Suburban Bliss:: Birth Control Via The Written Word

Seriously.

Sometimes moms just know how to say it.

Thanks to Logan for the link.

This Summer Is Never Going To End. Ever.

If you've been noting the drop in my writing around here...it's because I have officially reached Summer Saturation and I'm considering eating my children (and not because they're so cute I could eat them up.) If I could dip them in chocolate, as my friend Emily suggested, they'd be goners.

We spend every single minute of every single day together. I don't spend every single minute of every single day with anyone. If I did, I'd want to eat them also. Dipped in chocolate.

Sometimes, things get so intense, I picture those fancy pretzel rods. Except it's kids and not pretzels under all that delicious chocolate. It's all I can do to keep myself from taking a big chomp out of them.

On the bright side. Max has been sleeping in his bed for the whole night because we found an elephant shaped paper lamp. That lamp saved my son's life.

On another bright side, school will be starting in 4 weeks and 2 days, but who's counting?

Yesterday, I asked the children (who go to sleep asking me: "What are we going to do tomorrow?" and wake up asking: "What are we going to do today?" and end each activity by asking: "What are we going to do next?") what they would like to do today.

Their answer?

"We'd like to drive you to the very limits of your sanity and make you fantasize about dipping us in chocolate like pretzel rods and swallowing us whole!"

And I said:

"But we've done that every single day this summer!"

So they decided they'd like to swim in the inflatable pool. Hey! That's easy enough!

So I drag the electric pump from the basement and I lug the extension cord upstairs and then I clean out the pool that hasn't gotten a lot of use this year because it's always raining or 69 degrees. It takes about an hour total to fill it with air, clean it, start filling it, find the pool toys they want, get them into their suits and get myself set up outside to get a little work done while I watch them playing. (Have I mentioned lately how I love my iBook? I would never dip it in chocolate and eat it. How can the stupidest thing I ever bought be the very best thing I've ever owned?)

We all settle into play and 10 minutes later!

They were done!

And do you know what they asked?

"What can we do NOW?"

I hate those moments of frustration. I hate thinking ugly and not nice things about my children. (Like I want to eat you.) But I spent an hour getting ready for the pool and they spent 10 minutes in it. I wish I was a nicer person, I really do. I try to be nice. BUT THEY SPENT 10 MINUTES IN THAT POOL.

The other day we went to the park. I brought a picnic! And a blanket! And my book! There was a big play structure, which children like! I thought they could play and I would lay on the blanket and read a book and I would look up and make sure they were playing nicely and not with kidnappers and then I'd read some more. On occasion I'd yell, "DO YOU HAVE TO GO PEE PEE????" It would be a nice way to spend a couple of hours.

After 10 minutes, Madison was sitting on the blanket next to me because she was bored and she wanted to go home.

I'm trying to remember what it was like when I was a child and my mother was home with us during the summer. I don't remember going to the nature center, I don't remember going to the pool, I don't remember movies and bowling and trips to the state park and the beach. I don't remember going to the park even! In fact I'm pretty sure we played with rocks and stared at blank walls and we were happy. Why can't my children be happy?

If you happen to see me at the store buying suspiciously large quantities of chocolate, be alarmed.

Syntax Error!

Last night Logan and I laid in bed talking about my running. I told him my workout plan for the next day and he suggested I push it a little harder if I 'felt up to it'

I said, "If I feel like shitting my pants, then I'll definitely turn up the routine."

And he said, sleepily, "You know...it's really not that bad."

It's not that bad to shit your pants? This is the mindset. I'm telling you, he's a robot. He isn't phased by bodily functions happening in public. What is my problem? Yet another programming failure: 'Minds Pooping In Public While Running'

Maybe I can be rewired.

Kitty Cat Hat

I completed this hat a very long time ago but it took me 5 months to learn how to make pom poms. Rah Rah!

I made the hat from my very favorite yarn in the world....Mission Falls 1824 Cotton. How can you not love this yarn? If you don't love this yarn there is a cold dead place where your heart should be and I pity you. Pity you.

I used this pattern and adjusted it a little to make it the 'Kitty' hat featured in this book.

About 5 of the 10 things I have ever knit have been in 1824. Including this great sweater.

I love my daughter, but she has the same photo issues I do.

Poor, poor thing.

It's ridiculously difficult to get her to smile and look like her cute self, in general. So I did the best I could. (Check out our 'Snaggle Tooth' daughter! I love that big gap.)

