The “Liberry”
November 24, 2008 at 8:35 pm | In Day to Day | 8 CommentsI think I have post-traumatic stress disorder from going to the library with my children. Now, those of you who know me know that I LOVE to read. Love it. So, you’d think I’d love the library, right? Right. But not when I’m with my children.
Going to the library is, like, a parental obligation. I’m pretty sure it’s in the rules of parenting. Probably only really bad parents don’t take their children to the library. Since I’m only a moderately bad parent, I try to take them at least once per month. It cultivates literacy skills, it’s free, and there’s usually one closeby. Libraries are typically built with children in mind–there is usually a children’s section complete with cheerful decor, rocking chairs, computers with kid-friendly games, educational toys, and maybe even a bean-bag chair or two.
Not our ghetto library. There’s a children’s section, but all that means is that there’s a few shelves of children’s books. There’s one lonely table with a puzzle on it. Some of the pieces are missing. The computers all require passwords, there is no children’s librarian in sight, and the children’s section is not really separate from the adult section, so you feel obligated to hiss, “Savannah! Shhhh. We’re in the library. We talk quietly in the library” every 30 seconds. Her normal speaking voice seems to break the sound barrier. My only hope is that the other patrons, all of whom appear to be at least 150 years old, have either 1) lost their hearing, or 2) are so lonely that they think my children are cute.
The trauma (for me) starts the second we enter the front door. Savannah darts gleefully into the children’s section, calling in a voice that echoes, “Can I get a Blues Clues video?” as Dec stops mid-stride directly in front of the door, furrows his brow, and laboriously tries to unzip his coat. I try to help, and he screeches, causing me to utter my first, “Shhhh, we’re in the library.” Finally, his coat is off and he waddles over to the children’s section, managing to brush against a flyer taped to the end of a shelf and cause it to rip in half. I ignore this, hoping that no one notices. Unfortunately, Dec notices and says “uh-oh” about a million times, pointing to the ripped poster. I’m still ignoring.
As we get to the children’s section, Savannah is poring over the video shelf, wondering aloud, “Where is the Blues Clues video about time? Mom? Where is my video?” I remind her that it’s not her video, it’s the library’s, and it’s here for everyone to use. She modifies her question, “Where is my video that I let other people use?” and encourages me to help her look for the coveted video (notice I said “video”. DVD’s have yet to be invented in this library. It’s like going back in time.) I glance around for Dec, and see him methodically pulling an entire row of books off a nearby shelf. They are tossed haphazardly in his wake, spines bent, pages crumpled, protective covers slipping off. I hustle over and start humming the “clean up” song. He buys into this, and starts gathering up books. Bending over, I catch of whiff of his diaper. I take a peak. His baby butt crack is lost in a sea of brown. I debate ignoring this, but remember that I do not have extra pants in the diaper bag.
I take Dec by the hand, intending to usher him over to Savannah so we can all go to the restroom. He goes limp, causing my arm to wrench painfully in its socket. He giggles. What a fun game. “Come on, Dec, stand up”. I tug his arm, causing his feet to reconnect with the floor. Giggle. Noodle legs. I give up, release his hand, and simply start walking toward Savannah. “C’mon, Dec!” He follows, thankfully. As we approach Savannah, she gestures to a small stack of videos that she has neatly stacked on the floor. Dec races over and treats them like a tower of blocks, toppling them to the floor. I suggest that she consider bringing home two. She says, “But I’m three, Mom!” (Background: whenever she has to do something unpleasant like eat her vegetables, we say, “You’re three. That means you have to eat three bites”, or “You’re three. You can only stay up three more minutes”. Well, she’s figured out how to use this to her advantage). I agree that, indeed, she is three, and if the librarian says we can take home three videos, then we probably can.
I tell her that after we take Dec to the bathroom to change his diaper, we’ll come back and ask the librarian if we can check out three videos. Savannah protests, saying that she needs to bring them into the bathroom with us, because we can’t leave them on the floor. I can’t decide–take videos into germy bathroom, requiring me to hold yet another thing, or hazard a tantrum? I tell Savannah that we’ll set them on the counter next to the librarian, and she’ll watch them for us. She agrees. The librarian nods and smiles, seeming unconcerned that we’ve hogged about 10 videos for ourselves. We enter the bathroom and I remind Savannah not to touch anything while I change Dec. She touches everything. All of us wash our hands. We exit the bathroom. About 3 steps outside of the bathroom, Savannah states that she has to go potty. I sigh, “We didn’t you go when we were in the bathroom?” She shrugs. I guess she was busy touching all the germs. We reenter the bathroom, Dec touches everything germy, all of us wash our hands again, and we exit the bathroom.
