“My eyes are lighty.”
–Olivia’s response to bright light when waking up in the morning.
“I’m not going to poop coins because I didn’t eat them like the zebra.”
–Olivia went on to explain how her zebra bank must poop coins since that’s what she “feeds” him.
I pray that I am never forced to single parent. I know that I would rise to any occasion, and be able to do a fine job as a single parent, but I pray that I never have to discover that certain branch of my inner strength.
I’ve single-parented a few times: whenever I go visit my family, or for a long weekend when Bill was away. Tonight I single-parented for the evening: getting dinner and baths and putting both girls to bed. It wasn’t easy, but it was done. But, it wasn’t true single parenting. I knew Bill would be back to help take up slack, to take it back to 50/50.
Some have said: “but Natalie, you’re a single-parent every day while Bill is at work.”
Uh, no I’m not. He is only a phone call away if I need him. He is still my partner, and while I do the bulk of the actual parenting during the day, I’m by no means a single parent while he is at work. Still, it definitely feels different when it is dark and the girls are getting settled in for the night and I am alone. There is a different vibe than naptime or some other portion of the day when I have a lot of other things going on to focus my energy. While I would never claim to know what it feels like emotionally to be a single parent, I can empathize.
Some people would relish their alone time. True, I am enjoying a hilarious, yet highly informative book, but the energy is definitely different. Bill is just out for the evening, enjoying a basketball game with his brother, but it feels different without him here. I never want this feeling for an extended time, and I definitely have much respect for the single parents in the world. Granted, I’ve always had a deep reverence for single parents, being raised by one, but that has increased exponentially since having children of my own. Many, many times I would ask my mom “how did you do it–ALONE?” She would shrug her shoulders and smile, saying “I just did what I had to do.”
I’m so glad she did. Thanks Mama!
Wednesday night started like any other night. Around 7:30, I nursed Sophia and put her down to sleep. She was a bit more fitful the whole evening, waking up every hour or so to whine and then comfort herself back to sleep. She is teething, so it wasn’t unusual.
Around midnight, Bill and I decided we needed to go to bed. Around 12:30 as we were ACTUALLY getting up to go to bed, Sophia started screaming again. Normally we will let her cry it out and just go to bed a bit later since her crib is still in our room. After five minutes of her crying, I realized that she was pissed and not likely to get herself back to sleep for awhile. We got her up and I took her to our bed to nurse her. Usually when I do this, she falls asleep rather quickly. She went from one boob to the other, eyes wide open the entire time.
“Well Sophia, let’s rock.” I scooped her up and went to the rocking chair and rocked her for a good 30 minutes. By this time, I’m exhausted and trying not to fall asleep. She’s not screaming her head off, but she’s just not sleeping. Putting her in the crib only elicits screams that would give even the most hardened person nightmares. I kept rocking her, until her breathing started to deepen and she is nestled nicely on my chest, without squirming. Since I’m afraid of falling asleep and dropping her, I returned to bed, leaving her on my chest to sleep. As soon as my head hit the pillow, she started squirming. She roots into me, moving from one arm to the other, trying to paw at my boobs. I assume that it’s a comfort thing, so I try nursing again. She does this for a while, but will not go to sleep. We go through this cycle of nursing/rocking/putting in the crib/screaming/picking up/rocking/nursing/laying in bed/etc. etc. for FOUR HOURS.
I’m exhausted. It’s 3:30 in the morning. Bill was sleeping, but woke up and tried to take over for me. Unfortunately, Miss Sophia only wanted her mommy, and would SCREAM whenever I was not holding her. I told him to try and get some sleep and I would manage. Finally, around 4:30, after I had rocked her, she scooted up my chest until she had her head on my pillow and went to sleep. 3 hours later we were both up again for the day.
I downed a couple of Diet Cokes, hoping it would allow me to be coherent enough to parent efficiently until Bill came home from work or I was able to nap with Sophia. A friend of mine came over with the little girl she was caring for that day and her and Olivia had a good time, good enough to where Olivia took a three hour afternoon nap. Sophia took a 2 1/2 hour nap, and I even got to nap for about 2 hours, which helped tremendously.
I pray I never have to go through that kind of night anytime in the near future. Thank God for caffeine.
This time has been harder. I had dropped more by this point with Olivia. I look at the pictures, I know it is true. My face is fuller. My pants, tighter. I know I’m a jackass sometimes. But I also know that I work hard.
I want to be the best me I can be. This fuller face and the tighter pants aren’t helping. What I see in the mirror and how the pictures develop don’t translate. If I could only push it back and keep it that way, instead of watching it leave, only to come right back. My girls deserve better, my husband deserves better. I deserve better.
