Showing posts with label pillow. Show all posts
Showing posts with label pillow. Show all posts
Tuesday, August 9, 2011
A Word From The Wise
I lost my temper today. It was bound to happen after only getting 4 hours of sleep. The early birds woke complaining of hunger so I brought them downstairs before the sun even rose. So after several hours of eating, playing, dancing, cluttering & repeat they are still going strong, not a nap in sight. I am exhausted, cranky, and need more caffeine. I was about to walk into the kitchen to refuel with a cherry coke, which is something I should not be drinking with a history of kidney stones mind you, when something caught my eye. Lil R had a book, a book where it is not supposed to be. She was not reading this book. No. She was eating. yet. another... If you've read my previous posts you know this is an ongoing problem.
"NOT FOOD!" I boomed. I swiped the book from her hands and out of her mouth in such a way that she began to cry. "Good," I thought, "that'll teach her!"
Big brother R immediately stopped playing and went over to comfort his whimpering sister. Meanwhile I stormed from the room like a pouty teenager to go cool off. He then came directly to me to have a little talk. I was still fuming, futilely wondering, "Why? Why does she eat stuff that's not food?"
"Mom," he began, patiently waiting for me to make eye contact.
At first I wanted to yell at him too. Snap a "Get out of here! Leave me alone!" while I wallowed in my mean-mom guilt for losing my temper. But when I looked at his sincere little face, I just couldn't. My heart was tongue-tied. The smoke was now clearing.
Making sure I was really listening, he calmly continued, "Mom, you can't yell at Baby Ro."
I sat there stunned and listened intently to this child of mine. "You must use your inside voice", he wisely instructed. "Yelling is for outside."
I started to stammer like a child who's hand was caught in the cookie jar.
Then he proceeded to hit me with the exact thing I tell him during one of our time-out talks after he has a screaming tantrum. "If you get mad just scream in a pillow and then you won't yell anymore, and you won't be mad anymore, and it'll be all better!" He said it so cheerfully, so judiciously, so sensibly. He is very animated when he speaks, his head tilting and nodding, his shoulders, hands, and arms were poised in one of those "I don't know" poses. He smiled at me, eyebrows raised, waiting for my response.
I sheepishly pouted. Now what am I supposed to say to that?
Here I was, a grown woman, a mother of two, the disciplinarian, or so I thought, and this small, physically frail but strong in heart & spirit, three-year old boy, just taught me a lesson.
"Now promise me you'll never do it again," he recited again from memory with a gentle sternness.
I felt myself blush with embarrassment. This was the most awkward situation I have ever found myself in as a parent. I didn't know what to say. Perhaps I should've gone with the old standard "I make the rules and what I say goes!" followed by a rude "Just mind your own business" for smarts. Or maybe instructed him with one of the classic place-putting lines "I'm the parent and you don't speak to me that way!"
But he was right. How could I argue with my very own rules? How could I possibly deny something I've said to him? Then, foolishly perhaps, I dove straight into the sea of awkward. I opened my mouth and out came a "But..." ...insert my big stinky mom foot here...
I stammered, "B...b... but... how am I supposed to stop her from putting things in her mouth and eating things she shouldn't? She doesn't listen to me." I shamefully admit that I actually whined.
Is this really happening? Am I desperately seeking parenting advice from my own three year old? Nice. In that moment I imagined a slew of future Mother's Day cards with a big 'ol X over the word BEST or GREATEST. "To the X mom" Yep, that's me. The stuttering, push-over X parent.
"Well," he started with a long sigh, sounding wiser than his years (heck, even wiser than my years) shaking his head, "I just don't know. He then finished with a final matter-of-fact, "But don't yell at Baby Ro."
I immediately felt ashamed as hot tears stung my eyes. I became the child and he was now the parent.
I was a slobbering contrite mess scooping him up in my arms and apologizing in a whisper.
When I finally put him down and let go, he stood there with that bashful, smiling, head-cocked, tilted shoulders, hands-behind-his-back, stance that he does when he is so pleased with himself.
"Bubba, I am so very proud of you." I gushed, holding his pale little face in my hands, looking in his deep dark eyes, and planting a kiss on his fuzzy head. "I love you! Thank you for teaching me."
He made that clicking sound, a sort of tongue-click/lip-smack, as his chest swelled with pride.
"Your welcome! I love you too!" he cheerfully chimed and sprung from the room to continue playing where he had abruptly left off.
