i think you might be getting sick. or something.
but what do i know about kids?
here's what i have noticed:
1. your voice is kinda husky - you are losing your voice that you so recently found. which simultaneously is adorable and sad. adorable because it reminds me of how my voice sounds when i sing too much or when i holler a lot. yes...i said holler. i said it sarcastically. i'm not that country, kiddo.
2. you have slept 26 hours out of the past 24 hours - exaggerations aside, you went to bed last night at 8 and slept uninterrupted until 10 this morning. woke up, ate some pears, and went back to sleep about 10:45. it's 1:30. you are still asleep.
so i believe this is unofficially the first official time you have been "sick". though, you don't have a fever or seem to distraught. just sleepy. and hoarse.....and...well...that sounds pretty much like how i spent my entire college career, so maybe you are just preparing for the future.
are you growing teeth? or are you pretending that you are in college?
either way, feel better, little goblin.
8.24.2011
8.17.2011
an example of your experience at kids-care:
it takes at least an hour of highly calculated planning and an intense thought process to work out what the best scenario would look like when taking you to a simple thirty minute day-care visit while i jog in place alongside strangers also jogging in place.
examples of requirements for this task:
-jovie must be fed.
-jovie must have had a nap recently.
-jovie must have pooed at least within an hour before daycare date or there might be trouble.
-jovie must be awake.
-jovie must be in a good mood.
-jovie must be alive.
-jovie mustn't be thirsty.
-jovie must be high maintenance.
it takes roughly 30 minutes to drive home from the office in the HOV lane, and the entire time we are in transit, i mentally orchestrate our trip to the gym.
i only workout for thirty minutes at the gym. it's not much, and i wish i could get in an hour...but...i was told by someone (mom) to choose my battles. i think that an hour would be pushing my luck. for both of us, really. although, it would be a fun experiment to see who entered a trauma-induced catatonic state first. i honestly, am not certain if it would be you.
you are a happy baby 99% of the time. the other 1% of your life is filled with HATRED. and that hatred manifests itself into a fit upon site of Alaina at 24 Hr Fitness. does she pinch you? did she make you eat apples? i know how you don't really like apples so much. whatever it was she did. you don't like her. and you are extremely public about your distaste.
so. i run out the door really fast before you give me that look that screams "why on EARTH would you DARE do this to me, you horrid, selfish beast?!!?!?"
this is actually an INCREDIBLE way to get me to workout. it's a game for me. i want to see how long you last without my name being called on the PA system. the first time we went, you only made it 12 minutes and 8 seconds. since then, you've made it the full 30 minutes without Alaina giving up hope on you. meanwhile, i am upstairs watching the clock like a hawk.
before you came along, my obsession with the ticking seconds were more of a focus on how much longer i had to be at the gym wasting my life when i could think of about 18 brazilian better things i could be doing. like...writing a thesis on renaissance italian cutlery. cutting split ends off of my hair with cuticle clippers. exercise was treacherous back then. time stood still. the earth was frozen. life as i knew it no longer existed beyond the confines of the gym.b
now, however, as i watch the clock, my perspective has changed. no longer do i look at the time and think "holy fire....it's only been 2 minutes and 33 seconds?!?! this is never going to end" but instead i cheer on the time. "ALRIGHT! 2 minutes and 33 seconds of freedom! this is the most amazing thing ever! i could just....run and run and run and run!!!!!"
before i know it. my time is up and i slowly creep back towards the kids area terrified of what i will find. visions of past out day care workers. and kids eating cookie dough. and visions of you hanging from the rafters with peanut butter all over your hands and face. you've turned Alaina into a zombie and have started an army of toddlers. or worse yet, you are a pawn in the zombie army of some brat that isn't as smart or important as you are.
but instead, you are happily playing with Alaina while the other kids run amok all over the little gym.