How long have we been at the library? Oh. About 20 minutes.
We return to our pile of videos and Savannah starts agonizing over which three to bring home. Definitely Blues Clues. Maybe Snow White. Another one that looks like it’s from the 1950s. I try to usher her along, keeping an eye on Dec as he returns to the ripped poster and rips the other side off the wall. Uh-oh, uh-oh. I point to the garbage can and instruct him to put it in the garbage. He does. I tell Savannah she has one more minute to choose. I glance back at Dec. One shoe is off. Where is it? I watch as he takes the other shoe off and dumps it in the garbage. Great. I tell him to put his shoes on. He reaches in and grabs his shoes. With it comes a crinkled tissue. He gleefully uses it to swipe at his face. GROSS. I picture the elderly man who probably loudly and juicily blew his nose into that tissue and placed it in the garbage can. Gag. I take out my hand santizer, smear it on Dec’s hands and cheeks, and curtly tell Savannah we’re leaving. She places her videos on the counter, I slap down my library card, and we high tail it out of there. One of Dec’s shoes and his coat are in my hand, Savannah is juggling the three videos, and I am dragging the diaper bag behind me as I carry Dec. I feel a sense of relief that the ordeal is over.
“Ma’am?” I wince. That poster couldn’t have been that important, could it? “Ma’am, you left your wallet and your cell phone on the counter”.
Oh. Right. Thank you.
“Ma’am? Please don’t come back here.” No, she didn’t say that, but for a moment, I pretend she did and debate never crossing the theshold of the library again.
And just think, during the entire trip to the library, no one cried. This was a successful trip! But why am I so exhausted?
Just So You Know . . .
November 20, 2008 at 11:55 pm | In Declan | 3 Comments
Failing
November 18, 2008 at 11:50 pm | In Bad Mommy Moment, Declan | 10 Comments**** WARNING: SELF-PITYING BLOG POST AHEAD ****
I swear there is something wrong with Declan. The boy seems to cry ALL THE TIME. I don’t mean, “Boy o boy, that Declan sure has been fussy lately.” Nope. He is 16 months, 6 days old. Kevin and I can recall both times that Declan has had a good spell:
1. Between months 8 and 9: He slept through the night twice that month, and his naps increased to an hour and 15 minutes in length. I remember us celebrating, talking about how he was “turning a corner”, etc. At 9 months, his acid reflux relapsed and he didn’t sleep through the night again until after 11 months.
2. For a two-week period in September 2008: He was nearly 14 months old, he was sleeping through the night nearly every night AND he was cheerful nearly all day long. Then, his top teeth started to come in.
The thing is, there is always an excuse: Months 0-11, acid reflux. Then teething. Then an ear infection. Then he started going to daycare. Then he had the barfies. Then teething again. Then a virulent stomach bug that last over two weeks. Then molars. Then a boogery cold. Then acid reflux again. There is never a time that I cannot think of something that ”could” be bothering him. When I take him to the doctor’s, she always listens intently and sympathetically, gives him a thorough exam, then announces that he’s teething, ear aching, pooping, refluxing, etc. I leave the doctor’s simultaneously relieved that he doesn’t have something awful and frustrated that he doesn’t have something bad enough to explain the crying.
Kevin and I have noticed that he seems sensitive to environments that could be potentially overstimulating. For example, he hates having the sun in his eyes. Since we live in sunny South Carolina, this is a bit of a problem. No matter what direction we seem to be driving, the sun always seems to be in his eyes while in the car. Noisy, people-filled environments can cause upset, such as when we went to a Halloween party at the clubhouse in our neighborhood. However, there are other times that he seems fine in chaotic environments. For example, this weekend we went to a place called “Sports Connection” that has bowling (with loud music, crashing balls, cheering families, etc.), inflatables, a busy cafe, and video games. I entered the building with dread in my heart. Although he didn’t want to participant in bowling, he sat in my lap for most of the time (clapping when everyone else did), ate well at the cafe while bopping to the loud music, and screamed with delight as we tossed him down the huge slides on the inflatables. Seriously, I think it’s the most cheerful that he’s been in nearly a month.
