The Eternal Miscellany of a Cluttered Mind

Larry and I did the teamwork thing this evening in order to get the Sudafed into Susie's mouth before bedtime. He held down her legs and arms; at the same time, I immobilized her head with one forearm while sticking the medicine syringe (lovingly) into her screaming mouth. We're quite good at this maneuver, having had much practice over the years. Which made me realize: soon I won't need this skill (and others like it) at all. In a few years there will be no screaming toddlers or babies to force into hard-to-buckle car seats (damn those 5-point harnesses!) or strollers. There will be no incredibly messy diapers to clean up, and we won't need syringes to administer medicine. In fact, all the skills that I have so painstakingly developed over the past 16 or so years will soon be completely irrelevant.

In other words, my iceberg is melting. And it's a frightening feeling. The only useful know-how I'll be left with will be some rudimentary knitting skills. That and a few bucks will get me a tall latte.

Speaking of knitting, I made the mistake on Wednesday of (brightly) announcing to my Stitch 'n' Bitch group that there would be a lunar eclipse that night! Silence. Everyone looked at me for a second, and then they continued talking to each other as if I had done nothing more than emit an embarrassingly loud belch. Apparently, knitters don't care much (as a group) about the moon. After all, there are no sheep there.

I got confused, you see; in homeschooling circles, a lunar eclipse is the conversational centerpiece for days surrounding the actual event. Everyone keeps their kids up late to watch, and if yours don't get to see it, they feel left out. You would think that an eclipse had never happened before, the way we carry on. It's almost pathetic.

But the eclipse was really cool.

Perusing the news online, I stumbled across Midlife Suicide Rises, Puzzling Researchers. Might I suggest that said researchers must be happy young people in their 20's and 30's, people who, I daresay, don't have teenagers yet? Because I, for one, am not puzzled by this phenomenon in the least. Just let one of those researchers get up morning after morning to look in a mirror that utterly betrays her and then go downstairs to face an adolescent who is only too happy to let her know what a loser she is, what with having been dumb enough to grow up and do boring things like work and pay bills and boss her kids around. Let this young chippy of a researcher do that, and then ask her if she is still puzzled. That is, if she isn't crying too hard to talk.

And, no, that above paragraph is not a cry for help. I plan to live long enough to see my children suffer at the hands of their teenagers. In fact, I smile just thinking about it.

You Can Dress Her Up, But....

I'm having a mild migraine day, and I hate it. I can't focus on anything without feeling like throwing up, I've still gotta amuse the kids, I've still gotta make it through the next 9 hours. When did my life become nothing but an endurance test, anyway?

Susie has a pretty dress on today. Susie has a pretty dress on every day. Because if she doesn't get to wear a pretty dress, she declares her dismay quite loudly, for about an hour. I just cannot withstand that sort of ferocious disappointment right now. Not, and get anything else done.

So she wears her pretty dresses and stands on top of the heating register in the kitchen and watches as her dress balloons out, which makes her giggle. It's a pretty good way to pass the time, actually. Now, if I started doing that, Larry might think my getting a job wouldn't be such a bad idea....you know, just to get me out of the house for a bit. Actually, I'm thinking that might not be such a bad idea; except that then I would have 2 jobs, because the babysitting fairy isn't going to just show up and watch my children and cook our dinner and do the laundry for free while I'm out working.

So, forget it. I'll remain gainfully unemployed, for the time being....

Despite her satisfaction with her wardrobe, Susie peed in her pants twice today. It gets old, you know? I want to take the money I've been spending on diapers for the past 16 and a half years and spend it on me. I'm getting to the age where my upkeep is going to become significantly more expensive, now that my naturally youthful complexion and my girlish figure are fast deserting me. I need to start planning for decent haircuts more than twice a year, and maybe some highlights, and those expensive ultra-spandex slimming swimsuits I see in the Lands End catalogs. And support hose - mustn't forget the support hose. I'm wondering when Larry will ask what the budget item "spouse enhancement" means....

Diapers - more than 16 years' worth of diapers - anyone want to try adding that up? Yikes.

The Sleep Saga Continues

As any of you experienced parents out there know, our story didn't end with getting the toddler to bed at 10:30 last night (by whacking her over the head with a rubber mallet). No sirree, Bob! (I've always wanted to write that.) She woke up at her usual time this morning, which meant that by about 4:30 this afternoon (because of course I wasn't going to let her nap), she was a sleep-crazed little animal who was simultaneously screaming to be put to bed and refusing to let me touch her. It was very sad. She finally yelled herself to sleep a little after 5, before I could get any dinner down her. Which means, of course, that she will be up at 2 or 3 in the morning, hungry as all get out. This is known as the messed-up-sleep-routine domino effect, and it takes a few days to blow itself out. Like a hurricane, only less fun.

Those of you who are still childless can avoid this problem by getting yourselves fixed and only adopting a child who is 4 years or older. This solution may strike some of you as being a tad draconian, but such desperate measures are definitely warranted if you entertain any hopes of remaining sane through your declining years. Take it from me, chronic sleep deprivation can really mess with your brain cells.

