Sorry I've been away. I figured you were tired of reading my blogs ranting about the weather or my children or Barforama. I was tired of writing them, that's for certain. Life isn't all roses here and I'm a little frustrated with things. So I took a little break and tried to find something worth talking about. I have two things on my mind, and they don't have anything to do with each other, so just go along. Please and thank you.
Numero Uno:
Last night I went on a date with my husband. Yes, on a Tuesday night. We had Erika here, so we went out. Now, don't go getting all excited about it, because this is what we did. He had a men's league hockey game and I went along to watch. Did I mention the game was at 9:40 pm EST? I was happy to go though, because I don't often get to see him play, as his games are always after 9pm and what would I do with the children? He is a goalie. And he's quite an imposing presence on the ice. He stands 6ft 2in in shoes. He is a good 6ft 4in in skates. With all the padding to keep him from falling to pieces, he is quite large in net. He's a really good goalie. His team won 7-2 and really, if he hadn't given up those two crap goals (hi honey!) it would have been a shut out. But that's not what is on my mind. I was down on the bleachers at the far end of the rink at about 9:45 pm when I saw a VERY pregnant woman and a young boy about Drew's age (3) outside the rink near the restrooms. I watched for a bit and they came in, and took seats on the bleachers. When the period ended I moved back down to the other end of the bleachers and sat near them (yes, I follow the goalie folks). This little boy was adorable. His mother was feeding him chocolate. At 10pm. He made googlie eyes at me for awhile, and I back at him. But I wondered what possessed this woman to bring her child to this game to see his dad play. My kids do not under any circumstances see Doug play after 7:30 pm. We have to travel at least 20-30 minutes to get to the rink, then the games are an hour, then the travel back home. Take last night for instance. We left the house at 8:30 and arrived home at 11. Not something I'm putting my kids thru. I'm not criticizing her (ok, a little bit, but it's my blog, right?) but I was just really surprised. I understand having to take kids out for an emergency, but a men's league hockey game? I thought it odd.
Numero Dos:
I have a neighbor with twins. She lives just up the hill from me. No, there isn't anything in the water here, as I was living in my old house when I got pregnant with the twins. Anyway, she is the lucky recipient of all my baby clothes, save those pieces that I just can't part with. Today I was going thru the girls' clothes parsing out what to give away and what to keep and I got so incredibly sentimental. Annie and Izzie wore all of Meg's clothes, as I never got around to giving any of those away. Plus, their grandparents bought them enough clothes that I wouldn't have had to launder anything if I really didn't want to. But looking through all the infant clothes made my heart twinge just a bit. Of course I don't want more kids (who said Eight is Enough? Four is just plenty, thank you) but I felt like holding onto all the clothes just to keep a bit of the baby for myself. Does that make sense? I know it's not completely rational, but I can't help it. Of course I put aside special clothes like the outfit first Christmas, first birthdays, etc. but there was something so sentimental about almost every piece. When I put certain clothes that Meg wore on Annie especially, I am reminded of how Meg looked, or acted in that outfit. It's different with Drew of course, because we don't hand any of his clothes down to the girls. But there were outfits that he just looked so adorable in that I couldn't give away. Does anyone else feel this way?
Wednesday, August 6, 2008
Friday, August 1, 2008
Cage Fighting
Wonder how many Google hits I'll get with this post?
Annie and Izzie have figured out that they can climb on the furniture. That is all well and good, as climbing is great for them. What isn't all well and good is the fact that they run up and down the couch, together, launghing like the demon spawn that they are. And this usually transpires when I have turned my back on them to oh, say, read a blog/go to the bathroom/help the other children. I spent about solid hour yesterday afternoon yanking them off the furniture. The minute I take them down, the climb back on again, laughing at me like it's some great game.
Today I was at my wit's end (Fridays seem to give me a much shorter fuse; I can't imagine why). So, after the third time of yanking them off the couch, I devised this beauty:
That little cage usually keeps the girls in the dining area, but out of the kitchen. But today it was my salvation for a few minutes. They actually thought it was fun for a bit, and started pushing each other down and howling with laughter. Somehow they managed to miss the point though. I suppose since they're only 18 months old I should cut them some slack.
