didn't like a job, I left it. I found another one. I never worried about that. I just assumed I would land on my feet and I usually did. Now: UGH. Now when anyone mentions the future I cringe. How did I get so comfortable? So complacent? When did I decide I didn't want to be uncomfortable? I mean a bit of discomfort isn't such a bad thing. In fact it tends to engender growth. Or at least that is what I've read.

On the other hand, tucking in, is that such a bad thing? I have been happy in that space, like a mother duck waddling around with her ducklings. Going here and there but never too far.

Turns out you can't really stay in the nest like that for too long. You start to not be able to see outside of your square footage, or not see YOURSELF outside of that cozy abode. Instead you shrink back and convince yourself that this is just fine, and it is fine, I guess, but is that enough? I don't know. I have spent quite a bit of time lately chewing on just that. HOW did I go from that fun freewheeling Sharon to this cautious, more fearful and protective Sharon.

I suspect that 5 (Ella) and 3 (Holden) have had something to do with it. It has been a great ride, and one that old Sharon couldn't do nearly as well as current Sharon. And I couldn't have asked for better, holding on to my babies, having everything we needed – no pressure to do anything but love them up.

Okay, so now what. Something has to change, I know that. If only I was a man! Wouldn't this be easier?! The expectation would be that I would just go to work and the rest would take care of itself! (sorry men, but that is the way it seems to me!) Nobody would think I would do anything else. They would encourage me to go! Not that anyone is encouraging me NOT to go to work...but I was just kind of on a roll right there and it sounded good.

I recall hearing a co-worker say, after a tough weekend at home with his two kids, "I just wish I had my wife back." Now this was six or seven years ago. BEFORE I became that kind of wife.
where did she go?
coworker: Oh she is in there, somewhere. Since we have had our kids though, she is mostly unrecognizable.
what do you mean?
coworker: she just isn't the same. she is frazzled from the kids, covered in their mess, too tired to do much outside of taking care of them. I just miss the woman I married. She was wonderful and creative, she had a spark, she was full of life.
oh. that is very sad. (I actually remember saying that, and thinking that!) I hope she comes back soon.
coworker: me too.

SO wife becomes unrecognizable to husband. She has turned into the waddling duck, with ducklings in tow, never moving far from the nest. Cautious, careful and protective.

UGH! I have got to get back to work on THIS duck.

Is she really five? really?

This is a snippet of Ella at age 18 months. It is a deadly combination of brains and cuteness.


Since I deal with my impending job with a mix of denial and excitement, it follows that I should for this morning, pretend it doesn't exist. Instead I shall write a bit on my darling girl, Ella. Not to bore or to brag, but to let you know what I am up against here. Here are some of her statements, but recall as you read that she is newly five years old.

Ella: Mommy where is your grandpa?
In heaven honey.
Ella: How did he get there? Did he die on the cross like Jesus?
Um, no. He did not die on the cross.
Ella: Was he brought up to heaven on horses?
I don't think so, but I can't be sure. It may have been angels.
cue Holden, with passion: GOD IS IN OUR HEARTS!

Ella: Mommy. When can I drive the car?
not until you are 17 babe
Ella: Well when I drive a car how will the police officer know that I am old enough to drive?
you will get a drivers license. you need one to drive a car.

Ella is silent, but I can see the wheels turning. Which leads us to the following:

Ella: Mommy, want to hear something funny?
sure babe, whats up
Ella: How am I supposed to learn to drive a car if I don't have a drivers license until I learn to drive a car?
um
Ella: Mommy?
well we will get you a learners permit and blah blah blah. (I am stunned from previous question as I babble on about this)
she now looks very concerned.
Ella: HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO FIND MY WAY IF I DON'T HAVE A NAVIGATOR! I NEED A NAVIGATOR!
okay honey! We will get you a navigator! I promise!
cue Holden again with passion: POOP!

