So Wilder has reached that age where he says pretty funny stuff all the time. Or at least I think so. This week:
Me (to Wilder): Hey! I am not your personal napkin!
Wilder: Oh. Is your SHIRT my personal napkin then?
And just this morning after going No. 2 in the potty:
Me: Good job. That's a good poop Wilder!
Wilder: Yep. Look, Mama, it looks like an ALIEN.
There was another time he insisted I come look at his poop because it looked like the No. 7. And it did.
Hunter is also getting funny with words. He loves to say "En Guarde!" when he and Wilder are playing with their foam swords. And I swear he walks around the house saying "oh shit oh shit oh shit" sometimes. I don't think I say that a lot, but I guess you never know. There are days when profanity for me is like blinking and breathing, I'm ashamed to admit (not really, but I should be).
Thursday, June 25, 2009
I am pathetic and old
So last weekend, Jerry and the boys and I had a party to go to. It was the birthday of my friend and former co-worker Can (pronounced John, he's Turkish), and he was turning 34. One of my other former co-workers, Marlena, was helping to organize the party, and she's 26. And her nickname is "Shots." So, yeah, there was going to be some alcohol at this party.
Unfortunately, it was also a pool party. This was great because it's been hotter than hell here and because it meant the boys would really enjoy themselves. It also meant that my inner-uber-competitive formerly athletic self would come out. I am a normally pretty competitive person. But throw in liquor of any kind and a body of water, and I become some ancient Roman leader or something ... I want to CONQUER.
So, at some point, some bastardized version of water volleyball got started. (There was also a diving-board theatrics contest in which I took part, and I'm told there's video, and I'm frightened). But it was during the volleyball that things were getting pretty heated. It was Shots and me against three or so guys, and we girls were determined to win.
You see where this is going. At some point, I rose up in the air to spike a beach ball into someone's face (a futile gesture if ever there was one), and came down crooked with my weight on my left leg. And ooh ahh ouch holy *many many swear words under my breath* later, I was clutching my knee and grimacing and trying to pretend that I wasn't old and out of shape and in pain.
So yeah. That's the second knee I had operated on, had my ACL replaced back in 2003. (The other was in 2002 ... nothing like having the anaesthetician recognize you and welcome you back to the OR.) I've probably blown it again. I'm hoping it's a partial tear and I can just rehab it back to some semblance of useability. There's no way I can have surgery again -- maybe not ever but especially not right now. I am able to walk on it but I'm having a little trouble going up stairs and putting much weight on it or bending it too severely.
Anyway. Crap. At this rate, I should be in my walker by 2020 or something.
Unfortunately, it was also a pool party. This was great because it's been hotter than hell here and because it meant the boys would really enjoy themselves. It also meant that my inner-uber-competitive formerly athletic self would come out. I am a normally pretty competitive person. But throw in liquor of any kind and a body of water, and I become some ancient Roman leader or something ... I want to CONQUER.
So, at some point, some bastardized version of water volleyball got started. (There was also a diving-board theatrics contest in which I took part, and I'm told there's video, and I'm frightened). But it was during the volleyball that things were getting pretty heated. It was Shots and me against three or so guys, and we girls were determined to win.
You see where this is going. At some point, I rose up in the air to spike a beach ball into someone's face (a futile gesture if ever there was one), and came down crooked with my weight on my left leg. And ooh ahh ouch holy *many many swear words under my breath* later, I was clutching my knee and grimacing and trying to pretend that I wasn't old and out of shape and in pain.
So yeah. That's the second knee I had operated on, had my ACL replaced back in 2003. (The other was in 2002 ... nothing like having the anaesthetician recognize you and welcome you back to the OR.) I've probably blown it again. I'm hoping it's a partial tear and I can just rehab it back to some semblance of useability. There's no way I can have surgery again -- maybe not ever but especially not right now. I am able to walk on it but I'm having a little trouble going up stairs and putting much weight on it or bending it too severely.
Anyway. Crap. At this rate, I should be in my walker by 2020 or something.
Wednesday, June 17, 2009
OK, I admit it: I'm overwhelmed
I'm sure a few of you are saying "duh" at that title line.
