Perfection

September 26, 2012 at 10:24 am | Posted in Horses, Kids | 2 Comments
Tags: , , , , , , , , ,

I’m watching my son try to become “king of the hill” in his karate class. They’re practicing Jujitsu wrestling, so this means he has to find a way to disengage and flip the kid on top of him over, then hold him down for a few seconds. I’m watching calmly, nodding and smiling at Brady and the Sensei, while my inner narrative goes something like this, “Come ON, Brady!! Get him! Just trap that arm – TRAP IT! Now bridge… BRIDGE!! You can flip him! You can win! You can be the best!!!” Meanwhile, I’m talking to a dad standing next to me about how it’s ok for our boys to not do it perfectly, and he’s telling me how hard it is for his wife to watch the class because she gets so frustrated when their son doesn’t do exactly what he’s supposed to do. I share this feeling and cringe inwardly all the time – especially with a child like Brady who doesn’t always go with the flow.

What is all this pressure, desire, demand to be perfect? Where does it come from, and why do we try so hard to achieve it and want it so badly for our kids?

I wouldn’t call myself a perfectionist in that down-to-every-last-detail sort of way. That would be my husband. I strive for things to be very well done, but they don’t have to be perfect. Such as, I’ll make the bed because it looks nice and is lovely to slide into at the end of the day, but every sheet corner doesn’t have to be tucked in and the comforter doesn’t have to be flawlessly smooth. Of course, I do feel guilty if the bed isn’t made (bad mother, wife, housekeeper!).

My husband, on the other hand, will not even begin a task unless he can see it through to ultimate completion. Every single tiny cobweb must be off the exterior of the house, every flake of snow removed from the walkway/driveway/deck, every speck of dirt lifted from the interior of his car (Oh, you should SEE his car!! It’s 6 years old with over 100k miles on it and it looks and smells brand new! The man is super-human.).

So what of my boys?

Brady and I see a behavioral therapist once/week who has helped us immensely with his anxiety and other difficult aspects of Asperger’s Syndrome. Her philosophy is “We play games to have fun, not to win. Who cares who wins?” Who cares who wins?? I care!! What is that? It doesn’t matter who wins? Isn’t that half the fun of playing? Winning? And if I teach my kids that it doesn’t matter if you win or lose (I know, I know, ‘it’s how you play the game’ – I agree, that’s important, too), will they be slovenly couch potatoes with no drive? Is this something that comes from personality or programming? So many questions about perfection…

Back in the days when I used to show my horses, I started out wanting to win every class and getting really upset if I didn’t get a trophy or at least place. Over time, I realized that the important thing was that I had the best possible ride. If the judge didn’t see us or didn’t like my horse, I couldn’t really help that. I could only control what and how we did in the ring. But the important distinction here is that I still went in with the intention to win. I trained and practiced and hoped for it. I TRIED to win. And working that hard made me a better rider. What changed was my attitude. I learned to pet my horse on the neck, thank him for the great ride, and smile on my way through the outgate because my equine companion gave me everything I wanted, even if the judge didn’t.

I can see when Brady is practicing karate that he’s a lover, not a fighter. After wrestling for a few minutes, he’ll lie there and pat the kids’ head with whom he’s practicing. I can tell now by the way he glances at me as they play “king of the hill” that he’s trying to win for me, because he knows I want him to, not because he wants to. Maybe he’s just not that competitive. So what I’ve told him is that he doesn’t have to be the best, he just has to give it his best. Try his hardest. I suppose that’s all we can ask from any of us. I’m still going to try to win. But I don’t have to be perfect. And neither do my boys.

xo

Advertisements

Feeding Frenzy

September 3, 2012 at 8:48 am | Posted in Beauty, Uncategorized | 2 Comments
Tags: , , , , ,

It’s never good when you suddenly don’t need your belt anymore.

As in: Hmmm, I swear the last time I wore these shorts I really needed this belt to keep them from sliding down my hips. How come I don’t need it today? They seem to be staying up all on their own. In fact, they might even be a little bit tight… Uh oh.

