Moving Takes the Edge Off Christmas

I've been erratic in posting anything and commenting on your posts lately, and for that, my sincere apologies. 

It's just that we're in the middle of packing up and moving again. The 8th time in the last 7 years, as of last count.  Nothing special.  We just feel like shaking things up a bit because as you can see, life with a baby is gets a little too boring, and boring just doesn't sit well with us.

So... Last Sunday, hubs was like: 

 

I'M BORED. LET'S MOVE AGAIN

and I was all,

ABSOLUTELY BRILLIANT, HUBS.  WE MUST PACK ALL OUR BELONGINGS AND MOVE AT ONCE!

and Yuna was all,

WAIT. WHAT? MOVING AGAIN? MY PARENTS ARE SO AWESOME!!

The magical moment made us burst into tears. It was really beautiful.

So yeah, that's why we're in the middle of moving. 

You'd think by now, we've got this whole pack and move thing down, and we actually do, except that the timing of the move couldn't be more fucking perfect-- right in the middle of the BUSIEST. SEASON. EVER!  Hooray!  And since I am so smart, and no one can ever be as smart as me, I braved Target yesterday with cranky Yuna to buy some home decor, because I couldn't wait a second longer, and I just needed to do it while THOUSANDS are rushing to get their Christmas shopping done. 

Pushing a stroller in one hand and a red Target cart with the other, I pushed my way through the mob, inching my way to the home section.  I vowed to get a few home essentials we really needed, and I successfully restrained myself from ransacking the aisles.  I would've made Shi proud.  All I had in my cart when I decided I was done, was an area rug the size of Texas, a very fragile mirrored side table, a couple of wall sconces, a few candle holders and a jewelry box.  I almost went crazy and bought a box of diapers.

Every year, we promise ourselves that this, for sure, is going to be our VERY LAST MOVE before buying a house, and it seems like it's starting to become an annual habit.  It's ridiculous. We say the magic words, "This is the last time, promise", find something we absolutely hate about the place, like a neighbor who won't shut the fuck up, then get out when our lease ends. We've been doing this for the past 7 years, and it has been fairly easy for both of us, except that this year, we got ourselves in a little situation of having a child and all, but no worries!  I made sure to purchase this Smart Baby Case I told you guys about to contain Yuna for the entire duration of our move.  We're moving a mile away from where we're at now, and this will be perfect for lugging her around after being told by the movers that they won't take responsibility for any breakage even if we mark her box as fragile, so there's that.

Anyway, who wants to place bets on us really buying a house in January 2012?  Shi's a 100% sure we'll be purchasing our first house by then, but I have this lingering feeling that we'll be moving again.  What do you think?

Jillsmo Wants to Run Away From Home

Jill asked me if she could use my blog to post something she doesn't want her family to read, and I agreed to do it in a heartbeat.  I don't get this type of request everyday, and who could resist NOT posting something about a mother's burning desire to run away from home? Haven't we all been there before?  I know I have.  I ran away, went to the mall for two hours, and got myself a nice leather jacket instead of buying much needed groceries.  I'm so bad, I ought to be jailed.

Anyway, here you go Jill.  Chug that liquor down, sister.

____________________________________________________________ 

Oh, wait… first some disclaimers. Love my kids, best kids ever, husband great, blah blah blah. Okay, did that. Back to my point.

I speak, in this house, and my words apparently just float into the air and out the window. I yell, in this house… and people turn and look at me with GREAT SURPRISE, and then turn and go back to what they were doing.

I’m sorry… children… but where did you learn that it is acceptable to simply ignore me when I tell you to do something, like go to bed? Brushing your teeth is not a choice that you have, and when I tell you to do it, you don’t get to say “No, thanks, I’m not going to do that tonight,” YOU FUCKING DO IT. These things are not optional, this is not a democracy, this is a dictatorship, and not even a benign one at the moment.

Child 1 has autism, but he does not get a pass because of it. I know his hearing is fine, I know he’s capable of doing all of these things, it just takes him longer than most and he needs extra time to do his little autie dance in the process; I’m cool with that. But there are times when I’ll say something, he’ll turn and look at me in acknowledgment, and then just go back to what he was doing; because drawing a picture of BART tracks is much more preferable than putting on his pajamas. Of course it is, he’s a kid, but when I tell you to put down the marker and go get your pajamas on… put down the fucking marker and go get your pajamas on.

Child 2 does not have autism, he is a little drama queen. Everything is an argument, there are questions, he can’t just do the thing, first he has to get distracted by a million other things, and then when I remind him, I’ll get “I was going to but you distracted me” or “stop making me not eat my dinner” or “you’re making me sad” or “if you would just stop talking then I could do what you’re asking but since you won’t stop talking I’m not going to do it.” Sometimes I just fucking lose it and yell, which makes him cry even more, which extends the whole drama for another 10-15 minutes or so. For the most part I’m able to control myself, like when I’m trying to get them to school and he’s walking really slowly because, apparently, my talking is making his feet hurt, I know that yelling will only make him start to cry and collapse in a dramatic heap on the floor, so I don’t.

