Tantrums- Dictator Style

Oh, Internets...

How I long for the care free days when only once a week I felt like for maybe, five minutes, I felt like I might lose my mind. Those days are like the ones where you are sitting by a crystal blue pool looking toned and tanned while sipping some delicious treat of a drink.

Days like today? Days like I have been having for the past few weeks? They are more akin to lying naked after having gained an extra 80 lbs, been covered in honey, feathers, and maybe some saran wrap, sat on an ant hill that also happens to be hot asphalt covered with glass and have the entire Beltway's worth of traffic critique your fabulous body while you beg for some water that is just a centimeter or two away. Did I mention you have also been beaten to a pulp and some hot lava is just careening towards you?

Yup. That is how I feel. As if I've been put through the ringer. My OB/GYN appointment today was more therapy session than, "Let's hear the baby's heartbeat!" excitement. I think I cried no less than three times. I woke up crying today because no matter how hard I pray for things to change, to feel better, to enjoy this pregnancy and to have the strength I need to deal with all that life has thrown at us lately, I'm just done.

I'm tapped out.

When T.D. decides to throw no less than four terrific tantrums per day I feel like I might become a statistic. I have tried everything I can think of to quell them and nothing is working. She screams so loud it is as if she is being torn apart by wild dogs. I fear opening our windows in case someone hears her and calls CPS on us.

Why the tantrums? I wish I knew.

It is all, "NO! EAT LUNCH!" An hour or two later, "EAT LUNCH NOW!" Or my fave, "NO NAP!" "NOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" and then I lose all hearing and I try to find some inner calm as she writhes on the floor kicking everything that is nearby. All of them are accompanied with a blood curdling scream that is so horrific I fear Hollywood can hear her and might use her soon for their next slasher film. If only it were that amusing. Or that they would pay me some sum of money to have her meltdowns recorded.

I just know that I don't know how much more my jaw can take because I'm clenching it so hard these days my head pounds for hours on end.

These tantrums.

This life.

I fear I'm losing it.





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Ladies Please! Enough is Enough!

I'm a bit too fired up today for this to be Book Tuesday. The Secret Life of a Soccer Mom on TLC. Have you seen it? I've watched a few DVR'd episodes myself. I even wrote about it at DC Metro Moms a few weeks back. Now Newsweek has picked up the scent of this latest 'clash of the mommies' and as I read the article I just pretty much flipped out. There was under the breath muttering as I got breakfast together. I completely forgot about my pounding headache and just wanted to spit venom.

I am all for everyone having their own opinion. Everyone does things differently but I really take offense when I hear other women saying that, "there is no reason for you (that would be us women folk) to be at work. If you didn't want to raise your children, you should not have had them. It's child abandonment." As a work at home mother, whose salary could be a whole other post entirely, I take offense to this. I worked out of the home for much of my daughters first year of life. We needed to pay our bills, I needed to work to feel complete. Yes, there I said. The 'C' word. Complete. Simply birthin' a baby did not complete me. And you know what? It doesn't have to. That is the beauty of being individuals.

Yes, my job is to raise my child to the best of my abilities but why can't that include me working? Some women love their jobs and need them for their own happiness. As a mother and woman I feel that is truly an important lesson to teach and show my child. It's not selfish. Some people need more. Just like some people like grape jelly and others like strawberry. A trivial comparison I know but bear with me. Some people like their jobs and having them makes them feel complete too. It's not feminist crap being shoved down our throats. It's about who we are as people and if it works for our families then so be it. Stop judging the crap out of each other and go back to work or tending to your children. Why not show some support for families of all types and maybe then we as a country could finally get some decent healthcare.

My issue when I watched SLSM was the follow-up. TLC simply glosses over the fact that after the cat/secret is out of the bag the family has some very real decisions to make. I for one do not know of one daycare that has immediate openings. Without knowing a jobs benefits or salary how can one accept a job? There needs to be a lot of discussion about a family member going back to work just like there would if one changed careers. It took months for H and I to iron out all the issues around me quitting full time out of the home work to do this writing thing. It was not easy by any means. SLSM made me mad initially for not addressing the real issues that families face. Today, I can't seem to get over how incredibly judgy we women get and how unsupportive we are of each others choices. It makes me angry and sad to see these women lambaste each other in comment sections.

It makes me wonder if these same women think it is selfish for Mom and Dad to hire a sitter, a friend, family member or neighbor to watch their children for an evening so they can go out and have some alone time. Is it? I for one don't think so. Then again, I am of the school of thought that the marriage is the foundation on which we build our family. If Mom and Dad need to have dinner alone to talk finances or blockbuster movies for a night to keep sane and happy then so be it. Maybe then we wouldn't be keeping secrets from our families about our dreams and how we see ourselves.