Could it be ‘vacation fat’ syndrome? You know, “I’m on vacation, so I’ll just… eat dessert after every meal… have a huge breakfast every morning (it’s a buffet, after all)… make sure I keep my strength up with a chocolate bar every afternoon… have cheese and crackers with artichoke dip on the porch every day at 4:00… try everything on the menu in the gourmet restaurant… keep the frozen drinks coming…”   Accompanied, of course, by the I’ve-just-hiked-a-mountain-(ok-it-was-really-a-1-hour-walk-up-a-slight-incline)-so-I-must-have-burned-4,000-calories-and-really-deserve-this-rack-o-ribs-cornbread-nachos-brownie-sundae-meal syndrome.

What is it about being on vacation (even if for just a quick weekend get-away) that inspires uninhibited eating in an “I deserve it” sort of way? And of course, the whole time, I’m just trying to get my kids to eat SOMETHING as I continually overindulge.

All you guys want is chicken fingers and mac and cheese again? At home you eat everything!  Come on, you’re going to get scurvy or leprosy or some other life-threatening disease from all the salt and preservatives! Hey, where are you going? Sit down! Dont bother those people over there! Leave the waiter alone! Eat some more of that food! Why can’t you guys sit still and eat? Am I going to have to shove some of that food down your gullet? If I had my way, I’d eat CONSTANTLY!

Oh wait, I guess I got my way…

So back to the shorts. It COULD be vacation. Or it just could be that I’m a sugar hound. Or that I pretend to count calories while constantly faking it in my favor. As in, “Whole grain spelt bread with peanut butter and honey. So healthy! Let’s see, two slices of bread = 160 calories, good. Peanut butter = 100 calories/tablespoon. Well, how much did I really have? Couldn’t have been more than one tablespoon (meanwhile the thickly-spread PB is oozing off of both slices of toast and onto the plate) so… 100 calories there. Honey = 60 calories/Tbsp. Well, really, how much honey could I have used? (More dripping off the bread.) Must be like a half-teaspoon so total for this snack is 270 calories! I have SO much self-control!!”

Yeah, those are the kinds of games I play with myself.

When I was in high school, we actually had a ritual around eating – or as we called it in the 80s, ‘pigging out’. One or the other of us would invite each other for a sleep-over and as we were hanging up (remember, we actually had to CALL each other back in those days), we’d casually say, “Bring your eating clothes”. That was the sign. That meant there was going to be a feeding frenzy in between the MTV music videos and episodes of the A-Team, which generally included the following staples: Nacho Cheese Doritos (the only flavor they had back then), Nutter Butters, Munchos (a much-better predecessor to Pop Chips), chocolate chip or Oreo ice cream, and chocolate in just about any form.

What were ‘eating clothes’? Anything with a stretchy waistband that you didn’t mind spilling something on. That should really be required for most get-togethers today. How often have you spilled your wine or olive-oil-infused bruschetta on your favorite dress or shirt? If everyone just wore sweat pants and old t-shirts it would be so much easier. We could dress it up a little by wearing them with high heels and lots of big hair and make-up. Wait a minute, I think I may have just described a few of my outfits back in the 80s.

But once again I digress. I need to figure out what happened to these shorts. Maybe I shrunk them? Maybe the belt stretched out? Too bad I don’t have a teenage daughter so I could claim that my clothes got mixed up with her size 2’s. At any rate, why don’t you all come on over? And wear your eating clothes. It’s Labor Day weekend, after all…

xo

Atten-HUT!!!

August 15, 2012 at 9:20 pm | Posted in Kids | 2 Comments
Tags: , , , , ,

I used to speak ever so softly and sweetly to my children. I’d cajole and coo, whispering in their ears and smiling while I spoke. Gentle tones and calm demeanor were my forte.

Now I sound like I live in a fort.

