Vacation Day

What did I do this morning while the girls were at their Gram's house?

One guess...yes, laundry.

And dusting.

And vacuuming.

And picking up clutter.

And it was awesome. There was no one following me around asking for a drink or food, or just handing me some random toy they were finished playing with.

Okay, to be fair, I also slept uninterrupted until 8:00 this morning. Oh my goodness, that was lovely.

Once upon a time, way back when I was in my late twenties and living in an apartment in Chicago, I would sleep in on the weekends, waking up when I was no longer tired. I don't remember that girl, that person who sometimes went an entire weekend without speaking to anyone except the cashier at the grocery store a half a block from her apartment building.

But I think I miss her. No, wait. I don't. I don't ever want to go back.

I'm blessed to be here, tired and overworked and all. I wouldn't change it for anything.

I sometimes wonder if maybe I'm still there, in that little studio apartment, sleeping, dreaming this life. If so, I don't want to wake up. Please, just let me stay asleep.

Though I'd be willing to dream of a few more vacation days like this one here and there. Let's leave out the little tiff Tom and I had earlier today as I was walking out the door to pick up the girls. That was stupid and pointless.

But the rest? Let's not change it. Let's not wake up and have it all vanish the way dreams tend to do upon waking.

When the Solution Becomes the Problem

Olivia likes to shadow me. If I'm going upstairs to gather laundry, she's right beside me. She then follows me down the stairs to the basement while I start the washer.

Last weekend, she was right there as I cleaned the girls' room. At one point, I was in the bathroom, gathering up dirty towels (laundry is the bane of my existence) when Olivia appeared at my side.

She said, "Mommy, look!"

I glanced down at her and saw red. Literally. She had used the red lipstick that is now out of her reach and slicked it all over her face, from her eyebrows to her chin.

She was so proud of herself.

I just sighed and said, "Oh, Honey, that was not a good choice." I then ordered her not to touch anything because the lipstick was also on her hands and had been transferred to the wall and the bathroom counter in the time it took me to get a wash cloth.

I got out the Vaseline and went to work.

The lipstick actually came off her face fairly easily with the Vaseline. The walls? Not so much. But I'm working on that one.

When I got to my mom's house on Tuesday, Jaxon's hair was slicked into a faux hawk.

I smiled and said, "Jaxy, I love your hair."

My mom said, "I don't think you're giong to love Livy's."

I looked at Olivia and first thought her hair was wet.

It wasn't.

While my mom's back was turned, Olivia found the Vaseline and slicked almost and entire container's worth into her hair.

Oh my Lord.

It's disgusting! It feels like she's been dipped in a vat of grease.

By the time I'd arrived, my mom had washed O's hair three times.

When we got home, I washed it three more times. The picture in the previous post? That's after six washings.

I googled "how to get vaseline out of hair." There were a lot of suggestions, from baby oil (really?) to peanut butter to washing one's hair with dish soap.

Yesterday, I washed O's hair three more times, using a shampoo that doesn't have a conditioner included. I also used bar soap, hoping it was a little harsher (her hair is currently ultra conditioned, I'm really not worried about damaging the folicals so much as I worry about getting the soap in her eyes.)

I'm lucky she's a good sport about hair washings. She just wipes her eyes after each rinse and giggles as I scrub, scrub, scrub.

This girl is turning so mischievous these days. Dear heaven!

Today, I picked up a bottle of regular baby shampoo, again without condition and washed her hair three more times, alternating the baby shampoo with the bar soap.

It is getting better. Slowly.

The girls are spending the night at my mom's tonight and when I dropped them off, Olivia and Jaxon wanted to take a bath. My mom washed their hair with Dawn dish soap. She was careful to avoid their eyes.

When I left, O's hair was still damp but it looked better than ever. I think we might have to repeat the dish soap a few more times but we're on our way toward Olivia having Vaseline-free hair.

I hope.

Daddy Day

Commentary on O's hair later:

Nasty Virus and Disgusting Bagel

Alyssa finished antibiotics for strep throat just over a week ago.

