The deep abyss of self pity. The deep wallowing self indulgent lone drama of 'poor me'. A classic! Every woman is familiar with this state, I am sure - it can sneak right up on you when you least expect it. I had a real doozie the other day, what a laughable state; in retrospect I realize I was over dramatizing myself and it was quite funny, oh boo hoo, poor me, I'm so tired, life's so tough wah wah. As you may note I am currently over my abyss of self pity, but at the time it really was a nice wallow, and I did feel overwhelmingly sad/frustrated at life/'poor me'. A sign of weakness? Surely not. A sign of insecurity? Possible.
I have been feeling a bit like things are reeling away, the slippery devils I haven't been able to grasp tightly enough like I used to in the old days: workload, finances, personal time. Generally I have an 'I'll just get on with it' attitude, which has served me pretty well considering my circumstances now. It is end of year though, and tensions are high approaching the holidays, year end work goals need to be accomplished, Christmas presents bought, Christmas work parties to try to get to. I think that might have been what put me over the edge, trying to arrange something so I could leave the house and go to my work dinner. This single mum thing is such an ordeal. OK, having a partner doesn't do much on the workload front...well, actually I take that back, it does really because even if some tiny morsel of house chores could be done by someone else, I'd be better rested, or could catch up in the evenings. Having a partner definitely helps in the finances department - it is EXPENSIVE having kids, having a house, [having anything nowadays] and another salary would be nice. Where I find it most difficult to get a grasp on now, and what sends me into a good wallow, is the lack of personal time. Or personal freedom, really. Four months of being a prisoner in my own home is starting to get old, if I am honest. I can't leave this place! Well, I could leave this place. But at great ordeal, it seems. If my husband were living here, I could just walk out the door, say "Goodbye, I'll be back in [20 minutes, 1 hour, after my night out] see you later!" and I'd be off. Now - ordeal.
A friend had kindly offered to babysit sometime to release me from the clutches of my home; sadly at the time I couldn't even think of what I'd do! What would I go out and do alone for one night, after 7 pm? Go to the hotel down the road and see if I could get my toes done (that might be nice actually)? If I had a regular gig I'd for sure join something - the Village Players, library group, dance class, swimming. One off's are more difficult to decide on - cinema? I could ask another friend to come out, but I wouldn't do that actually, I'd feel weird having one friend babysit and take another one out, it wouldn't seem right. So when my work Christmas dinner came up I though 'OH perfect! The opportunity I'd been waiting for!'. Unfortunately my kind friend had her work dinner the same night. Hmmm no babysitter. OK then, step 2. I asked my other friend's daughter who usually babysits for me - she is babysitting somewhere else that night. OK, step 3. I make a general plea on Facebook. No takers so far. Step 4. Ask one of the nursery ladies if she will babysit (one who has come once before - but was so expensive I hadn't dared ask again!) - but she is busy that night too! Ugh this is where I am getting into expensive territory though, where I have to really ask myself, is it worth going out for a few hours which will cost me at least 30 quid?? That's why the regular gig options are out of the question. No way I am paying that kind of money weekly to go to some library group, or the gym - if the night out was free? That would be nice to get out. In my case, no way.
So my husband calls on Skype, and I was already teetering on self pity weariness anyway (no babysitter - I know the DRAMA of it all!)...and just seeing him, and he is coming home next week for a visit, and...I don't know. It all just made me wallowy and teary...so he is talking and I am doing the female furtive sniffling thing. He finally notices and asks how I am, and says "Don't worry, you'll find a babysitter"...and I say "I'm just tired.....boo hooo...I'm just tired...". Was I really that tired? I am not sure. Fed up? Maybe. I don't know what it was, but it wasn't that I couldn't find a babysitter - I knew I could find a babysitter, I mean, come on, really of course I could. I guess the babysitter thing just presented the reality to me of my situation. Just...the whole thing. I think it is my general insecurity of it all, and everything being just a little bit beyond my control, a little bit beyond my reach. I see the desire of my kids for their security toys they sleep with, and the attachment is deep. A more literal sense in their case, but a Lamby and Bobo dolly might be nice right now, just something to cuddle, you know will be there and you can grasp hold of whenever you need. Where's my Lamby? Husband, where are you? Freedom, where are you?
My son must feel like me right now, as Lamby and Bobo had to go into an emergency wash tonight (we were out for the whole day and the kids had closed the access doors to the cat's food and litter box; poor cat pooed and weed all over my son's bed and dollies in desperation while we were out), and even extra Lamby and Bobo are dirty and in the other washing bin. He had done some serious wallowing about this, and wallowed and wailed about no Lamby and Bobo until almost 8:30 pm. It's quiet now though. I'll take that as an inspiration for myself, I can just get on with it, and I do get on with it. Since my funk moment anyway I've been fine, no need to wallow anyway. I like my life. I like my job. I like my kids. I like the challenges. And I have another [expensive] nursery lady lined up to be available for my night out, and a friend has now got back to me (thank you!) to babysit also - TWO babysitters! Mountain out of a molehill, the deep abyss is really quite a shallow one after all.
Sometimes it's nice to have a good moan anyway, and have someone listen to you boo hoo "I'm soooooooo tiiiiired!!!". It feels good afterwards, doesn't it, when you can have a laugh at yourself! There are sure benefits of 'poor me'. And of security dollies. Don't worry my little one, I'll have Lamby back in no time.
Friday, 17 December 2010
Monday, 6 December 2010
The Girls are back!
Finally. I've been waiting for almost 4 months. I thought they might be gone forever after the last time. I am happy to say, though, that a comeback has occurred.
The Girls are back. I have breasts again!
Anyone who tells you that pregnancy and breastfeeding don't ruin your boobs is telling a bold-faced lie. No matter how solid, how perky, how dense your boobs once were, after a year of sudden expansion and a few months of insane engorgement, they don't have a chance. I was even known *ahem* in some circles for having amazingly, particularly perky, dense boobs. Relatively little, perhaps, but they packed a good punch, they were good'uns. The aftermath of 5 months breastfeeding though, I mean, it was a shock. You know things aren't going to be the same ever again, generally, all over your whole entire self, but the breast transformation was the most dramatic. What were once Proud Young Ladies had suddenly become useless empty bags, at once devoid of their purpose; Great Saggy Aunties. Both shocking, and a bit disappointing. They looked so....sad. So deflated. Literally.
I am not against breatfeeding at all, I breastfed both of my children and I'll do it again. I mean, hey, I have already destroyed any chance at preserving the look of my breasts, they're toast already - might as well have another go. Besides that I know it's the right thing etc etc just like all the government advice says so. But, if you are cosmetically inclined in that way, consider yourself warned: Breastfeeding Makes For Empty Saggy Sacks, They Will Never Ever Come Back. If I had known that, really known that prior to breastfeeding my first baby, I still wouldn't have decided differently. I still would have breastfed as long as I could. But at least it wouldn't have been such a shock once it was all over.
I will thus really enjoy my time again now with my big full breasts. They look A-mazing. I am so pleased they have come back to spend some time with me. I am taking good care of them as well; oiling them twice a day, holding them up in my good bras. I need to savour every last moment before they say goodbye again. It is a shame actually that my husband is not here to see me in my blooming state; breasts looking as good as they ever have, full body oiling every night, it's like a teenage fantasy! Poor fellow is missing out. I even ordered the Rolls Royce of body oil, the oft-spoken about Bio Oil. It's good stuff. It has some sort of cosmic amoebic quality to it, and the peachy pink colour is a nice bonus. My husband will like the smell better too - previously I used the Mama Mio oil which he said I reeked like a Grandmother's undies drawer, and then I tried the Palmers cocoa butter oil, which he said I reeked like a chocolate Lush soap outlet...
Anyway, when other than pregnancy does anyone bother to religiously oil themselves? Never. My husband better appreciate my voluptuous oiled physique upon his return. It will be worth the flight!
