I'm hiding in the closet next to the stinky jeans that were hung back up after two weeks worth of wear. It is easy to hold my breath. I listen.
"raaaraaa raaa!"
Its still out there" I think to myself as I prepare my body for absolute obedience. I must not move. Make a sound. And whatever I do I can't let the fear escape my body's pores. They smell fear.
"Ladadaaadadada!!!!" It screams toward the closet door.
"I didn't leave a trail did I?" "It didn't see me go in here did it?" my heart has completely stopped beating because of panic. It must have forgotten how to pump blood because I feel my face go white as the door creeps open.
Ugh its breath reaks of milk and even hidden in the dark next to the dingy jeans I can smell it as its mouth opens again in my direction.
My eyes shut. This isn't happening. This isn't happening. This isn't happening.
It will begin at any time to start eating spiders just like in the exorcism of Emily rose. It will contort its body right in front of me. Scowling and darkening its blue eyes to black and begin showing its teeth.
"One, two three four five six!" It hisses at me. My legs tighten closer together and in the process move a shoe that is on the floor next to me.
"Raaaaa. AHHHH! Uhhhhhhh!"
It finds me with its beady eyes and I immediately slump over. I am exhausted. My brain goes into survival mode. I lay my body in sacrafice in front of it.
I fantasize of the treatment I will receive after its done with me. I'll be hooked up to IV's of caffeine. Surrounded by half empy containers of spray whip cream. Dove chocolates will be taped to my wounds for healing and my pants will be unbuttoned so that all the sweet fluids can expand my body in the right way.
"Caaar", "Caaar" it says in a now more intelligible Boston accent.
I am slimed as it sits on top of me and drools, reading my pained expression of surrender. It rubs its face against my 'As of this morning' clean shirt and I hear the snot pull against the green fabric. "It actually thinks the color will camoflauge, maybe it is a hint of my poor taste in clothing" I think.
"You want to go in the Caaar Andrew?" I say while opening my eyes to him
"Caaaar"
"Me too....oh dear Andrew I love you and I think we need a vacation".
Monday, August 24, 2009
Wednesday, August 19, 2009
On a scale of 1-10 don't even ask
After being saved by my Aunt once again (she had often rescued me with the two kids bringing nourishment from wendy's and a calming body to hold a crying baby). We got into a discussion about husbands and our lives.
We talked about the things you should never ask your husband. Like the questions that could just paint him into a corner where there may not be any right answer.
I avoid those questions and decided that if I didn't want anything, but a significantly honest answer I shouldn't ask it. Afterall, I married a very honest person who isn't what you call 'suave'.
Tonight thinking I am being flirtatious I ask him "do you think I am hot?" I know, I know. By the title of this post you probably know how this story is going to end. He replies "Yes". 1 point for correct answer. I say on a scale of one to ten. He says "I am not going to answer that because there is no right answer".
What? First of all me and my little mind thinks duh say "11"! And I tell him "11" would be the correct answer. He replies "you can't ask questions that you don't want to hear the honest answer. "
At this point I've started scowling and I think "Well, gosh I wish I was someone's 11!"
I sit here in my hand me down moomoo nightgown from my great grandmother from the sixties in synthetic mauve. Why the heck couldn't he just lie to me? I think it would have given him brownie points in heaven if he had.
Seriously, he would have gotten to the pearly white gates and Peter would have said "And what good deeds did you do to be able to enter paradise" and He would have replied proudly " I told my wife she was beautiful even though she hadn't showered in two days and had baby puke on her shirt and mascara smeared all over her face" "I told her she was super hot to me even though she meanders the house at night in a moomoo and last but not least..."
At this point Peter already so impressed leans forward in his walker making the tennis ball covered legs quiver under his excited grasp (You totally know ol' peter is a dinasour and has gotten arthritis from standing there for the past millenia)
He cranes his hooked neck and pushes his ear horn right up to my hsubands unshaven lips not wanting to miss this next good deed.
"When my wife was in labor and was walking around moaning practically nude with her hippo belly, in her hospital room, green headband pushed against her 3 month long roots I told her I had never seen a more beautiful women in the whole world"
"My dear son!" Peter creaks while wiping away tears--because of his cataracts not because of joy--"For all the white lies you told on earth you will have that many more pleasures in Heaven".
So me and my moomoo are still sulking l about our hurt ego's. Her's beause I am not wearing the fancy matching robe with fabric covered buttons, and me because I am not an 11 to the person I chose to marry for the rest of my existence. Humph.
I feel like I should put some curlers in my hair and start smoking a cigarette to finish off the whole tired mom look. If you came over to my house you would probably see more resemblence between me and Maxine then a fresh faced almost 25 year old.
True that I am not 19 anymore, that I am still working off my baby 'muscle' and that I have been known to sport a good inch of leg hair, but I still like to fantasize that what I present to my husband is that red haired college girl without stretch marks and tired eyes.