I’m frustrated, but I don’t want to dwell on it, because no one wants to hear my whining. But it has to be said. I’m not lazy. I hate having a body that seems to say I am.
Olivia did not want to sit on Santa’s lap this past Christmas. After the incident she walked around the house for days saying “Next time, I will sit on Santa’s lap and tell him what I want for Christmas. I will do that next time.”
For some unknown reason, my frazzled brain mistakenly thought Easter was at the end of April this year. I don’t know why. Don’t ask. I know the rules. I know how it works. I just wasn’t thinking. So, last week when I realized I had only a week to get my shit together, I ran around during the evenings after the girls went to bed, trying to squeeze my shopping into small windows of time. I was so busy looking for affordable baskets that were not pieces of crap (which, believe me, was hard to do), white dress shoes that did not have 4 inch hooker heels for my 2 1/2 year old (again, hard to do), and normal, traditional Easter candy that did not have Dora, Spongebob, or Hannah Montana plastered all over it, I completely blanked when it came to the Easter Bunny. It was only after last Sunday when my friend updated her Facebook status “Almost forgot to take the kids to see the Easter Bunny!” and posted the adorable picture, that I did a facepalm. I realized I would now have to join the other loser parents who waited until the last minute to pay an ungodly amount of money for a 3X5 picture of their spawn posing with an Easter Bunny who, I must say, looks completely stoned off his gourd.
Bill looked at me like I was out of my mind when I said “Oh, we’ve got to go do this on Saturday.” Imagine his elation when he found out I was spending Friday with a friend of mine who wouldn’t mind making a small trip to the mall for Easter Bunny madness.
It was madness. Complete and utter nonsense. I really don’t know why I do it. Okay, I do know. When Olivia heard me say we had to take them to visit the Easter Bunny she started squealing and saying she was going to go see him “TODAY”. When told she would have to wait a few days, she said “Okay, but when I see him I’m going to tell him to bring me a LOT of candy.”
Priorities. Olivia’s got ‘em.
I wasn’t sure how it would pan out, because she wasn’t acting the same as she did when we discussed seeing Santa. She was REALLY excited about meeting the Easter Bunny. She looked at last year’s picture and was just thrilled with the idea.
The whole time we waited in line, she was chomping at the bit, ready to go. We were next in line. We were ready. Then, some older kid comes from the exit and tries to bogart her turn. He had been in line earlier and had refused to sit on the bunny’s lap. His smiling, idiotic mother just stood at the exit and said “Oh do you want to go now?” He would say “no” but would stand still, grinning at the bunny. She would say “come on” and he would say “no” but would stand there. So for a few minutes Olivia, Sophia and I (and my friend), stood in limbo. “Is he going to sit on the bunny’s lap?” I finally asked the “bunny handler”. The mother finally got him to leave, and it was Olivia’s turn. After she patted his fur and sat on his lap, I placed Sophia in his other arm and quickly went to the camera, afraid the cooperation wouldn’t last.
Trying to get their attention at the same time proved rather difficult. When we would get Sophia smiling, Olivia would look over at her and when Olivia smiled, Sophia turned her head. It was comical. I would say “Olivia, hi, look over here.” She would start waving. Sophia almost lost her shit and started crying, however, she grinned as soon as I started acting like a complete and utter moron by dancing around. But, I don’t mind. At least now I have my kids’ happiness as an “excuse” to act that way.
Ultimately we got a passable shot. I went over to retrieve my kids. Scooping up Sophia, I told Olivia it was time to go. She patted the Easter Bunny and said “Easter Bunny, will you bring me a basket with LOTS AND LOTS of candy?” She scooted off the Easter Bunny’s lap and accidently stepped on the edge of his foot. We appologized and went to pay for our ridiculously overpriced memorabilia. You have to wonder how many times a day that (or worse) happens to him. I guess you’d have to be half stoned to do the job.
Bunny picture in hand, we went searching for Easter shoes. Since we all know by now how thrifty I am, it would come as no shock that the first place I went searching was Ross. I didn’t find what I was looking for, but I found the cutest pair of low-top turquouise converse for Olivia. I had to buy them. They were under $10 and I knew she had at least three dresses she could rock them with, plus they were going to be great summer shoes when sandals wouldn’t work. I was standing in line with my friend, saying how I had a weird obsession with converse for kids.
They were just so darn adorable on those tiny feet. I jokingly said “Yeah, I guess I’ll just have little hipsters running around.” We laughed and I thought nothing of it. Later, I had Olivia try on her new shoes to show daddy.