Annie and Izzie have figured out that they can climb on the furniture. That is all well and good, as climbing is great for them. What isn't all well and good is the fact that they run up and down the couch, together, launghing like the demon spawn that they are. And this usually transpires when I have turned my back on them to oh, say, read a blog/go to the bathroom/help the other children. I spent about solid hour yesterday afternoon yanking them off the furniture. The minute I take them down, the climb back on again, laughing at me like it's some great game.
Today I was at my wit's end (Fridays seem to give me a much shorter fuse; I can't imagine why). So, after the third time of yanking them off the couch, I devised this beauty:
That little cage usually keeps the girls in the dining area, but out of the kitchen. But today it was my salvation for a few minutes. They actually thought it was fun for a bit, and started pushing each other down and howling with laughter. Somehow they managed to miss the point though. I suppose since they're only 18 months old I should cut them some slack.
Tuesday, July 29, 2008
So when are you going to have kids?
Deciding to have kids, for me, was a tough decision. Even though Doug and I had said we would have kids, it was still an enormous decision that I wasn't sure I was ready to make. My mom will tell you she didn't think she'd ever have grandkids (surprise!). So after a couple of years of marriage, we finally decided to start trying for a baby. Two months later, we were pregnant. Doug still laments we didn't get enough practice time in. It was a relatively uneventful pregnancy early on and we told people right away. Why not? We were excited, and I had all the partners of my law firm to tell, so that they could plot and plan my eventual replacement (oh that is such another story, for another day). We had one little scare at about 13 weeks (tear in the placenta, healed on its own) and the rest was a great pregnancy. Really. Except for the baby being up so high that I couldn't breathe and barely eat, I felt good most of the time. Meg was born, on her due date, after two days of start and stop labor.
Life went along, and I finally felt ready for another child. It was a huge responsibility, adding to our family. I knew it would mean that I would most likely have to leave my job because of the cost of daycare for two, but we figured we would cross that bridge when we came to it. This time, getting pregnant was not as easy. Months went by, no baby. We started with the ovulation predictors; still no baby. Then finally about 8 months into trying, I got pregnant. We were thrilled. We told some people, including Meg (who was only 2 1/2). That day, I had some spotting, so we went to the doctor for an ultrasound. No heartbeat. It was devastating. Having to tell my parents, my co-workers, friends, was heartbreaking. We told Meg, and thank goodness she neither understood, nor remembers.
Six months later, we were pregnant again. I distinctly remember going to the doctor on New Year's Eve for what was now an early ultrasound because I was considered a bit high risk due to the first miscarriage. Again, no heartbeat. This time, not only was I heartbroken, I was angry. We hadn't told anyone outright, although the ladies in my office had figured it out. I actually went back to work after the appointment, because I had left a ton of work, and it was the last day of the year. I also remember having plans to go to a hockey game with Meg, and wishing the entire time I could go home and die. So, we did the tests which found nothing wrong, and we figured we'd try again when we (meaning I) were ready.
I was a wreck when I found out I was pregnant again. But I remember that my body felt differently than with the previous two pregnancies. Physically, I had felt off somehow with those miscarried babies. We knew at 7 weeks that we were pregnant, and had early ultrasounds again. Again, at about 13 or so weeks, I started spotting. I was totally pissed off at that point. We had just been to the doctor, seen the heartbeat, everything was golden. I had to call the same boss who watched me go through the first two miscarriages and tell him I thought I was having another one, and I'd be in to work when I could. Karen was our ultrasound tech that day. Our baby was fine. By some sort of miracle or something that I can't explain, the baby was fine, but I had a blood clot that had to bleed out. I should have known then that Drew would give me trouble. He was born 3 days after Christmas, barely an hour after arriving at the hospital. He and Meg are almost 4 years apart.
Imagine my surprise when I found out I was pregnant again. Ok, I wasn't totally surprised, because we had said if it happened, ok, but we weren't trying. Because of my risk of miscarriages, we had an ultrasound early, again. Two heartbeats. Karen was our ultrasound tech again that day. She was our tech for every monthly ultrasound with the girls. She promised us that no, there weren't more than two, and after 20 weeks, that yes, they were still girls. Given the high risk nature of a multiple pregnancy, it was the most normal of them all. I was blessed with no bed rest, no premature deliveries, no preterm labor. I had to BEG to have the induction at 38 1/2 weeks. BEG I tell you. Annabelle and Isabelle were born a good 11 minutes apart, exactly two weeks before Meg's 6th birthday. Did I mention all the birthdays are 2 weeks apart?
