Tag Archives: exhaustion

A Moment of Silence for Sanity Lost

I’d like to take a moment of silence to honor a dear friend I lost today- my sanity.

I’m pretty sure I lost it between the cereal and candy aisles, but after much fruitless searching, I came to the conclusion that it wasn’t anywhere to be found.

And, before you point it out, I am fully aware that asking for a moment of silence here at Boystown is, well, a laugh, but I’m a big fan of lost causes.

Anyways, while there’s quite the possibility that it was stolen from me, my money is on the assumption that it fled in mortal dread the moment the shrieking began, so I probably won’t see it again.  I’ve put together a few search parties and I’ve looked into advertising on milk cartons and billboards, but I’m pretty sure its no use.  My sanity is long gone and will most likely never return.  That doesn’t mean I’ll stop looking for it, but it just means that the longer its gone, the more I’ll cease to miss it as much.

Today will forever be burned into my mind, but I guess that’s the way it is for anyone who’s lost something so precious.  What started out as a simple trip to the store ended in turmoil, chaos, loss, and sadness.  The saying is true- you really never do fully appreciate something til its gone.  I should have held onto it tighter, but you just never stop to think that the combined strength of an 11 year old, 5 year old, and a 1 year old could rip something so seemingly strong from its owner.

And, once torn away, that was it.  It was gone.  Maybe it had wanted to leave, I mean, it was able to hang on through Camo’s TODDLER years.  TODDLER years.  Camo.  That’s not even willpower- that’s an act of God.

All I can figure is that my sanity stared into its cold, bleak, dark future that lied ahead- what, with Nicholas now at the walking/talking/ maiming/torturing stage and Camo hitting his pre-teens- and it simply… let go.

And I get that.  If you don’t see hope, its hard to see the light at the end of the tunnel.

Poor sanity.  It must have been so scared.

So, in this moment, I will silently bid my old friend farewell.  Apparently, the question of how many kids it takes to destroy a lightbulb has been answered.

The answer is 3. ESPECIALLY if they’re boys.

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Check the box “Agree to Terms”

I’m pretty sure someone tampered with my paperwork at the hospital.

Now, given, I’m not normally one to read over EVERY SINGLE WORD on a contract…

I know, I’m irresponsible.  That’s probably how I got into this whole mess in the first place.  I should have read the fine print.

But, really now- who reads EVERY word?  You skim the highlights, looking for blaring red warning lights, and then scribble your signature.  Its the way its been done for thousands of years.

Those hospital folk- they knew what they were doing.  They’re crafty.  After 100 hours of labor, no drugs, a failed epidural, and 2 nights of dealing with a newborn who had already decided that sleeping with mom was decisively better than sleeping in a bassinet, they handed me my discharge papers:

Them: “And here’s your info on how NOT to kill your infant, who to call when you’ve reached that point, signs to look for, blah, blah, blah- sign here to show you’ve received these and had it explained to you.

Okie doke.

Them: “Here’s info on breastfeeding because you’re less of a woman if you can’t properly breastfeed your baby for the full first year.  Sign here showing you received these.”

(me scribbling)

Them: “The lactation nurse will be in before you leave to fondle you roughly and warn you of the mental retardation that can occur if your baby isn’t able to feed properly.  Husband, you might want to be nearby to hold your wife after she’s been violated.  Did you sign?”

(Nodding my head)

Them: “The lactation nurse should have more papers for you regarding proper nutrition, but here’s a pamphlet on all the foods you SHOULD eat to help you produce milk and keep up your strength, but they’re really just for looks because you won’t be able to take a bite of food or sleep for about the first 3-9 months.  Sign here, please.”

(uh huh)

Them: “Ok, good.  And the rest of these are just…*mumble, mumble, mumble*…  Sign right there, and check the box ‘agree to terms’…”

I check box.

Them: “Good.  I’ll just tuck these away in your bag before you see what you’ve signed on for.  Good luck- I mean, congratulations!”