I’m beginning to think it’s me. He always wants me to hold him. He will climb over objects and other children to get to me. If I’m standing at the counter doing something, he will creep between the cabinet and my thighs and push me away from the countertop, raising his arms and crying. Last night, as Kevin was carrying him off to bed, he cried, “Maaammaaaa!”. He prefers me to stand holding him against my hip; if I sit in a nearby chair, he’ll protest (to which I tell him to just get over it, because I’m not standing around holding a 26 lb toddler for hours). At times his crying is relentless, piercing. I can see his tonsils as he screams. Snot runs down his face and pools on his shirt. He reaches simultaneously for both me and his pacifier. At times, in desperation, I place him in his crib, hand him some books (which he ignores in favor of screaming until he gags), and go hide in the bathroom with a magazine for 10 minutes. After my 10 minute repreive is up, I return to his room and rock him as he slowly stops hiccuping and gasping. Oftentimes, after this purging of emotion, he can regroup enough to eat his dinner and play a bit. That 10 minutes of screaming is ugly, however.
At school, his teacher describes him as “funny”, “a good dancer”, “a good eater”, “only needs his pacifier at naptime”. I ask, “Was he grouchy today?” No, he was fine. “Did he cry alot?” No, he had a great day. “Did he want to be held all day?” No, he played great. Her only mildly negative comments have been that he occasionally pushes kids and is the first one to wake from a nap. She seems to think he’s totally normal. Our babysitter, Jen, loves him. Only a couple times in the year that he has known him as she ever indicated that he was fussy or whiney. And she’s spent a lot of time with him.
Because he always seems so miserable, I haven’t done certain parenting things that I did with Savannah. For example, by this age, she was restricted from pacifier use. Only at nap and bedtime. Dec, on the other hand, is permitted to keep the pacifier in his mouth 24 hours per day. I see disapproving looks from other parents as they tuck their child’s paci in the diaper bag and think, “Lady, if he were screaming right now, you’d be enjoying your stroll around the grocery store much less.”
Sometimes I think people think I’m making all of this up.
At the doctor’s office. he always grins and waves and giggles. She truly seems to think he’s precious. Our neighbors fuss over him while he waves his hands and calls “hiiiiii”. The only real inkling that someone else sees my pain is when I learned of a comment that my mother-in-law made when I bemoaned the fact that my nephew is a fussy baby. She told both Kevin and Cheryl privately that she thought Dec was much worse than Gavin is at this age. What? I thought Gavin was pretty darn fussy. Dec was worse? Innnnteresting.
Then I think, “maybe he’s normal and I’m the one whose messed up”. Maybe I’m really suffering from a clinical depression and I just have a negative, hyper-vigilant attitude. Maybe I’m so depressed that I can’t handle a little crying from a perfectly normal baby. Or maybe he’s moderately fussy and I’m mildly depressed and the combination is bad.
Sometimes I worry that people are going to think that I don’t like him, or that I don’t like being a mom. Sometimes I find myself compulsively describing his temperament, using words like, “he’s always miserable”, “he cries all the time”, “I feel like somethings wrong with him”, etc. As I listen to myself, I’m horrified at how defeated I sound. I’m waiting for someone to say, “Oh, I’ll bet he has (insert name of some easily treated disorder). Do (easy intervention), and it will get better.” I don’t want to write how much I adore him. I’m afraid it would sound insincere, as though I’m trying to compensate for my negative words. He knows the place he holds in my heart–that’s all that matters.
