Motherhood and Other Nonsense

Follow me…

Bethany — Tue, 02 Jun 2009 21:12:24 +0000

I am notoriously indecisive, and true to form, I could not decide which blog platform I liked better: WordPress or Blogspot, so I used both. I’ve been cross-posting to both blogs trying to decide which one I prefer. Well, I prefer WordPress, but I have a better following on Blogspot (and I bought my own URL that directs to that blog). So bookmark www.mommynonsense.com and continue following my musings and rants about motherhood over yonder.

And let me know what you think — is this blog platform better and should I make those pesky Blogspot followers join me over here instead? See, there I go again being ridiculously indecisive!

Writer’s Block

Bethany — Sun, 31 May 2009 05:10:04 +0000

I have writer’s block. It’s been a week since I blogged and I have a million things going through my head, but when I turn the computer on, I’m blank. One of my college professors told me to write something every day, even if it’s crap. Just write every day. But I’m having trouble even coming up with crap to write. You know it’s bad when you can’t even muster up some decent crap.

So forgive these lapses in blog posts. And forgive the overuse of the word “crap.” That’s about all I have in me these days.

My Sunshine

Bethany — Fri, 22 May 2009 05:08:00 +0000

My dad had special songs for each of us girls growing up. My eldest sister, Rachel, had “Love Me Tender,” which fits her quiet, thoughtful personality. The more rambunctious Rebecca had “Side by Side” (“ain’t got a barrel of money, maybe we’re ragged and funny, but we’re traveling along, singing our song, side by side…”). And I had “You Are My Sunshine.”

These are very special songs to each of us, as I’m sure we each have special memories associated with them. Dad loved to sing our songs to us and dance with his little girls balancing on the tops of his feet while he swayed around the living room. I have very few regrets in life, but one big one is that I procrastinated finding a good version of “You Are My Sunshine” to play at my wedding, so my poor dad and I had to dance to a horrible version from the soundtrack of “Brother, Where Art Thou?” I should have put more time into it and found the Ricky Nelson version that my dad and I both love so much.

Fast forward to this week, as I’m putting Emma to bed and dreading the idea of reading “Ernie Goes to the Potty” for the 80th time. The book was supposed to help Emma understand the concept of potty-training, but I’m still changing poopy diapers so it obviously didn’t work. I just couldn’t stand the idea of reading that book or any other from her collection. So I asked her if she’d like to sing a few songs before bed instead.

Well, hey! She loved that idea! Actually, she loved it so much that I ran out of songs to sing. One can only sing “Itsy Bitsy Spider” and “Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star” so many times, and I forgot the words to “Lullabye.” So I borrowed my dad’s tunes and sang “Love Me Tender.” Ooh, she loved that one! She curled up in my arms and snuggled while I sang. Then I tried Rebecca’s special song, “Side by Side.” That one wasn’t as big a hit, probably because I can’t carry a tune in a bucket.

Then we tried MY song. Maybe I put a little more “oomf” into it since it’s MY song. Maybe I sang with a little more feeling, maybe she just knew I wanted to get out of there and back to my glass of wine, but she started begging for “Sunshine” over and over again. The following night we made it through half a book before she asked to sing “Sunshine.” She flung herself onto my lap and rocked back and forth while I sang it to her. Each time I got to “… you make me happy when skies are gray…” she squealed HAP-PY! and rocked and bounced in my lap until I finished the song, then demanded that I sing it again.

How did she know? How did she know what a special song that is? Why did she connect with THAT song, of all songs? I’m going to go find the Ricky Nelson version of it so in 20 years she can dance to it with her Grandpa at her wedding, and I have a feeling she’ll know that she really is his sunshine, and my sunshine too.

Mish-Mash of Anecdotes

Bethany — Mon, 18 May 2009 18:14:46 +0000

Emma has been cracking us up lately. Here’s a snapshot of what she’s been up to:

Babe

One day I stood at the back door and yelled to Sean, who was outside. I yelled “Babe!” and Emma picked up on it. She now calls her dad “babe,” but only when she’s in her bossy mode, which makes me wonder if she uses me as a model for being bossy, therefore saying I’m bossy. Hmmmm? Anyway, she’ll yell, “Babe! Babe!” when she’s walking around the house looking for Sean.