And finally, just the other day.
On the way home from the dentist.
Ella: Mommy, do you go to Norge Dental Center for your teeth?
yes I do
Ella: Have your teeth ever been happier?
huh?
Ella: Have your teeth ever been happier?
why do you ask? (then I see the balloon she has been holding onto from the hygienist. It says: Norge Dental Center, my teeth have never been happier!)
I start to laugh. I say, my teeth are pretty happy. Yours?
Ella: yes, they are happy.

So that is a taste of it. I figure that I have about five minutes before she is smarter than me. Heck, she may even be smarter than me already, just playing at it to preserve my self esteem...

rock/ME/hard-place pt 1

Lately, and I mean in the last few months I find myself in totally new mommy territory. And the more I examine this place, the less I know what I am doing. I seem to lose confidence in my original declarations the more I investigate my options.

What the heck am I talking about? Going back to work. SWEET! and then five minutes later: UGGGGGGHHHHH.

The problem is this. By three o'clock most days I am ready to jump off a bridge. OR shall I say I feel like I am getting pushed off a bridge. Unlike my dream it is not some scary faceless person pushing me, it is a 3 year old and a 5 year old. It is the whining. The crying. The fights. The tenth time my daughter has asked for a drink as she is blind to the NINE other drinks that are scattered around the house. Oh and the "I'm hungry!" Mommy. Mommy. Mommmmmmy! Mommy can't you hear me? Mommy why are you ignoring me!" Usually that exchange somehow devolves into something about my daughter's soul and my utter disregard for it. Or, out of the corner of my eye I see my son streak by (yes, naked once again). I ask for the current location of the clothes, find them in the bathroom soaking up a puddle of pee. Sorry Mommy. Missed potty. Thats okay Mommy.

Add this to my current job of being an online professor. Or maybe it isn't even that...maybe it is this magnetic pull I have to my computer. Not to be on fb or surf, but to work. I love to work. It feels good! I actually accomplish something! Accomplishment, it is such a wonderful word. It is a word that makes me feel like I actually matter. That everything I do isn't fruitless. Now you can say "Oh Sharon, of course everything you do matters! Blah blah blah" But really, it is tough to see that as you raise your kids. You are spending so much time laying foundation that you don't see a lot of measurable results. Measurable results, another word I LOVE.

So here I am faced with the idea of going back to work. My husband and I are in agreement on this. Going back to work would be a great opportunity to feel a sense of accomplishment. To have more ME existing in well, me. To get some space. To use my brain. To feel capable on a professional level. Oh can you imagine, a professional level. Sigh. That sounds wonderful.

And then I turn my head and see my three year old sitting in his playroom (currently across from my home office that lately hasn't been even coming close to its potential) playing so sweetly with a toy car. Singing and chatting to himself. Happy as a clam. Clothed, actually. He couldn't be in a better position, mommy nearby ready to hug, ready to kiss and generally insure he maintains happy clam status.

Introducing...exhausting, overwhelming mommy guilt. UGGGHHH.

The soundtrack of my brain is this: yes no back forth money kids work kids self kids happy sad freedom guilt. Sigh.
more on this topic to come...

off a bridge

I had a dream last night that I was on a high bridge, (location relatively unknown) a very high bridge. It is nighttime, dark and windy. Not sure why I am up on this bridge, but have a bad feeling. I notice a man with red hair was struggling with someone up ahead. This was a foot bridge, I guess? So I walk toward them, seeing that they are in distress. I had a feeling that she was trying to stop him from jumping off the bridge and he wasn't interested in hearing it. So I approach them and he walks in my direction, but really not seeing me. He has a panicked look on his face and his hair is curly and blowing behind him. Wild like.

As I reach him I grab his arms and attempt to convince him not to jump. Whatever I say, my plea must be working as he steps back from the rail and listens to me.

Someone grabs my shoulder and forcefully turns me around. I recognize the person from an earlier exchange in the dream. I am unclear what it is we talked about but recall he was angry. The red headed man steps back out of the way. The other man starts edging me toward the rail of the bridge as he yells at me. It feels like it is even windier now. I look down and realize boy this is a very high bridge. Higher than I thought, it looks like one hundred yards at least.

Angry man puts out his hands and pushes me off. 