All I know is that I’m getting worn out and irritable. I’m afraid that I’m wishing his infancy/toddlerhood away in hopes that we can fast-forward to the happier times. My fear is that this isthe happy time. I’m afraid that Savannah is getting cheated. Cheated out of time in my lap (because Dec is always there), fairness (“just give it to him, Savannah, do you really want to listen to him cry?”), healthy meals (I can’t face the thought of listening to screaming just so I can make a pan of lasagna and a salad), fun activities (no, we can’t go to Grammy’s for dinner because Declan disintergrates at 6:00 pm and needs to be in bed by 6:40 pm), etc. She seems to love Dec, and I watch her as she mimics my soothing voice and makes statements like, “Come on, buddy, it’s okay” while stroking his hair. But I hear myself as I say, “Please don’t cry, Savannah. I can’t have you crying too.” I guess that means that in addition to everything else, she’s getting cheated out of having tantrums too.
I don’t know. I seem to be failing. Damn. I looked like such a good parent with Savannah. Now I feel like I’m just hanging on.
Pity party over.
Peace out.
Savannah’s Got a Boyfriend . . .
November 13, 2008 at 10:29 pm | In Savannah | 6 CommentsSavannah’s got a boyfriend. His name is Adam. I thought it was the Adam in this picture, but I found out today that the Adam she loooovvvvesss is an adorable little Hispanic boy with big brown eyes.
She’s mentioned Adam several times now, once even declaring, “Mom, I love Adam”. Since she talks about loving alot of things, I didn’t really put much stock in it (FYI: She also loves her friend Kate, chocolate, ice cream, Ariel, her new shoes, Declan, her new haircut, and her tan vest).
Then, the other day, Savannah was coloring at the kitchen table after dinner. Apropos of nothing, she said, “Mom, Adam got a haircut today”. I said, “He did?”. She answered, “Yes. It looks nice”. I was floored. While she was sitting there coloring, appearing to concentrate on her picture of a princess, she was really sitting there thinking about Adam! What does this mean? All the other times she had mentioned him, it was in context, like, “Who did you play with today? Adam.”
When I picked up Savannah from school today, I said, “Where’s Adam?” She pointed to him just as he was walking by. I said, “That’s him? In the red shirt?”. And she giggled and blushed! What? She’s 3 years old! I asked her why she likes him, and she said, “He likes how I dance”. This keeps getting worse!
Please, anyone reading this blog—do you have any stories of your 3 year old having a crush on someone? Is this normal? Or is my little girl going to be “that” girl?
President-Elect
November 10, 2008 at 10:23 pm | In It's Bigger Than Me | 8 CommentsI don’t really want to blog about the presidential election. For several reasons. One, this blog is so NOT about my political beliefs. Two, I’m not remotely articulate enough to express how unbelievably awesome it was to see the first black candidate win the election—by a landslide. Three, I don’t really want to encourage any anti-Obama comments, since I don’t really care about the political beliefs of random people who happen to read this blog.
As Kevin can attest, I have been obsessed with the election. I watched all the debates, listened to NPR every chance I could while driving, laughed at all the segments of Tina Fey/Sarah Palin on Saturday Night Live, and chuckled through Jon Stewart’s and Stephen Colbert’s comments on the Comedy Channel. By the time Monday, November 3 came around, I was so excited about the election that I literally couldn’t sleep. On Election Day (or “Obama Day” as I wrote on our calendar), I was so happy that it was a “teacher workday” (which means the kids stay home while the staff works), since it meant I could sit in my office pretending to work while I really listened to live coverage on CNN’s website. In the evening, I hustled the kids off to bed and sat in front of the TV, counting electoral votes, watching the blue states light up, and chatting online with fellow Obama supporters (Laurie, Rose, Lindsay, Jenny . . .). By the time McCain conceded, I was filled with so much emotion—so much pride and relief.
Over the next day or so, I avidly read my favorite blogs, scanned the status updates of my friends on Facebook, and listened to the stories of others as we all processed the results of the election. Some of my favorite stories/comments:
From Mer’s blog:
I looked down at Barak Obama’s name on the touch screen, and I was filled with emotion. I wished I had a way to mark the moment – a picture or a print out. In that moment, all of the intellectual reasons for supporting Obama melted away and I was left with a pure emotion. I fully felt the desperation for change, and the weight of the hope that he represents that has driven so many people to work so hard for his campaign. Up until that moment of standing in the voting booth prepairing to cast my vote, I hadn’t really allowed myself to acknowledge how much I personally had invested in an Obama Presidency – both because of the historic turning point for our country in electing a black man, and because I believe he will save this country.
