Over the past five weeks, Turtle and Monkey have each had two ear infections. Monkey most recently had one in her left ear, at the same time two molars were breaking through on that side. This was right after one molar had broken through and right before another started growing. So she now has three coming in at an excruciatingly slow pace. Both girls are currently recovering from a stomach flu that attacked them in the middle of the night Tuesday. Most nights this past month have been interrupted by at least one round of crying, usually by Monkey. It’s been rough.
I spent all day Wednesday cleaning up vomit. It started first thing in the morning, when I walked into the nursery and saw both girls fast asleep with yesterday’s red bell pepper and hummus -- in the form of dried vomit -- in their hair, on their faces, all over their sheets. It didn’t end until that night, after they went to sleep, and I put Monkey’s vomit smeared car seat cover in the wash. In between I changed Turtle’s bed sheets once more because of leaky diarrhea, and changed Monkey’s clothes multiple times because she kept vomiting on herself. I never managed to clean the carpet in the nursery where Monkey peed, though. It happened as she stood there diaperless, crying after the rushed morning bath, while I ran to get Turtle out of the tub.
On a lighter note, I finally used my new mop -- to clean some vomit off the kitchen floor.
I will admit it was pretty hard to feel like I was playing house yesterday. Did I mention that the girls were supposed to go to daycare, and that I had plans for lunch with four girlfriends that I’d been looking forward to all month?
I’m not complaining, although I think it would be ok if I was. But that’s not what this blog is about. In these posts, I’m not complaining, I’m not looking for sympathy, and I’m not even looking for advice most of the time. I’m just telling. I’m sharing my experience as it happens. My hope is that some mom out there who I don’t even know will read something that helps her. Maybe it will make her laugh, or will remind her that someone understands her pain. Maybe she will feel superior to me when she manages to clean the pee stain out or her carpet, and that’s ok, if that’s what she needs. My job is to write about my experience, and each reader is free to interact with the story however he or she chooses. I know that everyone who reads this probably knows me and my family, or knows someone who does. But as I write, I think (fantasize?) about people I don’t know stumbling upon my blog, and finding something relatable; something that helps them remember that it’s ok to be human, and imperfect, and a little whiny on a bad day.
Thursday, January 29, 2009
Saturday, January 24, 2009
Bangles from India
A good friend of mine recently went to India for a wedding. She's gotten me several great pairs of earrings over the years on her trips to India, and when someone compliments them I say, "Oh thanks, my friend got them for me in India." And I always feel quite pleased with myself for having a friend who travels to India, me, who used to live on a dirt road not far from the county line.
So I got a package in the mail the other day, and in it were several dozen tiny girl sized bangle bracelets. Hot pink ones, sparkly jeweled ones – as soon as I opened the package, I squealed and told N, "OMG, she got bracelets in India for Turtle and Monkey!" The girls were thrilled to put them on and show them off to us, and take them off. And put them on. And take them off. Suffice it to say, they love them.
I continue to marvel at what will be "normal" to my girls. "Hey, where'd you get those cool bracelets Turtle?" some girl in kindergarten will ask one day. "Oh, my Auntie S. got them for me in India." What? I didn't know anyone who'd been anywhere until I got to college, and almost everyone I knew before then was either Caucasian or Mexican. But Turtle and Monkey have "aunties" from a wide variety of backgrounds, living all over the country, who have traveled all over the world. They will grow up with parents whose friends and acquaintances are business owners, lawyers, elected officials, and other professionals, and where a picture of mom with Secretary of State Clinton sits on the book shelf.
I can't conceive what it would be like growing up with a photo of one of my parents shaking hands with a national politician, and being part of a community where that’s not really all that remarkable. How does that impact a child's thinking about the kind of life that is possible for her? What kinds of things, for better or worse, will she take for granted in her life? Will she take advantage of the vast opportunities that lie at her feet? How do I teach each of my daughters to appreciate their abundant good fortune, when that good fortune will seem no more unusual to them than the oxygen they breathe?