“Wow Olivia, these are so cool!” I exclaimed.
“Yeah mama, I’m a little hipster.” she laughed.
Needless to say, Bill and I died laughing. Olivia thought it was hilarious because she had made us laugh, so she started saying “I’m a hipster, a hipster, a HAMSTER, I’m a hamster” and running around the room.
Who needs TV when you have an Olivia?
Happy Easter and Passover (or anything else I may have left out)! I’m going to hide plastic eggs and eat ham.
I try not to bribe my children. Sophia is easy, since she’s a baby, but sometimes Olivia needs a little coaxing to do something she doesn’t want to do.
This is not to say I am going to roll over and be one of those parents who will buy them candy when they are screaming in a store, but I’m not above sugar-coating the afternoon’s activities if it means she will take a 3 hour nap after lunch.
“If you take a good nap, we’ll do something fun after you wake up!” sometimes does the trick. Unfortunately, my kid is quick to ask “What kind of fun thing mama?” So I am forced to think of something we haven’t already done yet. Yesterday I decided (after a few days of Bill hinting that he wanted them) to make chocolate chip cookies. So I told Olivia, “If you take a good nap, you can help mama make cookies!” “And then we can eat them?” Olivia practically squealed the question at me. “Sure! But ONLY if you take a really good nap.”
After an almost 3 hour nap Olivia woke up and the first words out of her mouth were “Are we going to bake cookies now?”
Like an elephant, that one.
I plopped Sophia into her high chair with a cup of water, lots of fun toys and put her right near where we were working. I brought Olivia’s “circles” from the bathroom. Quick Aside: “Circles” is what she calls the Ikea stool she stands on to reach the sink. She couldn’t say “stool” when we first got it for her. Because it has quarter-sized non-skid circles all over the top she would point and say “circles!” and it stuck. Anyway, we drug “circles” out of the bathroom and put it against the counter near my (wonderful) Kitchenaid stand mixer. She donned her cute little apron and we had a ball.
We counted cups of flour and sugar, teaspoons of salt, baking powder and vanilla, and eggs. She dumped ingredients into the mixer and was very brave when I turned it on. Usually she cries and runs out of the room when I use loud appliances, but we talked about it first. I asked her if she wanted to help turn it on, but she wasn’t ready for that step. She looked at me and blankly stated “No I do not.”
After we put the cookies into the oven, the barrage of “are they ready yet, are they ready yet??” began. When I took them out of the oven 10 long minutes later, Olivia hovered over me (as close as I would let her) “Can I have a cookie mama?” When I told her that she had to wait for them to cool, you could just see the anticipation mounting.
FINALLY the cookies were cool enough for her to eat one. I gave her specific instructions that she was to sit nicely on the floor and eat her cookie, being careful not to let Sophia near her. In hindsight, I should have had her sit at the kitchen table or at least on the couch, but I thought letting her sit on the floor near the kitchen was a treat since I usually don’t let her eat in the living room. She was happily eating her cookie, I was working on my computer, Sophia was playing around on the floor. Suddenly I heard a “smack smack smack” of lips. I looked down at my feet and I saw Sophia, face smeared in chocolate, goggle-eyed and smacking her lips together, a little crumble of cookie between her jaws.
“Olivia! Did you give your sister a cookie?” I started scraping the cookie out of Sophia’s mouth, much to her irritation.
“No.”
“Olivia.” I decided to try another tactic.
“What Mama?”
“Why does sister have cookie in her mouth and chocolate all over her face?”
“Because I gave her a bite of cookie.”
I couldn’t yell. I couldn’t get angry. She was only trying to share with her sister. I supressed my laughter. It’s something I’m getting better at every day.
“Sweetie, I am so very proud of you for wanting to share, BUT Sophia is still a baby, and it is very dangerous to give her food that mama and daddy don’t know about. You could make her sick.”
“I’m sorry mama.”
*melt* She’s a good egg.
My chocolate faced baby suffered no ill effect, and her daddy gave her another taste later that evening when I relayed the story to him.
I just have to wonder how long the whole concept of sharing will remain appealing.
After a long day of visiting old friends, walking around Bill’s and my alma mater, Olivia was tired. She napped a bit in the car, but she didn’t have a proper nap. When Olivia gets REALLY tired (past the crankypants part), Olivia gets silly and super-hyper.
“Daddy’s going to eat a pumpkin pie!” she said, giggling.
“Oh yeah? Just where is Daddy going to get that pumpkin pie?” Bill asked her.