Oh boy!

Ok, who taught Emma “oh boy!”? Saturday I told her we were going to Grandma’s house and she said, “Oh boy!” Ever since then, I’ve noticed her saying it whenever we’re doing something fun, so she obviously knows the context in which to say it. It’s very cute! I’ll try to get it on video.

Mini-Grandma
When we were visiting Sean’s parents Saturday, his mom tried to get the dog, Patches, back in the house. Emma copied her word for word, even mimicking the inflection of her voice. When Sean’s mom put her hand on her hip, Emma looked over, studied the pose and then copied it, planting her little hand on her little hip and saying, “Come, Patches! Here, Patches!” Grandma took a small step forward, so Emma quickly adjusted her stance and put her foot forward, making sure she looked just like her grandma.

No more crying, Abbi!

Abbi was not happy on the drive to daycare this morning. I kept telling her it’s ok, we’re almost there, no more crying, Abbi. Emma copied me and kept telling her sister, “No more crying, Abbi!” When Abbi would stop crying and then start up again, Emma would look over at her, very nonchalant, and tell her, “no more crying, Abbi!”

She also likes to inform me when Abbi is crying. I love that she’s a helper, but it does NOT help to be in an enclosed car with a screaming baby and a toddler yelling: “Mommy, Abbi’s crying. MOMMY!!! Abbi’s crying!!!” Thank you, Emma, I was quite aware of that.

He Hates Babies

Bethany — Mon, 18 May 2009 17:48:34 +0000

My husband hates babies.

He informed me Saturday that he loves our children, but it’s just unfortunate that they have to start out as babies because he hates babies. They cry. They poop. They can’t be reasoned with (although I argue that sometimes 31-year-old men can’t be reasoned with either, ahem…). They can’t tell you what they want. They puke. There is no gratification for taking good care of them other than an occasional smile, which is usually followed by puke. They’re too easily hurt so you have to be careful with them. They’re no fun until they can talk and be tossed around a little.

You’ll hate babies soon too, he warned me last night. Once Abbi can roll over and crawl and is no longer easily confined to a bouncy seat, then I’ll hate babies too, he predicted.

I laughed and told him that Abbi will be rolling over soon and once that happens, she won’t be a baby much longer. She’ll be well on her way to crawling, then walking and becoming a toddler. He said I’m crazy and she’s not rolling over anytime soon, so I have plenty of time to realize that I hate babies too.

Ten minutes later as she lay in her crib watching the ceiling fan and sucking her thumb, she rolled over. I still love babies. My husband still hates babies. But she won’t be a baby much longer.

Best Friends

Bethany — Fri, 15 May 2009 22:23:15 +0000

This morning my 2-year-old daughter told me I’m her best friend. I know she has no clue what “best friend” means, and I probably wouldn’t make the cut if she did. But it still warmed my heart to hear her say it. But it also made me a little sad because I know that as her mother, my role is not to be her best friend. It’s a position in her life I can never hold. I certainly hope we’ll be very close mother and daugther, and very good friends, but I can’t be her best friend.

Best friends don’t impose curfews or have to say “no” or punish her when she has done something wrong. I won’t be the one by her side when she cuts class or (god forbid!) sips her first beer at a party. As her mom, I probably won’t let her go to parties so she’ll have to sneak out to sip that first beer.

I hope she’ll cry on my shoulder when her heart is broken, and that she’ll tell me all about the cute guy in her gym class that she thinks will ask her to prom. I hope she’ll come to me when she has a problem or when she needs help, no matter what it is. I hope she wants to spend time with me as much as I want to spend with her. I hope we’re as close as mother and daughter can get. But I can’t be her best friend.

So for now I’ll revel in that title that she unwittingly bestowed upon me until she knows what it means and takes it back.