: /
as Alaina takes notice of my presence in the pickup area, she points to me and says to you "look who is here, jovie!" and the instant you see me, your hatred comes back. the squalling starts. and you cling for dear life to Alaina. if you knew english, you would probably beg Alaina to save you from the horrible sweat-monster that is trying to grab you. but you don't speak english, so instead you sob in fear.
you were supposed to be lost without me, kid. have you forgotten who i am THAT quickly? is your memory span complete after 30 minutes? do you think that Alaina is your mommy now?
need i remind you, young lady? i brought you INTO this gym. i can take you OUT!
examples of requirements for this task:
-jovie must be fed.
-jovie must have had a nap recently.
-jovie must have pooed at least within an hour before daycare date or there might be trouble.
-jovie must be awake.
-jovie must be in a good mood.
-jovie must be alive.
-jovie mustn't be thirsty.
-jovie must be high maintenance.
it takes roughly 30 minutes to drive home from the office in the HOV lane, and the entire time we are in transit, i mentally orchestrate our trip to the gym.
i only workout for thirty minutes at the gym. it's not much, and i wish i could get in an hour...but...i was told by someone (mom) to choose my battles. i think that an hour would be pushing my luck. for both of us, really. although, it would be a fun experiment to see who entered a trauma-induced catatonic state first. i honestly, am not certain if it would be you.
you are a happy baby 99% of the time. the other 1% of your life is filled with HATRED. and that hatred manifests itself into a fit upon site of Alaina at 24 Hr Fitness. does she pinch you? did she make you eat apples? i know how you don't really like apples so much. whatever it was she did. you don't like her. and you are extremely public about your distaste.
so. i run out the door really fast before you give me that look that screams "why on EARTH would you DARE do this to me, you horrid, selfish beast?!!?!?"
this is actually an INCREDIBLE way to get me to workout. it's a game for me. i want to see how long you last without my name being called on the PA system. the first time we went, you only made it 12 minutes and 8 seconds. since then, you've made it the full 30 minutes without Alaina giving up hope on you. meanwhile, i am upstairs watching the clock like a hawk.
before you came along, my obsession with the ticking seconds were more of a focus on how much longer i had to be at the gym wasting my life when i could think of about 18 brazilian better things i could be doing. like...writing a thesis on renaissance italian cutlery. cutting split ends off of my hair with cuticle clippers. exercise was treacherous back then. time stood still. the earth was frozen. life as i knew it no longer existed beyond the confines of the gym.b
now, however, as i watch the clock, my perspective has changed. no longer do i look at the time and think "holy fire....it's only been 2 minutes and 33 seconds?!?! this is never going to end" but instead i cheer on the time. "ALRIGHT! 2 minutes and 33 seconds of freedom! this is the most amazing thing ever! i could just....run and run and run and run!!!!!"
before i know it. my time is up and i slowly creep back towards the kids area terrified of what i will find. visions of past out day care workers. and kids eating cookie dough. and visions of you hanging from the rafters with peanut butter all over your hands and face. you've turned Alaina into a zombie and have started an army of toddlers. or worse yet, you are a pawn in the zombie army of some brat that isn't as smart or important as you are.
but instead, you are happily playing with Alaina while the other kids run amok all over the little gym.
: /
as Alaina takes notice of my presence in the pickup area, she points to me and says to you "look who is here, jovie!" and the instant you see me, your hatred comes back. the squalling starts. and you cling for dear life to Alaina. if you knew english, you would probably beg Alaina to save you from the horrible sweat-monster that is trying to grab you. but you don't speak english, so instead you sob in fear.
you were supposed to be lost without me, kid. have you forgotten who i am THAT quickly? is your memory span complete after 30 minutes? do you think that Alaina is your mommy now?
need i remind you, young lady? i brought you INTO this gym. i can take you OUT!
8.10.2011
what momma DIDN'T say.
there's a song. a song that - at this very moment - i hate with all that i am. it says "momma said there'd be days like this". well. MY momma is about the MOST patient, organized, prepared, and ready person i know. and SHE always has herself together. so she DOESN'T have days like this. therefore....MY momma DIDN'T tell me that there would be days like this. why would she? she hasn't ever had one!
but i have them.
hopefully you will be more like your nana and also WON'T have them, but just to make certain. i need to warn you about a few things:
1. if you want something done right, do it yourself.