“It’s the pumpkin pie I’m going to cook, with oatmeal and bananas on top.” She started giggling.
“That’s gross, let’s remember not to eat Thanksgiving dinner at her house in the future.” I joked.
“EWWWWW oatmeal and bananas on pumpkin pie?” Olivia started laughing hysterically.
After the first few times we realized Olivia just wanted to say “EWWWWW”. Being the wonderful parents that we are, we decided to give her many possible opportunities to do so. What ensued was a 15 minute contest to see who could make the grossest combination of food with Olivia’s imaginary pumpkin pie.
“Bananas and Celery on pumpkin pie?” Olivia would squeal, “EWWWWW!!”
Bill chimed in, “hamburgers and french fries on pumpkin pie?”
Every time we put odder and more bizarre things on top of her pumpkin pie, we would all squeal “EWWWWW!!!” and erupt into fits of laughter. Sophia looked at us all like we were crazy, but we were laughing so hard we were crying, because OLIVIA was laughing so hard she could barely breath. To see her having such fun just because we were spouting off nonsense was bliss, pure and simple.
A little gross, once we got to putting poop and pee and farts and toots on pumpkin pie, as was inevitably going to happen when you are playing gross-out games with a toddler, but bliss all the same.
These are going to be all over the place, because I’m crushing on all sorts of crap these days.
Dexter: At first, I didn’t think I would like it, I was afraid it would be too gory. I do not like gore. But, I am pleased to tell you, it’s no worse than CSI (so far) and it’s a great show.
Slide & Store Frames: I picked up two of these on clearance today at Target. Regularly priced $24.99, my price: $6.24. That’s badass. I do not have to open up the whole damn back of the frame if I want to change a picture, which rocks. I’m going to go back and see if they have any more tomorrow, methinks.
Cholula: One night, eating tacos, I decided I needed a little more kick. There was some leftover Cholula from when my Brother-in-law, Bob, was over, so I tried it. It was good. At Christmas, Bill and I had jokingly said we were going to buy Bob the big huge bottles of Cholula from Costco as a gag gift since he loved it so much. Not such a joke anymore: we have two huge ass bottles in our house right now. I’ve tried it on Apples (not bad), salad (too hot), taco salad (yum), popcorn (yum), all sorts of Mexican food (obviously), and pretty much anything else that didn’t seem too weird. Obsessed, I tell you.
Wii Fit: I’ve made good on my promise to Bill: “Buy it for me and I will use it.” I aim for 1 hour of workout time every weekday. Some days I get 45 minutes, some days I get an hour and six minutes. All depends on how well Sophia sleeps, because I squeeze it in during her naps. Olivia likes to exercise with me. I acutally feel like I am doing something positive. I haven’t lost anything substantial yet, but I’m not going to worry about it because I feel good and this damn baby weight will come off when it is good and ready. Also: I love boxing. It’s fun on Wii Fit.
The String Quartet Tribute to Weezer: Pull this String: My girls really enjoy listening to classical music (Lots of Baby & Little Einstein both in utero and now). It usually calms them down when they get cranky in the car. I have a few Baby Einstein cds and some other classical cds that do the trick, but I saw this and decided to give it a whirl. It does not disappoint. It’s neat to hear your favorite band’s songs in this format and the girls really like it too. This way we can share our music with them, without it being inappropriate. Win-Win. I can’t wait to find more like this one.
At lunch today, as I was feeding Sophia, Olivia happily munched on her food. She grabbed a slice of cucumber, took a big bite and said “mmm–this is kind of like a pickle, mama!”
“Yes, it actually IS a pickle, they take cucumbers, add some spices and vinegar, cook them up and make pickles!” I smiled at her and her eyes got pretty big.
“WOW!” She looked at her ham. “What does ham become?”
“Ham Sandwiches!” I said and we laughed. Then, for some reason (my intense desire to teach her everything I know?) I thought it was prudent to tell her: “Actually, did you know that ham comes from pigs?”
Olivia looked at me and said “What about hamburgers? Do they come from pigs too?” I figured, I had already opened the door to this line of questioning, so I answered her truthfully. “No, actually, hamburgers come from cows.”
She looked at me, took a big bite of her ham and said “mmmmmm delicious pig!” and then started to oink and moo.
Definitely our kid, that one.
Today, Olivia was beating on her drum and looked up at me and proclaimed, “I’m gonna do some drumming, Mommy-O!”
One can only assume she heard someone drumming and the phrase “Daddy-O”. So in her mind, of course it would make sense that I am, “Mommy-O”.