The only problem with all the oiling is my bed is inadvertently getting oiled as well. I had got into the habit of sleeping with no PJs (which started back when my husband and I were young and reckless!) and now wearing pajamas is sooooo squiggly and uncomfortable, material bunching, shirt riding up, legs twisting...I can't go back. So even by myself now I am sleeping pajama-less. I try to do some running around post-oiling pre-bed to let myself soak in. I must look so silly, carting around nude, tidying toys and hanging clothes, it's just as well no one is home. The no PJs has also led to some further challenges, now I am up in the night dealing with the kids. Firstly, it's freezing! Secondly, I feel quite silly, tending to the kids nude - which might entail sitting on the bathtub in the dark watching my older son poo at 2 am, fetching Calpol from the spare room, hanging over the side of the cot shhh-patting the little one back to sleep for 20 minutes at a time. What a silly scene. And this morning my older son insisted he had to have breakfast immediately, was crying and went downstairs....me trailing behind into the kitchen (nude)....discovering there was no milk left in the pantry....so I had to go outside in the freezing cold (nude) to the garage [I had put my coat on at least, so no actual streaking into the back garden, but I felt ridiculous wearing just a coat and my red crocs and going outside to get a case of milk from the garage at 6:45 am]. The only other time I ended up doing some actual streaking outside my house is when I had gone to get my jeans hemmed by a lady in the village, and thought I was really clever and wore the jeans I wanted done to her place...but then had no bottoms to wear home (!). That was a quick scurry from the car to my front door. Maybe I should give pajamas another go.
Well, my Beautiful Breast Comeback has occurred just in time for my husband's Christmas Visit Comeback, the lucky fellow. Welcome home. You have (all) been missed xx
The Girls are back. I have breasts again!
Anyone who tells you that pregnancy and breastfeeding don't ruin your boobs is telling a bold-faced lie. No matter how solid, how perky, how dense your boobs once were, after a year of sudden expansion and a few months of insane engorgement, they don't have a chance. I was even known *ahem* in some circles for having amazingly, particularly perky, dense boobs. Relatively little, perhaps, but they packed a good punch, they were good'uns. The aftermath of 5 months breastfeeding though, I mean, it was a shock. You know things aren't going to be the same ever again, generally, all over your whole entire self, but the breast transformation was the most dramatic. What were once Proud Young Ladies had suddenly become useless empty bags, at once devoid of their purpose; Great Saggy Aunties. Both shocking, and a bit disappointing. They looked so....sad. So deflated. Literally.
I am not against breatfeeding at all, I breastfed both of my children and I'll do it again. I mean, hey, I have already destroyed any chance at preserving the look of my breasts, they're toast already - might as well have another go. Besides that I know it's the right thing etc etc just like all the government advice says so. But, if you are cosmetically inclined in that way, consider yourself warned: Breastfeeding Makes For Empty Saggy Sacks, They Will Never Ever Come Back. If I had known that, really known that prior to breastfeeding my first baby, I still wouldn't have decided differently. I still would have breastfed as long as I could. But at least it wouldn't have been such a shock once it was all over.
I will thus really enjoy my time again now with my big full breasts. They look A-mazing. I am so pleased they have come back to spend some time with me. I am taking good care of them as well; oiling them twice a day, holding them up in my good bras. I need to savour every last moment before they say goodbye again. It is a shame actually that my husband is not here to see me in my blooming state; breasts looking as good as they ever have, full body oiling every night, it's like a teenage fantasy! Poor fellow is missing out. I even ordered the Rolls Royce of body oil, the oft-spoken about Bio Oil. It's good stuff. It has some sort of cosmic amoebic quality to it, and the peachy pink colour is a nice bonus. My husband will like the smell better too - previously I used the Mama Mio oil which he said I reeked like a Grandmother's undies drawer, and then I tried the Palmers cocoa butter oil, which he said I reeked like a chocolate Lush soap outlet...
Anyway, when other than pregnancy does anyone bother to religiously oil themselves? Never. My husband better appreciate my voluptuous oiled physique upon his return. It will be worth the flight!
The only problem with all the oiling is my bed is inadvertently getting oiled as well. I had got into the habit of sleeping with no PJs (which started back when my husband and I were young and reckless!) and now wearing pajamas is sooooo squiggly and uncomfortable, material bunching, shirt riding up, legs twisting...I can't go back. So even by myself now I am sleeping pajama-less. I try to do some running around post-oiling pre-bed to let myself soak in. I must look so silly, carting around nude, tidying toys and hanging clothes, it's just as well no one is home. The no PJs has also led to some further challenges, now I am up in the night dealing with the kids. Firstly, it's freezing! Secondly, I feel quite silly, tending to the kids nude - which might entail sitting on the bathtub in the dark watching my older son poo at 2 am, fetching Calpol from the spare room, hanging over the side of the cot shhh-patting the little one back to sleep for 20 minutes at a time. What a silly scene. And this morning my older son insisted he had to have breakfast immediately, was crying and went downstairs....me trailing behind into the kitchen (nude)....discovering there was no milk left in the pantry....so I had to go outside in the freezing cold (nude) to the garage [I had put my coat on at least, so no actual streaking into the back garden, but I felt ridiculous wearing just a coat and my red crocs and going outside to get a case of milk from the garage at 6:45 am]. The only other time I ended up doing some actual streaking outside my house is when I had gone to get my jeans hemmed by a lady in the village, and thought I was really clever and wore the jeans I wanted done to her place...but then had no bottoms to wear home (!). That was a quick scurry from the car to my front door. Maybe I should give pajamas another go.
Well, my Beautiful Breast Comeback has occurred just in time for my husband's Christmas Visit Comeback, the lucky fellow. Welcome home. You have (all) been missed xx
Sunday, 28 November 2010
Where's Daddy?
When my husband first left, I heard that a lot.
Actually, for a two year old, I heard it in quite a matter of fact way - 'Mummy, where's daddy?' - 'He's gone away on his big trip' - 'Oh'. He asked a lot though, I mean, within minutes of the last mention he'd ask again 'Mummy, where's daddy?'. Then after a while it was just mentioned at bedtime. Then just when he was a bit grouchy and daddy may have seemed a more palatable option that me. By the time 3 months had gone by, I barely heard it at all.
Then daddy came to visit last weekend, for the 3rd birthday celebrations. He was here for four days. Those four days have now brought with them a new wealth of queries related to the whereabouts of daddy. It must be confusing though, to be told again and again daddy is away on his big trip, he is living somewhere else for a long time, he will only be visiting us. He isn't coming home, just visiting, like Grandma and Grandpa visit. Obviously when the visits happen, a child would think 'Oh, look, daddy's home now, back to normal, horray!' - then the startling reality of leaving occurs all over again. I remember when I had a difficult day and both children were grouchy and I was ultra tired, I told my husband that he has left it too long to visit, he can't just come home every 4.5 months, he HAS to come at least every 2 months after the Christmas visit...but a little part of me, after last weekend, thinks that might be even more traumatic. At least after he had been gone such a long time, a new equilibrium had occurred, and we were all getting on with it. I really do still think every 4 months is too long in between, and 2 months or so is better...but I am just feeling for the kids, it must be confusing. And I know it has made them insecure.
There has also been some behavioural changes. My older son has become...just...more difficult. As well, at nursery for the couple of months before my husband left, he stopped talking. Really, he would say Nothing all day. I was approached by the staff saying if they didn't know better, that if they didn't know he COULD talk, they would be advising me to get developmental help for him. But we all knew he could talk, it's just that he chose not to. It got down to them recording daily on paper anything he did say, and in what circumstances he might say something...and noted that whenever approached directly he would not answer, ever. Those sheets of paper early on had very little on them. It was very worrying. He had always spoken well though, at home and at nursery, and had good sentences early on, he was ahead of the game in language development. I guess he was feeling anxious and insecure of the impending doom (?). After about three months (that's a long time!) he would say more, and even when the day came that daddy left, he continued improving. It must have been the stress around the getting ready to leave part, all the doubt. It does come down to insecurity, and confidence. The poor fellow, everything's all upside down as far as he's concerned. At least now he is talking up a storm and is all fine/normal now in that department.