Un-Mother’s Day

Bethany — Mon, 11 May 2009 17:14:46 +0000

Mother’s Day is a glorious day to honor mom and truly appreciate all she contributes to the family and to thank her for her hard word and undying love… yeah, right! In my house, it’s an excuse to NOT be a mom for a day.

On MY day, I don’t want to wake up at 6 a.m. to change a dirty diaper or turn on cartoons and make breakfast. Go ask your Dad for juice, because this mom isn’t moving from the pillow for at least two more hours.

What’s that? You’re hungry? Mom isn’t the only one who knows where the kitchen is. Daddy makes a killer PB&J, he can feed you. And tell him I’m ready for my breakfast in bed.

If Mother’s Day is about making Mom happy, then go play outside so I can enjoy the peace and quiet of an empty house for a few hours. No, I don’t want to play too. I play every day. This is my day off. And on my day off, I’m not washing dishes or doing laundry. You can appreciate just how hard I work by seeing what a disaster our house becomes when I stop working.

You need a bath? Good, Daddy is pretty grimy too, so you can both soak in grape-scented Sesame Street bubbles because I just lathered myself with vanilla body butter and I’m not about to waste it by immersing myself in a lukewarm bath that will soon be pee water (God, aren’t you potty-trained yet????).

Is it naptime already? I don’t care where you sleep, how long you sleep or if you sleep at all. On Mother’s Day, I’m not about to ruin my day arguing with a not-sleepy toddler who would rather be outside running around in the sunshine. I’m not prepared to do battle today, so naptime gets a day off too.

Don’t even get me started on poopy diapers! That’s Daddy’s job today. This is Mother’s Day and I get to pretend I don’t have responsibilities for a day. I don’t have to wipe noses or butts. I don’t have to clean the kitchen, mop the floor or yell at the dog. I don’t have to care how much TV you watch. I don’t have to do anything except be loved and appreciated… so appreciate this: I’m taking the day off!

Yeah, yeah, payback’s a bitch and Father’s Day is right around the corner, but I’ll worry about that later. For now I’m going to replenish my mimosa, sit in the shade and stuff earplugs in my ears because this is Mother’s Day and I’m pretending I’m not a mom for a day!

(editor’s note: I’m full of crap. I cleaned the house, washed mountains of laundry, changed diapers, gave Emma a bath, yelled at the dog, went grocery shopping and planned the next week’s worth of meals. And I loved it! Sure, I played the Mother’s Day trump card to get out of enforcing bedtime, but overall I spent the day being a mom, because that’s what I am.)

Doing Her Own Thing

Bethany — Fri, 08 May 2009 23:48:34 +0000

Our daycare center hosted a parents’ night on Wednesday to introduce new teachers, allow parents to ask questions or bring up concerns and to talk about a fund-raising event coming up in June (we’re doing Relay for Life, so family members, expect me to hit you up to sponsor me in a few weeks).

The kids played in a classroom while the parents balanced on toddler-sized chairs or crowded around miniature tables and listened to the teachers talk. One of the new teachers is from Mexico, where she taught school before moving to Nevada. Since Spanish is her first language, she has been teaching the preschool class some basic Spanish. One parent spoke up and said that explains why her daughter has been counting in Spanish. I also piped up, and asked, “Is she teaching the toddlers too, because I swear I heard Emma count in Spanish last week!” Yes, I could have sworn I heard Emma muttering “uno, dos, tres, quatro, cinco” while playing with her baby doll. I even mentioned it to Sean, but we both thought that I was imagining things and just being overly hopeful that “Dora the Explorer” is more educational than entertaining.

The daycare owner kind of laughed and said, “No, we’re not teaching the toddlers Spanish.” And of course I shut up, somewhat embarrassed that I assumed my child could learn another language so young. Then the daycare owner continued: “The toddlers aren’t learning it, but Emma kind of does her own thing.” All the other teachers chuckled and nodded, and as if to punctuate the statement, Emma wandered into the room and climbed onto another mom’s lap and tried to steal her water and cookie.