(don't count on a computer to do it the right way, either. it will crash or freeze or explode or disappear before you are done and ruin everything. like how this is the 3rd time i have had to write this letter because my computer keeps eating it.)
2. nothing works like it's supposed to.
3. nothing ever works out according to plans.
this is the most important of all. and where i will really begin my letter to you.....
prepare youself. this'll be a long one.
i'll start with yesterday. we had a slight episode while i was showering. you were SUPPOSED to be trapped in the living room watching yo gabba gabba while i took a lightening fast shower during the 24 minute episode. you broke out of your baby jail. and i caught you happily sitting in the dog's water bowl eating their food.
i don't know how much you managed to swallow, but i do know that i clawed about 4 chunks and some gooey bits out of your mouth, propelled one out of your windpipe when i patted you on the back and raked a fistful in the floor.
i believe that the dog food is the reason that you aren't feeling so grand today.
but regardless...i had plans for today. and you didn't follow my plan. you were supposed to NOT have diarrhea today. i planned for you to NOT have it. therefore, i didn't pack a spare outfit in your bag just in case. i ALSO didn't pack a spare outfit for ME just in case. and it wouldn't have mattered ANYWAY because we both have needed a total of 3 outfits each today. so far. but it's only 3:30 in the afternoon. we still have a good 5 hours left before your bedtime to have yet ANOTHER explosion....
the first explosion happened at the office. i was tickling you and snuggling with you at my desk when i felt the cool stickiness oozing through your shorts. then the smell. i practically threw you in the floor when i realized that it was on me, too. it's one thing, jovie, if you want to poo on yourself, but don't drag me into this....
as i was trying to get you cleaned up and into dry panties so i could take you home and get us changed, my brand new belt snapped in half and landed in your poo.
how?!?!?!
how am i going to finally suck it up and spend good money on a quality belt only to have it explode on me while i was cleaning up YOUR explosion?! it was clearly as defective as your colon, and i wanted to exchange it TODAY.
THEN. at the mall where i took you after getting clean clothes, my shoes started to rub blisters on about 4 places on my feet. i hadn't intended on walking much today. i don't plan properly in some situations. so i had no socks on. and i haven't worn these boots since before i got pregnant with you. oh well. 1 poo bomb, a new belt, and 4 blisters isn't SO bad, right?
but THEN. as i was driving us home, my blood sugar began to drop. which is fun. i get very shaky and confused when that happens, so i needed to eat fairly quickly. to add insult to injury, you were about to be hungry too, and while i just get shaky, you get EVIL when you are hungry. crying and whatnot like i haven't fed you 6 days.....
man, you and i are a fussy lot.
so. i decided that best thing for me to do was to get a sandwich stuffed into me while i was driving so that i could get you home and fed and we could just relax. i pulled over to a KFC to grab a sandwich in the drive thru. after i paid for the sandwich, the girl at the window told me that the sandwich still had 5 minutes until it was ready. it would have been convenient for her to update me on that BEFORE I paid, but....what's five minutes? so i pulled to the front of the building to wait.
::cute hungry baby::
you start squalling.
my feet are KILLING me.
there is still poo-covered clothing in the seat next to me smelling PUTRID (i forgot to take them inside the house before the mall trip...and they have been basically cooking in my car in the 106 degree summer heat for the past hour)
my body is shaky.
i have to pee.
you probably have to pee, too, but you get to wear diapers (lucky)
and together. with all of our ailments....we wait. and wait.and wait. and....
seriously? it's been 15 minutes!
because i am fitful and lazy and my feet hurt and you are loud and heavy and it's hot....i didn't want to go inside to ask for either my meal, something different, or my money back, so i drove back around the building to re-order it. :)
when i got to the intercom....i asked the lady if the sandwich was ready yet and she seemed a little embarrassed when she informed me that it was ready. (and had been).
so. i got the sandwich. got you home. fed you. fed me. fed the dogs. started the laundry to clean your dirties from earlier and....wait....what's that i feel on you?
another leak.
all over your clean clothes.