I dried my eyes and felt humbly solemn as I walked into the next room. I saw the two little angels playing and giggling. I scooped up lilRo. Big brother joined in the love fest and we all hugged and kissed each other.
I returned her to the floor and went across the room to the computer desk. I was basking in the happy Hallmark-moment watching my beautiful, intelligent children playing merrily. Lil R smiled at me, her cherub cheeks glowing, her evenly spaced baby teeth showing in a cheesy grin. She then picked up the book and began to once again feast on it's spine. Well, that lasted about as long as a commercial.
I let out a defeated sigh as I searched for the nearest pillow.
Saturday, July 23, 2011
No Rest For The Winey
AMAZING!
The kids are in bed by 9.
NINE! Both kids! And not just in bed, sleeping too!
I decide to celebrate with a glass of wine. Luckily, I have a bottle. This too, is also amazing. Bottles are not something I have the luxury of adding to my shopping cart on a regular basis. The stars align when there is a sale, I have a coupon and/or there is a nice rebate, or I am a half crazed midnight shopping lunatic after a stressful little-monster-rearing day. I believe this particular purchase was the result of all 3.
And this isn't just a bottle. This is a put-you-into-a-coma-if-you-attempt-to-drink-it-all-by-yourself vessel. I bought it in the hopes of having someone to share it with, a friend perhaps. Big Daddy R doesn't drink so I am usually solo on the stumbling. And there is not much time for socializing when you have a germ-avoiding paranoia, for good reason, as well as an incessant need to be on my toes for any emergencies that may arise. The very thought of being intoxicated or away from the house if/when something awful were to happen causes a panic in me you probably can't imagine.
But tonight all is well, I am safe at home with a perfectly capable Big Daddy R, and they are fast asleep. What could possibly go wrong?
Most times when I feel the need to have a glass of wine I grab my favorite Food Network Food Show wine glass head across the street to the neighbors. The Porch Dwellers, as most in my neighborhood affectionately call them, have a seemingly endless supply of bottles and are always eager to pour. They love the company and the stories of mayhem I share. I must be like a live-action version of bad reality TV series for them. No wonder they keep pouring.
It usually takes place shortly after dinner, when the little Rs are still up causing trouble and messes still litter the floor. I get that glossy look in my eye, slip on my shoes, and with glass in hand, and halfway out the door, I holler to Big Daddy R that I'm gonna go chat with the neighbors a bit, tipping my glass in his direction. He nods and reluctantly concedes. He knows what that means. He is on his own for the bed-time routine. I practically run across the street and pretend not to hear the crash of the next disaster that is taking place inside while Big Daddy R desperately tries to round up the wild stallions.
It is my one escape and thankfully he lets me have it. He who occasionally goes in to work at 6AM when the regular start time is 9AM, who also occasionally comes home well after 6PM no matter when he starts, who is the sole supporter of our family unit, who still somehow has energy enough to play with the kids after all that hard work and agrees to watch them for me, all alone, while I indulge in a forbidden luxury... time to myself... a lil R & R.
But tonight is different. Tonight I have air conditioning, my laptop, comfy Pj's, a cork screw, and a large glistening glass. I'm all set.
I eagerly twist the screw into the imitation cork and begin to pull. It's not budging. I twist a little more, push down the wings of the cork screw and try again. Maybe a centimeter. Ugh! I repeat the process until I am sure the screw is undoubtedly adequately wedged in the cork and attempt to pull once more. I am careful not to knock over any dirty dishes that still sit on the counter, that I pretend not to see. I am tempted to grab the screw between my molars and tug but quickly decide that would be a BAD idea.
Big Daddy R hears me grunting from the next room. "What on Earth are you doing in there?" he asks. At first I am frozen like a guilty teen who has just been caught eyeing a beer in the fridge. But I am an adult. At least most times I am. And I am allowed to have a glass of wine if I want to. "Hello? Is everything alright in there?" he asks again.
"Fine." I grunt, "Just trying to open this bottle of wine." He offers to help but I have the determination of a child who doesn't understand or believe in impossibilities. I give one last tug and slowly wriggle the plug free.
Success! I pour my glass more than half full and proceed to my throne in the living room. Once settled in, I take one sip, then one long gulp. Ahhh!
I set the glass down and start to work on my laptop. As I drift off into digital space I am hurled into reality by a soft subtle whimper coming from above.