This time after daddy left again, the crying about daddy has got worse, and is not so matter of fact. It has way more of a drama queen flair to it, with much whining and wailing involved. And I can't even answer him properly. He is crying 'Where's my daddy, get daaaaaaddyyyyyyyyy!!!!!!' and I say 'Daddy has had to go back on his big trip, I can't get him now, but we will see him soon...when the snow comes and it's Christmastime...' and he says ' Noooo I need daddy nowwwwwwwwwww!!!!'. What can I say? What else can I say? I have to just keep repeating that daddy loves us, he will be back to visit soon, and after his big trip and a few more visits he will be back home for good. I don't know how to explain things to him. It's pretty complex for a three year old; that daddy needs to abandon us so that he can make sure his surgical resume is good enough, so he might get a job 3 years from now. ???!!!
The toilet issues have also become a major problem. He has been toilet trained for nearly a year now, and had always been really good, with minimal accidents. Then in summer time (around the no-talking time) he did have loads more accidents, which we chalked up to sort of expected issues around change in the household and whatnot, that's what they say. In the last few weeks it has been TERRIBLE though, it's like he just can't be bothered anymore. It's like the 'noticing I need a wee' signal only occurs when the drips are already coming out, and he never makes it anymore. I know that with time they would be able to ignore to a degree the early needing-a-wee signals and gain control for holding and whatnot, but now he is either ignoring it until SO late so he constantly needs his underwear changing from drips and not making it, or just isn't noticing? It is frustrating to the maximum though. Why at two years old he would be dry all day, and at three years old he is creating entire loads of laundry in one day? Infuriating. I tried the rewards tactics again, from the initial training days. He wasn't interested. I have threatened to make him wear training pants or pull ups, which actually has improved things to some degree, he does NOT want to wear those...but even when he is theoretically 'trying' harder to keep his pants dry, it is constantly left too late. I have now moved on to taking some favourite toys away, which he will have returned on evidence of dry pants, or at least trying really hard to do so. Updates to follow on the lack of success, I am sure. I know that's not the right way to do it, but what is?
It's maddening because I know it's behavioural. He knows how to go, he's known the drill for a long time now. I know it is because he is insecure/needs attention/is sad because of no daddy/is sad because mummy is working now/ fill in any appropriate childhood classic trauma here. What am I supposed to do though? Let him pee his pants all day for another year because daddy is gone, mummy works, and there will be a new baby? How long do I play Mr. Nice Guy? I have been very let-it-go for months now, and it is only this past week I have gone bananas and am trying to get him to change with some drastic action. Blah who knows. I am trawling the internet for advice, but you know how that goes.
For a situation that is really quite matter-of-fact, I am not feeling very matter-of-fact about it. Neither are the kids.
Actually, for a two year old, I heard it in quite a matter of fact way - 'Mummy, where's daddy?' - 'He's gone away on his big trip' - 'Oh'. He asked a lot though, I mean, within minutes of the last mention he'd ask again 'Mummy, where's daddy?'. Then after a while it was just mentioned at bedtime. Then just when he was a bit grouchy and daddy may have seemed a more palatable option that me. By the time 3 months had gone by, I barely heard it at all.
Then daddy came to visit last weekend, for the 3rd birthday celebrations. He was here for four days. Those four days have now brought with them a new wealth of queries related to the whereabouts of daddy. It must be confusing though, to be told again and again daddy is away on his big trip, he is living somewhere else for a long time, he will only be visiting us. He isn't coming home, just visiting, like Grandma and Grandpa visit. Obviously when the visits happen, a child would think 'Oh, look, daddy's home now, back to normal, horray!' - then the startling reality of leaving occurs all over again. I remember when I had a difficult day and both children were grouchy and I was ultra tired, I told my husband that he has left it too long to visit, he can't just come home every 4.5 months, he HAS to come at least every 2 months after the Christmas visit...but a little part of me, after last weekend, thinks that might be even more traumatic. At least after he had been gone such a long time, a new equilibrium had occurred, and we were all getting on with it. I really do still think every 4 months is too long in between, and 2 months or so is better...but I am just feeling for the kids, it must be confusing. And I know it has made them insecure.
There has also been some behavioural changes. My older son has become...just...more difficult. As well, at nursery for the couple of months before my husband left, he stopped talking. Really, he would say Nothing all day. I was approached by the staff saying if they didn't know better, that if they didn't know he COULD talk, they would be advising me to get developmental help for him. But we all knew he could talk, it's just that he chose not to. It got down to them recording daily on paper anything he did say, and in what circumstances he might say something...and noted that whenever approached directly he would not answer, ever. Those sheets of paper early on had very little on them. It was very worrying. He had always spoken well though, at home and at nursery, and had good sentences early on, he was ahead of the game in language development. I guess he was feeling anxious and insecure of the impending doom (?). After about three months (that's a long time!) he would say more, and even when the day came that daddy left, he continued improving. It must have been the stress around the getting ready to leave part, all the doubt. It does come down to insecurity, and confidence. The poor fellow, everything's all upside down as far as he's concerned. At least now he is talking up a storm and is all fine/normal now in that department.
This time after daddy left again, the crying about daddy has got worse, and is not so matter of fact. It has way more of a drama queen flair to it, with much whining and wailing involved. And I can't even answer him properly. He is crying 'Where's my daddy, get daaaaaaddyyyyyyyyy!!!!!!' and I say 'Daddy has had to go back on his big trip, I can't get him now, but we will see him soon...when the snow comes and it's Christmastime...' and he says ' Noooo I need daddy nowwwwwwwwwww!!!!'. What can I say? What else can I say? I have to just keep repeating that daddy loves us, he will be back to visit soon, and after his big trip and a few more visits he will be back home for good. I don't know how to explain things to him. It's pretty complex for a three year old; that daddy needs to abandon us so that he can make sure his surgical resume is good enough, so he might get a job 3 years from now. ???!!!
The toilet issues have also become a major problem. He has been toilet trained for nearly a year now, and had always been really good, with minimal accidents. Then in summer time (around the no-talking time) he did have loads more accidents, which we chalked up to sort of expected issues around change in the household and whatnot, that's what they say. In the last few weeks it has been TERRIBLE though, it's like he just can't be bothered anymore. It's like the 'noticing I need a wee' signal only occurs when the drips are already coming out, and he never makes it anymore. I know that with time they would be able to ignore to a degree the early needing-a-wee signals and gain control for holding and whatnot, but now he is either ignoring it until SO late so he constantly needs his underwear changing from drips and not making it, or just isn't noticing? It is frustrating to the maximum though. Why at two years old he would be dry all day, and at three years old he is creating entire loads of laundry in one day? Infuriating. I tried the rewards tactics again, from the initial training days. He wasn't interested. I have threatened to make him wear training pants or pull ups, which actually has improved things to some degree, he does NOT want to wear those...but even when he is theoretically 'trying' harder to keep his pants dry, it is constantly left too late. I have now moved on to taking some favourite toys away, which he will have returned on evidence of dry pants, or at least trying really hard to do so. Updates to follow on the lack of success, I am sure. I know that's not the right way to do it, but what is?
It's maddening because I know it's behavioural. He knows how to go, he's known the drill for a long time now. I know it is because he is insecure/needs attention/is sad because of no daddy/is sad because mummy is working now/ fill in any appropriate childhood classic trauma here. What am I supposed to do though? Let him pee his pants all day for another year because daddy is gone, mummy works, and there will be a new baby? How long do I play Mr. Nice Guy? I have been very let-it-go for months now, and it is only this past week I have gone bananas and am trying to get him to change with some drastic action. Blah who knows. I am trawling the internet for advice, but you know how that goes.
For a situation that is really quite matter-of-fact, I am not feeling very matter-of-fact about it. Neither are the kids.
Wednesday, 17 November 2010
'Working' from home
Sometimes I work from home.
When one of the kids are sick, I 'work' from home.
There us a certain amount of time, depending on which child is home with me and how effective the Calpol is, that can be bought with some Thomas on the TV, Baby TV, or the Cars DVD. I have an additional amount of bonus time to work when the ill child in question is having a lunchtime sleep. It's funny how the rules on both TV and sleep change when it's a 'work' day. Usually TV is limited and I say to the children it's a treat, and not something we do all the time, just sometimes. On work days that is out the window and they are sat in the family room almost immediately, remote control at the ready and a big bowl of cheerios piled high; Lightning McQueen in action. Sleep time on normal home days starts at 12:30 and for my younger one and lasts 2 hours, no more, and my older one I wake after 40 minutes. On work days you betcha the sleep begins ASAP after lunch, and lasts as looooong as it lasts. I figure any nighttime shenanigans that results I will deal with later (in the night), or the nursery will deal with the next day - if allowed back, curse them.