A post from my friend Cortney: Last night my brother-in-law got a text from his sergeant in the Army that said “vote right, vote white” . Super super ridiculous.
A post from my friend Erin: So my sisters boyfriend Craig has a friend, Mike, who is campaigning for Obama in the south. Well, Mike knocked on a door in this one neighborhood and asked the woman who answered:
“Have you decided who you are going to vote for?”
woman in a really southern accent: “Honey, who are we vot’in for?”
woman’s husband: “The ‘N’ word] “
woman: “we’re gonna vote the ['N' word] in”
He had no idea what to say, so just said thanks and left. I find this very strange. Strange that they used that word like it was the word “man” or “woman”, and that there are people in the south that dislike Mccain so much that they are going to vote for a black man that they refer to as “the n–” All I can say is wow.
Anyway, my best friend from high school, Mer, who lives in DC, commented on the fact that she is planning to attend Obama’s inauguration on January 20. I suddenly thought, “I should go too!”. With Kevin’s blessing and a bit of help from our babysitter, Jen (a Republican, I think, but we still like her), it’s been decided that I am going to drive to DC on Monday night, attend the inauguration with Mer and some other friends on Tuesday, then drive back on Wednesday. I AM SO EXCITED.
Now, Kevin pointed out that I will probably actually see MORE if I watch television from the comfort of my own (warm) house. He may have a point. But to be in DC when the first black president is inaugurated? To hear (I hope) him speak and actually see history occur?
I’ll be there.
Halloween 2008
November 3, 2008 at 12:08 am | In Declan, Savannah | 3 CommentsI think I was more excited for Halloween this year than the kids. Wait, no, not more than Savannah. She has been waking up every morning for the past 2 weeks asking, “Is today trick-or-treating day?” And I had to watch her little face fall when I’d answer, “No, not today. 11 more days”, or whatever.
Halloween Day was divided into three parts. 1) The halloween festivities at daycare, 2) the halloween festivities at our neighborhood clubhouse, and 3) actual trick or treating.
1) Declan has been sick for nearly 2 weeks. Not really sick, mind you. Just having-a-disgusting diahrea-filled-diaper-once-or-twice-a-day-and-whining-all-day-long kind of illness. Two doctor appointments later, the general conclusion is that he had a stomach bug and is getting 3 molars all at the same time. Anyway, I decided to keep him home from daycare on Friday, since I didn’t have to work. But since I didn’t want Savannah to miss out on the festivities, I took her to school in her bumblebee costume. For kicks, I put Declan in his alligator costume, just so his teacher could admire him. After dropping my little bumblebee off at school, Dec and I ran to the store. There he toddled around, garnering comments such as “what a sweet little alligator” and sporadically making his “arghhh” noise (that’s what noise alligators make, didn’t you know?). Cute as a button, cheerful as could be. What molars, I ask?
Here’s a pic of Savannah and Dec at school (some random kid named Adam was hangin’ with us too):
2) At 5:45pm, the festivities in our neighborhood began. The ladies from the social committee put together a bunch of kids activities such as “bobbing for candy acorns” (keep your hands behind your back while you bend over a plate and eat several candy acorns), a dance-a-thon, and frost-your-own cookie (my personal favorite). Tons of children attended with their camera-toting parents, making it a very crowded gathering. This is where Declan started to fall apart, as he often does in these situations.
3) Fastforward to 30 minutes later, when we decided to leave the party and start trick or treating. Kate and Savannah raced ahead (Kate in her Little Bo Peep costume, followed by her little sister, Sara, as the sheep), while Declan and Sara were put in the wagon. Dec wanted only to be held, bucked when we tried to put him in the wagon, screaming the entire time. After a couple houses, we gave up and Kevin took him home to put him to bed. I was very bummed that my parental expectations were dashed. I wanted to see him toddle up to a couple of doors and hold out his orange plastic pumpkin, but it was not to be. Savannah, in contrast, did fantastic. I told her to “get some for your brother” (it’s not cool to say, “Get some for your mother”) and she took it seriously, asking, “Can I have one for my brother? He’s not here. He’s little.” Everyone obliged.
That’s why I’m sitting on the couch, trying to type with one hand while using the other hand to shovel M&Ms into my mouth.
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