If TLC really wants a show about the Secret Life of Moms (I eliminate 'soccer' because it's so over and nichey) why not have a show where women have the opportunity to do something they have secretly always wanted to do but never dared to try much less utter to another human soul. Skydiving anyone? Homicide cop for a day?

Proof of My Bad Mothering Skilz

It is a bad way to start the week when it is noon and your child is still in their pajamas, bed-head in full effect. Did I mention that her pajamas do not even match? Nope. One half is purple and brown toile the top half beige and pink flowers.

A round of applause for all you other mothers out there who are having a day like this as well.

Now seriously, go check out the giveaways over here!!!

Remove the Breakables Mommy's Feeling Joan Crawfordesque

What is it about those days when you have an early morning appointment that suddenly turns rational, normally sane people into total nut jobs? I schedule these appointments to a.) get them out of the way and b.) there is less wait and chaos in the doctor's office at that time of the morning. But it doesn't matter. I still no matter what time I get up, how much I plan and pack ahead somehow all hell breaks loose.

1. Wake up early to get some work out of the way. Computer inexplicably shuts down. I take it as a sign to move on and shower.

2. T.D. wakes up a full 45 minutes earlier than normal throwing off the flow. I bounce back as she is happy in her room with books and a sippy cup. Which makes me wonder, should she be off the sippy? No time to think of that now I must get ready!

3. Stalk guest room making sure it is clean for MIL's arrival later today. The dog has decided to not eye gunk up the pillows. Awesome! Two points for me!

4. Shower. Bliss as I don't have to talk to anyone or talk anyone down from climbing out of the tub or into the tub with a hairdryer and tub of salt scrub. No plastic toys have been lobbed at the shower door either. Score!

5. Come downstairs to find not my coat unhung AGAIN. I know I'm home and all but it doesn't mean that I am now the maid who picks up EVERYONE's stuff all the time. HANG THE FREAKIN' COAT!

6. Realize the sink and counters I scrubbed the night before to make house MIL presentable are now entirely coated in burnt bagel crumbs. FACK!!!! Gritting my teeth I mutter to myself about how I am the maid apparently. I clean the sink and counters AGAIN while swearing oaths and longing for the maid's cigarette break.

7. Breakfast is assembled we are all dressed! Amazing! Dog pukes on the carpet in the den and then again under the kitchen table while we are eating. Eggs. We are eating runny eggs. Kick ass!

8. Clean up all puke from house only to find eggs smeared on table, chair and cabinets. Toddler amazingly clean. Sticky pineapple bits coat the once clean floor. Indigestion begins and I long for a shot of some hard stuff. If sippy cups aren't for chardonnay can they be used for vodka?

9. Send T.D. to watch Clifford because the incessant whining? For I have no idea what makes me want to go into a Joan Crawford clean the bathroom meltdown. Seriously. It seems like such a good release to just trash a nicely clean room and then leave someone else to clean it up doesn't it? Must be why she does it every day.

10. Oh look! It's time to dash! Maybe the bracing cold air will snap me out of this tense and slightly bitter mood. It's date night tonight and I need to mellow out. I think I'll turn on some Dance Party USA music and make T.D. dance for me. Dance! Little kid Dance! That never fails to cheer me up. And stop the whining.



8.

Overheards

SCENE: Hotel hallway early Friday morning.

Me: (BIG YAWN) Oh! I'm so tired....

Mother: (In hotel hallway with H) Well you have every right to be?

Me: Huh? Why? (I didn't cook dinner, I've stayed in a hotel all week without the kid)

Mother: Well....

Me: (Badgering) What?! Why do I have a right to be tired? (H creeps down the hall a bit towards the elevator)

Mother: Because it's that time of the month and...

Me: MOM!!! Geez! That is not why I'm tired! GOD!! Augh! (Loud huffy sigh by me as I feel I'm 14 again)

Mother: I'm just saying. Why else would you be tired?

Me: (Resisting the urge to say, "because I've been out all hours of the night gettin' my drink, swerve and drug on..." just to get a rise out of her proving in fact that I am 14.) Because I've stayed up late each night this week and gotten up early. That's why.


Anyone else have any fun holiday moments like this one?

Sneakers are for Your Feet. Not Your Head.

Am I right? If you started wearing gloves on your nose or putting your retainer in your ear it wouldn't work out so well and people would deem you not so bright, so why are some places such as Facebook continuing to encourage the despicably twisted yet pervasive thought- breasts for feeding is bad. Breasts to be augmented and oggled is good. Riiiiiight.