Last Thursday night, I woke up to find Olivia sweating away with a fever. A little children’s Tylenol, drink of water, two pieces of jelly toast and a story later (three hours from start to finish) and she was back to sleep, the fever reduced and her mother exhausted.

She didn’t go to school that Friday. My mom reported that Olivia didn’t appear to be sick AT ALL that day.

Saturday, she had a runny nose that she liked to dig at to the point of giving herself nose bleeds. Ick! Ick, ick, ick.

Sunday, she was full of energy and just seemed to have the sniffles. Tom looked up her nose and saw that it appeared to be swollen and gunky. Again, ick!

Yesterday, Monday, she was fine at my mom’s house, running and playing, occasionally asking for a tissue to wipe her nose. These days we hand her a tissue with the directions, “Wipe, do not dig.”

I called our doctor yesterday to see about an appointment for both A and O. I want Alyssa to be seen for a possible referral to an ear, nose and throat specialist because she often snores and I worry about sleep apnea and possibly enlarged adenoids.

And those nose bleeds of Olivia’s are freaking me out.

Our doctor is out of the office all week. Figures. I made an appoinement for Alyssa for April 13 but waited to make one for Olivia.

This morning, Olivia woke up hoarse and sniffly, saying her throat hurt.

I met Tom and Olivia at Urgent Care at 9am this morning.

The diagnosis? A virus that will take two to three weeks to run its course. Plenty of fluids were prescribed as well as the recommendation of children’s Benedryl and running a humidifier in her room at night to help with the dryness that is probably causing the bleeding in her nose.

Okay.

I know how lucky we are that Olivia is so healthy. I do. But I can’t help but worry that this cold, this virus, this problem is going to be the one that pushes her over the edge into ‘sickly kid’ territory. It makes me really paranoid to just wait and see. I do think the blood she’s drawing in her nose is superficial. I do. And yet…I want her doctor, her regular doctor, to tell me that.

The doctors at Urgent Care are great. They’re excellent at diagnosing colds and strep throat and viruses but I always have to explain to them about her 5p-, how it affects her and why we’re worried.

I want her doctor to be in the freaking office so I can get his opinion on what’s going on. Yes, there is always next week but damn it, she’s sick THIS week.

Obviously, for now, we’ll run the humidifier, give her the Benedryl and keep her hydrated. And as always, hope and pray for the best.

In other news, I was eating a bagel earlier today and it took me four bites of it to realize that it was disgusting. Oh, I knew after the first bite that I wasn’t enjoying the taste of the bagel at all but I took three more bites before stopping, deciding that I didn’t want to ingest something that wasn’t at least tolerable, let alone enjoyable. What the hell is wrong with me that I wanted to eat that damned thing just because it was there, not because I was enjoying the experience of eating it but because I wanted to enjoy it?

Sharing Responsibilities

When I was growing up, my mom was the parent. Sure, I have a dad. He’s a very nice fellow. But he’s, um, not very assertive, yes. That’s the right way to describe him. No assertive.

My mother was the one who made the decisions, from what we wore, to what we ate and when we went to bed. If there was something for which we needed permission, we went to her. If we wanted to play a sport or in the band, she made the final decision. If punishment needed to be doled out, she doled it. If praise or affection was called for, she provided it.

The home in which my children are being raised is different. Tom is a very active, involved parent. He’s right there during dinner making sure they’re getting what he considers enough fiber and vegetables. He asks Alyssa all the time if she’s done her homework or if she’d done the reading she needs to get done for school.

He takes the girls to the doctor almost as often as I do. He is involved in choosing what time they go to bed and whether or not they are getting enough exercise.

I like this. I do. Please don’t think I don’t realize how lucky I am to have an active parenting partner.

But last week, my mom and I were talking about this very thing and she said, “I’m so glad I didn’t have anyone giving me input on what I might be doing wrong.”

And see, that’s it. There are times when I feel like Tom doesn’t think I do much of this parenting thing well. I know this is my own neuroses talking. I know that he doesn’t actually sit back and think to himself, “Damn, Tommie can’t do anything right.”

No, he doesn’t do that. But he will give me a raised eyebrow if I do something he wouldn’t have done.