Believe It, Achieve It!

I realized this week I will never be a runner. I've been training for a 10K using this book.

For a while it started to look like the treadmill and I wouldn't always be such intense adversaries. We started to get along and between my newfound friendship with the treadmill and Logan's iPod (with my own annoying mix of incongruous music all lined up) it started to feel almost good to go to the gym.

There it was in black and white what I needed to do to become a runner and I sort of started to feel like a runner.

Then about a week and a half ago I was running along having a grand time and I started to get some very intense stomach cramps and then, I won't even type it, I got this.

I've always thought running was a little crazy....but I decided to try it because I am 30 now and my metabolism is napping until I die or at least it appears that way.

Internally I draw the line at bloody nipples and/or 'Runner's Trots'....this is madness I will not participate in.

So the other day when I was struck with this unmentionable ailment and spent the evening in bed crying out with pain...I sort of decided that was it. Then, when I went back to the gym two more times and each time had the same experience. It pretty much sealed the deal.

I read up on my affliction and it appears if I cut all caffeine and aspartame from my diet...it may help! This is great news since all I consume in liquid form between the hours of 8am and 6pm is this and this.

I won't be running a 10K.

This is my limit. I have evaluated the situation and weighed my options and giving up Diet Coke and other aspartame laced liquids is not balancing out the feeling of achievment I may get by running a 10K.

I could draw so many parallels from this to just about every aspect of my life right now...but it would be somewhat inflammatory for me to do so. But let's just say this: There are many ways to solve problems and get to your goals. Sometimes you are willing to endure whatever means necessary to get to that goal and other times you only have what it takes to get part way there and somehow the end doesn't justify the means anymore.

We all have different levels of endurance and tolerance for hardship and adversity, and loose stools if you really think about it.

My Robotic Spouse is extremely disappointed in me. (First my need for sleep and now this!) Of course, his favorite running partner will stop in the woods to take care of business while she's running. I wish I could say I think her determination is great but I think she's lost her mind.

Instead I'm changing gears and getting only half the cramps by preparing for this instead.

Just like in the rest of my life, I set my goals where I'm willing to do the work to get to them.

Also, I like to make my goals gastroenterologically sound.

Time Lines

When we found out we were pregnant with Madison, it wasn't on our time line.

I'd planned on finishing school and then working for at least 5 years. During this time we would travel and buy a home and fix up our home and I would work and Logan would work and then we'd make a concious choice to start a family. First, we'd get a dog and then we'd have a baby because they are, after all, similar. Yes?

I always planned to leave the career I had built once we had children (human children), because we always thought one of us would be staying at home with our kids. But I had believed that by the time that happened, I would have the foundation of a career to return to once the children were older.

We would carefully plan our financial life around the fact that I would be leaving my source of income for a time while our children were little. We wouldn't get an outrageous mortgage and we wouldn't spoil our dog and we would save money.

Instead, after peeing on a lot of sticks in stunned disbelief, I found I was pregnant while I was still in college. I didn't have time to build that career...unless one typically builds a profoundly satisfying career in 9 months.

Drunken Galvinizing

We go out a lot, without children. Because we're spoiled babies who get to go out at least once a week without children and we stay out late and we don't feel guilty unless my mother is babysitting and then I feel like I'm 16 again and I'm in past curfew and it's even worse because my mother is doing me a huge favor and I've been out whooping it up and it's like I don't even care that my mother has a life of her own and she doesn't want to be watching Food Network while sitting on my sofa at 2 am.

The Big Boy Bed Is Ruining My Life.

When Logan goes out of town I like to do little jobs around the house...to improve it. One year I replaced all our dreadful metal mini blinds with big, thick, beautiful Wide Slat Blinds. I hung them all by myself, and there were those who didn't believe in my power. But I did it and they're even still up!

During another trip I created a photo gallery in our hallway with some lovely oak I crafted into small ledges to hold our picture frames. I cut them (in a straight line) with a small jigsaw and then I sanded them and then I stained and varnished each of the pieces and I glued them and then nailed them together. I hung them on the wall using a stud finder and a level and they even stayed up!

FYI: They don't call oak a hard wood for nothing, as I realized after 7 nails bent like a set of wacky rubber joke nails and wouldn't go through the wood. You must drill pilot holes first! If you'd rather not do that be prepared for swear words to spill forth from your mouth that will make your mother weep.

