Shopping Is Not As Fun As It Pretends To Be
Posted: February 6, 2012 Filed under: Crazy Lady, Motherhood, Stress, Widdle Debil | Tags: bridesmaids dresses, children, flowergirl dresses, parenting, shopping, weddings 7 Comments »I woke up this morning with the skin of a 14 year old, which is…not good. I don’t really blame my skin, though, as stress can cause breakouts and I really put that theory to the test this weekend. It was good stress, I suppose, but stress is stress nonetheless.
Anonymous Husband has started a project at home that will consume his free time for the next few months, best case scenerio. I estimate by the time the last finishing touch has been put in place, we’re looking at mid-summer before he’s done. This is a good thing, in that the project is finishing our basement and, when complete, we’ll have added a few rooms and many additional square feet of living space to our home. But it’s also not a good thing because for the next few months, best case scenerio, the vast majority of parenting will be done by me in a solo parent type situation. Wherein from the moment they wake until bedtime, I’m it. Hundreds of thousands of families are run in this manner every single day, so I am in no way saying this is unusual or that I’m making some sort of unique sacrifice. I’m just saying, that’s all. Sure, the work AH is and will be putting in in order to convert the lower floor of our home into usable living space will be strenuous and the hundreds of hours he’s already put in to designing and researching every single minute detail is nothing to shake a stick at, but as many parents, many of you reading, can attest – there is no job as difficult and stressful as taking care of children.
On Saturday, I took the girls to gymnastics, to the bakery, fed them lunch, and then we went, with my mom and later, my sister, dress shopping. My sister’s getting married in the summer and Eirinn and Avery are her flower girls. With my mom changing one girl and me with the other, we tried on no less than 30 different dresses at several different stores. We kept telling them that we were playing Barbies and they were the dolls. However, Barbies, last I checked, didn’t wiggle and use outdoor voices and insist on wearing snow boots with their pretty dresses and smear snot across their faces, coming dangerously close to the clothes they don’t own. But, despite all that, which I’m pretty certain gave me a mini stroke, we came away with complete outfits fit for a wedding.
AND THEN on Sunday, I took the girls grocery shopping, to the bakery again, fed them lunch, and then we went, with my mom and sister and aunt, dress shopping. This time for me, who will play the role of bridesmaid. I bought the very first dress from the very first store because I had seen enough of the inside of changerooms to last a lifetime, thank you very much. The dress fit, didn’t look hideous. The only two requirements. I even bought shoes and a cardigan, all at the same store.
Dress, orange cardigan and flats from H&M. The other two bm’s will be in a different bright colour, similar to this.
THAT is how shopping is done.
I love my kids (obviously; who would say otherwise of their children?) and I love spending time with them. They’re hilarious and adorable and who wouldn’t want to spend time with cute things that make you laugh? But if I never go shopping with them again, at least until they’re of an age where they don’t require snacks and don’t hide under racks of clothes and can go a couple hours without getting “tired from walking”, I will not complain. But then there’s next week, and there are groceries to buy and a gift to purchase for a birthday party I’ll need to take Eirinn to after gymnastics, so there is no relief in sight.
To be fair, they were both shockingly well behaved. I mean, for them. Like I said, there was the ultra loud voices and the snot-nosed peek-a-boo through the very expensive ladies dresses and the relentless need for sustinence, but overall, I can not complain about how they handled it all. I mean, what kid likes shopping for clothes? Not mine, I know that much, and we didn’t have even one temper tantrum. I’m exhausted, though, and so are they. They’re both sick (so, yeah, my apologies to anyone who was at the mall yesterday) with nasty coughs. Avery has a leaky faucet for a nose, Eirinn keeps barking until she cries, and I CAN HAS SLEEP NOW, PLEASE? Bedtime could NOT have come quick enough.
I found my very first gray hair last night. I am…not at all surprised.
The Devil Made Me Do It
Posted: January 25, 2012 Filed under: Behavior, Crazy Lady, Motherhood | Tags: catholic school, children's behavior, discipline, God, parenting, Satan 1 Comment »Eirinn, being a Catholic school kid, has been told by her teacher that when we do bad things, it’s not us doing them, but the devil. Satan-atan-atan. Being a supportive mother in all things, including their semi-religious upbringing, I can get behind this theory. Especially if it gives me an excuse to do bad things. “It wasn’t me; it was that asshole, Satan. Jerk gets everything blamed on me. I’m innocent of all charges relating to this crime. Talk to Satan. He’s the one who’s got some explaining to do.”
Every once in a while, I’ll catch Eirinn with a tear in her eye after she’s been scolded for some misdeed. “What’s wrong?” I’ll ask. “It wasn’t me, mom. It was the devil.” Now, my kids are master manipulators, so don’t think for one second I’m not completely on to her deal. But still… If she’s committed enough to this concept to produce real tears and everything, I’ll hear her out.