What exactly happened? Boyhood kicked in, that’s what. They went from soft and sweet and so-so cuddly to big and boney and rambunctious. Now my quiet crooning is replaced by drill-sergeant-like barking. I’m always shouting out orders, guiding their little heads back into line with my hands when they stray (like every 5 seconds), and sounding out the days’ itinerary:

“Brady! Michael! Front and center! NOW HEAR THIS: It is TIME to get DRESSED! Here is what is going to happen: BRADY, you are going to come here NOW and put on your PANTS! NO, you may NOT jump on the trampoline naked! LISTEN UP, boys! MICHAEL, you are going to STOP sitting on the cat and take your jammies OFF! And no more namby-pamby whining! I used to have to get dressed while walking uphill in the SNOW! Barefoot!! In JUNE!!!”

None of this is spoken in mean or angry tones, just in a loud, instructional format. Ok, more like a muffled roar, but you get the picture. I am not screaming at my children, just trying to get their ever-shifting attention.

Out in public, mothers of only children shoot me sideways glances as I dole out directives to my brood of two. They’re probably thinking, “What’s wrong with her? Too much caffeine? A bit high-strung, are we? Take it easy on those two! A little kindness goes a long way. You catch more flies with honey. Blah blah blah blah.”

HA! They have no idea. Two kids might as well be ten! A couple of little boys may not look like much, but trust me, if these two get even one step ahead of me, it’s anarchy. They will completely overthrow the current Nanny State (Mommy State, in this case) and leave me quivering and whimpering as I try to explain just how the purple-maned horse from the carousel got into the fun park’s wishing well. I can’t imagine what they’ll do when they’re teenagers.

My husband tells horror stories of he and his brother (also 3 years apart) concocting such stunts as drizzling gasoline down the driveway (where exactly did they find an unattended can of gas?), taking the tires off their bikes and skidding down the driveway so the metal rims/gas combination created sparks and a nice little whip of flame. They also managed to drive their bikes off the garage roof without breaking any limbs. But they did break a set of antique beds that belonged to their grandmother. Thank God we have no pavement at our house in the woods. But we do have roofs. And beds.

Maybe their mother didn’t bark enough orders? What about corporal punishment? Or maybe it’s just a boy thing and it’s inevitable. Either way, you’re sure to hear me if we’re in the same supermarket/mall/parking lot/kids’ party/fun park/war. I’m the one shouting, “Hey! You two! Pete & Re-Pete! Cut that out! No, stop it! Sit down! Drop that! Get down from there! If you two don’t stop, you are in big trouble! Come over here! RIGHT HERE!! Now, forward MARCH!!”

I think you get the idea.

xo

All I Can Handle

August 7, 2012 at 9:17 pm | Posted in Kids | 18 Comments
Tags: , , , , , , ,

When I found out my son, Brady, has Asperger’s Syndrome, it knocked the wind right out of me. We had been working with a “Generalized Anxiety” diagnosis for some time, and I knew he had some sensory and social issues, but I was still unprepared to hear the words “These test results strongly point to Asperger’s.”

Finding out that life is going to be harder for your child is devastating. I know we are not talking about cancer or another life-threatening illness, but we are talking about a life-long condition that can be debilitating. My husband and I were (and still are) prepared to give our kids every advantage we could afford them in life, but a condition like Asperger’s Syndrome means a few giant steps backward to just getting the everyday stuff under control.

I know this might ruffle some feathers, but I just need to indulge myself and vent a little: It really annoys the hell out of me when I read posts and blogs from mothers who swear they are totally fine with their kids’ autism. They claim their child is a treasure and they wouldn’t have it any other way. I’m sure their children are wonderful and sweet and funny and endearing, but the disorder that is autism certainly is not. Do they mean to tell me that they jumped for joy when they found out their kid was going to struggle way more than the average child with normal, everyday events, such as saying ‘hi’ to a little boy on the playground or going to the supermarket?

That they thought, “Oh, delightful!” when it occurred to them that their child would likely be ostracized by other kids and would find it nearly impossible to read the expressions on their teachers’ faces?  Is it perfectly all right with them when the following scenario takes place?:

“Brady, we’re going to a birthday party tomorrow!”