That is a killer rule, the no-return-the-next-day-after-a-fever. Even if the kids are absolutely A-OK fine the next day, they are not allowed back! That makes not only one 'working' from home day, but two. CURSES! Not great for my efficiency. So there is a real gamble some days, and strategy...if I thought one of the kids was borderline, back in my maternity leave days, I might give them some Calpol and Ibuprofen and send them along their merry happily dosed way. If I got the call after the medicine wore off at 2:30 pm, I'd go and rescue said child from nursery and that would be that. Not a big deal to not be allowed back. Now though, there is a price to pay with the morning Calpol gamble. I have to think, OK, borderline ill...are they possibly going to deteriorate? If they do that will cost me double. Two whole days, including one day of unprofessional phone calls for in-office meeting cancellations. Or worse, a second day of embarrassing attempted conference calls for meetings I am supposed to be at. It makes me cringe, having to tell a group over the phone in your business meeting that, Oh, sorry, I have to go now to make lunch for my son - can I call back in after he has his nap? Ugh, it must seem SOOOOO unprofessional to anyone in the meeting that doesn't have kids. Or to anyone in the meeting that has kids, and sufficiently adequate child care.
My strategy now is to withhold the questionably ill child, drug them and keep them at home on that first day for maintenance assessments - then there is a better chance of being able to get to work the next day after that. I am booked to work from home Mondays anyway, so I can attempt to smuggle in a working day (with child in tow) without anyone even knowing they are there! Um, theoretically. Of course when I did this last Monday, my manager called, and my little feverish one during the first half of the call saw some funny characters on the TV and starting doing some crazy excited grunting and pointing and laughing. I tried to cover the phone up to muffle his noises, and I even thought 'Maybe he'll [my manager] think it's my cat making all that racket?'. Just when I thought I was getting away with it, my little feverish one fell over a toy and started crying full on. Definitely not my cat. Manager says "So you've got a little one there today?"..."Yes! Oh I am so sorry, he's got a fever and if I send him to nursery they'll send him home and then I'll have two days...and...and" and I get into my whole strategy logical explanation. He is fine with it anyway. I've been told that's all fine, and I actually don't technically need to smuggle my kids at home when they are sick, but...I still feel like I have to. In a trying to appear professional way. In a trying to appear as if I am not a floundering struggling working mother sort of way. It never seems to work though!
And every week it seems, somebody is sick. If it's not one, it's the other. Tag team fevers. There has been two weeks since I started work end of August that I have been without illness incident and child- home-work smuggling. God, then there was that day the little one was sick, and there was a meeting in London I HAD to be at. In the morning I was frantically calling my friends who I knew didn't work, to see if somebody, anybody could watch him for the day. No one could. I ended up, by scrolling down my list of phone numbers of anyone I have even known, finding the number of this cleaning lady who had worked for me previously, like, over a year ago....so at 8 am I am phoning her - "Um, hello, it's Heather, you know I live across from the park, you cleaned for me a while back? Sorry for the really early random call...uh...are you available today? uh, ya, all day? I remember running into you in the park in the summer and you said you were thinking of a childminding course, so I thought you might be interested...do you want to watch my feverish sick one year old from 8:30 until 6:30 pm? Oh, you've got your daughter's [school age] friends coming over for tea after school? Um, yes, that's OK, they can come to the house also...yes, I really have to go to this meeting... can you pick up my older son from nursery at 5 also? Yes. Really? Oh my god, thank you soooo much, yes, can you come right now? Oh you have to take your daughter to school in half an hour...uhhh I need to catch the train to London right now...why not bring her to my house now also and you can all walk together? Ok great, see you in a minute."
So as it happened, the random mum from across the way that I sort of knew but didn't really know but knew enough (and she has a kid also, she lives across from me in the village, and she works sometimes in the village coffee shop - she's not like some total random crazy lady I was leaving my kids with!) came over really early and last minute in the morning, 8 year old daughter in tow. I took my older son to nursery with me in the car on the way to the train station. Then I was told she [random mum] would need a password to pick up from nursery, which I hadn't told her....I just hadn't thought of that in the frenzy(!) so I drove back to the school to fight the crowds, I parked illegally, put the hazards on and dashed out to find her amongst the drop-off mums to give the password and get her mobile number. I was getting stressed now because I still had to drive 15 minutes to the train station, get my parking ticket, buy my train ticket, and get on the train! I did make it to the meeting in London, phew.
Meanwhile, after school, Random Mum had taken my little one to pick up her daughter and two school friends, and brought them all back to my house to give them dinner and play here (so weird! all sorts of random kids in my house!) and then, Random Mum had to take the whole gang for a long walk up to the nursery at 5 o'clock to pick up my other son as well! What a crew! I finally made it home at 6:15, after having to skulk out of the London meeting early at 4:30 to make the train home. Random Mum, Strange Kids, her daughter and my two kids were all playing in the family room, all fine. What a day. I gave her 60 quid for the 9 and a bit hours she was here, and said thanks very much. What an expensive day. I asked her if she would be interested in doing that again, if I needed to, and she said yes, certainly. What an expensive day I hope not to have to repeat. It is nice though to know someone local, who, in an emergency scenario can come to cover. That was really cool of her. Thank you again, Random Mum.
Man, working single mumhood is stressful. I hope my little folk become resistant to the various creatures that can be found at nursery, and stop all this illness business, it stresses me out. I even thought my older son had worms (EEEEEEE YIKES!) as he kept complaining of an itchy bum, and just then I read in a toddler magazine that the main symptom of worms (EEEEEEE YIKES!) is an itchy bum. So today after nursery he said he needed a poo and was going to the toilet and I said "Wait, no can you do it in the potty please so I can have a look at your poo?" [Ahhhh the classy moments of mumhood] and I was prepared to see the gross little thready squigglers (EEEEEEE YIKES!). Mercifully no poo movement. The only lesson I learned there, though, is that unsubmerged poo REEKS. There's a reason toilets have water in them. The unsubmerged reek is left to wander at a speed of at least two rooms per minute. A hasty flushing is required with any potty use. And thank goodness no worms, that might have put me over the egde.
The kids are sweet when we work from home. I say 'we', as my older one brings his toys downstairs into the office, and plays most of the day, here at my feet. After we get something to eat or whatever we do out of the room, I tell him it's alright if he wants to go play in the family room, he doesn't need to stay in the office all day. Then he says "No, mummy, I'm working in the office today, come on now, let's go do some work!". My sweet little personal assistant.
Well, 6 more months to go. :)
When one of the kids are sick, I 'work' from home.
There us a certain amount of time, depending on which child is home with me and how effective the Calpol is, that can be bought with some Thomas on the TV, Baby TV, or the Cars DVD. I have an additional amount of bonus time to work when the ill child in question is having a lunchtime sleep. It's funny how the rules on both TV and sleep change when it's a 'work' day. Usually TV is limited and I say to the children it's a treat, and not something we do all the time, just sometimes. On work days that is out the window and they are sat in the family room almost immediately, remote control at the ready and a big bowl of cheerios piled high; Lightning McQueen in action. Sleep time on normal home days starts at 12:30 and for my younger one and lasts 2 hours, no more, and my older one I wake after 40 minutes. On work days you betcha the sleep begins ASAP after lunch, and lasts as looooong as it lasts. I figure any nighttime shenanigans that results I will deal with later (in the night), or the nursery will deal with the next day - if allowed back, curse them.