However, this morning I decided to elaborate on her teacher’s version. Sure, I can support “the devil made me do it” … to an extent. There’s just that pesky free will that puts a wrench in the thing. If we’re Team God, then we acknowledge that He gave us free will; the ability to choose what we do and say. Our behaviour is our own doing. Sure, the devil may sit on our shoulders and whisper sweet nothings about pinching our sister or making a Barbie accessory hurricane or taking a VERY inappropriate tone with our parents, but our free will allows us to decide whether or not to act upon these thoughts. The devil can be very loud and very convincing; with free will, we have the ability to be good people because we can choose to ignore what that asshole says.
Eirinn thought free will was a stupid idea. Unaccountability sounded much more appealing to her. Take this morning, for example. She most certainly did NOT tell me within earshot of her sister that she wishes Avery would just shut up already because she didn’t want to hear her talk. She would NEVER do such a thing. It was Satan. So obviously it’s not HER who should be getting in big trouble because SHE didn’t do it. Put Satan into time out.
Catholic school is awesome.
I’ve been diagnosing myself again
Posted: December 15, 2011 Filed under: Health, Motherhood, Stress | Tags: anxiety, Motherhood, noise anxiety, parenting, Stress 9 Comments »I think I have noise anxiety. I Googled “sensitive to noise” and followed the rabbit hole and landed on noise anxiety and now I think I have it.
Noise anxiety is a condition which is characterized by an extreme sensitivity to noise. Someone with noise anxiety suffers a variety of stress and anxiety related emotions when he or she is exposed to certain types of noises; these emotions can range from a general sense of uneasiness to aggression. Living with noise anxiety can be extremely frustrating, and the condition can be difficult to treat; typically the assistance of a skilled therapist is required.
A very general term, noise anxiety is sometimes used to describe a variety of different conditions. For some people with anxiety disorders, certain loud noises — or even extended periods of silence — can cause anxiety to build; phonophobia is a fear of loud noises. A condition sometimes called misophonia is an intolerance to certain sounds, usually causing an intense reaction like rage. Hyperacusis, which can have many causes, is an over-sensitivity to noises in a certain auditory range, sometimes causing pain or stress.
When I come home, especially after a particularly busy or stressful day at work, I’m a beast. I’ll admit it. Not always and I certainly don’t intend to be, but I am. And while blaming something or someone else for my mood and behaviour is sort of lame, I’m pretty certain I can pinpoint the volume of my house in the evenings. Either the television or iPod is playing, LOUDLY, both kids are talking at an incredible decibel, usually at me and both at the same time and often one or both is crying, AH understandably would like to occasionally say something, the hood fan is on high, the dog is demanding dinner, and I’m still wound up from work. With all of this, I often times snap. I get frustrated and flustered, I can’t concentrate and I feel like my insides are about to explode. So I yell. I yell for people to stop talking all at once. I yell for someone to turn down the tv or music. I yell at the dog to give me just one goddamn minute. I yell at everyone to stop fighting. I yell and I hate being that mom who spends the precious few hours she has in a day with her kids yelling at them.
I don’t want to blame my actions on anything other than myself. I should man-up and own how I behave, but noise anxiety just makes so much sense. See, when I was a very young child, like so many others, I had ear infections. Many, many, MANY ear infections, so bad that they left my eardrums permanently damaged. I’m not deaf, can actually hear fine, under the right conditions, but my eardrums have scar tissue from the infections and several rounds of tubes, which makes hearing detail difficult when the conditions are not right. I watch mouths to help with detail. I can tell from the way lips move if the speaker is pronouncing a b sound or a d sound. Again, I will have heard the word just fine, volume-wise, but just I just need a little help figuring out the specifics.
The right conditions, therefore, are when there is no background noise to muddle up the sound and when I can see the person’s face. The wrong conditions are when there’s many different sounds happening around me at the same time or when I can’t see the person to whom I’m trying to listen. Obviously, at home, during the times that drive me crazy, these are the wrong conditions. I believe this contributes to me losing my figurative shit. I’m already exhausted from work, I’ve got kids and a dog demanding my attention, and on top of it all, I can’t really understand what anyone is trying to say. It’s all very loud, very irritating (I’m not calling my family irritating; the noise is literally irritating to my ears) noise that I have no control over. And so I panic. I feel like I’m being crushed, that I can’t breathe, that it’s fight or flight and I usually fight. My insides are itchy, my mind is racing with so many things I can’t seem to focus on just one, and that it will all never, ever end.