Oh No! Immediately my shoulders slump. I look to Big Daddy who looks at me with raised eyebrows as if to say, "it's you they want." I quickly grab my glass and take several large gulps as the volume increases into a duet of their favorite nighttime serenade, To Mommy with Love. I squeeze my eyes shut trying to ignore it. It's no use. I hammer out a few words on my blog, hit save and close it up. Taking one more gulp I scramble out of my chair and up the stairs.
After consoling and diaper changes, they drift back off to sleep and I quietly tiptoe back down stairs to greet my glass. I return to my typing and for about an hour I get some uninterrupted peaceful R & R.
More cries. I scoot upstairs and manage to get them back to sleep then return to my wine and writing. After finishing my glass and my post, I head upstairs to get some sleep. It's about midnight.
I am awoken by more cries at 1. More consoling, then back to bed. The dreamless sleep that followed was a well-needed but short-lived escape.
I am groggily awakened by a repeated thud. The sound is coming from inside my head. And for some reason the outside of my head hurts too. This could not possibly be a hangover. No, I only had one glass! I push away the thought and try to go back to sleep but the banging is persistent.
Slowly, I start to realize that I am being hit on the head by a hard object. I reach up to touch a fleshy and hair covered globe. Confused, I force my eyes open and see little R. I stop her from hitting me one last time with her head and reposition her on the pillow next to me. She is still asleep. She likes to be right on top of me when she sleeps in our bed. I am too tired to even question the strange behavior.
I start to drift back to sleep but am awakened again by the sobering realization of "Why is she in our bed? How did she get here?" She recently learned how to scale her sleep-prison (crib) but I dropped it down to the last notch and thought she couldn't possibly climb out of that let alone mount our king size bed by herself, without a peep, and without waking the entire household.
I look over and see Big Daddy R is in bed too and conclude that he must have brought her into our bed after another rousing chorus that I obviously slept through. It is too late to spend another second thinking about, so I sigh and return to my pillow. I glance at the clock, 4:30. I got three and half hours straight, now that's amazing!
I close my eyes only to find them flying open again minutes later, just as I was drifting off. I had that creepy feeling that someone was watching me. I roll over quickly and come face to face with the older R standing beside my bed with an arm load of stuffed animals.
"Can you help me Mom" he asks. What?" I can't even comprehend. He asks again and I suddenly realize what he wants. I oblige, taking the fluffy creatures from his overloaded arms one by one and tossing them behind me to the center of the bed, just careful enough not to hit the sleeping giant and mini me. A caterpillar, a puppy, a giraffe, a bear, a glo worm, a kitty, another puppy, and a bunch of not-so-fluffy toys including a mini computer, a glow board, a few die cast cars and the dreaded leaky sippy join us on the bed. He climbs up and I bury my face in the pillow determined to doze.
Whining and nudging ensue.
"What are you trying to do?" I beg. I roll over to see him on his hands and knees next to my legs trying to wedge himself between me and little R.
"But I wanna sleep by you." he whines. "Move baby Ro over! Put her in her own bed!" he demands.
"No," I firmly press, "She's asleep. I can't move her. If you want to sleep in here then climb next to Daddy. There's room over there. There's plenty of room in this bed for all of us." Obviously not room enough for me as I later discover in a forthcoming post.
He reluctantly crawls over and snuggles next to Daddy and at last I dose off to sleep just around 5:30.
A cold wet puddle creeping quickly down my side wakes me with a start. I jump out of bed so fast that I fell into the wall. I want to curse but grit my teeth. I look at the bed to see the leaky sippy turned upside down draining into the valley where my body once lay sleeping soundly... but briefly, as it is now only 7:30.
I grab the sippy and put it on the night stand while noticing that everyone else is asleep, even the cat at the foot of the bed. I definitely do NOT want to wake them now with a sheet change. Tiptoeing to the bathroom, I peel off my Pj's, clean my sticky side with a baby wipe, and grab a towel. I pull the first t-shirt my hand finds out of the dresser and pull it on, pretty sure it's backwards and inside out. Placing the towel over the puddle, I crawl back into bed.
Morning comes at 8:30 with little R's kisses planted all over my face. Just as I was starting to sleepily smile and try to open my eyes, she slaps me in the face and then promptly kisses it again. I don't even have time to react. I hear more kisses but they are not for me. This time they are for brother R who giggles with delight at the affection. He crawls over to me and covers me with kisses as well. What a way to wake!
Big Daddy R is still snoring.