Except that not only does this Facebook episode, the MYSpace one or the Harvard Medical School incident (see NY TIMES) not only demean women further it sets us back. David Wescott, a blogger, made his point well on this topic:

Facebook has come down on both sides of a “free speech issue” here - once clamping down, once letting speech and organizing go - and in each case it’s come down in a way that arguably sets women back.

Breasts. Yes, they are beautiful. Beautiful orbs or sacs of fat. We women should celebrate our breasts most definitely. Yet some how what has continually been lost in translation over the years is that breasts serve a purpose other than as an ideal advertising tool. They are for feeding. Feeding our young. Just like udders on a cow or teets on a pig. First and foremost. Anyone else who gets to suckle at the breast is just a lucky SOB or DOB (daughter of a ... you get my drift).

This whole thought process that breastfeeding in public is obscene is absurd! And wrong. So maybe it makes you uncomfortable to see a partial boob while chomping your steak at Applebees or shopping for new kicks in the mall. Face it that's because nudity probably makes you uncomfortable too. Well, a bucket full of maggots makes me "uncomfortable". So you know what? I look away! Look away from the bucket of maggots. Look away from the breastfeeding women who is doing what she believes is best or economically feasible for her and her child. Don't give her a dirty look or say something inappropriate making her feel low and unworthy of leaving her house. Women get enough mixed messages out there.

What is obscene and absurd to me is the barely legal porno sites out there or the women whose only goal is to be a Playboy centerfold. Not someone using their body in the way they are supposed to. Breasts are for feeding, sneakers are for your feet.

For more on this subject head on over to Izzy Mom.

Scary Even to Me

Sometimes life just gets to be too much. No amount of wine or cigarettes (I wish!) will do. A nap, a good book, or a time out just isn't sufficient.

Pedicure? Yeah right.

What you need is a good crying jag. Or a meltdown of such epic proportions that has built up for so long that you scare even yourself back into normalcy. Your kid? Well, I feel I have scarred mine for life now and spent a good half hour apologizing to a child who just looked up at me with huge eyes.

How did this happen?

1. Lack of sleep. Sleep has been positively elusive to me the last few days and now weeks. Each day it gets worse. (Do NOT suggest Tylenol PM or some natural remedy for sleep the do NOT work on this woman) That does not make for a totally sane Mommy.

2. Ongoing and unfinished house projects. Debris in various areas of the house. 'To Do' lists that just won't die.

3. The Mole (more on that later)

4. Heat. Temps in the 90s and humidity were just keeping us inside with the A/C when what we really needed was room to roam.

Add in a dose of everyday life and a possibly teething toddler (molars are hell!) and you have yourself a set up for a scary situation right off the Hollywood screens.

When did it happen?

Yesterday. After a morning of constant whining and more whining from T.D. and an already exhausted me I knew a storm was brewing within me. She refused all food all day and just continued to cry. I could not figure out what on earth was wrong! I was getting close to the edge. A doctor appointment later with some not so fun news (the mole indeed) I picked T.D. up from the sitter and put her down for a nap. I worked for longer than I intended becoming mesmerized and repelled by my computer screen. I just needed sleep. I tried to nap to no avail. I just tossed and turned and became increasingly surly.

When T.D. awoke I was already starting dinner. Dinner that would not cooperate. A toddler that gripped my legs refusing to be soothed by toys, music, books, being read to, held, and baby Tylenol and Orajel. I broke out a wet washcloth figuring she needed to be cooled down? She wasn't sick. I gave her some snacks and a drink. No change. The diaper was changed. Nothing. Just that incessant "eeeehheeeh, eeehheeehh" whine. About the time I tried to start dinner for the fourth time I could feel myself going over that cliff. The edge was gone and I had fallen down the rabbit hole into meltdown land.

I threw a portion of dinner across the room. It went in two totally separate directions and I screamed. I later found more of it behind the phone and attached to the spice rack. Yum! I glared at T.D. with blazing eyes, tears starting to brim over, and begged her to stop crying. Begged. I begged my 17 mos. old child. A new low. She just kept going. I lost any amount of calm left and scooped her up fast and with tears streaming down my face, jagged sobs escaping me, I put her in her crib and slammed the door. I just couldn't take it. Eight hours of incessant whining with no stop and no cause I could find was too much. I was beyond tired and had slipped in the mode of being a cranky toddler myself.