Where to start. I quit my job in late January because I was feeling overwhelmed by work and home. I wasn't feeling like a good mom, a good wife, a good employee/worker. Seemed like I was sucking wind at everything, and I was tired of it. I thought by becoming a stay-at-home mom, I'd be able to excel at at least one thing, that being the "mom" part. Boy was I wrong.
I suppose it's not all my fault. I do have a tendency to be extremely hard on myself. I've been missing my mom a lot lately because she used to always remind me of that, and she was always there to tell me to lighten up. If she could talk to me right now, I'm sure she'd be telling me I'm doing the best I know how and to stop freaking out about not being the "perfect" mama. I hear you, Ma. I really do.
I guess I just expected to rock this mom thing. But I've been incredibly humbled by it. I'm not patient. I can't let go of my control-freak tendencies. I yell too loud and react too quickly and generally feel like I'm scarring my boys for life some days. I do still have plenty of days when I feel like I'm a pretty damn good mom. Some days I just don't, though, and that hurts a lot. I want to raise them to be really exceptional, kind, well-adjusted young men. I don't see any reason to aim for less.
Anyway, long story short, I've set some more boundaries for myself and set out to do what I do well - research - to help the situation. Boundaries, for example: I'm getting the hell off Facebook until I feel I have the situation more under control. I've a FB addict, I admit. I mean, it could be worse, right? I could be popping valiums for comfort and instead I'm connecting with other human beings I actually like on a social networking site. But it's become an all-too-frequent outlet when I have five minutes. One that does nothing for me or the house or the boys. There are other rules I'm setting, but this is an example of one, and one I hope will give me back more time to blog, because I enjoy this and get a helluva lot more out of it than trying to be clever on Facebook in three sentences or less.
I've also ordered three books, which arrived today. One on parenting, which I've already started and can tell is going to be HUGELY helpful. The other two are on raising boys, specifically, and how to do this in such a way that you don't screw them up.
My whole life I've said I'm more like a guy than a girl. And that's still partially true. I have a lot of what people think of as typically male characteristics. For instance, I'm pretty good at shooting pool and taking the occasional shot of whiskey without throwing a facially contorted hissy fit and I can toss a football farther than a lot of guys I know and I enjoy throwing stuff away whenever I get the chance (my father tells me this makes me a pretty good wife). Ha. But it turns out that when it comes right down to it, I'm not a guy in the way that matters most right now: I want to understand how my boys' brains work and parent accordingly. Again, fine, kind and exceptional young and adult men ... that's the goal. So these other two books, I'm really hoping they'll help in that regard.
I'm trying to crack jokes and the truth is I'm sitting here with tears running down my face in rivers. I don't like to expose myself emotionally, but I have really felt like I'm failing my kids lately. And I can't have that. But I also have to learn to forgive myself for it. Parenting is not a skill you're born with, and I don't have a whole lot of role models near me. I'm not good at reaching out, and the one person with whom I would normally share all this and ask advice from ... well, she's just gone. And I didn't think I could miss her more, but I do. And that compounds it all.
Dammit.
Well, anyway, drying up my tears now and moving forward. Armed with knowledge and new resolve. And humility. If any of you mamas and papas have advice or encouragement or wanna give me a good kick in the ass, please do. I'm sure I could use any and all of it.
And Wilder and Hunter, I haven't done too bad by you two. But I know I can do better. And I will, baby boys. Nothing could inspire me more than your two beautiful faces and incredible spirits.
Where to start. I quit my job in late January because I was feeling overwhelmed by work and home. I wasn't feeling like a good mom, a good wife, a good employee/worker. Seemed like I was sucking wind at everything, and I was tired of it. I thought by becoming a stay-at-home mom, I'd be able to excel at at least one thing, that being the "mom" part. Boy was I wrong.
I suppose it's not all my fault. I do have a tendency to be extremely hard on myself. I've been missing my mom a lot lately because she used to always remind me of that, and she was always there to tell me to lighten up. If she could talk to me right now, I'm sure she'd be telling me I'm doing the best I know how and to stop freaking out about not being the "perfect" mama. I hear you, Ma. I really do.
I guess I just expected to rock this mom thing. But I've been incredibly humbled by it. I'm not patient. I can't let go of my control-freak tendencies. I yell too loud and react too quickly and generally feel like I'm scarring my boys for life some days. I do still have plenty of days when I feel like I'm a pretty damn good mom. Some days I just don't, though, and that hurts a lot. I want to raise them to be really exceptional, kind, well-adjusted young men. I don't see any reason to aim for less.