The morning birds start bouncing all over me in the bed until I agree to get up and get them some breakfast and sippies of milk. I manage to stand and realize the puddle soaked through the towel and onto my t-shirt which is indeed inside out and backwards. I don't mind.
The positive energy in the room is contagious. Although I barely got any R & R, I am in a good mood. How could you not be when covered with kisses?
The kids are in bed by 9.
NINE! Both kids! And not just in bed, sleeping too!
I decide to celebrate with a glass of wine. Luckily, I have a bottle. This too, is also amazing. Bottles are not something I have the luxury of adding to my shopping cart on a regular basis. The stars align when there is a sale, I have a coupon and/or there is a nice rebate, or I am a half crazed midnight shopping lunatic after a stressful little-monster-rearing day. I believe this particular purchase was the result of all 3.
And this isn't just a bottle. This is a put-you-into-a-coma-if-you-attempt-to-drink-it-all-by-yourself vessel. I bought it in the hopes of having someone to share it with, a friend perhaps. Big Daddy R doesn't drink so I am usually solo on the stumbling. And there is not much time for socializing when you have a germ-avoiding paranoia, for good reason, as well as an incessant need to be on my toes for any emergencies that may arise. The very thought of being intoxicated or away from the house if/when something awful were to happen causes a panic in me you probably can't imagine.
But tonight all is well, I am safe at home with a perfectly capable Big Daddy R, and they are fast asleep. What could possibly go wrong?
Most times when I feel the need to have a glass of wine I grab my favorite Food Network Food Show wine glass head across the street to the neighbors. The Porch Dwellers, as most in my neighborhood affectionately call them, have a seemingly endless supply of bottles and are always eager to pour. They love the company and the stories of mayhem I share. I must be like a live-action version of bad reality TV series for them. No wonder they keep pouring.
It usually takes place shortly after dinner, when the little Rs are still up causing trouble and messes still litter the floor. I get that glossy look in my eye, slip on my shoes, and with glass in hand, and halfway out the door, I holler to Big Daddy R that I'm gonna go chat with the neighbors a bit, tipping my glass in his direction. He nods and reluctantly concedes. He knows what that means. He is on his own for the bed-time routine. I practically run across the street and pretend not to hear the crash of the next disaster that is taking place inside while Big Daddy R desperately tries to round up the wild stallions.
It is my one escape and thankfully he lets me have it. He who occasionally goes in to work at 6AM when the regular start time is 9AM, who also occasionally comes home well after 6PM no matter when he starts, who is the sole supporter of our family unit, who still somehow has energy enough to play with the kids after all that hard work and agrees to watch them for me, all alone, while I indulge in a forbidden luxury... time to myself... a lil R & R.
But tonight is different. Tonight I have air conditioning, my laptop, comfy Pj's, a cork screw, and a large glistening glass. I'm all set.
I eagerly twist the screw into the imitation cork and begin to pull. It's not budging. I twist a little more, push down the wings of the cork screw and try again. Maybe a centimeter. Ugh! I repeat the process until I am sure the screw is undoubtedly adequately wedged in the cork and attempt to pull once more. I am careful not to knock over any dirty dishes that still sit on the counter, that I pretend not to see. I am tempted to grab the screw between my molars and tug but quickly decide that would be a BAD idea.
Big Daddy R hears me grunting from the next room. "What on Earth are you doing in there?" he asks. At first I am frozen like a guilty teen who has just been caught eyeing a beer in the fridge. But I am an adult. At least most times I am. And I am allowed to have a glass of wine if I want to. "Hello? Is everything alright in there?" he asks again.
"Fine." I grunt, "Just trying to open this bottle of wine." He offers to help but I have the determination of a child who doesn't understand or believe in impossibilities. I give one last tug and slowly wriggle the plug free.
Success! I pour my glass more than half full and proceed to my throne in the living room. Once settled in, I take one sip, then one long gulp. Ahhh!
I set the glass down and start to work on my laptop. As I drift off into digital space I am hurled into reality by a soft subtle whimper coming from above.
Oh No! Immediately my shoulders slump. I look to Big Daddy who looks at me with raised eyebrows as if to say, "it's you they want." I quickly grab my glass and take several large gulps as the volume increases into a duet of their favorite nighttime serenade, To Mommy with Love. I squeeze my eyes shut trying to ignore it. It's no use. I hammer out a few words on my blog, hit save and close it up. Taking one more gulp I scramble out of my chair and up the stairs.