Back downstairs trying for a fifth time to concoct dinner I could hear the whines turn into downright screams of fury. Blood curdling. Except my blood just boiled and I began screaming. Crying and screaming and hic-coughing. I ran up the stairs and threw open her bedroom door a la Jack Nicholson in 'the Shining' and bellowed, "JUST BE QUIET!! STOP! STOP CRYING!!" The look on her face said it all. Startled and thrown off from crying her eyes became saucers and she just gulped. A little like Shelly Duval I suppose as she watched her husband axe his way into the bathroom.

For about the longest two minutes of my life I just gripped the edge of the crib all white knuckles and panting. I was eye level with my daughter as we both tried to control our rasping breaths and lip trembles. I wanted to die. Outside of post-partum depression where I lashed out at others and not my child, I had never had such a desperate moment with her. It was terrifying. I picked her up and just hugged her to me. We sat for a bit just staring at each other. Me in a quite voice apologizing for yelling and losing myself. She just asking me questions such as, "Dat?" as she gripped my necklace and smiled at me.

How could she just forgive me like that? I can't.

White Picket Fences

I'm not a white picket fence girl. I'm more of a wrought iron woman or a tall solid stone wall that would surround my compound. You know my compound. The one I'll have someday when I actually complete my book and sell it. Anyway, back to that stereotypical dream of the white picket fence.

I had a conversation recently with a friend who stated, "I'm not about the white picket fence, that whole suburban thing with kids. It's not what I want." I detected a note of disdain in her voice. She might as well as said, "Blech!" and spit after that sentence. At first it made me angry because after all I live in suburbia and I tote T.D. around on a daily basis. I go to the community pool and take walks on the trails in my 'hood. I took what she said personally. As if it's ok for those other people who aren't smart enough to live that life, but it simply was not for her. She is above that. After a bit I caught myself. It's not me either. While I live in suburbia and I'm probably judged as a "oh she's just a stay at home mom" meaning I must be boring by some people out there (which really just gets in my craw) it's not me.

That whole tiny sentence that didn't even pertain to me but it got me on a whole track of inward thinking. I don't respect what I do. I have issues within me about my status as a mother. I feel that in one instance if I were to just give myself over to motherhood I would be lost in the mire of the mundane. Because let's face it motherhood can be pretty boring at times. I would lose myself. Only to be seen as another capri pant wearing, Old Navy shopping, organic food shoving suburban Mom. To quote Jerry Seinfeld, "not that there's anything wrong with that." There isn't. I just can't give myself over to it. Only on alternate Wednesdays or something.

I've often felt that if I just stopped questioning my roles in life it would all be so much easier. Stop thinking of how you look as a mother who doesn't really feel like she should be a mother, it's all an act. I'm not old enough or fun enough. Stop thinking that if I quit running my mouth about my staunch beliefs I would be a lot more rested. What if instead of going into mourning for the world as a teenager I just sat back and hung out? Maybe it would have been a more fun existence. Maybe if I didn't yell expletives at the University President in college and constantly fought against that system I would not have been called "Psycho Girl" by my classmates. Could I just give myself over to what I percieve to be a simple, complacent and mediocre life? Because that is what society seems to believe family life and the suburban lifestyle is about.

They plug it and disdain it at the same time. You move out to the burbs. You pop out some kids. You lose perspective and become a drone. A slave to the machine of wanting more and judging others by what they have and you have not. A cynical view perhaps, but in essence it's what I believe we are really saying in our whole media blizted mess. City people are cool, edgy, open-minded and worldly. The excitement never stops for them. You know just like it does for singles? The country/suburban folks stop reading and become mush. We only care about how shiny are car is or something. I HATE THAT IDEA.

I HATE that it's come into my way of thinking. I hate that I ponder my role as a mother so much. I chose to do what I believe to be the best avenue for our family and for me and I know I'm judged on that. I'm perceived in a way I abhor. There really is no point to this whole mish-mash of ramblings. It's just me getting out my own junk and trying to sort through it. I clearly have issues with how I think I'm judged by others. Which shouldn't even matter. I never thought about any of this until I had T.D. Now I wonder all the time if I'm going soft. If we should move out of the burbs and into the city. If becoming a mother has sucked away parts of me. Because sometimes I'm too tired to fight anymore and that makes me a bit sad. My passion for things is a tiny bit less because so much of my energy goes into being a mother.

In some ways though I guess it also keeps me questioning things. Just instead of questioning the outside world it's more questioning the inside me. Who really wants to go there on a regular basis?