Anyway, long story short, I've set some more boundaries for myself and set out to do what I do well - research - to help the situation. Boundaries, for example: I'm getting the hell off Facebook until I feel I have the situation more under control. I've a FB addict, I admit. I mean, it could be worse, right? I could be popping valiums for comfort and instead I'm connecting with other human beings I actually like on a social networking site. But it's become an all-too-frequent outlet when I have five minutes. One that does nothing for me or the house or the boys. There are other rules I'm setting, but this is an example of one, and one I hope will give me back more time to blog, because I enjoy this and get a helluva lot more out of it than trying to be clever on Facebook in three sentences or less.
I've also ordered three books, which arrived today. One on parenting, which I've already started and can tell is going to be HUGELY helpful. The other two are on raising boys, specifically, and how to do this in such a way that you don't screw them up.
My whole life I've said I'm more like a guy than a girl. And that's still partially true. I have a lot of what people think of as typically male characteristics. For instance, I'm pretty good at shooting pool and taking the occasional shot of whiskey without throwing a facially contorted hissy fit and I can toss a football farther than a lot of guys I know and I enjoy throwing stuff away whenever I get the chance (my father tells me this makes me a pretty good wife). Ha. But it turns out that when it comes right down to it, I'm not a guy in the way that matters most right now: I want to understand how my boys' brains work and parent accordingly. Again, fine, kind and exceptional young and adult men ... that's the goal. So these other two books, I'm really hoping they'll help in that regard.
I'm trying to crack jokes and the truth is I'm sitting here with tears running down my face in rivers. I don't like to expose myself emotionally, but I have really felt like I'm failing my kids lately. And I can't have that. But I also have to learn to forgive myself for it. Parenting is not a skill you're born with, and I don't have a whole lot of role models near me. I'm not good at reaching out, and the one person with whom I would normally share all this and ask advice from ... well, she's just gone. And I didn't think I could miss her more, but I do. And that compounds it all.
Dammit.
Well, anyway, drying up my tears now and moving forward. Armed with knowledge and new resolve. And humility. If any of you mamas and papas have advice or encouragement or wanna give me a good kick in the ass, please do. I'm sure I could use any and all of it.
And Wilder and Hunter, I haven't done too bad by you two. But I know I can do better. And I will, baby boys. Nothing could inspire me more than your two beautiful faces and incredible spirits.
Monday, June 01, 2009
Chalk art
The boys and I got this Monday morning off on the right foot by heading outside first thing to blow bubbles, draw with sidewalk chalk and take a little walk up the block.
Up until today, whenever I've given Wilder chalk to play with, he just kind of scribbles. I've asked him to draw me faces, but he mostly ends up with something sort of Pollock meets Picasso: facial features all out of wack and the chalk just kind of smeared onto the sidewalk.
Until today. Below is what he drew me today. A face with eyes and mouth in the right place and arms and legs attached. There's hair there, too, and even a mustache. Some of the other scribbling can be attributed to Hunter, who's still in scribble mode. But, seeing as how this is Wilder's first real recognizable drawing, I wanted to get a picture and put it up here on the blog.
The other two pictures are from yesterday's visit -- the first of the year -- to the spraygrounds. Although Hunter went last year a couple times, this was his first "real" sprayground time, and he enjoyed it full throttle. Wilder did, too.
Happy Monday all.
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Up until today, whenever I've given Wilder chalk to play with, he just kind of scribbles. I've asked him to draw me faces, but he mostly ends up with something sort of Pollock meets Picasso: facial features all out of wack and the chalk just kind of smeared onto the sidewalk.
Until today. Below is what he drew me today. A face with eyes and mouth in the right place and arms and legs attached. There's hair there, too, and even a mustache. Some of the other scribbling can be attributed to Hunter, who's still in scribble mode. But, seeing as how this is Wilder's first real recognizable drawing, I wanted to get a picture and put it up here on the blog.
The other two pictures are from yesterday's visit -- the first of the year -- to the spraygrounds. Although Hunter went last year a couple times, this was his first "real" sprayground time, and he enjoyed it full throttle. Wilder did, too.
Happy Monday all.
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