And where is the husband during all of this? He’s either working and not around or he’s playing possum and ignoring it all. He has this amazing ability to be in the room, but not in the room. I’m screaming and yelling, kids are running everywhere, and the husband doesn’t even notice a fucking thing; he might as well still be at work. I sometimes have to throw stuff at him to get his attention, and then he’s all “huh? What? What’s going on?” Are you fucking kidding me? Do you not hear your very dramatic child sobbing in the next room because I smiled at his brother when I was supposed to be serious? No, he doesn’t hear that; of course not. And does he help? Only when I throw things at him, or threaten to run away from home. Then he does so, very reluctantly, but it’s okay, because I’m still the bad guy with all the rules.

I know that this is typical; I know that every mom goes through this, I don’t think I’m unique or special because of any of this. This is just how it is. Sometimes I want to run away from home. Instead I’ll have a drink, because tomorrow the whole thing just starts right back up again.

Freaky Friday: Holiday Edition

It's a Friday!!  Oh, I remember how I used to look forward to this day unlike any other. Little did I know that once you're a Stay-At-Home-Mom, Fridays tend to be shitty. At least mine does. Traffic's horrible, the malls are packed, restaurants are full, and everyone just wants to be OUT.  On top of that, hubby's home for two straight days.

Hubs being home is a 50/50 shot at being good/bad.  In my experience, it's been both, especially because I'm a control freak and I like having something, anything to do on the weekends, so I over plan our schedule for the next two days, and when we end up not doing any of them, or in most cases doing something that is NOT of relevant value, at least according to my standards, I get really really bitchy, and the last thing I want to see is Shi's face, for two straight days.

I like Mondays.  Mondays are when all the SAHMs come out and get stuff done without interference from external forces.

But anyway, I don't know why I had to say all that.  All I want to do is kick start your weekend with the best holiday card EVER!!

Nice, huh?  I mean, why didn't I think of this when I was pregnant??  I am crazy jealous!

But that's not the photo that made MY Friday freaky.  The one that really got me, thanks to this website, was a picture of a classic father-daughter moment encaptured in this shot:

Damn.  That's fucked up

Paranoid About Tweens

About a week ago, Shi and I got around to talking about how we'd handle disciplining Yuna in the future.  As it seems, we've already started the good-cop-bad-cop route without being entirely conscious about it.  Of course, he get to play the good cop part because of the limited time he spends with her due to work, inevitably forcing me to play the bad cop role every now and then, and I think I'm okay with that.  

I kinda like being the bad cop. I like the sense of control and the fact that Yuna already senses that she can't bitch me around the way she does with her dad.  It's cool even when Shi and I would hold our arms out and bet on whose arms she'll be crawling to and he always ends up winning.  I like that she associates fun and good times with her father even if it means that I get the shitty part of being her buzzkill. I'm totally okay with that.

Right now, it seems so easy.  She's still a baby and we have control over the influences around her.  What I'm sorely dreading though, and I think I'll be needing a case of Zoloft for this one, is MIDDLE SCHOOL. Just thinking about sending her to middle school sends me on a wild panic attack. How do you go about disciplining a tween? I mean, have you seen those 12 year old , sexually active kids on Oprah??  Especially that one 13 year girl who claims she'd slept with at least 15 boys since she first lost it? Ohkaaay. That's fucked up.  Sure, I'll be the first to admit that I learned about sex when I found my dad's old Hustler/Penthouse stash at the tender age of 7, but I never really came clean about it until I was around 13, when my classmates started talking about making out with boys and going on second base.  But that's just me, and I came from an all-girls school, so we had very limited contact with the opposite sex, and therefore, had a bountiful supply of suppressed adolescent hormones ready to be unleashed.  It's not surprising that a bunch of those girls got pregnant straight out of high school, so I'm going out on a limb and assume that time hasn't changed much since.  The topic of sex will be brought up, in class, or through friends, whether we like it or not.

We must be prepared.

What I intend to do, the very same day I purchase her first bra, is set Yuna aside and give her this doll:

The purpose of which, is to creep her out (very important), and to graphically educate her about the consequences that lie ahead when a penis comes anywhere near her vagina.  She is to bring this doll with her on very first date, homecoming dance and prom night, to spread the word among her peers and further educate her suitors about the consequences of teen pregnancy.  More so, in line with my obligations as the bad cop, I will tell her that if she so much as attempts to take off her chastity belt before she graduates from high school, I will have no other choice, but to shave her in the wrong places.

Any thoughts?

I Thought of This Because My Neighbor Won't Shut Up

I lost it.

Friday afternoon, I placed an emergency call to hubs to come home from work immediately, something I never ever do because I'm saving that particular call for, you know, real emergencies.  Based on the sounds he picked up from the background, he easily determined that Yuna and I were crying at the same time, and he didn't even ask what the hell was going on, all he said was "I'm on my way" and showed up at our doorstep within the next few minutes.