These questions swirl around my brain with no answer, because I have no idea. Maybe these things will have no impact on either girl’s drive, because that drive is already set. Some of my earliest childhood memories are feelings of dissatisfaction with my station in life, and I’ve worked feverishly since adolescence to create more opportunities for myself. I’m starting to believe I was born with that trait because I see it in Monkey – that sense of absolute entitlement to everything in the world, and dissatisfaction with the status quo. Turtle doesn’t seem to have those sentiments, and it’s been that way since they first started to show their personalities. Or maybe they’ll become well-adjusted, productive adults simply because that is what we expect from them, and all of this analyzing is just more useless obsessing on my part.
It's something I'll keep thinking about, though, because that’s how I am. But for now, I'm trying to just relax and let my girls enjoy the sparklies Auntie S. brought them from India.
So I got a package in the mail the other day, and in it were several dozen tiny girl sized bangle bracelets. Hot pink ones, sparkly jeweled ones – as soon as I opened the package, I squealed and told N, "OMG, she got bracelets in India for Turtle and Monkey!" The girls were thrilled to put them on and show them off to us, and take them off. And put them on. And take them off. Suffice it to say, they love them.
I continue to marvel at what will be "normal" to my girls. "Hey, where'd you get those cool bracelets Turtle?" some girl in kindergarten will ask one day. "Oh, my Auntie S. got them for me in India." What? I didn't know anyone who'd been anywhere until I got to college, and almost everyone I knew before then was either Caucasian or Mexican. But Turtle and Monkey have "aunties" from a wide variety of backgrounds, living all over the country, who have traveled all over the world. They will grow up with parents whose friends and acquaintances are business owners, lawyers, elected officials, and other professionals, and where a picture of mom with Secretary of State Clinton sits on the book shelf.
I can't conceive what it would be like growing up with a photo of one of my parents shaking hands with a national politician, and being part of a community where that’s not really all that remarkable. How does that impact a child's thinking about the kind of life that is possible for her? What kinds of things, for better or worse, will she take for granted in her life? Will she take advantage of the vast opportunities that lie at her feet? How do I teach each of my daughters to appreciate their abundant good fortune, when that good fortune will seem no more unusual to them than the oxygen they breathe?
These questions swirl around my brain with no answer, because I have no idea. Maybe these things will have no impact on either girl’s drive, because that drive is already set. Some of my earliest childhood memories are feelings of dissatisfaction with my station in life, and I’ve worked feverishly since adolescence to create more opportunities for myself. I’m starting to believe I was born with that trait because I see it in Monkey – that sense of absolute entitlement to everything in the world, and dissatisfaction with the status quo. Turtle doesn’t seem to have those sentiments, and it’s been that way since they first started to show their personalities. Or maybe they’ll become well-adjusted, productive adults simply because that is what we expect from them, and all of this analyzing is just more useless obsessing on my part.
It's something I'll keep thinking about, though, because that’s how I am. But for now, I'm trying to just relax and let my girls enjoy the sparklies Auntie S. brought them from India.
Friday, January 16, 2009
Twin Momma sets up house
Did you know they make floppy-head mops that you can squeeze without getting your hands wet? I found one on a recent trip to Target to buy some of my stay-at-home mom (SAHM) supplies. I was annoyed that I couldn’t find a metal washboard in the same aisle. I need something to scrub the brown out of Turtle’s Mr. Lovey. It may be a lost cause at this point, but that thing is nasty. I bought a new one, a back-up Mr. Lovey, hoping it would buy me time to really soak and clean official Mr. Lovey. She took the new one, put it in her mouth, and then promptly threw it on the ground. I’m not sure how to give back-up Mr. Lovey that “rotten formula mixed with slobber and old snot” smell she seems to enjoy so much. But I digress.