You should see the panic on his face.

“NO, Mommy!! I don’t want to go! I’ll stay with Daddy! Or Miss Sheyla! (trusted babysitter) I don’t want to go to the party!”

“But Brady, it’s your friend, Jimmy, from school. He invited you!”

“I don’t want to GO, Mom! It won’t be fun. I’ll run away from the car when we get there!”

He runs for his blanket and scrunches it up over his face and neck.

“It won’t be scary, honey. You’ll have a good time with the kids and party games. There will be a bounce house!”

“But there will be other kids there! And they’ll sing stupid Happy Birthday TOO LOUD!!”

Fetal position on the couch.

“Oh, sweetie, can’t we just go, and if you’re not having fun then we’ll leave?”

“No, Mom, NO! I don’t want to go!”

Is this what we had in mind when we were carrying that luscious little bundle in our bellies? That we would be forcing them to go to amusement parks and dreading family dinners out and agonizing over the days’ schedule because a single bump in the road sends them reeling?

I love my son with all my heart, and I understand that he is who he is, flaws and all, but I really can’t “embrace” his autism. It’s not the road I had planned. It’s not the journey I wanted him or I to make. It’s certainly not going to be easy.

We’re lucky enough to live in a state that offers many services to children with these types of disabilities. And through research and referrals, we’ve found a number of wonderful private practitioners as well. Brady receives occupational therapy, social (play) therapy, physical therapy, behavioral therapy (sessions that I am involved in and learning from as well), homeopathic remedies, naturopathic remedies, and osteopathic treatments. If it seems like a ridiculous amount of intervention, it probably is, but we want to give him every opportunity to thrive.

Some days he does so well his behavior is nearly that of a “typical” child. Other days, it’s obvious that he is struggling, fraught with anxiety and over-stimulation, and it’s so hard on all of us. I often lie in bed at night and worry about him – whether or not he’ll make friends in first grade, how he’ll ever manage to ride the school bus, if he’ll be able to form a long-term relationship or get married someday. And I’d like to be like those other mothers who seem just fine with it all. Perhaps they didn’t have super-high hopes for their kids or aren’t crazy Type-A over-achievers like me. Or maybe they’re just calmer and more accepting than I am. Having a kid with autism teaches you a lot about autism, but it also teaches you so much about yourself and what you can handle.

I hope I can handle it.

xo

Findings

July 20, 2012 at 9:16 pm | Posted in Horses, Kids | 2 Comments
Tags: , , , , , ,

Only Mothers find…

A dirty Pull-Up wet-side-down on the wood floor.

Silly putty entangled in the new faux-fur throw.

Apples with one bite taken out of them.

Blocks piled high on a sleeping cat.

Half-full sippy cups from two months ago hidden way, way under the couch.

Random crayoned signs prohibiting one thing/person or another taped to the wall with purple duct tape. The really sticky kind.

Slimy black banana peels on the new silk ottoman.

Pine needles in the bathtub.

Upturned Hippity-Hops with cheese mashed into the bottom.

Perfect face-prints on the French doors.

Tiny cars in their bed.

Tiny men in the couch.

Applesauce in their hair.

Only horse-owners find…

Horse hair in their underwear (I have no idea how it gets in there??).

A petrified carrot in the pocket of last year’s winter coat.

Purple stains on their hands and shoes (hoof meds).

Bits of shavings in the clothes closet.

A curry comb under the car seat.

Show programs from 1985 stashed away in a big ol’ box of forgotten ribbons. (Someday I’ll find an acceptable way to display them…)


Only Mainers find…

Loon sh-t on the windshield.

Moose sh-t on the highway.

Deer sh-t in the garden.

Bear sh-t near the trash cans.

That most people they meet are not full of sh-t.

xo

Mommy’s Modern Life

July 14, 2012 at 3:24 pm | Posted in Beauty, Horses, Kids | 2 Comments
Tags: , , , , , , , ,

I drink organic tea with piles of Equal in it.