I would like to believe that I am wearing a full body mask of the girl I once was. And I realize that although a woman I am still a self conscious pre teen at times.
Either way I have learned my lesson.
Don't ask a question that could possibly be answered wrongly. More importantly, when asking a question remember the person your talking to.
We talked about the things you should never ask your husband. Like the questions that could just paint him into a corner where there may not be any right answer.
I avoid those questions and decided that if I didn't want anything, but a significantly honest answer I shouldn't ask it. Afterall, I married a very honest person who isn't what you call 'suave'.
Tonight thinking I am being flirtatious I ask him "do you think I am hot?" I know, I know. By the title of this post you probably know how this story is going to end. He replies "Yes". 1 point for correct answer. I say on a scale of one to ten. He says "I am not going to answer that because there is no right answer".
What? First of all me and my little mind thinks duh say "11"! And I tell him "11" would be the correct answer. He replies "you can't ask questions that you don't want to hear the honest answer. "
At this point I've started scowling and I think "Well, gosh I wish I was someone's 11!"
I sit here in my hand me down moomoo nightgown from my great grandmother from the sixties in synthetic mauve. Why the heck couldn't he just lie to me? I think it would have given him brownie points in heaven if he had.
Seriously, he would have gotten to the pearly white gates and Peter would have said "And what good deeds did you do to be able to enter paradise" and He would have replied proudly " I told my wife she was beautiful even though she hadn't showered in two days and had baby puke on her shirt and mascara smeared all over her face" "I told her she was super hot to me even though she meanders the house at night in a moomoo and last but not least..."
At this point Peter already so impressed leans forward in his walker making the tennis ball covered legs quiver under his excited grasp (You totally know ol' peter is a dinasour and has gotten arthritis from standing there for the past millenia)
He cranes his hooked neck and pushes his ear horn right up to my hsubands unshaven lips not wanting to miss this next good deed.
"When my wife was in labor and was walking around moaning practically nude with her hippo belly, in her hospital room, green headband pushed against her 3 month long roots I told her I had never seen a more beautiful women in the whole world"
"My dear son!" Peter creaks while wiping away tears--because of his cataracts not because of joy--"For all the white lies you told on earth you will have that many more pleasures in Heaven".
So me and my moomoo are still sulking l about our hurt ego's. Her's beause I am not wearing the fancy matching robe with fabric covered buttons, and me because I am not an 11 to the person I chose to marry for the rest of my existence. Humph.
I feel like I should put some curlers in my hair and start smoking a cigarette to finish off the whole tired mom look. If you came over to my house you would probably see more resemblence between me and Maxine then a fresh faced almost 25 year old.
True that I am not 19 anymore, that I am still working off my baby 'muscle' and that I have been known to sport a good inch of leg hair, but I still like to fantasize that what I present to my husband is that red haired college girl without stretch marks and tired eyes.
I would like to believe that I am wearing a full body mask of the girl I once was. And I realize that although a woman I am still a self conscious pre teen at times.
Either way I have learned my lesson.
Don't ask a question that could possibly be answered wrongly. More importantly, when asking a question remember the person your talking to.
Thursday, July 30, 2009
Up, down, Up Down
"Up".
"Down"
ahahaha
"Up". "WOW!"
"Down"." WOOOWWWW"
Its amazing how much joy and suffering you can feel for one small, but significant person. Andrew has been complaining in the back seat for the last 5 minutes. I totally know he is bored. I can't imagine having to get strapped in to a seat where my feet don't even touch the ground. Not to mention having a crying sister next to me.
We are in the IN N OUT drive thru line. My best mommy self has prescribed a night of fast mexican food and just to make sure our bones stay healthy and strong milkshakes from the coveted In N OUt burgers.
"Say up"
"Up!". "hahaha"
There was a time in my life ( that I sometimes relive) when I believed that it only took a pure heart be a good mom. Borrowing from the Beatles "All you need is love" is the only way to raise a child. Just kill them with kindness and they'll grow up loving you and themselves and never hit other children, never look you straight in your eyes and throw their plate of food on the ground (you can see how the list could continue on). No, a child reared with all the affection in the world their little hearts could hold would be just a little lamb.
Reality hit me hard the first week I try and nurse Andrew--it doesn't just come naturally to me. I pictured myself while pregnant running to my crying baby in my flowing, white silk gown (the most practical new mom outfit) I pick him up and he is immediatlely comforted by my sense of love and milk.
What I discovered after about 2 days of nursing was the fear/dread/panic of needing to nurse again. IT HURT! I would sit and cringe while he began eating. I would tap my foot and hum a song of comfort. I would think to myself, breath, breath, just breath.
I feel overwhelmed with joy for my little boy who is growing up like all kids do. Then there are glimpses in my mind, of me sitting on a beach listening to waves with a pina colada, calmly breathing in the soft humidity. My obligations are gone, I don't have diapers to change, messes to be cleaned up, and my clothes won't have any more spit stains. I dream of a vacation from mommy obligation. When I won't be needed anymore for things.