So back to my Target trip. I haven’t used the mop yet, but I’m feeling very proud to have it. We’ve had a housekeeper who brings her own supplies for a long time so I’ve stopped keeping up with cleaning products. Before, we could get away with not lifting a finger between her twice-a-month visits, but with my cooking messes and two babies throwing food, milk and juice on the floor all day (and eating any peas or cheerios they find, no matter how old), the kitchen needs a tad more attention.
In addition to the mop, I got an egg slicer at Target. I was so excited to use it the next morning. Why did I waste so much time with knives and cutting boards? How could I have forgotten the beauty of the egg slicer? We had one when I was a child, but I haven’t had much of a need to chop boiled eggs for the past 25 years. So the egg slicer was a lost memory until I started brainstorming about all the things I’d like for my life as a SAHM.
I mentioned a few items on my list to N before Christmas but he flat out refused to buy me a new vacuum cleaner or laundry basket or a washboard or a mop. And he told me not to bother putting any of those things on my Amazon wish list either.
“No one wants to buy you a mop for Christmas,” he said.
“But I really need one,” I said, “I think it would be kind of neat to get a laundry basket full of all these cool housewifey supplies.”
“I don’t think you really ‘get’ Christmas,” he said.
What I couldn’t explain at the time that I understand now is that getting me a basketful of domestic gadgets would be like getting Turtle and Monkey a play kitchen. In my mind, everything I do at home is cute because it’s like I’m playing house. I had that feeling soon after the girls were born, when I was walking across the living room and I pulled a pacifier out of the pocket of my robe. “Look at me,” I thought to myself, “carrying a pacifier around for my baby, like some kind of grown-up woman!”
I thought the “cuteness” would wear off after months of diapers, loading and unloading the dishwasher, cleaning high chair trays umpteen times a day, and the sheer grind of “every day is groundhog day.” But it didn’t. Even in the most challenging moments (several of which I’ve described in this blog) I can feel a part of me – the part that isn’t panicking or suppressing a scream – looking down at myself in total amusement. Just LOOK at you, that other woman says, laughing. You get to be the mommy today!
And so I’m having a ball collecting all these little things for the house, the toys I want, to help me play house with gusto.
So back to my Target trip. I haven’t used the mop yet, but I’m feeling very proud to have it. We’ve had a housekeeper who brings her own supplies for a long time so I’ve stopped keeping up with cleaning products. Before, we could get away with not lifting a finger between her twice-a-month visits, but with my cooking messes and two babies throwing food, milk and juice on the floor all day (and eating any peas or cheerios they find, no matter how old), the kitchen needs a tad more attention.
In addition to the mop, I got an egg slicer at Target. I was so excited to use it the next morning. Why did I waste so much time with knives and cutting boards? How could I have forgotten the beauty of the egg slicer? We had one when I was a child, but I haven’t had much of a need to chop boiled eggs for the past 25 years. So the egg slicer was a lost memory until I started brainstorming about all the things I’d like for my life as a SAHM.
I mentioned a few items on my list to N before Christmas but he flat out refused to buy me a new vacuum cleaner or laundry basket or a washboard or a mop. And he told me not to bother putting any of those things on my Amazon wish list either.
“No one wants to buy you a mop for Christmas,” he said.
“But I really need one,” I said, “I think it would be kind of neat to get a laundry basket full of all these cool housewifey supplies.”
“I don’t think you really ‘get’ Christmas,” he said.
What I couldn’t explain at the time that I understand now is that getting me a basketful of domestic gadgets would be like getting Turtle and Monkey a play kitchen. In my mind, everything I do at home is cute because it’s like I’m playing house. I had that feeling soon after the girls were born, when I was walking across the living room and I pulled a pacifier out of the pocket of my robe. “Look at me,” I thought to myself, “carrying a pacifier around for my baby, like some kind of grown-up woman!”