While Logan's away this time, I plan on improving our home by doing something a little unconventional. I'm thinking of selling our son in a yard sale where I'll hide him among all of those 4 million t shirts of Logan's which I'll also be selling and some unsuspecting soul will take him home thinking he's a cute 'free gift' only to find that HE NEVER SLEEPS.

But I don't take returns so he's all yours!

I feel a little like I've been caught with my pants down.

There's an article in a Twin Cities paper today (Hello, Minnesota) and they happened to share my site within this article. And really, if I'd known you were all coming, I wouldn't have posted all these explicit (and kind of drunken) photographs right there at the top of my blog for God and Minnesota to see.

Anyway, the things you're looking for are here and here.

But really you should know, I'm all about "Drunken Gallivanting".

Business Trips

All my husband wants in life (besides regular sex and more of these tender moments) is a Jeep.

He's busily preparing to fly out to Virginia for Camp Jeep. Which is funny because he tried very, very hard to get a Jeep to attend 'Camp' with, but as is horribly typical for my automotive challenged husband, he has been forced to drive the one car he would like to never drive, even in spite of my insistence that we will eventually cross over into the dark side. He'll be attending 'Camp Jeep' in this.

This tickles a mean part of myself that's facing 5 days (including two very long weekend days) listening to a lot of talking from two people who are so smart and so inquisitive, I sometimes wish I'd drank, just a little bit, while pregnant so they wouldn't talk so much.

Thank God I didn't breastfeed, imagine how smart they'd be at this point.

But then another part of me feels sad for my husband who can't get himself behind the wheel of a Jeep to save his life.

But then I remember how these 'location shoots' work and I don't feel bad anymore. He assures me he'll be 'working really hard', but you'll forgive me if the memories of Utah with it's beautiful scenery and it's sushi dinners into the wee hours and Lake Tahoe with it's gambling and massages, are still a little fresh for me.

But, no, really...I hope he has fun....in his mini van.

I have all these pictures to share, but there are so many of them...I don't know what the best way to share them would be..or if I should even. You see we were at a bar on Saturday, late at night, and there were many beverages shared....and we all know that sometimes alcohol affects my ability to judge what is actually considered 'funny'. Do I need to remind you of The Dancing Queen? I didn't think so.

So while I ponder the comic value of these pictures let me share this one where Asa (Ah-Sah) is molesting this glow stick thingie we were gifted with and this one where John has drunken bedroom eyes for my spouse.

There's a lot more comedy where that came from Internet. I haven't even gotten to my new favorite game, "Walk Up To Someone, Pretend You're With Them And Have Your Picture Taken". It's truly amazing how willing drunk people in Royal Oak are to have their picture taken. Even though what they really want is, you know, sex. They aren't getting it here, our needs are taken care of.

So, I Married A Robot!

My father was really unhappy and pretty awful at being a parent. Not always, but for the most important things, he was really bad at it.

As awful a father he was, he was an even worse husband.

I spent a large part of my life afraid I would marry someone exactly like my father. I feared I wouldn't know someone toxic when I met him because, I was raised by a man who was toxic. I worried I would overlook huge character flaws because I was somehow chemically engineered to be in unhealthy relationships.

I worried there was some internal and unconcious need inside of me to marry someone like my father. I thought this because I knew my mother didn't think to herself at 18:

'What a nice man this is. I really love him. I think I'll marry him and watch him slowly kill me with his disease and emotional abuse.'

A Pickle Is Touching My Sandwich.

My daughter is an incredibly picky eater.

I've mostly decided I'm not fighting about what she eats. She's mostly decided to poke at new foods on her plate and whine about them. Mostly I've learned to accept it. Gone are the days when I worried she'd starve to death or get scurvy.

Mostly at this point, if she did starve to death, I would have to tell her, "Well God Damn it! I told you to eat!"

Day At The Pool

All of my favorite things about having children (and not working outside the house) in the summer.

Chlorine. Sunscreen. Happiness mingled with pouting. Water slides. And very messy ice cream.

The disparity between shots of Madison and Maxwell has been noted. Madison is, how to say it, a little more 'Self Aware' in front of the camera and this makes Maxwell an easier subject.

It has nothing to do with favoritism.

Because quite honestly, how could a child who was awake with the babysitter at 2am on Saturday night be my favorite? Really he couldn't, his current attitude about sleep really doesn't mesh well with everything I hold dear.