so i just dumped you into the bathtub, scrubbed you down, started the laundry over again. realized the poo was on your highchair....took the cover off of that to start laundry AGAIN again...realized it was all over me....ripped my outfit off to start laundry AGAIN again again.
and while i was cleaning poo off of the kitchen, the bathroom, your bedroom wall (?) you slept soundly.
this is the point when it hit me: my life is a series of cleaning up messes. and i wanted to run away. so. NATURALLY....when someone has a bad day and their feet hurt. and their feeling a little icky and they are tired....i wanted to go to the gym. i mean...doesn't it make sense? you have had the cha-cha all day and my blood sugar plummeted giving me a headache. i have blisters on my feet....why WOULDN"T i want to introduce you to a gym's daycare for the very first time on a day like this?
i don't understand my own logic. i don't ask you to understand it either....
when you woke up, i got all festive about it and dressed you in a Dr. Suess leotard, complete with leg warmers and sneakers to take you to the gym where you almost IMMEDIATELY freaked out when i handed you to a stranger. but i just KNEW it would be fun for you. other kids. toys. loud noises. what's not to love? and while i was running in place upstairs i had visions of you meeting other kids and making friends. learning how to talk. learning how to dance. getting your heart rate up while you played in the little gym, etc. what a great mom i am!!!! what a wonderful way for me to help your day improve!!!!
"krista springstead, please come to the kids-zone"
my day dreams of you excelling in sports and dance was demolished by the loudspeaker. and as i climbed off of my elliptical machine, those daydreams were replaced with nightmarish visions:
everyone in the building stopped what they were doing.
the radio stopped playing music.
no one said a word.
i just KNEW you had another mess to clean up.
i could just SMELL it.
i could just SEE it in my mind's eye all over the daycare worker.
everyone started throwing rocks at me.
calling me a bad mother.
pointing fingers.
blaming me.
like i blame my mother for everything that goes wrong. because she didn't warn me about days like this.
just like you will blame me for everything bad in your life.
it's all my fault.
and i take full responsibility every single time that you say
"momma said there'd be days like this."
but i have them.
hopefully you will be more like your nana and also WON'T have them, but just to make certain. i need to warn you about a few things:
1. if you want something done right, do it yourself.
(don't count on a computer to do it the right way, either. it will crash or freeze or explode or disappear before you are done and ruin everything. like how this is the 3rd time i have had to write this letter because my computer keeps eating it.)
3. nothing ever works out according to plans.
this is the most important of all. and where i will really begin my letter to you.....
prepare youself. this'll be a long one.
i'll start with yesterday. we had a slight episode while i was showering. you were SUPPOSED to be trapped in the living room watching yo gabba gabba while i took a lightening fast shower during the 24 minute episode. you broke out of your baby jail. and i caught you happily sitting in the dog's water bowl eating their food.
i don't know how much you managed to swallow, but i do know that i clawed about 4 chunks and some gooey bits out of your mouth, propelled one out of your windpipe when i patted you on the back and raked a fistful in the floor.
i believe that the dog food is the reason that you aren't feeling so grand today.
but regardless...i had plans for today. and you didn't follow my plan. you were supposed to NOT have diarrhea today. i planned for you to NOT have it. therefore, i didn't pack a spare outfit in your bag just in case. i ALSO didn't pack a spare outfit for ME just in case. and it wouldn't have mattered ANYWAY because we both have needed a total of 3 outfits each today. so far. but it's only 3:30 in the afternoon. we still have a good 5 hours left before your bedtime to have yet ANOTHER explosion....
the first explosion happened at the office. i was tickling you and snuggling with you at my desk when i felt the cool stickiness oozing through your shorts. then the smell. i practically threw you in the floor when i realized that it was on me, too. it's one thing, jovie, if you want to poo on yourself, but don't drag me into this....
as i was trying to get you cleaned up and into dry panties so i could take you home and get us changed, my brand new belt snapped in half and landed in your poo.
how?!?!?!
how am i going to finally suck it up and spend good money on a quality belt only to have it explode on me while i was cleaning up YOUR explosion?! it was clearly as defective as your colon, and i wanted to exchange it TODAY.