After consoling and diaper changes, they drift back off to sleep and I quietly tiptoe back down stairs to greet my glass. I return to my typing and for about an hour I get some uninterrupted peaceful R & R.
More cries. I scoot upstairs and manage to get them back to sleep then return to my wine and writing. After finishing my glass and my post, I head upstairs to get some sleep. It's about midnight.
I am awoken by more cries at 1. More consoling, then back to bed. The dreamless sleep that followed was a well-needed but short-lived escape.
I am groggily awakened by a repeated thud. The sound is coming from inside my head. And for some reason the outside of my head hurts too. This could not possibly be a hangover. No, I only had one glass! I push away the thought and try to go back to sleep but the banging is persistent.
Slowly, I start to realize that I am being hit on the head by a hard object. I reach up to touch a fleshy and hair covered globe. Confused, I force my eyes open and see little R. I stop her from hitting me one last time with her head and reposition her on the pillow next to me. She is still asleep. She likes to be right on top of me when she sleeps in our bed. I am too tired to even question the strange behavior.
I start to drift back to sleep but am awakened again by the sobering realization of "Why is she in our bed? How did she get here?" She recently learned how to scale her sleep-prison (crib) but I dropped it down to the last notch and thought she couldn't possibly climb out of that let alone mount our king size bed by herself, without a peep, and without waking the entire household.
I look over and see Big Daddy R is in bed too and conclude that he must have brought her into our bed after another rousing chorus that I obviously slept through. It is too late to spend another second thinking about, so I sigh and return to my pillow. I glance at the clock, 4:30. I got three and half hours straight, now that's amazing!
I close my eyes only to find them flying open again minutes later, just as I was drifting off. I had that creepy feeling that someone was watching me. I roll over quickly and come face to face with the older R standing beside my bed with an arm load of stuffed animals.
"Can you help me Mom" he asks. What?" I can't even comprehend. He asks again and I suddenly realize what he wants. I oblige, taking the fluffy creatures from his overloaded arms one by one and tossing them behind me to the center of the bed, just careful enough not to hit the sleeping giant and mini me. A caterpillar, a puppy, a giraffe, a bear, a glo worm, a kitty, another puppy, and a bunch of not-so-fluffy toys including a mini computer, a glow board, a few die cast cars and the dreaded leaky sippy join us on the bed. He climbs up and I bury my face in the pillow determined to doze.
Whining and nudging ensue.
"What are you trying to do?" I beg. I roll over to see him on his hands and knees next to my legs trying to wedge himself between me and little R.
"But I wanna sleep by you." he whines. "Move baby Ro over! Put her in her own bed!" he demands.
"No," I firmly press, "She's asleep. I can't move her. If you want to sleep in here then climb next to Daddy. There's room over there. There's plenty of room in this bed for all of us." Obviously not room enough for me as I later discover in a forthcoming post.
He reluctantly crawls over and snuggles next to Daddy and at last I dose off to sleep just around 5:30.
A cold wet puddle creeping quickly down my side wakes me with a start. I jump out of bed so fast that I fell into the wall. I want to curse but grit my teeth. I look at the bed to see the leaky sippy turned upside down draining into the valley where my body once lay sleeping soundly... but briefly, as it is now only 7:30.
I grab the sippy and put it on the night stand while noticing that everyone else is asleep, even the cat at the foot of the bed. I definitely do NOT want to wake them now with a sheet change. Tiptoeing to the bathroom, I peel off my Pj's, clean my sticky side with a baby wipe, and grab a towel. I pull the first t-shirt my hand finds out of the dresser and pull it on, pretty sure it's backwards and inside out. Placing the towel over the puddle, I crawl back into bed.
Morning comes at 8:30 with little R's kisses planted all over my face. Just as I was starting to sleepily smile and try to open my eyes, she slaps me in the face and then promptly kisses it again. I don't even have time to react. I hear more kisses but they are not for me. This time they are for brother R who giggles with delight at the affection. He crawls over to me and covers me with kisses as well. What a way to wake!
Big Daddy R is still snoring.
The morning birds start bouncing all over me in the bed until I agree to get up and get them some breakfast and sippies of milk. I manage to stand and realize the puddle soaked through the towel and onto my t-shirt which is indeed inside out and backwards. I don't mind.
The positive energy in the room is contagious. Although I barely got any R & R, I am in a good mood. How could you not be when covered with kisses?
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