That is a killer rule, the no-return-the-next-day-after-a-fever. Even if the kids are absolutely A-OK fine the next day, they are not allowed back! That makes not only one 'working' from home day, but two. CURSES! Not great for my efficiency. So there is a real gamble some days, and strategy...if I thought one of the kids was borderline, back in my maternity leave days, I might give them some Calpol and Ibuprofen and send them along their merry happily dosed way. If I got the call after the medicine wore off at 2:30 pm, I'd go and rescue said child from nursery and that would be that. Not a big deal to not be allowed back. Now though, there is a price to pay with the morning Calpol gamble. I have to think, OK, borderline ill...are they possibly going to deteriorate? If they do that will cost me double. Two whole days, including one day of unprofessional phone calls for in-office meeting cancellations. Or worse, a second day of embarrassing attempted conference calls for meetings I am supposed to be at. It makes me cringe, having to tell a group over the phone in your business meeting that, Oh, sorry, I have to go now to make lunch for my son - can I call back in after he has his nap? Ugh, it must seem SOOOOO unprofessional to anyone in the meeting that doesn't have kids. Or to anyone in the meeting that has kids, and sufficiently adequate child care.
My strategy now is to withhold the questionably ill child, drug them and keep them at home on that first day for maintenance assessments - then there is a better chance of being able to get to work the next day after that. I am booked to work from home Mondays anyway, so I can attempt to smuggle in a working day (with child in tow) without anyone even knowing they are there! Um, theoretically. Of course when I did this last Monday, my manager called, and my little feverish one during the first half of the call saw some funny characters on the TV and starting doing some crazy excited grunting and pointing and laughing. I tried to cover the phone up to muffle his noises, and I even thought 'Maybe he'll [my manager] think it's my cat making all that racket?'. Just when I thought I was getting away with it, my little feverish one fell over a toy and started crying full on. Definitely not my cat. Manager says "So you've got a little one there today?"..."Yes! Oh I am so sorry, he's got a fever and if I send him to nursery they'll send him home and then I'll have two days...and...and" and I get into my whole strategy logical explanation. He is fine with it anyway. I've been told that's all fine, and I actually don't technically need to smuggle my kids at home when they are sick, but...I still feel like I have to. In a trying to appear professional way. In a trying to appear as if I am not a floundering struggling working mother sort of way. It never seems to work though!
And every week it seems, somebody is sick. If it's not one, it's the other. Tag team fevers. There has been two weeks since I started work end of August that I have been without illness incident and child- home-work smuggling. God, then there was that day the little one was sick, and there was a meeting in London I HAD to be at. In the morning I was frantically calling my friends who I knew didn't work, to see if somebody, anybody could watch him for the day. No one could. I ended up, by scrolling down my list of phone numbers of anyone I have even known, finding the number of this cleaning lady who had worked for me previously, like, over a year ago....so at 8 am I am phoning her - "Um, hello, it's Heather, you know I live across from the park, you cleaned for me a while back? Sorry for the really early random call...uh...are you available today? uh, ya, all day? I remember running into you in the park in the summer and you said you were thinking of a childminding course, so I thought you might be interested...do you want to watch my feverish sick one year old from 8:30 until 6:30 pm? Oh, you've got your daughter's [school age] friends coming over for tea after school? Um, yes, that's OK, they can come to the house also...yes, I really have to go to this meeting... can you pick up my older son from nursery at 5 also? Yes. Really? Oh my god, thank you soooo much, yes, can you come right now? Oh you have to take your daughter to school in half an hour...uhhh I need to catch the train to London right now...why not bring her to my house now also and you can all walk together? Ok great, see you in a minute."
So as it happened, the random mum from across the way that I sort of knew but didn't really know but knew enough (and she has a kid also, she lives across from me in the village, and she works sometimes in the village coffee shop - she's not like some total random crazy lady I was leaving my kids with!) came over really early and last minute in the morning, 8 year old daughter in tow. I took my older son to nursery with me in the car on the way to the train station. Then I was told she [random mum] would need a password to pick up from nursery, which I hadn't told her....I just hadn't thought of that in the frenzy(!) so I drove back to the school to fight the crowds, I parked illegally, put the hazards on and dashed out to find her amongst the drop-off mums to give the password and get her mobile number. I was getting stressed now because I still had to drive 15 minutes to the train station, get my parking ticket, buy my train ticket, and get on the train! I did make it to the meeting in London, phew.
Meanwhile, after school, Random Mum had taken my little one to pick up her daughter and two school friends, and brought them all back to my house to give them dinner and play here (so weird! all sorts of random kids in my house!) and then, Random Mum had to take the whole gang for a long walk up to the nursery at 5 o'clock to pick up my other son as well! What a crew! I finally made it home at 6:15, after having to skulk out of the London meeting early at 4:30 to make the train home. Random Mum, Strange Kids, her daughter and my two kids were all playing in the family room, all fine. What a day. I gave her 60 quid for the 9 and a bit hours she was here, and said thanks very much. What an expensive day. I asked her if she would be interested in doing that again, if I needed to, and she said yes, certainly. What an expensive day I hope not to have to repeat. It is nice though to know someone local, who, in an emergency scenario can come to cover. That was really cool of her. Thank you again, Random Mum.
Man, working single mumhood is stressful. I hope my little folk become resistant to the various creatures that can be found at nursery, and stop all this illness business, it stresses me out. I even thought my older son had worms (EEEEEEE YIKES!) as he kept complaining of an itchy bum, and just then I read in a toddler magazine that the main symptom of worms (EEEEEEE YIKES!) is an itchy bum. So today after nursery he said he needed a poo and was going to the toilet and I said "Wait, no can you do it in the potty please so I can have a look at your poo?" [Ahhhh the classy moments of mumhood] and I was prepared to see the gross little thready squigglers (EEEEEEE YIKES!). Mercifully no poo movement. The only lesson I learned there, though, is that unsubmerged poo REEKS. There's a reason toilets have water in them. The unsubmerged reek is left to wander at a speed of at least two rooms per minute. A hasty flushing is required with any potty use. And thank goodness no worms, that might have put me over the egde.
The kids are sweet when we work from home. I say 'we', as my older one brings his toys downstairs into the office, and plays most of the day, here at my feet. After we get something to eat or whatever we do out of the room, I tell him it's alright if he wants to go play in the family room, he doesn't need to stay in the office all day. Then he says "No, mummy, I'm working in the office today, come on now, let's go do some work!". My sweet little personal assistant.
Well, 6 more months to go. :)
Friday, 5 November 2010
I love my kids
I had a wonderful day with the kids!
They are like different creatures, on 'home' days. As I had mentioned, after a day at nursery they seem so pooped, and are accordingly grouchy. When we are at home on very pleasant Friday Saturday Sunday days, they are sweet and funny and laughing and charming and clever, and they are really genuinely so much easier to care for. A whole 12 hour day with them is less exhausting than the summed 2-3 hours of morning before nursery and pick up after nursery.
Staying at home for breakfast is a 3 course affair: cereals of your choice, sir, with an ice-cold straw cup of milk, followed by toast or crumpet with marmite/jam/peanut butter, and some fresh fruit sliced or diced as you prefer. Afterwards a dip into mummy's cereal bowl, if you fancy. No wonder I am always asked 'Can we have breakfast at home today?!'. Then while I wipe up the kitchen the two newly-energized creatures race around the front hall and kitchen with the push along walker and the ride-on car, laughing and shoving and tickling each other, having a great old time. Then they decide to Play In The Family Room (their favourite place and activity of all time) and I shoo them both up there, patting their bums up the steps; and I shut the gate, locking them into the domain of fun. I can then mosey back downstairs, finish my own cereal, make myself a pot of tea, and finish cleaning up. All to the sound of laughing, or the pleasant silence of reading concentration.
Then I bring my pot of tea up to the family room, and my older son says, without fail "Can you play with us?" and I say "Yes, I am here now, I can play.", and we all play in our pajamas and housecoats while I have my tea and they make wooden breakfasts for me - although today it was jam tarts - 'Careful mummy, they're hot!'. When I have decided I have had enough tea, I announce "Time to get dressed and brush our teeth, let's get ready for the day!" and like little miracles, they both come, no trouble at all. The obedience on 'home days' is incredible, such a difference to the cajoling necessary in the am's and pm's of nursery days. We take turns getting ready, and they take turns stepping up to the sink to have their teeth brushed, and that's that. It's only about 8:30-9 am and everyone is happy and ready and there has been none to minimal fuss and whining...amazing.