THEN. at the mall where i took you after getting clean clothes, my shoes started to rub blisters on about 4 places on my feet. i hadn't intended on walking much today. i don't plan properly in some situations. so i had no socks on. and i haven't worn these boots since before i got pregnant with you. oh well. 1 poo bomb, a new belt, and 4 blisters isn't SO bad, right?
but THEN. as i was driving us home, my blood sugar began to drop. which is fun. i get very shaky and confused when that happens, so i needed to eat fairly quickly. to add insult to injury, you were about to be hungry too, and while i just get shaky, you get EVIL when you are hungry. crying and whatnot like i haven't fed you 6 days.....
man, you and i are a fussy lot.
so. i decided that best thing for me to do was to get a sandwich stuffed into me while i was driving so that i could get you home and fed and we could just relax. i pulled over to a KFC to grab a sandwich in the drive thru. after i paid for the sandwich, the girl at the window told me that the sandwich still had 5 minutes until it was ready. it would have been convenient for her to update me on that BEFORE I paid, but....what's five minutes? so i pulled to the front of the building to wait.
::cute hungry baby::
you start squalling.
my feet are KILLING me.
there is still poo-covered clothing in the seat next to me smelling PUTRID (i forgot to take them inside the house before the mall trip...and they have been basically cooking in my car in the 106 degree summer heat for the past hour)
my body is shaky.
i have to pee.
you probably have to pee, too, but you get to wear diapers (lucky)
and together. with all of our ailments....we wait. and wait.and wait. and....
seriously? it's been 15 minutes!
because i am fitful and lazy and my feet hurt and you are loud and heavy and it's hot....i didn't want to go inside to ask for either my meal, something different, or my money back, so i drove back around the building to re-order it. :)
when i got to the intercom....i asked the lady if the sandwich was ready yet and she seemed a little embarrassed when she informed me that it was ready. (and had been).
so. i got the sandwich. got you home. fed you. fed me. fed the dogs. started the laundry to clean your dirties from earlier and....wait....what's that i feel on you?
another leak.
all over your clean clothes.
so i just dumped you into the bathtub, scrubbed you down, started the laundry over again. realized the poo was on your highchair....took the cover off of that to start laundry AGAIN again...realized it was all over me....ripped my outfit off to start laundry AGAIN again again.
and while i was cleaning poo off of the kitchen, the bathroom, your bedroom wall (?) you slept soundly.
this is the point when it hit me: my life is a series of cleaning up messes. and i wanted to run away. so. NATURALLY....when someone has a bad day and their feet hurt. and their feeling a little icky and they are tired....i wanted to go to the gym. i mean...doesn't it make sense? you have had the cha-cha all day and my blood sugar plummeted giving me a headache. i have blisters on my feet....why WOULDN"T i want to introduce you to a gym's daycare for the very first time on a day like this?
i don't understand my own logic. i don't ask you to understand it either....
when you woke up, i got all festive about it and dressed you in a Dr. Suess leotard, complete with leg warmers and sneakers to take you to the gym where you almost IMMEDIATELY freaked out when i handed you to a stranger. but i just KNEW it would be fun for you. other kids. toys. loud noises. what's not to love? and while i was running in place upstairs i had visions of you meeting other kids and making friends. learning how to talk. learning how to dance. getting your heart rate up while you played in the little gym, etc. what a great mom i am!!!! what a wonderful way for me to help your day improve!!!!
"krista springstead, please come to the kids-zone"
my day dreams of you excelling in sports and dance was demolished by the loudspeaker. and as i climbed off of my elliptical machine, those daydreams were replaced with nightmarish visions:
everyone in the building stopped what they were doing.
the radio stopped playing music.
no one said a word.
i just KNEW you had another mess to clean up.
i could just SMELL it.
i could just SEE it in my mind's eye all over the daycare worker.
everyone started throwing rocks at me.
calling me a bad mother.
pointing fingers.
blaming me.
like i blame my mother for everything that goes wrong. because she didn't warn me about days like this.
just like you will blame me for everything bad in your life.
it's all my fault.
and i take full responsibility every single time that you say
"momma said there'd be days like this."
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)