No, I didn't throw Yuna out of the balcony, nor did I even come close to thinking it.  I placed an emergency call  because I was, for that instance, failing, as a mom.

The day started out with Yuna fussing in her crib, her high chair, her playpen-- pretty much everywhere except my arms.  The culprit could have been her nasty diaper rash or her stuffy nose, or even worse, a deadly combination of both, but whatever it was, her fussing gave me a bad headache.  I intended to do the laundry and go to the mall in the afternoon to get some Christmas shopping done, but her fussiness became a huge deterrent to do anything, I was surprised I managed to pee in the middle of it all. 

I tried plopping her in front of the tv, but even THAT didn't work.  To make things even less bearable for me, our neighbor, an aspiring, jobless singer, wouldn't shut the fuck up.  It's fine if he'd at least sing different songs everyday, but no, he comes up with a song he tries to master every month and he sings the same song again and again and again, most of the day, the WHOLE. FUCKING. MONTH.  Apparently, the song of the month happens to be Hey Soul Sister by Train, and he'd start belting out to this at around noontime, and won't stop until dawn.  

So I was dealing with a fussy and sick kid, a ton or work to do, a bad headache, Dora blaring loudly from the television, and a neighbor who won't shut the fuck up.  What's a new mom to do?

Cry.

Cry like I've never cried before.

Yuna, amidst her own troubles, was so stunned to see me crying,  and she just stood there, staring at me in confusion. 

Then she cried.  I cried some more.  We cried together in ear piercing unison.

While I was sobbing inconsolably, I imagine how things would have been different if I were still childless, and how it would feel to prioritize myself again.  I thought about how much I missed having my own schedule, and it struck me that this is how it's going to be, for the next 18 years, at the very least. 

Yuna cried even harder from her crib, and I all I could do was look at her and say, "Yuna, please.  Mommy's very very tired.  Please stop.", and I'd bow my head down again and cry.

When Shi arrived, he asked me what happened, and all I told him was that Yuna was being extremely difficult to handle and I just had a meltdown, that's it. The truth was, within the teeny tiny window of time, I regretted being a mother. There, I said it.  For one doomed afternoon, I regretted motherhood. I experienced a moment of sheer domestic torture, one of  many more to come, I'm sure. I felt trapped.  Restrained.  Confined.  Perhaps it's what most people call A FUCKING BAD DAY, but to me, it's a moment of unvarnished banality, the sort that made me abandon my valor for motherhood and any delusions of loving every minute of it.

I realized, I don't love every minute of it.  I love my daughter tremendously, but motherhood? It sucks donkey balls sometimes.  It's like any other serious relationship, it seems.  There will be days when you can't stand your partner, but you know you really really love him, so you stick it out through the bad, and hope for the good.  The only difference between the two is that with the latter, there's always divorce, you can call it quits when shit hits the roof.  On the other hand, when it comes to raising a child, even if you mentally prepare yourself for taking responsibility for another life, it takes time to reconcile yourself with the thought that that baby is everything.

So then, I've come to know that the thing that keeps me going despite the selfishness and regret lurking within, is the insurmountable, overwhelming love I feel for my daughter.  This love I feel for her is larger than life, so powerful, that a piece of me comes with it whenever I look at her and say it.  It's true, I have, time and again, struggled to cope with the pressures of being a mom, and I have failed to gain a sense of perfect selflessness mothers are supposed to have.  Having Yuna changed my life irrevocably, and I gave a up a lot of dreams for the sole purpose of raising her, but the strong emotions she manages to draw out of me, makes the honor of being her mother worth the occasional meltdowns and such.  And as long as she's there, the person that she is, fussiness and all, I will get through this.  For her, I will.

The Joy of Painting and Horse Tranquilizer- It's All the Same to Me!

Ahhhh.. Nothing like a little Bob Ross and the Joy of Painting to calm my nerves this morning.  It's so therapeutic!  Didn't you guys ever do that?  No?  I command you to try it immediately!  Just stare it him and his fro, listen to his soothing voice and watch him gently pat and fluff his paintbrushes onto the canvas.  A couple of  fluffs here and there, and ZOMG it's a fucking mountain! They should seriously play this in anger management sessions.  It's better than horse tranquilizer!

Yuna and I watched this together earlier, and I must say, Bob Ross saved the day:

And while Yuna's asleep, watch me turn this $30 Walmart desk into a tres chic lacquer console table.

As always, I actually don't know what I'm doing.  But isn't that more fun though? I just got some lacquer spray paint from Home Depot yesterday, for no particular reason, and people who know me can attest that I can't paint for shit, but since I have Bob Ross in my ovaries today, I think.. I really think I can nail this.  Then, maybe, I can start a spray painting blog, sell my masterpieces there, and FINALLY make money off you guys.

UPDATE:

Fuck. I ran out of paint halfway through and I am tripping out on paint fumes.  I am taking a nap now. Who wants to buy a halfway done table for the bargain price of $30?  Feel free to contact me! Pick-up only!

Wordless Wednesday: Attachment Parenting

Save the baby! Save the baby!!