Contrast to the rush rush when I am trying to get to the office, I am stabbing myself in the eye with a mascara wand and a child or two is hanging off my leg, shaking me, wanting my brush, wanting a cuddle, wanting a wee, "Can we have breakfast at HOOOOOOOOOOOOME?????!!"...it makes me frantic! As I am in my bathroom trying to get dressed or brush my own teeth, somebody is emptying all the drawers and I can't get my knee in the right place to hold the right door/drawer closed, I'd need to be an octopus (!), and then meanwhile the other is dumping the cereal puffs out all over the upstairs hall floor. I have to just leave it all as-is, no time to clean up, and I try to get them to drink some milk "Come on, chug as much as you can, get this last bit, CHUG-A-LUG!" and even getting a coat on my older son becomes challenging, as he doesn't want that coat, I'll have this but no jumper, no, no, yes, this one, no that one, "NOOOO, THIS coat mummy..." AAARGH, and I just think 'Whatever! Get in the car!!'...
Again, really, it's no wonder I am always asked 'Can we have breakfast at home today?!'.
So we played at home this morning, until it was time to walk to the Dr's to get my poor little one's injections - and that was even pleasant. They really like the Dr's play area, and even ask to go there sometimes, randomly! He gets his shots, one in each arm, and cries of course but then my older son came over and gave him a big cuddle and said "You were very brave, good boy" - how incredibly charming! And even though it was raining on the walk home, I just speed-pushed the buggy and we chatted on the way "Mummy, why are we going so fast?" "Because it's raining, and mummy's getting wet!" and that was all fine, everyone had recovered from the injection event. Scrambled eggs, steamed parsnips and green beans, and corn on the cob were eaten well by all, with funny lunch conversation "Mummy's shirt goes in the toaster!! That's silly...ha ha ha ha! Mummy's socks in the kettle! haha ahahaha!!" My eldest truly is a comedian of the highest order!
Naps for everyone, including me, who got an hour (bonus!). Then off to the Garden Centre to look at the animals and Christmas gear that's out already, "Mummy, LOOK, LOADS of Santa's!!!!!!". We bought a toy for my older son's birthday that he chose, with great comparison, "Yes mummy, definitely THIS one, yes, the digger, not the dumper truck or the harvester...this one for my birthday present". Then off to Pizza Express for dinner, their first real time eating in a restaurant that's not a Morrison's grocery shop cafe, "WOW mummy, look at this, look at the flowers! Can you hear the music!? Look at the men cooking! Wow!". It made a big impression! And I am sure it wasn't even needed to impress further, but dinner came with an ice cream sundae after, he nearly toppled out of his seat, he was in heaven! "WOW, Thank you mummy, wow, that's special, this is a special place!" (I am not exaggerating he literally said that...). Meanwhile my tiny charmer was set free from his seat between courses, and he smiled and smiled at everyone, the servers, the chefs, the other tables, he danced for them, he laughed, and ran about in a little circle laughing - absolutely charming to the maximum.
Then on the way home we watched fireworks! It was a great game of spotting fireworks, left or right, out of mummy's window....and then we skipped the bath tonight (it was really a bit late anyway) and all perched on the windowsill in my dark room, watching more fireworks in the village. No grouchy children, no crying, no fuss about getting cream on, no fuss about which bit of pajamas go on first, top or bottom (which is usually, certainly, an issue point). Into bed. We had a 'little chat' before bed as we always do (thank you, my friend who introduced the concept, I am sure it has changed my son's life for the better!) and off to sleep. Done.
What a nice day. Quite a wonderful day indeed. Oooo! And we get to have breakfast at home again tomorrow, too!
They are like different creatures, on 'home' days. As I had mentioned, after a day at nursery they seem so pooped, and are accordingly grouchy. When we are at home on very pleasant Friday Saturday Sunday days, they are sweet and funny and laughing and charming and clever, and they are really genuinely so much easier to care for. A whole 12 hour day with them is less exhausting than the summed 2-3 hours of morning before nursery and pick up after nursery.
Staying at home for breakfast is a 3 course affair: cereals of your choice, sir, with an ice-cold straw cup of milk, followed by toast or crumpet with marmite/jam/peanut butter, and some fresh fruit sliced or diced as you prefer. Afterwards a dip into mummy's cereal bowl, if you fancy. No wonder I am always asked 'Can we have breakfast at home today?!'. Then while I wipe up the kitchen the two newly-energized creatures race around the front hall and kitchen with the push along walker and the ride-on car, laughing and shoving and tickling each other, having a great old time. Then they decide to Play In The Family Room (their favourite place and activity of all time) and I shoo them both up there, patting their bums up the steps; and I shut the gate, locking them into the domain of fun. I can then mosey back downstairs, finish my own cereal, make myself a pot of tea, and finish cleaning up. All to the sound of laughing, or the pleasant silence of reading concentration.
Then I bring my pot of tea up to the family room, and my older son says, without fail "Can you play with us?" and I say "Yes, I am here now, I can play.", and we all play in our pajamas and housecoats while I have my tea and they make wooden breakfasts for me - although today it was jam tarts - 'Careful mummy, they're hot!'. When I have decided I have had enough tea, I announce "Time to get dressed and brush our teeth, let's get ready for the day!" and like little miracles, they both come, no trouble at all. The obedience on 'home days' is incredible, such a difference to the cajoling necessary in the am's and pm's of nursery days. We take turns getting ready, and they take turns stepping up to the sink to have their teeth brushed, and that's that. It's only about 8:30-9 am and everyone is happy and ready and there has been none to minimal fuss and whining...amazing.
Contrast to the rush rush when I am trying to get to the office, I am stabbing myself in the eye with a mascara wand and a child or two is hanging off my leg, shaking me, wanting my brush, wanting a cuddle, wanting a wee, "Can we have breakfast at HOOOOOOOOOOOOME?????!!"...it makes me frantic! As I am in my bathroom trying to get dressed or brush my own teeth, somebody is emptying all the drawers and I can't get my knee in the right place to hold the right door/drawer closed, I'd need to be an octopus (!), and then meanwhile the other is dumping the cereal puffs out all over the upstairs hall floor. I have to just leave it all as-is, no time to clean up, and I try to get them to drink some milk "Come on, chug as much as you can, get this last bit, CHUG-A-LUG!" and even getting a coat on my older son becomes challenging, as he doesn't want that coat, I'll have this but no jumper, no, no, yes, this one, no that one, "NOOOO, THIS coat mummy..." AAARGH, and I just think 'Whatever! Get in the car!!'...
Again, really, it's no wonder I am always asked 'Can we have breakfast at home today?!'.
So we played at home this morning, until it was time to walk to the Dr's to get my poor little one's injections - and that was even pleasant. They really like the Dr's play area, and even ask to go there sometimes, randomly! He gets his shots, one in each arm, and cries of course but then my older son came over and gave him a big cuddle and said "You were very brave, good boy" - how incredibly charming! And even though it was raining on the walk home, I just speed-pushed the buggy and we chatted on the way "Mummy, why are we going so fast?" "Because it's raining, and mummy's getting wet!" and that was all fine, everyone had recovered from the injection event. Scrambled eggs, steamed parsnips and green beans, and corn on the cob were eaten well by all, with funny lunch conversation "Mummy's shirt goes in the toaster!! That's silly...ha ha ha ha! Mummy's socks in the kettle! haha ahahaha!!" My eldest truly is a comedian of the highest order!
Naps for everyone, including me, who got an hour (bonus!). Then off to the Garden Centre to look at the animals and Christmas gear that's out already, "Mummy, LOOK, LOADS of Santa's!!!!!!". We bought a toy for my older son's birthday that he chose, with great comparison, "Yes mummy, definitely THIS one, yes, the digger, not the dumper truck or the harvester...this one for my birthday present". Then off to Pizza Express for dinner, their first real time eating in a restaurant that's not a Morrison's grocery shop cafe, "WOW mummy, look at this, look at the flowers! Can you hear the music!? Look at the men cooking! Wow!". It made a big impression! And I am sure it wasn't even needed to impress further, but dinner came with an ice cream sundae after, he nearly toppled out of his seat, he was in heaven! "WOW, Thank you mummy, wow, that's special, this is a special place!" (I am not exaggerating he literally said that...). Meanwhile my tiny charmer was set free from his seat between courses, and he smiled and smiled at everyone, the servers, the chefs, the other tables, he danced for them, he laughed, and ran about in a little circle laughing - absolutely charming to the maximum.