And for some reason, that made me very proud. Emma is kind of like their little mascot at times. She follows the teachers around and demands to help them. She isn’t about to be told that she can’t hang out with the preschoolers, and when the teachers are braiding the girls’ hair or painting their fingernails, Emma is right there with them sticking her hands out too. I think she gets away with it because she’s so cute and easy-going. Sure, she has her moments, but generally she just wants to help (with EVERYTHING!) and tag along. And I’m proud of her for being such a unique, incredible little girl. She’s the kind of kid that people like to be around, and that makes me very happy. While she can be needy and clingy, she’s also wonderfully independent. I love that she climbed up on another mom’s lap (not a total stranger – she’s the mom of Emma’s friend at daycare) and that she tells me who’s who at daycare. She has her nose in everyone’s business, and at this age, there’s something very endearing about that kind of precociousness.

So yes, Emma does her own thing. She is a special little girl who doesn’t fit in a well-defined box. And I’m so proud of that. (and yes, she does count to five in Spanish!)

Show me the Shoes

Bethany — Mon, 04 May 2009 18:52:18 +0000

I love to shop (who doesn’t?). But as I constantly remind my husband, I’m a frugal shopper and great at finding deals. So while I shop often, I don’t spend much money.

And that’s why I’m suffering some serious inner turmoil over a pair of shoes I want to buy (and blogging about it in the hopes that my readers will tell me to just go ahead and buy them and stop being so melodramatic about it already!).

How freakin’ cute are these?!?! I have spent way too many hours reading hundreds reviews online to be sure they really are as comfy and versatile as they look (and they are). I’ve compared prices on Zappos, Amazon, Planet Shoes, Overstock and more. I’ve slept on the idea and still want them. I’ve taken stock of my shoe inventory (which I’ll admit is large, but I don’t have a pair of shoes like these).

Everything says “buy them!” but I keep coming back to the price — $100 is a lot to spend on one pair of shoes for me. Sure, I can blow $100 on clothes, but it would take several outfits and cheap pairs of shoes to get $100. And Sean and I both can easily spend $100 on camping gear or home improvement stuff. This is one pair of shoes. One measly pair of incredibly adorable, durable, eco-friendly (hey, that should score some points, right?) pair of shoes I could wear for years. And really, most of my shoes I have been wearing for years, so I’m due a new pair, right?

But they’re $100.

Bored, Boring, Blah

Bethany — Mon, 04 May 2009 16:38:23 +0000

Yesterday was a boring, rainy day. We watched cartoons, played with toys, watched more cartoons, tried to clean the house and watched more cartoons. I suppose we could have made granola bars together, but we were also trying to clean the house, not make more messes. Play-Doh has been 86′d from our house until Emma is a little older and can actually play with it instead of taking it out of its container and leaving it random places to dry and crumble into the carpet.

Sean tried finger-painting with Emma, which actually went ok but only used up about 20 minutes of the very looooong day. Thankfully, Emma made such a mess with the fingerpaints that she warranted a bath, so she and Sean played in the bathtub while I scrubbed blue paint out of the chair upholstery. It was so rainy that Sean couldn’t escape outside to mow the lawn or find other projects around the house. He was trapped inside with an energetic girl, a baby and a tired wife. Poor guy.

My poor husband was obviously going stir-crazy, and finally he asked, “Don’t we have any puzzles or board games?” No, Sean, you and I both agreed that puzzle pieces would be a disaster with our michievous dog who likes to chew on everything. And what kind of board game does a 2-year-old play? I have no idea but would love some suggestions! Maybe I should have bought some puzzles anyway for just such an occasion as my husband FINALLY understanding how bored I get when we’re cooped up in the house all day.

So my next trip to Target or Walmart will involve scouring the toy aisles for board games for 2-year-olds and puzzles that our dog will probably destroy. But at least I won’t be on the receiving end of my husband’s frustration over not being prepared for boring, rainy days. (or do I dare hope that our rainy days are over for a while?)