Please Leave A Message

Yesterday I was running around like a mad woman, what else is new, and I came home to this-

Hi Vicky, it's ... (my neighbor) I hope you are having a great workout and a good day. I'm bored and I was just thinking that maybe I should start my own blog about the monotony of motherhood and how your kid can cause it's diaper to explode and you clean that up and redress them only to have them puke all over the new outfit so you have to clean them again, and redress them once more. Then your second kid says they want to play outside because they haven't been outside in days with this weather so you bundle them all up only to have them look at you from the front door and say, "Watch penguins? I want to watch penguins." I'm bored. You don't have to call me back.

Oh can we not all empathize with this type of moment? Because you know that all happened in about a fifteen minute time span and that poor woman was dripping in stress sweat and just trying to keep from losing it. Reminds me of the time T.D. and the dog managed to smear poop all over each other in a ten minute window and include me in on the fun as well as all three levels of our townhouse.

The Yoke of Guilt

Guilt is nothing new to a mother. It's as old as the profession itself. There are different types of guilt, strains if you will, and I am just beginning to discover them.

There's the guilt you feel when you take time for yourself even though you may need it.

The guilt of going back to work, or when you work late, or have to go to work when your child is sick. That guilt used to ping me a lot in my former days.

Then there's the guilt you feel when you are there in their daily life, but aren't always mentally present. They might be playing nearby as you work from home guilt is what I'm talking about. Sometimes I feel guilty just because I am home with her. I felt like that yesterday in the middle of Tot Thyme while my husband works his ass off at two jobs, I'm on a gym floor playing with plastic cheese slices and smiling. I'm laughing as she slides down the slide and he's on a conference call or screaming at a printer or monitor to "just fucking work!" H thinks I need to get over this type of guilt and fast. It did help that he says he sometimes feels guilty when he's not all that busy at work and he knows I'm home trying to type just one sentence while chasing a toddler.

I had an epiphany of sorts last week. I was walking down the stairs of my house, having just put T.D. down for a nap (yes!) and I thought, "Why do I think I need to be working 8-9 hours a day? That's impossible! I am home with T.D. now. I can only work part time. What on earth has been wrong with me?" I figured once I had discovered that little gem of information I would feel less stressed. Not true. Instead, the all-consuming guilt began to put it's heavy, burdensome yoke around my neck and shoulders weighing me down even more. This happens to me way more than when I was working by the way. When I was working outside of the home I was too busy to think properly and had to focus on the job at hand. Now I'm knee-deep in my job each day, along with the job of being a good wife, friend, Bree Van de Kamp style household runner, and oh yeah trying to eek out a writing career.

Obviously, I could probably ease up on trying to be so neat and tidy. I just can't help myself though, and honestly our house isn't that tidy. Yes, I was compelled to organize the t-shirt cubby and the pantry on Saturday, while scrubbing bathrooms. Sometimes I bake like a woman possessed, but I don't wear aprons, and my laundry room isn't even remotely neat and labeled. I wish though.

What it all really boils down to is that inherently in me I've always had issues with being at home. Now that I'm here in the daily mire of it and yes, the joys of it, I'm conflicted. I just can't seem to hand myself over to that domestic mommy. I can't and won't give up trying to write, no one wants me to, but I can't seem to find a balance that sits well with me. I can't seem to cut that yoke of guilt that builds and builds it's weight on me until I practically collapse or have a series of breakdowns and fights with H.

Thanks for listening readers, I appreciate. Check out my weekly product review here.

Mommy's Time Out

We Mom's sure are in the news these days. The cocktail playdate debate continues and just yesterday the Washington Post ran this article about Mom's playing Bunco on 'Mom's Night Out' and having a sip or two of chardonnay. The wine shown was actually the wine pictured above. Yes, ladies it really does exsist. Isn't it fabulous? First, 'Mad Housewife' wine now this one. I love it. It's kitschy yeah but who cares. It's like the perfect joke gift to give a Mom on your block.

Anyway, I digress, sort of, this whole debate about Mom's drinking on playdates or even drinking after the wee ones go to bed is so hot right now and I think it's nuts. It's as if women should be above drinking and we should always comport ourselves in some unrealistic stepford type way. I don't know about you, but the mere inkling of that idea makes me not only shiver in replusion, but suddenly feel hot and itchy. I run away from those types of women and fast. They creep me out with their expectations and ideals on what a woman's place is. A woman's place is whereever she feels it should be and not confined to one location or ideal. I'm not judging that type of person, it's just not for me and I don't like being squashed into a box or judged in turn because I'm not that kind of mother. So really who cares if you have a sip or two of shiraz while out with the girls. What's up with the Mommy police these days anyway?