Enough already! Things aren't all bad. I managed to escape this evening and go to a friend's house for a Pampered Chef party. (Yes, that is how I socialize, and yes, I am the middle-aged suburbanite loser I had sworn never to become.) I had a great time. I drank so much Diet Pepsi, I'm surprised my friends let me drive home (let's face it - after all those pregnancies, I just don't hold my urine the way I used to). But I managed to drive all the way back to my house without peeing in the car; I even got a little bit of mental exercise listening to some talking heads on the radio pontificating over the implications of our prolonged drought. The discussion may have been irrelevant, considering I was driving through a torrential downpour.

I know, I know - you all want to hear about Anna, the teenage girl from heck. Well, I took her to Target today; so she is actually talking to me again. I don't expect that to last, but it is providing a nice respite from the hostilities. She also made us apple pie. So things aren't all bad.

Well, time to get to bed before Susie wakes up looking for the dinner she missed. Ah, to sleep, perchance to dream....

Breaking Point

Susie spent the entire day with her arms around my neck or screaming. Except when I broke down after lunch and gave her a nap, which means that she will be up until 10 this evening. I am about to snap. I can see the headlines now - "Mother Charged With Leaving Toddler at Bus Stop; Lawyer Plans 'Justifiable Abandonment' Defense."

We had a case in the local news recently of a woman putting one of her kids in the car trunk during a longish road trip. While the dog sat up front. Maybe I've been a parent too long, but I don't see the problem with that. The dog doesn't bicker. The dog doesn't make weird sounds at a younger sibling until s/he cries. The dog doesn't insist on a McDonald's with a Playland. I can see where a parent could get to the point where the child needs to ride in the waaay back. Just punch a few air holes, you know? That mother had had enough, and she snapped. Like I am about to do right now, if this child does not stop standing on my kneecaps.

I'm okay, really I am. It's just been a long day. Longer than most.

Larry is getting home from work just in time to gulp down a late dinner and to accompany David and Brian to Cub Scouts. His evening's shot already - I might as well foist wide-awake Susie off on him. No reason for us both to suffer. And it beats leaving her at a bus stop.


Later, Much Later: It's now 10:15, and that child is still awake. I am never, ever letting her nap again.

Singular Accomplishments

Today, while my wonderful next-door neighbor let my 3 youngest kids play in her house, I managed to wipe down the fronts of the kitchen cabinets, one section of the kitchen floor, half the stovetop, and the outside of the kitchen garbage can. Go me! Then I ran up the staircase and danced around with my hands in the air, with the theme of Rocky playing in my head.

Frightening, isn't it?

You know, after 16 years of raising little kids, everything smells like pee. I think my olfactory sense has been permanently damaged. Or it could be that I missed cleaning up after one of Sarah's many accidents. She claims she's scared of the potty. Do you think she'd go for a litter box? I could even teach her to scoop it herself.

Larry and I did our bit to contribute to global warming by leaving the oven on all night. So, if scientists find another hole in the ozone this week, you can blame us. We're responsible for the overpopulation problem too, though I guess you knew that already.

Wait - are those 2 separate issues - the global warming and the ozone thing? Wasn't the ozone problem caused by aerosol cans? Or is it back? I can't keep my environmental catastrophes straight anymore. No wonder I didn't win the Nobel prize last week. Although if they had a prize for Seat-of-the-Pants Parenting, I would definitely be a contender.

I'm just making this up as I go along; feel free to stop me at any time.

The boys' room finally smells normal (I mean, for a boys' bedroom); and I discovered that the disgusting smell in my kitchen (which was bothering me so much I couldn't even write about it) was caused by the rotting bag of potatoes in the cabinet under the sink. I was wondering why no one was dropping by anymore....

I just noticed that my calendar is still on September. I'm living in the past. I've got to go catch up. Talk to you later...

Keeping Busy

My husband's away, and the 3 oldest kids needed to be 3 different places tonight (what is it about Tuesday nights, anyway?), and I'm a wizard - I managed it. I have yet to manage to get them all back home, however. After getting the three youngest to bed, I even had a little me-time left over with which to scrub the kitchen floor. Then I spent a few minutes foraging through the kitchen for any forgotten chocolate, but I couldn't find any. I spotted some chip dip that looked promising; but, alas, no chips. Who does the shopping around here anyway? Oh, wait - never mind.

And what tune keeps running nonsensically through my head? Carly Simon's "Anticipation" - "Stay right here, 'cause these are the good old days..." Now there is a scary thought.

I will not complain about the weather. I will not complain about the weather. I will not complain about the unseasonably hot, non-autumnlike weather. But I just don't think my kids should be begging to run through the sprinkler in late September. It's not natural. What's next? Lemonade on Halloween? Popsicles for Christmas?

Susie is so spoiled now that she screams at me the entire time I am reading to Rachel, unless I let her climb in my lap and put her head on the book. This behavior is not charming. And I have to feed her junk food all morning in order to get anything done.

Inspired by our field trip to the Philadelphia waterfront, Brian and David managed to build a model ferryboat out of Duplos. David also figured out how to use Duplos to build a spiral staircase. This blows me away. I mean, Duplos are square, and spirals are sort of, well, round. I think he's a genius.

Or maybe not. He's outside right now, trying to figure out how to unlock the combination lock that secures our bicycles - apparently, someone reset the combo by mistake. I explained to him that there were only 10,000 possibilities and he decided that he could beat the odds. That kid will do anything for 5 bucks.

Well, I've run out of marshmallows to throw at Susie, so duty calls....