I didn’t realize that -not only had I re-upped for 18 years of service- but I had also unwittingly initialed boxes and signed my signature agreeing to the following:

Hospital Discharge

__I understand that my life, loves, wants, needs, desires, and basic necessities now mean nothing.

__I understand that sleep is no longer an option.  Ever.

__I understand that even with only 1 hour of good sleep the night before, I must attend to all my normal activities.

__I understand that the “one hour of good sleep” is relative and will probably still include a sleeping infant in my arms, sometimes while sitting up straight in a chair.

__I understand that “me” time is now “we” time and anything I actually try to do for me can only occur during naptimes… if there are any.

__I understand that when I complain about lack of “me” time to grand-motherly types, I will be hit with comments of “Enjoy it while it lasts”, regardless of whether or not they see the frantic, wild look in my eyes.

__I understand I’m supposed to think the things my baby does that annoy me to no end, are cute.

__I understand that I’m supposed to stare at my napping baby with awe and wonder at the life my spouse and I created… instead of clicking my heels together in joy of not having to hold him.

__I understand I will have to hold my baby non-stop, thereby perfecting everything one handed.

__I understand that the words “baby proof” are dependent upon the baby itself.

__I understand that after I bring home my little darling, I will encounter more people than ever that had “perfect” babies- ones that slept through the night, never cried, etc.__I understand that these individuals are still suffering from “mom-nesia”, and have possibly blocked out all the bad.__I understand that the best course of action is to just nod my head.

__I understand that -under no circumstance- am I allowed to return the baby.

I, ____________, do hereby declare that I am now a mom, with all the non-rights and responsibilities that title holds.  By initialing and signing my name, I agree that I will do my best to be Mary-Freaking-Poppins/Donna Reed/ June Cleaver, always calm and collect, even in the face of crying jags, temper tantrums, diaper explosions, teething, etc.

To be anything less than perfect will be cause for me to stand before the Mommy Council and I might have to give back my pearls, but never my children.

[  ] I agree to terms.

X_______________

Spring Cleaning time- grab your survival gear

I really don’t follow all the “in’s and out’s” of groundhogs, so I’m not really sure if its officially Spring or still Winter, but in this house?  We’re Spring Cleaning.  Yep.  Groundhogs be damned, we’re breakin’ out the Swiffers over here.

Honestly, though, I’m a TAD OCD on the cleaning front, so “Spring Cleaning” is almost a weekly thing, but around this time of year, I can blame it on new grass, baby animals and the like.

Yay for excuses!

It can be kind of scary when cleaning certain areas of my home, though.  If you haven’t read it, I wrote a post a while back on how bad things can get over HERE, and I meant every word.  I’ll admit- I only have boys so my experience is a little bit skewed. I  can’t compare it to what it would be like raising girls, but they (boys) just SEEM dirtier.  I mean, even nursery rhymes have pointed out how much more disgusting they can be:

What are little boys made of?
What are little boys made of?

Frogs and snails
And puppy-dogs’ tails,
That’s what little boys are made of.
What are little girls made of?
What are little girls made of?

Sugar and spice
And everything nice,
That’s what little girls are made of.

See?  Mother Goose was a wise old bird..

Seriously, though, no matter what you have -boy or girl- and no matter what room you’re cleaning, you KNOW there are certain areas you skip due to time, patience, etc.  Those places that you’re pretty certain don’t have crumbs that will attract bugs and that aren’t a priority because, well, guests won’t generally check there. Sure, you tell yourself that you’ll get to them one day, but, well, they aren’t a priority, sooo… later.  You’ll get to them LATER.  After all, the kids rooms have mold growing and something moved in the fridge…

For me?  Today was my “later” and the place?  Behind the TV stand.  Normally, this wouldn’t even be a big deal.  I mean, how bad could it be, right?  Its a TV stand, for Heaven’s sake.  So, I stuck the hose attachment onto the vacuum and plunged the tip down into the crevice and…

*thump!*

*thump, thump, THUMP!*

I jumped and almost knocked over the vacuum.  What in the WORLD did I vacuum up?!  A cat?!?  After peering into the vacuum canister, though, I realized- my dust bunnies had morphed into dust jackalopes.

So, the things that I realized on this fine (possibly) Spring day?