I've been asked if we're going to have more children. NO.WAY.IN.HELL. Not because I don't love my children. Because we're DONE WITH THAT, thank you very much. And while I blog about how my children cause me grief, they are the light of my life. I cannot imagine my life without them.
Life went along, and I finally felt ready for another child. It was a huge responsibility, adding to our family. I knew it would mean that I would most likely have to leave my job because of the cost of daycare for two, but we figured we would cross that bridge when we came to it. This time, getting pregnant was not as easy. Months went by, no baby. We started with the ovulation predictors; still no baby. Then finally about 8 months into trying, I got pregnant. We were thrilled. We told some people, including Meg (who was only 2 1/2). That day, I had some spotting, so we went to the doctor for an ultrasound. No heartbeat. It was devastating. Having to tell my parents, my co-workers, friends, was heartbreaking. We told Meg, and thank goodness she neither understood, nor remembers.
Six months later, we were pregnant again. I distinctly remember going to the doctor on New Year's Eve for what was now an early ultrasound because I was considered a bit high risk due to the first miscarriage. Again, no heartbeat. This time, not only was I heartbroken, I was angry. We hadn't told anyone outright, although the ladies in my office had figured it out. I actually went back to work after the appointment, because I had left a ton of work, and it was the last day of the year. I also remember having plans to go to a hockey game with Meg, and wishing the entire time I could go home and die. So, we did the tests which found nothing wrong, and we figured we'd try again when we (meaning I) were ready.
I was a wreck when I found out I was pregnant again. But I remember that my body felt differently than with the previous two pregnancies. Physically, I had felt off somehow with those miscarried babies. We knew at 7 weeks that we were pregnant, and had early ultrasounds again. Again, at about 13 or so weeks, I started spotting. I was totally pissed off at that point. We had just been to the doctor, seen the heartbeat, everything was golden. I had to call the same boss who watched me go through the first two miscarriages and tell him I thought I was having another one, and I'd be in to work when I could. Karen was our ultrasound tech that day. Our baby was fine. By some sort of miracle or something that I can't explain, the baby was fine, but I had a blood clot that had to bleed out. I should have known then that Drew would give me trouble. He was born 3 days after Christmas, barely an hour after arriving at the hospital. He and Meg are almost 4 years apart.
Imagine my surprise when I found out I was pregnant again. Ok, I wasn't totally surprised, because we had said if it happened, ok, but we weren't trying. Because of my risk of miscarriages, we had an ultrasound early, again. Two heartbeats. Karen was our ultrasound tech again that day. She was our tech for every monthly ultrasound with the girls. She promised us that no, there weren't more than two, and after 20 weeks, that yes, they were still girls. Given the high risk nature of a multiple pregnancy, it was the most normal of them all. I was blessed with no bed rest, no premature deliveries, no preterm labor. I had to BEG to have the induction at 38 1/2 weeks. BEG I tell you. Annabelle and Isabelle were born a good 11 minutes apart, exactly two weeks before Meg's 6th birthday. Did I mention all the birthdays are 2 weeks apart?
I've been asked if we're going to have more children. NO.WAY.IN.HELL. Not because I don't love my children. Because we're DONE WITH THAT, thank you very much. And while I blog about how my children cause me grief, they are the light of my life. I cannot imagine my life without them.
Monday, July 28, 2008
Happy Things
Given that I've been a bit (ok, a LOT) bitchy lately, I thought I'd post the things that make me smile. Really, I do smile.
Watching my babies sleep
Reading books to Meg (we're reading By the Shores of Silver Lake by Laura Ingalls Wilder)
Watching Drew play with his cars
Blowing bubbles for the babies
Reading (reading Dark Horse by Tami Hoag)
Scrapbooking with friends
Watching the Red Sox and/or Deadliest Catch with Doug (sigh.....no DC until next spring)
Pedicures
Coffee
Hugs and kisses from my kids
What makes you smile?
Watching my babies sleep
Reading books to Meg (we're reading By the Shores of Silver Lake by Laura Ingalls Wilder)
Watching Drew play with his cars
Blowing bubbles for the babies
Reading (reading Dark Horse by Tami Hoag)
Scrapbooking with friends
Watching the Red Sox and/or Deadliest Catch with Doug (sigh.....no DC until next spring)
Pedicures
Coffee
Hugs and kisses from my kids
What makes you smile?