Then on the way home we watched fireworks! It was a great game of spotting fireworks, left or right, out of mummy's window....and then we skipped the bath tonight (it was really a bit late anyway) and all perched on the windowsill in my dark room, watching more fireworks in the village. No grouchy children, no crying, no fuss about getting cream on, no fuss about which bit of pajamas go on first, top or bottom (which is usually, certainly, an issue point). Into bed. We had a 'little chat' before bed as we always do (thank you, my friend who introduced the concept, I am sure it has changed my son's life for the better!) and off to sleep. Done.
What a nice day. Quite a wonderful day indeed. Oooo! And we get to have breakfast at home again tomorrow, too!
Thursday, 4 November 2010
Apologies to my husband
Husband,
I am sorry for many things.
Firstly, my overactive fertility. Although I do blame you for everything else about this situation (!); that I feel is my doing. I had my scan and the baby is bouncing and well. Even the big fibroid that was discovered did not seem to bother the baby, and is not bothering me either. No wonder I thought I might have twins (Lord God Forbid! I wouldn't survive!) as the fibroid is 2X the size of the baby itself. I did think I was MUCH larger than the last 2 pregnancies.
Secondly, for blaming you for everything else about this situation. I have just finished being a grouchy grouch on the phone to you. Sorry. After work, if I am in the office and it is a 'late' day, the hour and a half between 5:30 and 7 pm is killer. Particularly, the poor children are exhausted by day 4, and are so tired, so irrational, so tearful, so whiney, so clingy, and such major drama queens, it is VERY tiring to manage them. It is VERY difficult to maintain my patience on my own. And it is sad for me, having the only little bit of time with them be such crappy time - with me trying to police non-sharing squabbles, and my older son's extremely irrational behaviour...my younger son just wailing due to toddler tiredness. If I have to tell my older son off a bit for doing something mean/not sharing/being irrational he deteriorates into crying. At these moments he then is whining "I need a cuddle...", and "I want daddy...". And I think 'yeah kid, me too.'
So by the time you phone, husband, at 8:30, I am beaten down, and doing jobs like the kitty litter, needing to get the bin from the windy rainy misery outside, sweeping nursery sand grit from the hall, opening 3 days worth of mail, and trying to put together some rubbish to eat (tonight a can of soup, a babybel cheese, and a satsuma - last night a can of baked beans with cheese). When you call, I have already had it, and I AM blaming you. I KNOW the kids being tired and horrible is not your fault. I KNOW the cat's poo is not your fault, I KNOW the mail back up isn't your fault....but when you call, I just think 'Damn yooooouuuuuuu, YOU could be doing the cat litter and getting the bin! Where's my proper dinner!' :)
Lastly, I apologize for the state of the house you are going to return to. The front hall is a gritty sand-pit. The bin is a reeky poo-cesspool (since the new recycling programme, there barely is any garbage, all that's left is kitty litter and diapers, and a relatively small volume, so it festers in the bin even longer - lovely). The kitchen lights only have 25% consistent capability, and I have to use my 'magic' wand (the wooden spoon) to tap the bulbs on kitchen entry to have them activate - I never did call that electrician I meant to! One of the only no-toys-allowed rooms, the spare room, is to be taken over by yet another childish inhabitant, so the toy creep to all corners of our universe is inevitable. Oh, and I'll be a bulgy-belly chubba. Welcome home!
I am sorry for all that. Soooo...ummm...what DO you want for Christmas? How can I make it up to you? Perhaps I'll be a nicer lady next time you call. I think I might be able to manage that. XX I love you.
I am sorry for many things.
Firstly, my overactive fertility. Although I do blame you for everything else about this situation (!); that I feel is my doing. I had my scan and the baby is bouncing and well. Even the big fibroid that was discovered did not seem to bother the baby, and is not bothering me either. No wonder I thought I might have twins (Lord God Forbid! I wouldn't survive!) as the fibroid is 2X the size of the baby itself. I did think I was MUCH larger than the last 2 pregnancies.
Secondly, for blaming you for everything else about this situation. I have just finished being a grouchy grouch on the phone to you. Sorry. After work, if I am in the office and it is a 'late' day, the hour and a half between 5:30 and 7 pm is killer. Particularly, the poor children are exhausted by day 4, and are so tired, so irrational, so tearful, so whiney, so clingy, and such major drama queens, it is VERY tiring to manage them. It is VERY difficult to maintain my patience on my own. And it is sad for me, having the only little bit of time with them be such crappy time - with me trying to police non-sharing squabbles, and my older son's extremely irrational behaviour...my younger son just wailing due to toddler tiredness. If I have to tell my older son off a bit for doing something mean/not sharing/being irrational he deteriorates into crying. At these moments he then is whining "I need a cuddle...", and "I want daddy...". And I think 'yeah kid, me too.'
So by the time you phone, husband, at 8:30, I am beaten down, and doing jobs like the kitty litter, needing to get the bin from the windy rainy misery outside, sweeping nursery sand grit from the hall, opening 3 days worth of mail, and trying to put together some rubbish to eat (tonight a can of soup, a babybel cheese, and a satsuma - last night a can of baked beans with cheese). When you call, I have already had it, and I AM blaming you. I KNOW the kids being tired and horrible is not your fault. I KNOW the cat's poo is not your fault, I KNOW the mail back up isn't your fault....but when you call, I just think 'Damn yooooouuuuuuu, YOU could be doing the cat litter and getting the bin! Where's my proper dinner!' :)
Lastly, I apologize for the state of the house you are going to return to. The front hall is a gritty sand-pit. The bin is a reeky poo-cesspool (since the new recycling programme, there barely is any garbage, all that's left is kitty litter and diapers, and a relatively small volume, so it festers in the bin even longer - lovely). The kitchen lights only have 25% consistent capability, and I have to use my 'magic' wand (the wooden spoon) to tap the bulbs on kitchen entry to have them activate - I never did call that electrician I meant to! One of the only no-toys-allowed rooms, the spare room, is to be taken over by yet another childish inhabitant, so the toy creep to all corners of our universe is inevitable. Oh, and I'll be a bulgy-belly chubba. Welcome home!
I am sorry for all that. Soooo...ummm...what DO you want for Christmas? How can I make it up to you? Perhaps I'll be a nicer lady next time you call. I think I might be able to manage that. XX I love you.
Tuesday, 2 November 2010
My Moron Target
Does everyone have this happen - or is it just me?
Out of all the people I know, socially or at work, there is everyone else who thinks I am normal and even slightly clever, and then there is one person, I have phrased my Moron Target, who I cannot seem to not act a total moron in front of. Unfortunately this target has recently migrated from a social person I know, to a work colleague. Which I think is worse, because I imagine she goes back to her friendly colleagues in her department, and discusses what a nut job/moronic/emotional spaz case I am. Not a good thing for the workplace.
I would like to clarify that this is not on purpose. Believe me, I try not to be a moron on most occasions. I am not sure the reason either for why it always happens to the same person, again and again - but I suspect it gets seeded by an initial moronic incident, and then every time I am faced with that target person again, the embarrassment bubbles up into my brain and causes me to think like a bubble head weirdo. Then without me knowing it, something truly senseless and irrelevant, or even inappropriate pops out of my silly mouth. Then my moronicness is further reinforced to that target person. It is a self-perpetuating monster.
I am sure the seeding moment for my workplace target, let's call her 'Sue' (which she is not named at all, the relevance of this will be elucidated shortly), was at an induction session when I had recently just started back at work. There is 'Sue' in the room, and about 7 other recent inductees, discussing Key Account Management, and what are some worries we may have, or where do we feel we might need more practice or support? It comes to me, and I must have climbed on at that moment a surfing huge wave of initial pregnancy hormones (although I didn't know it yet) and I started delving, rambling on (I'll save you the details) and somehow ended with the statement "...and I feel the weight of the WHOLE FUTURE of the company on my shoulders!". Talk about melodrama! 'Sue' then said, in a 'Hmmm let's stop the crazy lady talking before she frightens the actual newcomers...' way "OK, thanks Heather...umm...before it gets emotional... ha ha...er ha." Ugh. How embarrassing. It's the type of moment that you don't realize you must have got carried away, until someone notes to you that you have got carried away.