  • Evolution.  Its not just for monkeys anymore.
  • When bunnies grow up, they become rabbits.  When DUST bunnies grow up, however, they become household legends.

 

Sacred Moments

“Its moments like these that remind me why I love motherhood.”

For you, maybe that statement is referring to the laughter coming from your kiddos’ rooms as they play together; maybe its the smile that lights up your baby’s face when he’s happy…

For me?  Bedtime.

There is NOTHING that quite reminds me how WONDERFUL peace and quiet is than right after the last kid is tucked in, lights have been turned out, and all the threats of torture and maiming have been put out there (in the event that they think getting out of bed is an option) and I have peace.

Wonderful, blissful, wine guzzling -*ahem, sorry*- wine SIPPING, peace.

Now, one might think that you can achieve this peace just as easily- maybe even more so- without  the aid of children, but I disagree.

What is happiness without sadness?  How can you know what happiness actually IS unless you have something to compare it to?

Having kids is like that person who is living in a construction zone- all day long, nothing but the sounds of chaos and ruckus- and then 5 p.m. comes…

…and bliss.

Sure, they were able to zone it out after a while, but it wasn’t until all the workers had gone home for the day that they understood what they had been missing all those LONG, mind numbing hours.

Having kids -boys- is a lot like that- more so, actually, because I don’t get sick days, paid holidays or vacation days, so I’m in -literally IN- the construction zone day in, day out, all year long.

And, yes, boys -IMO- are worse than girls. I’m sure there are lots of people who will try and disagree with me- point out the fact that I don’t have girls so how could I know?

Excuse me?  I AM a girl.  I was a tomboy, actually, so I know EXACTLY how bad it could get having a rambunctious tomboy.  I was a barbed-wire scaling, tree-climbing, dirt digging, sibling wrestling (WWF-style, thank you very much) girl…

…and my BOYS are worse.

So, when the lights are finally out, the last kiddo has closed his eyes, and I finally get my brain back, I’m able to truly give thanks.

Thank you, God, for 3 loud, obnoxious boys that were born without recognition of the term ‘inside voices’.

Thank you, God, for 2 boys that -while they have superb aim in certain Wii games and other outdoor sports- cannot pee IN the toilet.

Thanks, God, for 2 boys that think fighting is a sport and practice as if it could one day land them in the Olympics.

Thanks so much, God, for reminding me with every scream, whine, argument, complaint, and fight, that silence is sacred and should be cherished because morning- the waking hours- come much too quickly.

But thank you, God, most especially, for 8:30 p.m. for, without it, I would not have the brain cells enough to even remember my name, much less, give thanks.

Letter to my son

Dear Smallest Child ‘o’ Mine,
Right now you are sleeping- and that is a good thing for many reasons, not the least of which is the fact that you were nearly auctioned off on eBay. I toyed with the thought, but after realizing that no one would buy you in the state you had been in- that I would have had to pay THEM to take you- I walked away from the virtual auction house.
Today -at only 4 months old- you gave me a glimpse of your teenage years. Your insatiable appetite, your refusal to sleep, your constant cries in response to my pleading…
There’s a chance I may revisit the eBay idea at a later date, but if that doesn’t pan out, I might post you on Craigslist… or possibly FreeCycle.
You’re 4 months old. It boggles my mind as to what you could POSSIBLY have to complain about. You weren’t wet. You were constantly eating, so hunger was out of the question. I gave you the option of choosing what you wanted to wear today, but you stared at me blankly, so if the problem was your outfit, well, that’s purely on you. You cried when I held you; you cried when I put you down. You cried when I talked to you; you cried when I sang to you- though, I don’t blame you there. Vocally blessed, I am not.
My sweet, precious 4 month old- do you realize how close you came to being a sweet, precious 4 month old in a basket on someone else’s doorstep today? The basket was negotiable- a laundry basket would have worked. Heck, you can’t crawl- I thought about just setting you there, like a crying, little lump of wet clay. That when I passed by those doorstep’s that held ‘Welcome’ mats, I looked at them as beacons of hope, beckoning me to leave my worries at their doorstep.
You -my love, my light- YOU are the reason why some animals eat their young. I can only imagine that the decision making process goes a little something like this:
“Aw, honey- our cubs are adorable! See that one? See how quiet she is? She’s a thinker- we won’t ever have to worry about HER getting picked off by a hunter.”
“What about that rowdy one?”
“Oh, he’s a fighter! He’s going to be a great leader of our pride one day!”
“And that one? The one that won’t stop crying?”
“He’s lunch.”
I’m not saying I’m thinking of eating you- that’s horrible and wrong.
I WILL however be bookmarking eBay.
Love,
Mom

The Greatest Diet Plan EVER!