Sunday, July 27, 2008
Well bitching isn't helpful
Well, that last post was a tad bitchy, now wasn't it? I sound like a pretty horrible person. I really don't hate my children. I just don't enjoy them when they're fighting/hitting/yelling/barfing. I mean, really, who enjoys their kids when they're doing all that, all the time?
And that is what is going on here in my house. My two older kids fight all the time. I know, kids fight, yadda, yadda, yadda. I know I fought with my brother. But I feel like the fighting periods are seriously outweighing the non-fighting periods and my psyche cannot handle that. I made THE LIST and am constantly referring to it to get my point across to the kids. "Number 5 says be helpful. Throwing your toys on the floor when I ask you to clean them up is NOT helpful. Number one says no hitting or pushing. You must sit in timeout if you push me or your brother/sisters." Since THE LIST is in writing, posted on the basement door, with the punishment of a TIMEOUT listed on THE LIST, why for the love of all that is good in the world, will they fight me on a timeout? It's black and white (really, white paper with black writing!), we've gone over it all, and yet we're in a constant battle. Sigh. I just want to have more happy moments than pissy moments every day. Is that really too much to ask?
Barforama is still raging here. I have so had enough of it all. I can't do anything for the girls except the BRAT diet, and it is working a bit. Annie looked horrible all day today. Those big brown eyes were just so sad. Izzie seemed to have come around a bit tonight before bed (am knocking on wood now). I can only hope that there is no barfing in the night tonight and that tomorrow is a better day for them.
Did I mention that my kids have all but driven away my babysitter? Oh yes, that all happened last week, but I was so caught up with the barfing and fighting that I neglected to mention it. I have help in the form of the lovely Erika on Tuesdays and Wednesdays (hence the lack of blogging on those days, since I feel totally guilty for blogging when I should be PRODUCTIVE), which is a new thing for me. Even when the twins were born and I had a 2 year old (Meg was in kindergarten, full time), I was flying solo. My mother-in-law came on Tuesdays for awhile, weather dependent and that did help a bit, but for the most part, I did it all, all the time (ooh, except for my dad picking Meg up at the bus twice a week, which was awesome!). So it's been an adjustment for me having someone here that can help me do the things that don't get done on the days she isn't here (laundry, dishes, vacuuming!). However, the behavior of my big kids has been hellish when she's here, and last week they completely went all psycho on her while I was out for a whole 45 minutes. I am pretty sure there was head spinning and talking backwards. Needless to say I wouldn't blame her if she didn't want to come anymore, because why should she be treated that way. We'll see what Tuesday brings.
I am going to go into tomorrow with a clean slate and hope that I can make it thru the day without wanting to run. And of course there are only 5 more weeks until school starts again. At least I have that to look forward to.
And that is what is going on here in my house. My two older kids fight all the time. I know, kids fight, yadda, yadda, yadda. I know I fought with my brother. But I feel like the fighting periods are seriously outweighing the non-fighting periods and my psyche cannot handle that. I made THE LIST and am constantly referring to it to get my point across to the kids. "Number 5 says be helpful. Throwing your toys on the floor when I ask you to clean them up is NOT helpful. Number one says no hitting or pushing. You must sit in timeout if you push me or your brother/sisters." Since THE LIST is in writing, posted on the basement door, with the punishment of a TIMEOUT listed on THE LIST, why for the love of all that is good in the world, will they fight me on a timeout? It's black and white (really, white paper with black writing!), we've gone over it all, and yet we're in a constant battle. Sigh. I just want to have more happy moments than pissy moments every day. Is that really too much to ask?
Barforama is still raging here. I have so had enough of it all. I can't do anything for the girls except the BRAT diet, and it is working a bit. Annie looked horrible all day today. Those big brown eyes were just so sad. Izzie seemed to have come around a bit tonight before bed (am knocking on wood now). I can only hope that there is no barfing in the night tonight and that tomorrow is a better day for them.