This is just one of a plethora of paradoxes that plague my everyday existence.

I drink the organic tea because I recently read that the Lipton Tea I had been drinking for years was found to have traces of nasty carcinogens and pesticides in it. And because, in general, I like to eat/drink organic or as farm-fresh as possible as often as possible.

I use the chemical-laden Equal artificial sweetener because I don’t want to get fat.

The list goes on and on.

I seek out the most all-natural, BPA-free, GMO-free, fragrance-free, dye-free, rat-poison-free, bug-particle-free body washes and lotions for my children. I wash them lovingly in these products, thinking what a great thing I am doing for them. Then I tromp upstairs to my own bathroom and slather myself in anti-aging creams and potions filled with ingredients lists I cannot pronounce, much less attempt to comprehend. Sure, there are a few “shea butters” and “chamomile extracts” thrown in there, but for the most part, those suckers are filled with nasty plastics and nano-particles that will probably have my skin looking “plump and fresh” long after my dried up carcass is in the ground.

I love my animals like they are my children and want to save every one of the abused and suffering ones in the world. “How can anybody do that to an animal?” I intone, referring to some abuse case or another, all muffled through intermittent chomps on my cheeseburger. Who’s saving those cows, Draghetti?

(sigh) I also:

  • Seek out the most organic, paraben-free, no-animal-testing lip balms I can find, then slather my lips with semi-permanent lipstick every morning. What type of self-adhesive polymers do you think they use to make that stuff stay on your lips all day – even through that hefty plate of nachos??
  • Try to save the planet by recycling every scrap of paper, shred of cardboard and cylinder of tin I can find, then drive off to the redemption center in my giant, gas-guzzling SUV.
  • Buy my cats high-end, all-natural cat food, then apply poison to their skin in the form of Frontline Flea & Tick repellent. (But how else am I supposed to keep the buggies off??)
  • Ditto for the horses: I give them all-natural supplements and perfectly balanced diets, then apply a thorough spraying of chemical-laden bug spray. Hey, the all-natural ones just don’t work that well, and I don’t want to get bucked off because a horsefly just bit one of my geldings on the privates!

Last week, my mother brought cheese puffs to a party at my house. “Cheese puffs??!” I snorted, “Don’t give any of those to my children!!”  Later that night after everyone was gone, I realized I had been too busy to eat dinner and went straight for my secret stash of Ring Dings. Who am I fooling, really?

Back in the day (not really sure what that means, but the ‘young people’ say it so it must be cool), there was this funny little cartoon called “Rocko’s Modern Life”. It was about an Australian wallaby and his bewildering journey through life, where he constantly encountered ironies such as mine. I often think of that little character as I purchase organic vegetables wrapped in carcinogen-emitting plastic. It all just seems to be part of the modern world. No matter how hard you try to eat/look/be healthy and take good care of the planet, some of that new-fangled scientific stuff is going to sneak in. I guess I’ll just have to shrug it off and keep trying.

Besides, nothing is going to get between me and some really good wrinkle cream. Or a fresh box of Ring Dings.

xo

A Use for Algebra

June 9, 2012 at 6:55 am | Posted in Beauty, Horses, Kids | 2 Comments
Tags: , , , , , ,

I can’t believe it. I’ve finally found a use for all that Algebra I had to take in high school. This stuff doesn’t come easy, so be gentle with me. Following are my very own set of hypotheses:

If car = clean, then children will make an extra effort to spill juice, scatter muffin crumbs, and smear dirty feet on the backs and bases of seats. Good choice on the light-colored interior, Mom.

If morning = busy with many out-of-the-ordinary tasks and commitments, then children will be cranky, over-tired, naughty, rotten, highly emotional, quarrelsome and unhelpful. As will Mom.

If visit = in-laws, then children will be cranky, over-tired, naughty, rotten, highly emotional, quarrelsome and unhelpful. They will also completely regress, losing their ability to eat a meal, use the toilet and sleep past 4:00 a.m. I’m including teenagers in this theory.