After a long fall I am in the water and suddenly I see a dog has jumped in the water after me, a weimaraner to be exact. I know it is a female somehow –so odd the details you remember in your dreams. She helps drag me to the shore, and is now my dog. We silently agree on that.

I head inside a cabin. It is warm and the former owners of the dog are there. They are telling me she is my dog. The man who pushed me, is that him? He is in the house too. I try to tell him I survived. I am not angry, just pleading with him to hear me. He doesn't listen.

I wake up, not very rested.

Raising kids is very similar to working with a mental case.

Disclaimer: Now don't get me wrong, this post is not meant to offend anyone who has mental illness. I am keenly aware of the reality of it, so please don't take this the wrong way. It is just one of my ways of rationalizing the extreme difficulty of raising small children. My extreme difficulty that is.

Lets examine a few of the regular behaviors of my kids. You may be lucky, your kids may not be like this. You may not have kids. You may have been blessed with an angel baby who grew into a wonderful, temperate angel child. (Unfortunately this means we really can't be friends as I cannot in anyway relate to your experiences. Also, if you are really good at running we may not be able to be friends either. Sorry.)

screaming. crying. random outbursts (just last night my son after seeing a mast of the ship at the playground decided to yell at the top of his lungs "JESUS DIED ON THAT CROSS. JEEESSSUUUSSS DIIIIIEEEDDD!" Yeah. Enough said.

Uncontrolled bursts of emotion. See above as Holden actually sang the last part of that little number.

Muscle spasms and loss of muscle control. Take said daughter. After a fun evening playdate she has had just enough of her brother. She pushes him into the corner of a table. He cries loudly (it hurt!). I scold and place her in time out. She collapses into a heap on the step. She starts crying uncontrollably. She is able to articulate through her crying this little tidbit:  YOU ARE THROWING ME IN THE GARBAGE! IT IS LIKE I AM A PIECE OF TRASH! (Keep in mind this child is four.) Ella, you are in time out. I am not throwing you in the garbage! IT IS LIKE I DON'T HAVE A FAMILY ANYMORE AND I AM IN THE GARBAGE. (oh brother!) Ella, please honey. You are even in a short time out, just two minutes. You are fine. You just can't push your brother, that hurt him. OOOOHHHH, I AM NOTHING! (I didn't even know it was possible for a four year old to react this way, and by the way who calls her nothing! Nobody in this house! Where does she get this!) Up to bed and the child is still sobbing – you know those gasping sobs that make you feel like the worst mother in the world when all you were trying to do was teach her not to push her brother! I mean really!

exhale.

Okay, back to the thesis.

unexplained nudity. My son is three. He has officially been in the naked phase for three years now. Does three years count as a phase? Seems a bit long, actually...take this for example:

Holden walks by me without pants. I ask, where are your pants? He says to me "my underwear stinks." I say, like any normal person, they do? (knowing very well that I have only put these underwear on him in the last twenty minutes.) he says, "yeah, they are yucky." well lets get you some new underwear. He looks at me and shouts NO! and runs. Probably to go out to the back deck and pee off of it.

See! I am right, aren't I?

Viscosity is a measure of the resistance of a fluid which is being deformed by either shear stress or tensile stress. In everyday terms (and for fluids only), viscosity is "thickness". Thus, water is "thin", having a lower viscosity, while honey is "thick", having a higher viscosity. Put simply, the less viscous the fluid is, the greater its ease of movement (fluidity).<sup>[1]


I have had the word viscosity in my head for a long time. Why is it significant? I guess because I like to think of it in terms of how I respond and react to stress. If humans are mostly water, then it feels like an appropriate way to examine and describe myself. The viscosity of my being. How it copes, how it flexes and sways in stress. And most importantly, how it retains it's form after it has been affected by said stress.

What kind of stress? Could be anything really, from my five year old yelling: “Don't you care about my soul?!” at the top of her lungs to the sticky spots of popsicle reflecting the light as they travel across the new wood floor and calling my name to wipe them up.

:Sigh: Now this stress may not be the worst kind, and I can keep adding to the list of things that challenge my viscosity, but then I wouldn't have anything to write about later...</sup>