Did I mention that my kids have all but driven away my babysitter? Oh yes, that all happened last week, but I was so caught up with the barfing and fighting that I neglected to mention it. I have help in the form of the lovely Erika on Tuesdays and Wednesdays (hence the lack of blogging on those days, since I feel totally guilty for blogging when I should be PRODUCTIVE), which is a new thing for me. Even when the twins were born and I had a 2 year old (Meg was in kindergarten, full time), I was flying solo. My mother-in-law came on Tuesdays for awhile, weather dependent and that did help a bit, but for the most part, I did it all, all the time (ooh, except for my dad picking Meg up at the bus twice a week, which was awesome!). So it's been an adjustment for me having someone here that can help me do the things that don't get done on the days she isn't here (laundry, dishes, vacuuming!). However, the behavior of my big kids has been hellish when she's here, and last week they completely went all psycho on her while I was out for a whole 45 minutes. I am pretty sure there was head spinning and talking backwards. Needless to say I wouldn't blame her if she didn't want to come anymore, because why should she be treated that way. We'll see what Tuesday brings.
I am going to go into tomorrow with a clean slate and hope that I can make it thru the day without wanting to run. And of course there are only 5 more weeks until school starts again. At least I have that to look forward to.
Friday, July 25, 2008
The post where I bitch
I am going to say this out loud, right now: I do not like my kids very much today. There. Love them to pieces, but could SERIOUSLY do without them for say, a few days. And that means ALL of them, not just the older ones. Does this make me a bad mama? Nope. Just a tired/overworked/underpaid/notfeelingverylovedtoday mama. Today I am tired of giving, giving, giving and getting screamed at, or smacked, or have things thrown at me. I am tired of arranging playdates only to have the kids fall apart when they're over. I am tired of Barforama. I am tired of the messy house, the list of rules that my kids refuse to follow, the laundry. I am tired of questioning whether I made a big mistake a) having kids and b) having so many kids. I am tired of just about everything today. I am tired of the days being the same all the time. I am tired of being too tired to enjoy any free time at night that I have. I am tired of repeating myself all day long and never getting ahead. I am tired of summer and humidity and not wanting to go outside.
So tonight I'm going to visit with a friend, do a little scrapbooking, and try to regroup for the weekend.
So tonight I'm going to visit with a friend, do a little scrapbooking, and try to regroup for the weekend.
Thursday, July 24, 2008
Barforama Redux
Oops, I did it again (thank you Britney Spears). No, not me, but Barforama has struck, again. OMG when will it end? We have been battling this stomach thing since June 21st. And now we're going thru it again and again. Drew is finally better. Now Izzie has it again. And Annie, minus the barfing (so bumorama?). There is pretty much nothing worse in the world than seeing your kid sick, and really not being able to do a damn thing to make them feel better. Except clean up the barfy clothes/sheets/stuffed animals and move on. Needless to say, I may ramble a bit here and there, seeing as I was up at 2:30 for the day pretty much (omg run-on sentence).
If you don't follow me on Twitter (why don't you? ha), then let me update you~we're having a TORNADO warning here in Maine right now. We get hurricanes, but usually just remnants. We get Nor'easters, both rain and snow versions. But tornadoes (which I misspelled on Twitter due to lack of sleep and coffee) are not very common here. It has been raining cats, dogs, buckets, sheets, etc. pretty much all day. My lovely gravel road is flooding and the rain is creating new paths down the road. If and when the sun ever shines again, my lawn will grow 3 feet almost immediately. On the bright side, I don't have to water my gardens. Have I mentioned that I hate summer?
Some of my blogging friends have been having a tough go of it lately and I don't know what to say to make them feel better. I try to say the right thing on their blogs, or on emails, but sometimes it just isn't enough. I have a friend who is a blogger and I want to go visit her and hug her because it's been MUCH TOO LONG but remember those four kids? I want to visit with JUST HER. She knows who she is and I'm sending a shout out that I miss her and love her.
If you don't follow me on Twitter (why don't you? ha), then let me update you~we're having a TORNADO warning here in Maine right now. We get hurricanes, but usually just remnants. We get Nor'easters, both rain and snow versions. But tornadoes (which I misspelled on Twitter due to lack of sleep and coffee) are not very common here. It has been raining cats, dogs, buckets, sheets, etc. pretty much all day. My lovely gravel road is flooding and the rain is creating new paths down the road. If and when the sun ever shines again, my lawn will grow 3 feet almost immediately. On the bright side, I don't have to water my gardens. Have I mentioned that I hate summer?
Some of my blogging friends have been having a tough go of it lately and I don't know what to say to make them feel better. I try to say the right thing on their blogs, or on emails, but sometimes it just isn't enough. I have a friend who is a blogger and I want to go visit her and hug her because it's been MUCH TOO LONG but remember those four kids? I want to visit with JUST HER. She knows who she is and I'm sending a shout out that I miss her and love her.
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