If corner of furniture = pointed, then child will certainly find a way to bang his head on it, especially if he is having his picture taken the next day or visiting relatives who never see him and already question your parenting skills.

If vacation week = rainy, then house, hotel room, camper, etc. will have 453 toys strewn across the floor of each room, the television will break, the Internet will go down and all that paint you saved for a rainy day will be completely dried up. Oh, and BounceZone will be closed due to a power outage.

If toy = expensive, then child will ignore it. Cheap toys from China will be played with consistently for the 45 minutes it takes them to break, then said child will be inconsolable.

If horse = expensive, it will be sick with something akin to the swine flu when you bring it home, go inexplicably  lame by the time it’s five, and cost 300x what you spent to buy it to train it to do the basics. Cheap horses are never sick or lame and they live to be 40. Unexplainable.

If day = windy, horse will find that previously unnoticed red maple leaf to be a weapon of mass destruction, see a ghost in the corner of the arena, and will have learned to jump 30 feet straight up into the air at the slightest touch of your left heel. Probably best to stay off his back this day, because that is likely where you will end up.

If door = closed, then cat will stare at it, scratch it and whine at it until it is opened. Then cat will turn its nose up and ignore it as you stand in 20 degree temperatures in your underwear.

And of course, the coup de gras:

If hair day = good, then you will have absolutely, positively no place to go and no one to see.

xo

Things I Love

June 1, 2012 at 8:43 pm | Posted in Horses, Kids, Uncategorized | 2 Comments
Tags: , , , , , , ,

Things I love about my husband:

He leaves me a glass of wine when he takes the boys outside to play while I make dinner.

He looks sexy even in a t-shirt & jeans.

He cleans my car – of snow, dirt, kids’ debris – whatever.

He listens to and knows a lot about classical music.

He listens to and knows a lot about classic jazz.

He listens to and knows a lot about Pearl Jam.

He knows a lot about a lot of things (ok, this can be annoying sometimes).

He smells good.

He treats me like a princess.

Things I love about my boys:

They help me look at things in ways I haven’t before.

They encourage me to slow down and study the grass, bugs, flowers, car tires, sky, dirt, leaves and so much more.

They are creative and funny.

They find a construction site in a plate of food.

They find a plate of food in the sandbox.

They teach me something new nearly every day.

They are both just a little bit crazy.

 

 

Things I love about my horses:

The way they look.

The way they smell.

The way they sound.

The way they feel.

 

 

Things I love in general:

The softness of my cats.

The smell of the outdoors.

A fast car.

A slow meal.

That first cup of tea in the morning.

That last kiss on the cheeks of my two sleeping boys.

Oh, and gossip. Sweet, sweet gossip.

xo

Don’t Be So Sensitive!

May 25, 2012 at 9:25 am | Posted in Kids | 3 Comments
Tags: , , , , , ,

When I found out I was having boys, I was thrilled. No prancing and nancing around in princess costumes and cluck-cluck shoes (as a child, this is what I called any shoe with a hard heel that made noise) for this family. And FAR fewer hormones and drama to deal with in adolesence. We were going to be a rough and tumble crew!

And when I found out I was having two Pisces (they’re not twins, but born within 3 weeks of each other date-wise, three years apart), I was even happier. Pisces are fun, social, sweet, and just crazy enough to be very entertaining. True to form, every Pisces I have ever known has been like this.

But I forgot how sensitive Pisces are!

My kids are so sensitive, they can hardly watch PBS! Just now, Michael came running to me from an episode of Thomas the Train Thomas the TRAIN!! – upset because “Sir Topham Hatt is going to yell at Thomas”! Now any of you parents who have ever watched Thomas the Train know that nothing scary happens, and no one actually gets yelled at. And yet, there are episodes on our DVDs that my kids refuse to watch – Toby goes into the “Whistling Woods”; Patrick the mixer goes over a (very low) cliff and lands in wet cement, splashing Thomas’s shiny blue paint; Percy gets caught in a snowstorm and strange-looking icicles form on his face – because they are “too scary”. Even my 6-year-old takes part in this sensitivity-fest!