Dear Mr Piano Man

Remember three weeks ago at 10:45 (pm) when I came over in my pajamas to ask you to shut your windows if you were going to play the clarinet into the night?

Maybe you don't remember....it was pretty late wasn't it?

I thought one of those awkward discussions was enough...I guess I was wrong.

At that time, at 10 o'clock at night, we agreed that the clarinet (and the piano AND THE DRUMS) were a bit loud for the evening hours. You agreed to keep your windows closed if you were going to play at night. After 9pm was the time we discussed.

I thought I was being very generous since the sound of the clarinet...and the piano....AND THE DRUMS...makes me want to tear my own skin off every time you play. All day. For hours at a time. Sometimes you play one and then you switch to another and then you move on to the next one...and it's all a little crazy making.

What's funny, in the most homicide provoking way, is that if I close all the windows and doors on my house....I can't hear your music!

I could do that, close my windows whenever you feel the need to 'jam', but somehow it seems unfair for me to be at the mercy of your muse. I like fresh air as I'm sure you do. I don't feel it's fair or reasonable for me to compromise my comfort for your piano/drums/clarinet. You could just as easily make it part of your 'warm-up' to shut your doors and the window your piano and clarinet sit in front of.

When we spoke about the clarinet a few weeks ago while I was wearing my pajamas....this is what we agreed on. That you would close your windows after 9pm if you felt the need to play your music. I compromised since I'd really prefer to NEVER listen to drums or clarinet or piano in my house not at the times I've chosen.

Since we'd made this compromise, you can imagine my utter shock when...at 9:45 pm....there it was again. The piano! Loudly! Through your open window! As though you really are the most inconsiderate people to ever live in the rental across from my home.

Maybe I didn't make myself clear in my pajamas that one night. The thing is I have this job and it keeps me in this house for most of the day. And in this house there are these two little people who need a lot from me. By the end of the day I really just want to do what I want...without interruption.

On the list of things I want to do, you will never, ever see 'Listen to my neighbors play the clarinet (piano/drums).'

I'm sure your evening plans don't include listening to my music or my choice in television or listening to my children's endless calls from bed for more water or another hug....

You want to do as you please....and I think you should do that. With your windows closed.

My husband worried about me speaking to you again. He worried about creating bad blood between neighbors. The problem is...I already HATE you!

I was willing to have the chat with you (once) and grit my teeth through the day time playing that never seems to end.....but I draw the line at the evening serenades...and so there is a huge clot of bad blood hanging around my house and my husband would like to divert the bad blood.

He talked to you for the second time tonight and the bad blood hasn't been diverted. It's just coursing through my veins...and believe me, it's very very bad blood.

And it boils with every squeaky note of the clarinet and every tickling of the ivory and each thump of the drum. Then it boils right over when you let your dog roam the neighborhood and I see it strewing the McCullough's garbage around the neighborhood. Then, when I'm cleaning up 4 or 5 dog poops a week in my yard and I don't own a dog and this never happened before you moved here, my blood just boils all over the place. Your Free Range Dog is very sweet but he doesn't seem to understand that when he's let out in the front yard without a leash he should stay in your yard and poop there. This is what that fence that surrounds your entire huge backyard is for.

It seems he's a dog and he doesn't understand how to look both ways before crossing the street and I don't want to have to explain to my children why that sweet puppy from across the road was hit with a car. Because do you know what I'll tell my children?

'That poor puppy was hit by a car because he has idiots for parents. And also because they play that clarinet and everyone knows the clarinet is the devil's instrument.'

I think he's a very sweet dog but I really don't want to clean up his poop and I don't want to watch him get hit by a car and I mostly don't want to listen to your music!!!

You know, I'm really glad we've had this talk.

Melissa

Buh-Bye

Throwing out the potty chair seems like a tiny glimpse of what I'll feel like the day we drive our last baby to college.

I really don't think I've ever felt happier to throw something away.

I never ever have to potty train a child again.

I think this is what heaven looks like.

Happy Independence Day!

**Update: Thank you 'Anonymous Commenter' for pointing out that taking my child to college isn't like throwing him away. You must realize this isn't what I meant. Of course, if my child decides to attend the University of Michigan...I may as well dump him in the trash and save the college fund for my own selfish purposes.

It's so nice having 'Anonymous' around to help me out like this.