Scene: Yesterday afternoon, Mommy and Katherine sitting in the living room, putting a puzzle together. Enter Daddy with a bowl of ice cream.
Katherine: (spying the bowl). Ooooh!!! Olives!!
Katherine: (upon reaching the bowl) Oh, never mind. It's just ice cream.
Monday, April 04, 2011
Thursday, March 10, 2011
Mommies Don't Get Sick Days
I am feeling yucky today. I have a cold, which I think makes either number 3 or 4 since moving and I am really really tired of feeling crummy. If I was child-less and still working, I'd muscle through it and go to work, armed with Kleenexes and cough drops, then collapse on the couch when I got home and have my husband spoon-feed me chicken soup. Or, if I was really sick, I'd just take a sick day and sleep all day. But I have kids and it doesn't work like that.
Rule Number 3 of the "Mommy Handbook" says that mommies don't get sick days (Rules 1 and 2 are, "You will be barfed, sneezed, bled, drooled and coughed on. Get used to it," and "Mommies are not guaranteed uninterrupted sleep," respectively). And while I read the "Mommy Handbook" before embarking on motherhood, that doesn't mean I don't get to complain about the rules. Yes, being sick is one of the worst things about motherhood, except potty-training. Potty training is definitely the worst thing I've had to do so far, but being sick is up there too.
If my children were empathetic, being sick wouldn't be so bad, but they're not. Logan doesn't care that I feel gross. He still wants to eat weird stuff off the floor and whack his head on things. In fact it seems that he's the opposite of empathetic because he gets himself into more trouble when I'm sick. Katherine, on the other hand, understands that I'm not feeling my finest and we're not going to Disneyland or the zoo or Paris (thank you Fancy Nancy for that one) today. She also knows not to bother me unless it's important, but you would be surprised to learn what sorts of things she considers "important." There have been multiple emergency sash retyings on her dress-up dress, as well as narrowly averted Barbie wardrobe disasters.
My one shining star in this is my sweet husband who tries his very best to alleviate my suffering. He makes dinner, herds the children and puts them to bed. But unfortunately he's only around for about 2 1/2 of our kids' waking hours.
But perhaps the worst part of all is knowing that despite my nearly constant hand-washing, elbow-sneezing and Lysol-spraying, everyone else is going to get this thing. And then, I will be taking care of sick people, which runs me back into Rules 1 and 2 in the "Mommy Handbook."
In the Cirrrrrrrrrcllllllllllllllle, the ciiiirrrlllllle of liiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiife!
Rule Number 3 of the "Mommy Handbook" says that mommies don't get sick days (Rules 1 and 2 are, "You will be barfed, sneezed, bled, drooled and coughed on. Get used to it," and "Mommies are not guaranteed uninterrupted sleep," respectively). And while I read the "Mommy Handbook" before embarking on motherhood, that doesn't mean I don't get to complain about the rules. Yes, being sick is one of the worst things about motherhood, except potty-training. Potty training is definitely the worst thing I've had to do so far, but being sick is up there too.
If my children were empathetic, being sick wouldn't be so bad, but they're not. Logan doesn't care that I feel gross. He still wants to eat weird stuff off the floor and whack his head on things. In fact it seems that he's the opposite of empathetic because he gets himself into more trouble when I'm sick. Katherine, on the other hand, understands that I'm not feeling my finest and we're not going to Disneyland or the zoo or Paris (thank you Fancy Nancy for that one) today. She also knows not to bother me unless it's important, but you would be surprised to learn what sorts of things she considers "important." There have been multiple emergency sash retyings on her dress-up dress, as well as narrowly averted Barbie wardrobe disasters.
My one shining star in this is my sweet husband who tries his very best to alleviate my suffering. He makes dinner, herds the children and puts them to bed. But unfortunately he's only around for about 2 1/2 of our kids' waking hours.
But perhaps the worst part of all is knowing that despite my nearly constant hand-washing, elbow-sneezing and Lysol-spraying, everyone else is going to get this thing. And then, I will be taking care of sick people, which runs me back into Rules 1 and 2 in the "Mommy Handbook."
In the Cirrrrrrrrrcllllllllllllllle, the ciiiirrrlllllle of liiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiife!
Friday, March 04, 2011
The Family Curse
No, it's not the one that all mothers curse their kids with, to have a child just like them, although my mom cursed me with that one years ago. She must not be much of a voodoo priestess, because neither of my kids are at all like me *wink.* No, what I am referring to is the post-baby weight-gain curse brought to you by my Norwegian mountain-climber-goat-herder heritage on Mom's side. This curse makes you gain weight after you have a baby, not lose it. It's VERY annoying. My mountain-climbing-goat-herder genes think that I am climbing mountains and herding goats all day and feeding a baby so every single calorie must be conserved! On the plus side, these genes also give me great hair, perfect for braiding and coiling around my head like Heidi, so it's a two-edged sword.
After Logan was born, I lost all my baby weight very quickly. I was wearing my pre-baby clothes two weeks after he was born. But somewhere around Logan's four-month birthday, the pounds started creeping back on. I have now reached a point where I weigh what I did the day I gave birth to Logan. Now, I can't blame this entirely on genetics. I have had a fair amount of stress in the last few months and my eating/exercising schedule has suffered. But good news! All our boxes are unpacked (well, at least the stuff we need is unpacked) and we're all finally used to a new time zone and now that exercise bike of mine is in our bedroom again instead of upside-down in Katherine's room (dang movers...seriously, what is my four-year-old going to do with a stationary bike?).
So, I'm getting back on the wagon, you know or bike, and pedaling to a new, slimmer me while I watch old episodes of The Wonder Years. I am also experimenting with On-Demand yoga videos (we have cable now...yay!) because hulking a baby around all day is making my shoulders and back stiff. Unfortunately, this resulted in a wrist sprain. So, now I know I shouldn't try to do Astavakrasana the first time out.
After Logan was born, I lost all my baby weight very quickly. I was wearing my pre-baby clothes two weeks after he was born. But somewhere around Logan's four-month birthday, the pounds started creeping back on. I have now reached a point where I weigh what I did the day I gave birth to Logan. Now, I can't blame this entirely on genetics. I have had a fair amount of stress in the last few months and my eating/exercising schedule has suffered. But good news! All our boxes are unpacked (well, at least the stuff we need is unpacked) and we're all finally used to a new time zone and now that exercise bike of mine is in our bedroom again instead of upside-down in Katherine's room (dang movers...seriously, what is my four-year-old going to do with a stationary bike?).
So, I'm getting back on the wagon, you know or bike, and pedaling to a new, slimmer me while I watch old episodes of The Wonder Years. I am also experimenting with On-Demand yoga videos (we have cable now...yay!) because hulking a baby around all day is making my shoulders and back stiff. Unfortunately, this resulted in a wrist sprain. So, now I know I shouldn't try to do Astavakrasana the first time out.
This is an Astavakrasana. It means Eight-angle pose in Sanskrit. I'm not cool enough to do this or even pronounce it yet.
Actually, I just bent my wrist too far doing something normal. I was just a tad too enthusiastic about it. I also have a friend who is moving near me and looking for a yoga partner, so I might give up the videos and go to an actual studio.
So, we'll see if I can convince those mountain-climbing-goat-herder genes of mine to let go so I can fit into my go-to-the-library-and-supermarket jeans again.
Saturday, February 26, 2011
Manners
Last night after dinner.....
Kirsten: *burp* Excuse me!
Katherine: Mom, there's no excuse for you.
Kirsten: *burp* Excuse me!
Katherine: Mom, there's no excuse for you.
Tuesday, February 01, 2011
I Am Invoking My First Amendment Rights
That's right. I am talking about my right to privacy.
Since we've moved I have been feeling extremely out of the family loop. And unless somebody wants to donate a private jet, there's not a whole lot that I can do about it. One thing I can do though, is to remind my family to please update their blogs so I know what they are up to. And call. Calling is good. Skype is better, but calling is good. Another thing I can do is to make sure that my far-away friends and family have a way to see what we're up to.
But I have a problem. I have this lovely blog, but it is open for the whole world to see, and the whole world has seen it. At least, some of the whole world has seen it. I have gotten hits from every continent, except Antarctica, but once penguins have access to the Internet, who knows? Mostly, I think these are curious blog-hoppers, but still I don't want to share too much, and in some ways I think I already have. So, I am doing a re-design. This blog will be more like what I intended it to be in the first place, just me and my thoughts about motherhood with the occasional mention of my children and husband.
There will be a new blog, by invitation only, for the people who actually know me and want to know the mundane details of my life and my kids' lives...and my husband too I guess. It will feature such exciting things as trips to the zoo and Logan's first tooth (which I'm sure is just around the corner....please please please be just around the corner!).
So, if you know me and would like an invite, you will know how to get in touch to arrange such things.
Since we've moved I have been feeling extremely out of the family loop. And unless somebody wants to donate a private jet, there's not a whole lot that I can do about it. One thing I can do though, is to remind my family to please update their blogs so I know what they are up to. And call. Calling is good. Skype is better, but calling is good. Another thing I can do is to make sure that my far-away friends and family have a way to see what we're up to.
But I have a problem. I have this lovely blog, but it is open for the whole world to see, and the whole world has seen it. At least, some of the whole world has seen it. I have gotten hits from every continent, except Antarctica, but once penguins have access to the Internet, who knows? Mostly, I think these are curious blog-hoppers, but still I don't want to share too much, and in some ways I think I already have. So, I am doing a re-design. This blog will be more like what I intended it to be in the first place, just me and my thoughts about motherhood with the occasional mention of my children and husband.
There will be a new blog, by invitation only, for the people who actually know me and want to know the mundane details of my life and my kids' lives...and my husband too I guess. It will feature such exciting things as trips to the zoo and Logan's first tooth (which I'm sure is just around the corner....please please please be just around the corner!).
So, if you know me and would like an invite, you will know how to get in touch to arrange such things.
Tuesday, January 25, 2011
Imitation is the Sincerest Form of Flattery
I can't tell you how much that saying bugged me when I was little. My mom would spout off this gem every time my little sister did something to imitate me, which was like, everyday. Actually, it probably wasn't all that often, but it sure felt like it. I think what bugged me most about that saying is that it basically said, "Deal with it. Your sister is going to wear the same clothing as you or say what you say. And you had better be grateful because she likes you, ok?" What I was looking for was some age-old way of getting her to stop. Anyway, yesterday a couple of things happened that reminded me of that saying.
Number 1:
My kids were playing with one of those stretchy, sticky toys. You know, the little plastic string with a small loop in one end and a hand on the other end that sticks to everything. Only this one had jellyfish tentacle things instead of a hand. It came out of a 25¢ dispenser at a doctor's office. Anyway....
Katherine would hand the jellyfish end to Logan and pull back on the toy until she was several feet away. Logan would let go of his end which would recoil and smack Katherine in the leg. They did this over and over and over, getting gigglier each time, until the toy broke. It was mid-stretch and the string snapped back and whacked Logan in the face, which he did not appreciate. Understandably he started to cry. Then Katherine started to cry because her beloved toy was broken.
I was hugging both of them, trying to console them and Logan started calming down. He sniffed a few times and then noticed that Katherine was still crying, so he started up again. Then Katherine started calming down and noticed that Logan was crying again and she started up again. This went back and forth for a bit before I just started laughing. Soon, all three of us were cackling.
Number 2:
I was in the kitchen, and Katherine came in with her baby doll wrapped in a dish towel. I asked her what she was doing and she said she was rocking her baby to sleep and that I needed to be quiet (she whispered, "be quiet"). So, I quietly asked what her baby's name was. She told me it was Katherine. I said that it was funny that she and her baby had the same name. She said, "Oh no, Mom. I'm not Katherine. I'm Kirsten the Mommy." D'aaawwwwww!!!! I don't mind being imitated so much anymore.
Number 1:
My kids were playing with one of those stretchy, sticky toys. You know, the little plastic string with a small loop in one end and a hand on the other end that sticks to everything. Only this one had jellyfish tentacle things instead of a hand. It came out of a 25¢ dispenser at a doctor's office. Anyway....
Katherine would hand the jellyfish end to Logan and pull back on the toy until she was several feet away. Logan would let go of his end which would recoil and smack Katherine in the leg. They did this over and over and over, getting gigglier each time, until the toy broke. It was mid-stretch and the string snapped back and whacked Logan in the face, which he did not appreciate. Understandably he started to cry. Then Katherine started to cry because her beloved toy was broken.
I was hugging both of them, trying to console them and Logan started calming down. He sniffed a few times and then noticed that Katherine was still crying, so he started up again. Then Katherine started calming down and noticed that Logan was crying again and she started up again. This went back and forth for a bit before I just started laughing. Soon, all three of us were cackling.
Number 2:
I was in the kitchen, and Katherine came in with her baby doll wrapped in a dish towel. I asked her what she was doing and she said she was rocking her baby to sleep and that I needed to be quiet (she whispered, "be quiet"). So, I quietly asked what her baby's name was. She told me it was Katherine. I said that it was funny that she and her baby had the same name. She said, "Oh no, Mom. I'm not Katherine. I'm Kirsten the Mommy." D'aaawwwwww!!!! I don't mind being imitated so much anymore.
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