I thought it may have been a one-off, but today there was a far worse incident on the scale of embarrassing moronic things to do, and again 'Sue' was my target. I realize now that my target now has shifted, permanently, to workplace 'Sue'. With my previous social target, another nursery mum, I was a moron for almost 2 years with her - is 'Sue' in for the same treat?
I had some papers on my desk that I needed to pass on to Sue - the ACTUAL Sue. Of note, I haven't really seen 'Sue' much since the induction session, as we work in totally separate areas, although on the same floor. The ACTUAL Sue works 2 floors down. I am working away at my desk, in the open concept office [also important to note, as anything that happens is on display for all to witness] and along the desk alleyway, which is a main drag that my desk faces, I spot 'Sue'. I think to myself Oh good! There's Sue, I'll just hand her these things right now....then I call out "Oh! Sue, Sue....wait a sec...Sue...SUE!" I call out again. To no response. You would think then I would realize something was not quite right here. Instead, in my zeal, I pursue 'Sue'. I see she is rounding the main drag corner, heading for the exit alleyway. I get up, and take the shortcut route through the desks, where other people are working, sort of jogging, skipping, scurrying my way though, dodging desks and feet and whatnot, to cut her off at the pass. I then pop out, having succeeded at cutting her off at the pass, and practically right in her face, a bit out of breath also from my desk dodging adventure, and say "'Sue!' I was trying to catch you, you mustn't have heard me....." then, the moment of cold dread hit me, as I looked her in the eyes, and hit me hard. And fast. These realities came flooding in, within seconds: This woman is not Sue at all. She doesn't even look like Sue. In fact, I know who this woman is, she is from the department from the induction room incident, and has nothing to do with Sue. This woman does not want my papers. I do not even really work with this woman. Why am I accosting her? Why on earth did my moronic brain think, very convincingly, 'Hey, that's that lady you want to give your papers to! Go GET HER!'.
I am glad the realities flooded in so quickly, as I may have been able to make a recovery. I then said "Oh gosh, sorry! I saw the back of you walking away and I thought you were Sue - I thought you mustn't have heard me! You look just like her from the back heh heh ummm...so sorry about that." Then, charmingly [like a total moron] I said "You must think me a total nutcase! ha ha!". Cringe. She gives me a funny look [probably noting aha! this is the unstable character from the induction session!] and says "No, no...uh...are you alright otherwise?" inching along her way..." yes, fine....sorry again..." and I skulk back to my desk, feeling a total tool. This lady has long-ish blonde hair. The real Sue has shorter funky red hair. They do NOT look 'just like' each other from the back. At all. A total save-myself-if-I-can lie.
At least when my Moron Target was my nursery mum social friend, there was no threat to how I am perceived by TEAMS of others. I merely said stumbling silly things at the nursery doorways as we were toing and froing. Well, the benefit of my target transfer though, for this friend, is that I seem to be able to be normal again with her. Thank goodness it is only one target at a time. We had a lovely chat at the nursery doorway today.
Out of all the people I know, socially or at work, there is everyone else who thinks I am normal and even slightly clever, and then there is one person, I have phrased my Moron Target, who I cannot seem to not act a total moron in front of. Unfortunately this target has recently migrated from a social person I know, to a work colleague. Which I think is worse, because I imagine she goes back to her friendly colleagues in her department, and discusses what a nut job/moronic/emotional spaz case I am. Not a good thing for the workplace.
I would like to clarify that this is not on purpose. Believe me, I try not to be a moron on most occasions. I am not sure the reason either for why it always happens to the same person, again and again - but I suspect it gets seeded by an initial moronic incident, and then every time I am faced with that target person again, the embarrassment bubbles up into my brain and causes me to think like a bubble head weirdo. Then without me knowing it, something truly senseless and irrelevant, or even inappropriate pops out of my silly mouth. Then my moronicness is further reinforced to that target person. It is a self-perpetuating monster.
I am sure the seeding moment for my workplace target, let's call her 'Sue' (which she is not named at all, the relevance of this will be elucidated shortly), was at an induction session when I had recently just started back at work. There is 'Sue' in the room, and about 7 other recent inductees, discussing Key Account Management, and what are some worries we may have, or where do we feel we might need more practice or support? It comes to me, and I must have climbed on at that moment a surfing huge wave of initial pregnancy hormones (although I didn't know it yet) and I started delving, rambling on (I'll save you the details) and somehow ended with the statement "...and I feel the weight of the WHOLE FUTURE of the company on my shoulders!". Talk about melodrama! 'Sue' then said, in a 'Hmmm let's stop the crazy lady talking before she frightens the actual newcomers...' way "OK, thanks Heather...umm...before it gets emotional... ha ha...er ha." Ugh. How embarrassing. It's the type of moment that you don't realize you must have got carried away, until someone notes to you that you have got carried away.
I thought it may have been a one-off, but today there was a far worse incident on the scale of embarrassing moronic things to do, and again 'Sue' was my target. I realize now that my target now has shifted, permanently, to workplace 'Sue'. With my previous social target, another nursery mum, I was a moron for almost 2 years with her - is 'Sue' in for the same treat?
I had some papers on my desk that I needed to pass on to Sue - the ACTUAL Sue. Of note, I haven't really seen 'Sue' much since the induction session, as we work in totally separate areas, although on the same floor. The ACTUAL Sue works 2 floors down. I am working away at my desk, in the open concept office [also important to note, as anything that happens is on display for all to witness] and along the desk alleyway, which is a main drag that my desk faces, I spot 'Sue'. I think to myself Oh good! There's Sue, I'll just hand her these things right now....then I call out "Oh! Sue, Sue....wait a sec...Sue...SUE!" I call out again. To no response. You would think then I would realize something was not quite right here. Instead, in my zeal, I pursue 'Sue'. I see she is rounding the main drag corner, heading for the exit alleyway. I get up, and take the shortcut route through the desks, where other people are working, sort of jogging, skipping, scurrying my way though, dodging desks and feet and whatnot, to cut her off at the pass. I then pop out, having succeeded at cutting her off at the pass, and practically right in her face, a bit out of breath also from my desk dodging adventure, and say "'Sue!' I was trying to catch you, you mustn't have heard me....." then, the moment of cold dread hit me, as I looked her in the eyes, and hit me hard. And fast. These realities came flooding in, within seconds: This woman is not Sue at all. She doesn't even look like Sue. In fact, I know who this woman is, she is from the department from the induction room incident, and has nothing to do with Sue. This woman does not want my papers. I do not even really work with this woman. Why am I accosting her? Why on earth did my moronic brain think, very convincingly, 'Hey, that's that lady you want to give your papers to! Go GET HER!'.
I am glad the realities flooded in so quickly, as I may have been able to make a recovery. I then said "Oh gosh, sorry! I saw the back of you walking away and I thought you were Sue - I thought you mustn't have heard me! You look just like her from the back heh heh ummm...so sorry about that." Then, charmingly [like a total moron] I said "You must think me a total nutcase! ha ha!". Cringe. She gives me a funny look [probably noting aha! this is the unstable character from the induction session!] and says "No, no...uh...are you alright otherwise?" inching along her way..." yes, fine....sorry again..." and I skulk back to my desk, feeling a total tool. This lady has long-ish blonde hair. The real Sue has shorter funky red hair. They do NOT look 'just like' each other from the back. At all. A total save-myself-if-I-can lie.
At least when my Moron Target was my nursery mum social friend, there was no threat to how I am perceived by TEAMS of others. I merely said stumbling silly things at the nursery doorways as we were toing and froing. Well, the benefit of my target transfer though, for this friend, is that I seem to be able to be normal again with her. Thank goodness it is only one target at a time. We had a lovely chat at the nursery doorway today.
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