And that irritates the shit out of me. I don’t mind input but I do mind feeling as if I’m being censured. I don’t do it to him and I don’t want him to do it to me.

My biggest problem is that over the years I’ve never wanted to make anyone angry. And I see that I need to get over that.

I need to learn to call Tom on those moments when I feel like he’s silently telling me that I’m wrong. I need to step up and be sure of myself.

It’s tough for me. I hate confrontation. I need to get over that.

I don’t want to sound like I’m looking for a fight. I’m not. Nor do I want Tom to step back and take a backseat to parenting in our house. No, all I ask is that he give me the same respect I give him. That is not asking too much. We’re in this together, we’re equals. We’re both good parents even if we sometimes don’t agree on just how to parent in any particular moment. It’s okay to disagree but it’s not okay to disrespect each other, especially in front of the kids.

I want my girls to grow up strong, knowing that their thoughts and opinions are just as important as the next guy’s. I want them to have a sense of self and the knowledge that they can make decisions on their own.

I need to model that behavior for them so they can see what it means to be a strong woman.

I owe it to them if not to myself.

In the end, Tom needs to learn to share responsibilities as much as I do. We're both better when we have the other on our side. I need to remember that and remind him of it more often.

Around the Wall

Sometimes the wall seems insurmountable. Sometimes, it seems so high and so thick that I just know there is no way to climb it or make a dent were I to try and knock it down.

Today, I went around the wall.

I looked at the girls' room, which is so much better than it was two days ago, I looked at the clothes on the floor that still needed to be sorted and the laundry in the basement that needs to be folded and put away and I looked outside at the green grass and the sunshine. I turned my back on the chores and walked around that wall.

I took the girls to the park, we stopped on the way at a little country store for Bug Juice and Dr. Pepper (don't judge, I had a headache. I'm just proud to say it wasn't a Mountain Dew) and away we went.

Olivia climbed and Alyssa flipped. They both swung high and Alyssa found a mud puddle in which she built a dam.

They laughed and soaked up the sunshine and the warm spring air.

And when we got home, the wall seemed a little smaller, a little thinner.

The laundry is still there, waiting to be done, the floors need swept and vacuumed but there are also three boxes of clothes sorted and stored, waiting for Olivia to grow into them and there are ten boxes of clothes that Olivia has outgrown that are going bye-bye tomorrow.

There are days when I let the wall overwhelm me.

Today was not one of them.

The Wall

At around 2:00 this afternoon, I hit a wall.

I felt like if I had to hear Olivia talk about butt cheeks one more time I was going to lose my shit.

And when she chirped a little ditty about naked butt cheeks I slapped my hand on the washer and ordered her to leave the room.

In my defense, I'd suggested that she find another topic on which to orate several times in the minutes before the loss of my shit.

It didn't help that she woke up this morning at 5:20, bright eyed and ready to start the freaking day.

I handed her a flashlight and that kept her occupied for about an hour. By 6:30, she was hungry and had had it with the flashlight.

My project for the day was to clean the girls' room. I needed to go through their clothes and pack away the ones Alyssa has outgrown for Olivia to grow into as well as pack away the ones that O has outgrown to pass down to Gracie.

It was going fine except that Olivia needed to be my shadow. Which, okay. I get it.

But hearing a constant monologue expounding the virtues of big, naked butt cheeks got old pretty fast.

And so I snapped.

When my open hand slapped the lid of the washer, O's eyes got huge. When I ordered her to leave the room, she turned and raced out the door.

But there were no tears from her. In the end, she thought it was a big joke.

Which frustrates me. And yet...whatever. Rigth now, I'm too tired to try and explain it.

She likes the fact that the words butt and cheek but together make it 'naughty'. Not quite naughty enough for her to ban it from the house but just naughty enough that she knows not to use it at school. So it's fun and silly.

And it drives me nuts, which is a perk when you're five years old and want to push your mother's buttons.

Lucky Olivia, this mom seems to have a lot of buttons these days that are just begging to be pushed.

If only I could figure out how to push through this wall. I just know things are better on the other side.