Tired of all the weight you gained during pregnancy- either your own, or your wife’s? I’ve got a GREAT diet plan. I guarantee you that if you follow this -to the letter- that you’ll be back in your pre-pregnancy pants in no time. As a precaution, I must inform you that -before starting any diet plan- you should check with your doctor first.
First, make sure your baby has colic. If you’re baby doesn’t have colic, but is just difficult (i.e.-a normal baby), this will still work, but you might have to try a little harder. If you were one of the blessed individuals who had an easy baby, whisper a prayer of thanks and stop reading here. Chances are you were also one of the ones that wore your pre-pregnancy pants out of the hospital, and therefore you have no need to read any further.
Now that you have your colic-y/ difficult baby in hand, you are permitted a brief moment in which to cry hysterically and throw a brief tantrum. Its good for the soul, but its also good for getting your heart rate up. There now- you just lost a few warm up calories. I bet you’re feeling skinny already!
The next step in this incredible diet is to listen to your baby cry hysterically until you finally give in and walk him/her around the block a couple of times. Since most colic-y babies have their witching hour around the same time every day for longer than a half an hour, this will ensure that you not only get the doctor recommended half hour of exercise, but you’ll probably rack up some bonus hours as well. “But his crying will cause the neighbors to think that I’m torturing him!”, you might say. All the better, I say! You’ll be forced to walk faster (since the cracks in the sidewalk will help to tame his demons), thereby increasing your heart rate and metabolism. Presto! Quicker fat loss!
After you’ve walked around the block until the soles of your shoes have worn off, you’ll probably be hungry, which brings me to my next secret of dieting success- little food. I don’t mean eating small objects. I mean, eating small amounts. Let’s face it, if you’re experiencing the horror that is a colic-y baby, you epitomize the definition of “fast food”. Anything that can be held in one hand and eaten quickly is your meal of choice: sandwiches, corn/hot dogs, small hamburgers, Snickers candy bars, etc. “But none of that is very healthy!”, you might complain. Well, #1, neither is skipping meals altogether, but also, you’re only eating what can fit into one hand, and isn’t portion control what doctors everywhere stress when speaking to their patients? And, let’s not forget- you’re burning off all those unwanted calories (see last step described).
If you’re either unable to walk around the block for some reason; it has no positive affect on your baby’s cries; or you’re just looking to increase your workout benefits, you also have the alternative option of what I like to call “Rocking Sit ups”. In this twist on an oldie but goodie, you sit on the edge of the bed and rock your body back and forth while holding your baby. If you’d like, you can combine a couple of the steps- maybe try this while crying? Screaming burns calories, as well, but I wouldn’t recommend adding that to the routine unless your baby is out of ear shot, as it has a tendency to cause your tiny dictator to increase his own volume. This exercise also has a fun twist as you can change it up once your kiddo is older: when you’re past the point of frustration and starting to lose it, find the nearest corner and rock back and forth.
If, however, you’ve reached a point where you’re just too tired to walk or rock, here are two routines you can try that are more of a band-aid than a solution, but they still work. Sometimes you just need a quick fix to boost your self esteem, anyway:
Once your baby has you in tears from exhaustion and frustration, take a quick peek in the bathroom mirror- the tears will instantly distort your vision and take away your ability to see your body fully. Voila! Instant fat loss! Sure, at the back of your mind you know its still there, but before you allow that to drive you into deeper depression, remember that your red face with puffy eyes and snot running out of your nose is now bound to draw a LOT more attention than those few pounds you gained during your pregnancy.
Yeah, your right- that doesn’t help nearly as much as the other routines I just posted. Well, as I said, these non-exercise routines are merely band-aids- not solutions.
Now, the next routine only usually works for first time moms (since most well-seasoned moms said good bye to sleep LONG ago), but if you’ve got 2 or more kids already, you MIGHT be able to do this step, due to the pure exhaustion of the multitude of tasks on your already full plate. I’m talking about INSOMNIA. During this step, the lack of sleep causes you to LITERALLY forget who you are, what you originally wanted for yourself in the first place, as well as, the inability to care about what you look like. A word of caution in performing this routine, though: performed incorrectly, there’s a chance you could alienate everyone around you, defeating the purpose of losing weight.
Sure, you could argue that you’re trying to lose weight for HEALTH reasons, but who are you fooling?
I must also point out that BORROWING someone’s colic-y baby to lose non-pregnancy related weight gain is not only allowed, but its encouraged!  I’m sure the parents of that baby would embrace the idea of handing over their crying baby to you to further your weight loss goals, if you so chose.  You might want to do one of 2 things if you take this route, though:  either, 1- write up a contract stating that you’ll take the baby for its first 6 months of life (since continuous work on the program is the fastest way to your goal weight), or 2- find out the times that the baby is most colic-y, and write up a contract stating you’ll take him/her during those times.  This will help you tremendously, as the parents of colic-y babies quickly fall unknowingly into this weight loss routine and you don’t want to lose out.
As I said at the beginning, I urge you to check with your health care professional to be sure that this diet is the right one for you before trying it, but I’m sure that there are many of these routines you are already performing- its just a matter of combining some of them and working on them daily. After all, dedication to the diet plan is the surest way to ensure optimum results.
Let me know if any of these techniques work for you! I always love to hear feedback!

And I made this choice 3 TIMES…

I want the instruction manual that was supposed to come with my kids.

I also want to know why I was never allowed to register my kids to receive a longer warranty.

Ya know, you bring home this soft, sweet smelling, adorable little bundle and you think “Wow, he’s all mine.” And that first night you start looking around for the missing manual.

Its nowhere to be found.

Still, you think “I can do this”, so you stick it out. Little do you know that he’s prepping his lungs because- like any other muscle- he knows that if you don’t use it, you lose it.

You tell yourself “At least he’s healthy” and then its “Wow, do his lungs really inflate THAT MUCH?”.
Then after awhile you find yourself sleep deprived muttering useless things like “Now, now. There are coyotes in 3rd world countries that don’t have lungs as strong as his”.

Doesn’t make much sense, huh?

Did I mention “sleep deprived”?

As you continue to rock this child (secretly starting to wish that you could rocket him into orbit) it hits you that you’ll never be able to give him back.

You think about calling the hospital and asking about the return policy, but you remember how they gave a nervous chuckle when you joked about taking one of them home to help out, and you think better of it.

You console yourself with the fact that he won’t always be this age- needing you so much. Days turn into weeks, weeks into months, months into years. Suddenly you’re looking at this CHILD who isn’t a BABY anymore and you find yourself thinking “He’s not a baby anymore. He doesn’t need me at all.”

From somewhere in the distance you hear a subtle ticking.

As it gets louder and louder, the logical side of your brain tells you “Run!!! Run while you have the chance and don’t look back!!!”

Yet you reminisce about the soft, sweet smelling, adorable little bundle you brought home from the hospital.

You don’t stop to think about why hospitals have decidedly short stay times for new moms.

Baby with colic?

No problem- he’ll be going home in 1 DAY!!

As the ticking becomes the only sound you hear, the logical side becomes less of a yell and more of a pitiful whimper in anticipation of what’s to come.

For months you hear nothing but joyful thoughts of cribs and play pens.

And then it happens.

Your blessed first born starts to realize that he isn’t going to be the only one, and the acting out begins.

Suddenly, the logical side of your brain wakes up from the self-induced coma and starts to wail- too late.

Now you’re back at the beginning, and its not so bad.

The labor wasn’t THAT difficult- now that its over.

And he’s just this tiny, little, helpless thing.

So soft.

So cuddly.

A sweet scent of baby powder.

Oh, poor baby… he’s crying…