Andrew then began to pull off and scream when he was about 2 weeks old. His dad and I would try and burp him. He must have an air bubble, he didn't eat enough. One morning at 3am I called my parent's house on the brink of total crying breakdown "Andrew just cries and cries" I apologize for the hour and my dad responds "Thats okay thats why we are here". Mom gives me suggestions and says she knows how I feel just do the best we can.
We've just ordered and Andrew and I are splitting a chocolate shake, his dad gets a vanilla and buggy is still fussing in the back seat overly tired.
"Say down"
"down.""WOW!"
I still believe mothering is best when used with unconditional love. I haven't of coarse reached my ripe age of perfection to have required this--I still need quite a few more years on the shelf. However, I have learned that pain is unavoidable in the raising of kids. That just when you think you are too tired to change another diaper you are propped up by your kid needing his "poppy"* (which is andrewlation for puppy) a big ol' kiss.
I roll the window back up that is next to Andrew
"Down"
I roll the window down, this time without look at him
"HAhahaha"
Say "UP!"
"Up"
I roll the window back up.
Our bone reniforcers are ready at the window.
I am beginning to understand not only the reality of what is possible in mothering, but I am discovering that being a good mother takes more than the ushy gushies of love. It will take the rest of eternity.
It takes time to help entertain your unhappy toddler. Not just so you can keep your sanity in the metal kid cage, but because you will learn to love to do those things for them. It brings you joy.
"UP"
"Down"
ahahaha
"Up". "WOW!"
"Down"." WOOOWWWW"
Its amazing how much joy and suffering you can feel for one small, but significant person. Andrew has been complaining in the back seat for the last 5 minutes. I totally know he is bored. I can't imagine having to get strapped in to a seat where my feet don't even touch the ground. Not to mention having a crying sister next to me.
We are in the IN N OUT drive thru line. My best mommy self has prescribed a night of fast mexican food and just to make sure our bones stay healthy and strong milkshakes from the coveted In N OUt burgers.
"Say up"
"Up!". "hahaha"
There was a time in my life ( that I sometimes relive) when I believed that it only took a pure heart be a good mom. Borrowing from the Beatles "All you need is love" is the only way to raise a child. Just kill them with kindness and they'll grow up loving you and themselves and never hit other children, never look you straight in your eyes and throw their plate of food on the ground (you can see how the list could continue on). No, a child reared with all the affection in the world their little hearts could hold would be just a little lamb.
Reality hit me hard the first week I try and nurse Andrew--it doesn't just come naturally to me. I pictured myself while pregnant running to my crying baby in my flowing, white silk gown (the most practical new mom outfit) I pick him up and he is immediatlely comforted by my sense of love and milk.
What I discovered after about 2 days of nursing was the fear/dread/panic of needing to nurse again. IT HURT! I would sit and cringe while he began eating. I would tap my foot and hum a song of comfort. I would think to myself, breath, breath, just breath.
I feel overwhelmed with joy for my little boy who is growing up like all kids do. Then there are glimpses in my mind, of me sitting on a beach listening to waves with a pina colada, calmly breathing in the soft humidity. My obligations are gone, I don't have diapers to change, messes to be cleaned up, and my clothes won't have any more spit stains. I dream of a vacation from mommy obligation. When I won't be needed anymore for things.
Andrew then began to pull off and scream when he was about 2 weeks old. His dad and I would try and burp him. He must have an air bubble, he didn't eat enough. One morning at 3am I called my parent's house on the brink of total crying breakdown "Andrew just cries and cries" I apologize for the hour and my dad responds "Thats okay thats why we are here". Mom gives me suggestions and says she knows how I feel just do the best we can.
We've just ordered and Andrew and I are splitting a chocolate shake, his dad gets a vanilla and buggy is still fussing in the back seat overly tired.
"Say down"
"down.""WOW!"
I still believe mothering is best when used with unconditional love. I haven't of coarse reached my ripe age of perfection to have required this--I still need quite a few more years on the shelf. However, I have learned that pain is unavoidable in the raising of kids. That just when you think you are too tired to change another diaper you are propped up by your kid needing his "poppy"* (which is andrewlation for puppy) a big ol' kiss.
I roll the window back up that is next to Andrew
"Down"
I roll the window down, this time without look at him
"HAhahaha"
Say "UP!"
"Up"
I roll the window back up.
Our bone reniforcers are ready at the window.
I am beginning to understand not only the reality of what is possible in mothering, but I am discovering that being a good mother takes more than the ushy gushies of love. It will take the rest of eternity.
It takes time to help entertain your unhappy toddler. Not just so you can keep your sanity in the metal kid cage, but because you will learn to love to do those things for them. It brings you joy.
"UP"
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)