From what I’ve read, the cure to noise anxiety is simply to remove the noise or, if that’s not possible, wear earplugs. I can’t do either of those things. I can ask my family to tone it down a few notches, but it’s their house, too. I don’t want to turn into my step-grandmother (God rest her soul) and adopt the philosophy that children should be seen and not heard. I want them to be able to have dance parties after work and to run around and be normal kids. And, obviously, wearing earplugs all the time is out of the question. I need to hear what’s going on in my house. I need to be able to talk to them and they need to be able to talk to me. I’m just having a real hard time with that right now.
I’m an ‘ignore it until it goes away’ sort of person usually when it comes to medical stuffs. Don’t pick it and it will heal up nicely. But I don’t think this will just scab up and take care of itself. It’s been getting worse with no peak in sight. So I’ve been looking for a more natural way of dealing with it. I’m very reluctant to go to the doctor for something like this because it’ll be weeks before I’d see him and then I’d probably imagine myself better anyway. I’m taking Omega-3 calming formula and vitamin D. I just picked up a B complex. I don’t know if improving my body chemistry (as opposed to my brain chemistry) will do anything but make very expensive pee, but we’ll see. It’s not going away, no matter how much I ignore it, so I’ve got to try something.
I really don’t want to be that mom who yells at her kids for being normal, loud, rambunctious kids. I don’t want to be the wife who’s not in the mood to have a conversation with her husband. I don’t want to be the pet owner who gets angry at her dog for wanting sustenance. I just want to be normal and I can’t be that when there’s so much noise tearing at my insides.
***
On Trying My Best
Posted: October 26, 2011 Filed under: Crazy Lady, Family, Widdle Debil | Tags: children, LGBT, Motherhood, parenting, race 7 Comments »“All my rememberies are special.” Avery Quinn, age 3.
It guts me sometimes how perfectly innocent children are, especially my own. Not that they’re more innocent than other children, I just spend far less time contemplating the emotional and intellectual maturity of other people’s kids. Mine have so much to learn, despite being two of the smartest children their age I’ve ever met (not that I hold any bias). They’re wide-eyed, open-minded and overwhelmingly receptive to absorbing any particle of new information that floats their way. But they are still so new.
Eirinn asked me in the car yesterday if “gay” was a bad word. Well…that’s a very difficult question to answer when you’re dealing with a 5 year old. No, it’s not a bad word…until it is. I’ve always told her about how families are all different, that some people have a mommy and a daddy, like she does, some people just have one or the other, some people have both, but they might not live in the same house, and some people have two moms or two dads. No, gay is not a bad word, it’s an adjective used to describe one’s sexuality, but it can also be a bad word. My guess was that when she heard it, it was being used as a bad word. Someone took that simple, three letter word, and made it into a bad word. As is done a million times a day. But just because something is done a million times a day, doesn’t make it right.
I’m not ready to start talking to her about sexuality. She’s five. She knows that men can marry men and women can marry women and sometimes they have kids, just like her and just like our family. She knows that this is all ok. Sometimes her Barbies are girlfriends. That’s cool with me.
I told her that gay is not a bad word. I told her it means “happy”. I took the easy way out. She looked very confused, presumably because whoever used it that brought her to question whether or not it was a bad word was not using it in a way that meant “happy”, but I stuck with it. It DOES mean happy. I’ll elaborate on the word’s meaning when I’m ready to answer the follow-up questions. When I feel she’s ready to absorb them. I’m not sure if running away from it is the best thing to do.
We’ve had similar discussions about race. One of them will say something about “the black guy”, never in a negative tone or for any other reason than to point out a particular person on the television screen. This makes me cringe, even still. “No one’s skin is black,” I tell them. “Everyone is a different of shade brown and we shouldn’t use their colour to describe them.” I encourage them to use a different descriptor. “The guy with the hat”, “the woman with the pink lipstick”, “the nurse”, things like that. It’s very difficult to correct a child’s behaviour when they don’t know what they’re doing wrong.
They’re doing a very good job with that. So well, in fact, Eirinn had a friend last year that I didn’t even know was Asian until the very end of the school year. At first she was “the new girl”, then she was “my new friend”, and then she was simply known by her name. As it should be.
I’m trying my best here with these kids. Sometimes I fail (I CANNOT, for the life of me, get them to NOT make tootie jokes in public) but sometimes I think I might be doing alright. All of Avery’s rememberies are special.
Eirinn spent all last week at school writing a book. Her first novel. It was 6 pages long and she wrote the story, actually sounded out all the words phonetically herself, most of which weren’t correct, but that’s not important. She did all of her own illustrations and they were beautiful representations of the words on each page. It was about a princess who gets captured by a witch and taken to a haunted house. Or hanted hows. But in every story about princesses, there is a happy ending. The princess tiptoes out of the house and runs home.
To Eirinn, home is a part of every happy ending. It’s my job to make sure it stays that way.