I thought the “cuteness” would wear off after months of diapers, loading and unloading the dishwasher, cleaning high chair trays umpteen times a day, and the sheer grind of “every day is groundhog day.” But it didn’t. Even in the most challenging moments (several of which I’ve described in this blog) I can feel a part of me – the part that isn’t panicking or suppressing a scream – looking down at myself in total amusement. Just LOOK at you, that other woman says, laughing. You get to be the mommy today!
And so I’m having a ball collecting all these little things for the house, the toys I want, to help me play house with gusto.
Wednesday, January 7, 2009
New Year's Resolutions
Argh! How did I get so behind on my blog? Oh, wait, now I remember. Two ear infections, one in Turtle, then one in Monkey, diagnosed on December 23 and 24. Waiting until the last minute to finish my Christmas shopping. Refinancing our home mortgage. Lots of company. Straightening up and putting away the new gifts. Taking advantage of great sales to get myself a couple of things. Spending evening after evening working on a home budget that would allow me to stay home with the girls full time in 2009. Going out to First Night Austin on New Year’s Eve so I could say we “did something” for New Years. Taking down and putting away the Christmas decorations. Watching the Longhorns squeak by in the Fiesta Bowl. Celebrating Oma’s 60th birthday. So . . . now you’re caught up on everything that’s happened since my last post.
In the time since I started this post this morning, though, I found out that my Grandpa Luna died. So instead of finishing up this post by giving you a pithy insight about embracing all the special moments in my holiday hoopla, I’m just going to tell you that I’m really sad that all of my grandparents are gone now. It feels unreal that the people I spent every childhood Christmas Eve with – Grandpa and Grandma Luna, and the people I spent every childhood Christmas Day with – Grandpa and Grandma Harber, are all gone from the earth. Not to mention that my mother has been missing from all of my Christmases since I was 14.
I had what I consider to be a pretty stressful holiday because, as usual, I got caught up in the doing rather than in the being. I really want Monkey and Turtle to have warm memories of pleasant, relaxing Christmases. I don’t remember my mom running around hysterically like a chicken with her head cut off, and neither she nor any of my grandparents were in any way the uptight, scripted, overscheduled person I seem to become in certain situations.
So my New Year’s Resolutions are to become a full time stay-at-home mom, and to relax. That’s it. Oh sure I have this big list of other goals written down in my journal but for awhile I’m going to pretend that those don’t exist and just chill out. My Grandpa Luna often went to downtown San Antonio and just sat on a park bench in front of the Alamo, drinking beer and people watching. I’m sure if you saw him you might think he was a homeless person. But he didn’t care. He enjoyed just hanging out, and I hope I will find it in myself to do the same in 2009.
In the time since I started this post this morning, though, I found out that my Grandpa Luna died. So instead of finishing up this post by giving you a pithy insight about embracing all the special moments in my holiday hoopla, I’m just going to tell you that I’m really sad that all of my grandparents are gone now. It feels unreal that the people I spent every childhood Christmas Eve with – Grandpa and Grandma Luna, and the people I spent every childhood Christmas Day with – Grandpa and Grandma Harber, are all gone from the earth. Not to mention that my mother has been missing from all of my Christmases since I was 14.
I had what I consider to be a pretty stressful holiday because, as usual, I got caught up in the doing rather than in the being. I really want Monkey and Turtle to have warm memories of pleasant, relaxing Christmases. I don’t remember my mom running around hysterically like a chicken with her head cut off, and neither she nor any of my grandparents were in any way the uptight, scripted, overscheduled person I seem to become in certain situations.
So my New Year’s Resolutions are to become a full time stay-at-home mom, and to relax. That’s it. Oh sure I have this big list of other goals written down in my journal but for awhile I’m going to pretend that those don’t exist and just chill out. My Grandpa Luna often went to downtown San Antonio and just sat on a park bench in front of the Alamo, drinking beer and people watching. I’m sure if you saw him you might think he was a homeless person. But he didn’t care. He enjoyed just hanging out, and I hope I will find it in myself to do the same in 2009.
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