Sometimes I think I need to toughen these boys up. Maybe I need to stage a viewing of Word Girl or The PowerPuffs (remember that one?). That just might be enough to put them right over the edge. Imagine if I put on Scooby Doo!

Perhaps they get it from my husband, who was bawling at the end of Pride and Prejudice the other night. (I actually love this about him.) And I’ll admit, I might be a tad sensitive myself, crying over Hallmark commercials and obviously staged scenes between The Real Housewives and their kids. But come on – Thomas the Train?? Oh, and Sesame Street is too scary for them, too. Weird things happen: Super Grover screams and falls down a lot, the Fairies make a roaring dinosaur out of macaroni, Big Bird – well, let’s just say Big Bird is weird and scary all on his own. The only part of Sesame Street they can both tolerate is Elmo’s World, which I believe is targeted at 18-month-olds.

What am I going to do with these two sweet fish?

I suppose being sensitive and caring is not a bad trait in a man. My husband is very much both, after all. And also very much a big, strong, brave man. Perhaps I need to turn this one over to him. Have him take them to a Monster Truck rally. Teach them to play football in the rain. Or maybe we’ll just start with riding their bikes without training wheels. Either way, they’re going to be awesome guys. I just hope they don’t cry in front of their teenage friends at re-runs of The Golden Girls.

xo

It’s Not the Work

May 14, 2012 at 9:16 pm | Posted in Kids | 6 Comments
Tags: , ,

It’s the whining. And the noises. The repetitive, ear-piercing, go-straight-through-your-skull-like-a-jackhammer noises that get to me.

Now, let me just take a moment to clarify a few things. Based on a number of my recent posts, it may seem that I actually can’t stand my children. In reality, I do like them. Ok, I love them. They are pretty cute and sweet and fun. But let’s face it, we can only take so many heart-tugging, tear-jerking, make-you-feel-so-lucky-to-have-your-kid-dog-husband-horse-family-universe type of entries. Although heartfelt and necessary, that kind of stuff just wears out its welcome after a while. So I’ve decided to focus mostly on the things that drive us Moms crazy because, really, it’s a lot more entertaining.

So on to the complaining and kvetching (sp? Jewish friends, help me here.)

As for being a Mom, I can handle the work – the cooking, the cleaning, the carrying-everyone’s-stuff. The endless driving and butt/nose/hand-wiping. Those things are ok. I like to keep moving anyway.

But the WHINING…..  And the fighting and the chaos! That’s the hard part. Nobody tells you about that. They say, “You’ll do more laundry and dishes than you ever dreamed of and you won’t have a speck of time for yourself.” True. But they don’t tell you about the weeping and wailing and animalistic noises. That part is a well-kept secret. Or maybe they’re all in some type of cult that actually encourages these types of behaviors. Setting their kids up to be future reality stars or something.

How do the mothers of gaggles of kids do it?? I mean, there must be constant whining in their houses. Someone must always have a problem that needs to be solved. Do they just tune it out? Do the other kids help? Do they have good earplugs? Or bad hearing?

Or is it just me? Am I too high-strung or overly sensitive? I must admit, I do like quiet. I’m constantly on the move, but mostly in the quiet. I don’t need the radio or TV on for ‘background noise’. The sound of the horses munching hay in the barn is quite enough for me.

So I guess the real question is: How do I get my kids to munch hay?

That’s all the complaining I have for today, folks. For all you Moms out there who thrive on the chaos, here’s a little something to hold you over until next time… ARRRRGGHHHHHHH!! MAMA MAMA MAMA MAMA!! HE HIT ME!!!! MY TOY IS BROKEN!! THE CAT ATE MY POM-POM!!! DADDY’S CD COLLECTION FELL OUT THE WINDOW!! WAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

xo

« Previous PageNext Page »

Blog at WordPress.com.
Entries and comments feeds.

%d bloggers like this: