Support System Failure

Being an almost stay at home mom has been getting to me. While my job has been picking up at a slow, tortoise like pace, it has not been enough to ward off this incessant boredom and the overwhelming feeling of being smothered. I feel like a fire that is being extinguished against its will. Despite all of my attempts to burn strong, my kids are a wet blanket that never lets up. The very fact that I just came up with such a metaphor only adds to my point: I need a fucking break.

Despite my efforts, I have not found a real consistent community of other moms (other than a few acquaintances here and there) who are “normal” that I can spend time with on the days that I am home. Other than my kids, I am in isolation. It is oppressive as hell. I don’t know how women in history did it. Those women had 10 kids and made home cooked meals in a 3 bedroom house, for God’s sake. Maybe the difference is that those women had a support system.

I have to look for the little things in life to keep me going. Until last week, that is, when I had an awesome day. I made the girls breakfast, certain that the day would be typical and generally unfulfilling. I sat the girls down at the table and returned to the kitchen to clean up when Ruby yelled, “MOM! There’s something weird in my pampake!” I called from the kitchen, “Is it Jesus?” There was a long pause. “Um, no.”

We were ahead of our usual schedule and were heading out to attend a program at the Minneapolis Central Library called ‘Childish Films.’ It is a presentation of animated shorts for kids. Ruby loves it. It is always very artfully put together, which keeps me from groaning to myself throughout the show.

As we were leaving the event I was still restless. I kept thinking to myself, If I go home and sit around the house with the kids I will lose my fucking mind. I turned on the radio just as they announced that it was National Record Store Day. There were various events going on around town to celebrate. My favorite record store is the Electric Fetus. It just so happened that there was a line up of live music going on in the store all afternoon. Two Harbors, a local band that is fairly popular around town was playing. One of my neighbors is in the band and I have been meaning to see them play for some time but have never gotten around to it. Perfect. That is one problem solved.

As we pulled around the corner I was met with lines and lines of cars. I wasn’t going to walk miles to get into a crowded store. I began thinking about alternate plans when someone pulled out of their premium parking spot, 3 feet from the door. Nice! Ruby said to me, “Look at all those people! Mom, What are you’re doing?” I replied, “I’m just gonna to parallel this thing like a boss.” For the second time that day, she did not find me amusing.

My neighbor’s band was tearing down when we got there, but a great local band called The Premiums was up next. The girls and I hung around for the show. I threw my name in a drawing for something or other. The sign said, MUST BE PRESENT TO WIN. We would be leaving soon but what the hell? I have an extensive history of having my name drawn for stuff. Just as I dropped my name into the jar an employee grabbed batch of names and headed to the microphone. It was then that Ruby looked at me and said, “Mom. I have to go bathroom.” I looked at her and asked, “Can you hold it for a couple of minutes? They are just about to call Mommy’s name.” Ruby thought about it and nodded. She could wait.

Minutes later, my name was called. I had won two tickets to the Basilica Block Party, an outdoor concert that takes place in Minneapolis every year. The tickets came with a pair of cheap, black plastic Basilica Block Party sunglasses. They came in a box with a nice gold bow. Ruby’s eyes got big at the looks of a present and asked, “What is it, mom?!” I replied, “Why, it’s a major award!”

Again, nothing.

The weather that day was beautiful. I was getting hot in my sweater and decided to buy a t shirt. I’m apparently skinny these days because I was down a size, another sign of a good day. After changing we headed outside and I bought the girls lunch from a food truck. The best part is after all of the action and commotion, the kids got home and napped like they had never napped before while I laid in my hammock and read in the sunshine.

Today everything has returned to normal. I awoke to our reckless Juneau falling down the stairs and Ruby demanding more than I could give at any one moment. I have to remind myself to breathe. To stay mentally sane, I continue to make sarcastic comments that only amuse me.

“Mom, what are we are gonna do today?”

“Same thing we do everyday, Ruby. Try and take over the world.”

 

 

Child Blunder

Over the past several weeks I have begun to realize that some questions are not worth asking when dealing with small children. My kids don’t know to lie to me yet. At least the 5 year old hasn’t. Who knows what goes on in the baby’s head, though I suspect it is highly sarcastic.

My husband had a birthday last week. I made him a bad ass nerd cake. It was in the shape of a deck of Magic cards. I went all out on that thing. It was a double layered cake with chocolate frosting and blue detailing. I probably could have done without the second layer because we had a ton of cake left over. I put the remaining cake in a Tupperware container and stuck it in the fridge. The next morning the girls were up playing in their bedroom while I struggled towards consciousness. After I woke up Ruby climbed into my bed for our morning “nuggle” session.

Her lips were blue.

I asked, “Hey Rue? What have you been eating?” Her reply astounded me. As it turns out she had chocolate that she found in the cupboard (pudding), candy that I left on the table the night before, a full bag of marshmallows, and fruit snacks. She assured me that I didn’t have to worry because she shared with Juneau. I asked her, “And did you have some of Daddy’s cake?” Her eyes got wide and she yelled, “BUSTED!”

I laughed and gave her a hug. I went downstairs and opened up the cake container (after all Mom’s need breakfast too), I saw that she had eaten 3 large pieces of cake. I thought to myself, Well,  at least the girl knows how to do it up right.

Later that week, the girls were playing in their room while I was trying to wake up. I got up and headed to the bathroom as Ruby frantically yelled out to me, “MOM! Juneau is eating something bad!” On my way to assess the situation I asked, “Well, what does she have?” Ruby replied, “Um, paint.”

Where the hell did Ruby get paint and why was it being stored in her bedroom?

As I entered the girls’ room I saw Juneau dipping her fingers in green pain and giving it a good taste. Juneau had paint all over her mouth, hands, and clothes. I sighed as I made my way through the obstacle course that is the girls’ bedroom. It was at this point that my suspicions were confirmed, all of those black marks in the bathroom sink, that I had been choosing to ignore for a week, were in fact, a result of Ruby cleaning her paintbrushes.

Now, I’m not going to lie. I appreciate that she knew to clean her paintbrushes and took full initiative to do so. My little artist is very mature.

If all of this hasn’t made me sound like enough of an negligent parent, allow me to add one more blunder to the list.

On a day that we were finally having  some nice weather Juneau and I were hanging out on our front porch. I was reading a book when I suddenly noticed how quiet it got.

Juneau had taken off.

I began to hear a distant noise and quickly went to investigate. I found that Juneau had climbed the stairs and was now playing in the bathroom. Water was everywhere. The toilet paper had been pulled from the roll and was now soggy and all over the floor. Juneau stood there happily splashing about in the toilet water, occasionally dipping her toothbrush in for good measure. Apparently Juneau was playing David Letterman’s ‘Sink or Float’ game because there were sunken items resting at the bottom of the toilet bowl. Juneau looked at me excitedly, clearly assuming that I would no doubt want to join her in the fun.

And I did.

While cleaning up the bathroom I even got to reach my hand all the way in the water to pull out the stuff she had dropped in there. Thank God Ruby wasn’t the last to use the bathroom. She has a problem remembering to flush. 

As awful as these messes can be, I love that my little ladies are creative enough to explore and get into a little mischief. In my mind, their spunky personalities make up for the fact that neither of them look a thing like me.

I don’t bother asking people who they think the girls resemble because that is just another example of a question not worth asking.

Mom’s Night Off

Recently in an attempt to foster balance and sanity my husband and I have implemented scheduled nights off. My night off from being a mom is Thursday night. I look forward to Thursdays. A lot. Usually I am too busy and/or tired during the week to really plan ahead and make plans but this week was different. I had a date planned with one of my very best friends.

My friend and I go back many years. We met in college and a few years later traveled around the world together as international flight attendants. I got to be the maid of honor in her wedding and was her doula when her son was born last October. She is a true kindred spirit. Friends like her are hard to come by. The downside is that she lives a good hour and 15 minutes away from me, on a good day. We arranged to meet at a mall somewhere in the middle and see the new Wes Anderson movie. We arrived at the theater and bought our snacks. As we were entering our respective screening I said to her under my breath, “Hey, I smuggled in some chocolate eggs.” I was expecting her to roll her eyes like my husband would have. Her response was, “I smuggled in a flask.” I started laughing and we got to our seats. She never disappoints.

As we were getting settled my friend pulled the flask out of her breast pump bag and poured some vodka into her big gulp. She asked, “Care for a nip?” I usually don’t drink but I had had a stressful week and said, “Ah,what the hell.” I drank a little from her big gulp but couldn’t taste it. I decided it would be quicker take a quick gulp straight from the flask. After all, I quit drinking pop years ago. It’s not good for you. 

Needless to say, it was a good movie.

Afterwards, we decided to walk around the mall for a little while before driving home. We stopped at a café in the basement of a department store and chatted for a while. We mutually complained about adulthood and being poor. As we talked my stomach began to rumble. Eventually I said, “My stomach is revolting against the popcorn and candy. We are going to need to find a bathroom because I am going to have diarrhea.” My friend said, “Oh… Ok.”

As we began our search for a bathroom things became exceedingly more urgent. “I am going to have to ask someone.” I told my friend. I spotted a check out counter and made a beeline for it. In fact, it was more like a hornet line to the sales person because I cut in front of a customer who was just about to swipe her credit card to complete her purchase. Both women gave me a dirty look.

As I am heading to the bathroom my friend keeps talking away about something or other and I am thinking, So…I need to get to the bathroom. Is she seriously coming with me? Seems like it. Finally we get to the door and I awkwardly say, “So… you are welcome to come along but I am going to have diarrhea.” She replies in awkward oblivion, “That’s ok. I will just hang out in the lounge chair.” I quickly head for the furthest stall away from her while she continues talking. I had stage fright.

Eventually, she says, “I should probably go to the bathroom too, since I’m in here.” She sits down to pee and says, “Here. I will make you feel better. …oh. Never mind. They were silent.” She tried to fart. For me. Only real friends do such things. As my friend leisurely washes her hands (and as I am nearly finished) she says, “Well, do you want to meet me over in the Spring Bedding?” I thought to myself, NOW?! Now she wants to meet me somewhere else in the store. I’m just about done. This is so awkward! I called out from my stall of shame, “Yep. I’ll be there in a few minutes.”

Thinking back, I guess it isn’t such a big deal. I was there to watch her son’s head pop out of her vagina, for God’s sake. And earlier that night I was complaining about my pregnancy hemorrhoids that never fully went away. Together we have been through so many strange situations that adding an episode of explosive diarrhea in Macy’s echoey bathroom to that list probably isn’t going to be the tipping point of our friendship. And as it turns out we are just closer friends than I thought. We are the type of friends who accompany one another during digestive crises. It isn’t that weird, right?

No.

It was really weird.

Another Sticky Situation

It is marketed that sticky traps are the best at catching mice humanely. I beg to differ. I will concede that in the short term it seems more humane than the episode described in my urban hunting post, but in the long term the sticky trap is unpleasant at best.

Before we had children we had mice in our house for the first time. I decided that I didn’t need to kill the mice, I could just take them to the nearby cemetery and let them go. I fancied myself a pacifist. My husband fought me on this plan, but I won. Eventually we caught the bugger. “Well, here you go. Take it to the cemetery and let it go,” my husband said to me.

I changed my mind.

Upon seeing the mouse, struggling and alive I decided that it could probably bite through my flimsy rubber gloves and I didn’t really want to go there. I dropped the mouse in a plastic bag, trap and all, tied it loosely and took it out to the garbage. Many years later, I still feel bad about that. Instead of dying a quick sudden death, the mouse probably sweat to death in the summer dumpster while struggling and starving.

That’ll teach him.

Since then I have been an advocate for quick kill traps. Now that we have kids, we can only have traps out for certain hours in the day and using poison is out of the question. Unfortunately, we have not had a lot of luck and the little bastards are breeding. A mouse has chewed a hole in one of my favorite throw pillows, and a patch of my favorite chair. My husband and I decided that we needed to try the sticky traps again since they can be out all day. What’s the worst that could happen? One of the kids has to get unglued from a trap?

Yes.

We put out the traps. My husband barricaded the refrigerator with sticky traps. I told him, “I think this is obviously a trap, even a mouse can see that.” My husband laughed and shook his head.

A couple days later, I was eating breakfast with the girls and checking my work email. All morning Ruby continued to pester me, “Can you get me some orange juice?”

“I’m thirsty.”

“Are you getting me orange juice?”

“I need a drink!”

Notice none of those requests for juice contained the word please. I was tired of constantly reminding her to say please so I ignored all of her requests until she figured it out. We never got to that point.

After her rude requests had been ignored all throughout breakfast she finally stated, “I’m thirsty. I’m going to go get it for you.” Ruby went to the refrigerator, got out the juice, and began screaming. I look in her direction and start laughing. It was short lived because Ruby’s terrorized screaming lead to Juneau’s terrorized screaming. Once Ruby was successfully convinced that it wasn’t going to suddenly hurt she settled down and so did Juneau.

Now it was time to pry Ruby’s foot from the trap. This is when I became fully convinced that these traps are not humane. It took a lot of muscle power to get her foot free. It would pull the limbs right off of a mouse. Now, since my favorite chair in the house has been assaulted, I am not against pulling the limbs off of a mouse, but that is beside the point.

It is false marketing.

I set to work slathering Vaseline all over Ruby’s foot and wrapping it in a damp towel. While I let it soak, she complained about having to sit still. The orange juice had long since been forgotten. After scraping at her foot I noticed that her toenails looked as though she had been running barefoot through gravel for the past 3 weeks.

Alas, a mother’s work is never finished.

As I was being hit in the face by rogue toenail clippings, I explained to Ruby that I was sorry she felt embarrassed about the whole incident. However, it was not enough to keep me from laughing at her circumstances. After all, sticky traps were invented to catch pests who don’t say please.

Hot Llama

Today my little Ruby was very willful. I feel conflicted when this happens because part of me dreads her teen years while the other part of me is so proud that she is a girl who can stand her ground. I have been making Ruby do “chores” since she turned 3. Her first job was sorting and putting away the silverware after the dishes were done. She also had to help carry in groceries from the car. When she was little her job was to carry a loaf of bread. Now she is almost 5 so I put those little muscles to work. It is never more than she can handle but it is enough to suck. I gave her two bags to carry into the house on her own. She was pissed. “They’re too heavy. I can’t do it. UUUUUUGHHHH!” I told her she most certainly could carry the bags. She yelled more about how they were too heavy and she didn’t want to do it. Then she slipped on a patch of ice next to the garage and fell. This intensified her frustration. A lot.

My husband and I had made several trips to the house and back with grocery bags by the time Ruby decided to walk to the back door. We have 3 steps that lead up to the house. Ruby waited at the bottom of them crying angry tears. I told her to hurry up because it was cold outside. She yelled, “I CAN’T DO IT!!!” I told her as I was entering the house, “Well you are not coming in the house until you bring them in and you’re gonna get cold if you don’t just do it.” Ruby began to contemplate this and decided that the better option would be to start screaming. She began to scream at the top of her lungs, “AAAAAAAAHHHHHHH!!!!” She screeched and screeched.

I closed the door.

This made her little face turn tomato red. She climbed the steps empty handed and stared in the house while screaming. After a few moments my husband opened the door and said, “Get the bags and come inside. You can do one at a time.” Ruby continued to scream but carried the bags up. Once in the house Ruby shed her coat and boots and continued making her angry grunting noises. I told her that she needed to have a time out. “Get in the corner. 4 minutes.”

As my husband and I unpacked the groceries, Ruby’s 4 minutes ended. “Ok Ruby. Your 4 minutes are over. Are you ready to say sorry?” Ruby refused to turn around and shook her head vehemently. “Ok. 4 more minutes.”

I had to leave for work by this time. I looked at my husband and smiled, “Have fun with this.” He rolled his eyes. I kissed the top of Ruby’s corner facing head and left for work. I called my husband later to find out that she had refused to apologize for 5 rounds of time outs! That is 20 minutes! No wonder I have been losing my mind at home with her during these “polar vortex” days off of school. She is a royal pain in the ass sometimes but other times I have moments with her where she such a sweet little 4 year old.

Today I took the kids to Walmart before hitting the gym. Ruby likes to sit in the front of the cart while I prop Juneau’s car seat at the end of the basket. We did our shopping quickly and headed out to the car. On our way out one of the shopping cart wheels got caught on an uneven patch of pavement and the cart slammed to a stop. I walked into the handle with force and Juneau startled awake, “What the hell…?” Ruby looked at me and asked, “What?” I replied, “Part of the sidewalk is uneven. We almost lost Juneau!” Ruby is an inquisitive little thing. Her response was, “And then you would cry?” I replied, “Yes. I would cry. Would you cry if we lost Juneau?” Ruby agreed that she too would cry.

For the rest of the afternoon I was plagued with ‘Would you cry if…’ questions. These types of questions began the following conversation:

Mom, would you cry if your kids went bye bye?

Hmm… Depends on where they went bye bye to-

Ruby interjects- Space!

Space? When would you go to space?

Umm.. When I’m a grown up. I couldn’t go to space without my parents now. Right mom?…yeah?

Probably not but I’m not sure I want to go to space. It’s pretty far away. I think I might cry if you went to space. But if you only went to say, Kindergarten for the day I wouldn’t cry because I know you would be fine without me.

I think I would miss you all day when I am in Kindergarten.

Do you miss me all day when you are in Preschool?

Yeah.

Aww, I miss you too.

But I think I would miss you all day in space too. It’s really far and the sun is really hot. It has hot llama on it. That’s why you have to wear space boots.

Really?!

Oh yeah.

Blaissez – Fair

Most people are surprised upon hearing that I am an introvert. There is a misconception that an extrovert = outgoing and friendly and an introvert = shy and uninterested. This is not true. The whole introversion/extraversion thing isn’t about having friends it’s about how people recharge and get their energy. I need quiet, alone time to feel rejuvenated. My husband is quite the opposite, he feels refreshed after any sort of social gathering. I am typically awkward in large social settings.

Ruby takes after me in this area. She plays by herself all of the time, even when there are a bunch of kids around. She can sit and look at books for a long time and be perfectly content. One day post workout I went down to the child care area to pick up the girls. I saw a large group of kids running around playing together. I looked in the crowd for Ruby but she wasn’t there. She was off to the side playing with a doll. Once we got to the car I asked her if she played with any kids while I was working out. She said no. I asked why and she said it was because she likes to play by herself. Then she added, “I don’t know how to talk to my kids. What do I say to them?” I thought to myself, Shit. I haven’t even figured that out…What do I tell her? I lamely said, “I don’t know, Ruby. I think this is a question for Daddy.”

Deflected.

So I am an introvert. If I could be any animal I might choose to be a turtle. That way I could retreat into my shell whenever it suited me. One might think that because I am an ‘almost stay at home mom,’ I get a lot of time to myself. Nothing could be farther from the truth. I have kids climbing on me 24/7. When I am not being climbed on Ruby is talking, non-stop. Usually she is just straight up complaining. Or she asks me questions that have no point of reference. For example, last night I was driving during a nasty snow storm and she asked me, “Mom. What is that purple thing?”

What purple thing, honey?

That purple thing.

Honey, what purple thing are you talking about?

That purple thing!

I don’t know what you are talking about. Where?

THE PURPLE THING!

I don’t understand you.

Ugh! Mom! The purple thing, back there.

I HAVE NO IDEA WHAT YOU ARE TALKING ABOUT!

Mom. Why are you mad at me?

*sigh* I’m not mad at you, Ruby. I just don’t know what you are talking about.

These conversations take place all day. The snow storm was just a bonus at that point.

I feel like I am constantly running from one task to the next all while constantly being interrupted. Over the past year it has gotten worse. There are two kids now. By the time my husband comes home my blood pressure is higher than a Bob Marley enthusiast vacationing in Amsterdam. From time to time a grandparent will take the girls but it is usually only for a couple of hours at a time. Most of the time I am too neurotic to enjoy these hours because I know they will soon be ending. I spend the whole time bracing myself for their return. It is like the night before an important breakfast meeting but you can’t sleep, you just lay there staring at the alarm clock calculating how much sleep you might be able to get all while obsessing about how tired you are going to be in the morning.

…Or is that just me?

I have said to my husband more times than I can count, “I need a fucking break! I could probably recover to a functional state if I had just 3 days of total solitude.” He says this isn’t likely and besides, I get breaks from grandparents. While I’m extremely grateful for those breaks they are not enough for how badly I am depleted. “Let me put it this way,” I told my husband, “you know mud wrestlers?” He eyes me skeptically. “Hear me out. They get all covered in mud and then afterwards it starts to dry up in clumps? I feel like those people. I am covered in fatigue and I need a really good shower to get all of it off of me. That shower is 3 days, alone. But instead, people come up to me with Dixie cups of water. It sort of helps, but in the grand scheme of things it doesn’t do a fucking thing. I NEED A SHOWER!.” He replies, “Huh. I guess I never thought of it that way. I still don’t see how we could make that work…”

Today was the fair for Minneapolis Public Schools. It was held at the Convention Center downtown. I was supposed to go to this because Ruby is starting Kindergarten next year. At the fair I could talk to various school officials and make an informed decision about which schools to choose. My husband was rather insistent that I go since he was working and could not attend himself. I agreed to go but then couldn’t get past the fact that I would have to be fighting a huge crowd of people and make small talk with a bunch of strangers. I dug out my packet of information from last year and began my online research. I selected our top two school choices and submitted our request form without leaving the house, or having to get out of my pajamas.

Stand and Deliver

I very often wish that I could do the doula thing more. Actually that statement is misleading as it implies that I currently do any work at all as a doula. I have done all of the training but have only attended one birth other than my own. I think the whole birthing process is beautiful. Painful as shit but beautiful nonetheless. One of my biggest hopes in life is that I can be the acting doula for my girls if and when they deliver my grandbabies. I am keeping this to myself though, at least I will with Juneau and Ruby because I don’t want them to feel pressured to ask me if and when that day comes. The other day I got to have a glimpse of that beautiful moment with Juneau.

Juneau is such a big girl these days. In a couple of short weeks she will be turning one year old! Because formula costs more than a car payment we switched Juneau to whole milk a few weeks ago and didn’t look back. We went through our first gallon of whole milk quickly. That girl drinks a lot! It didn’t help that we were extremely busy during this transition. There were a couple of days that Juneau had to drink a bottle on the go as a meal replacement. Given this information there should be no surprise that her plumbing became significantly backed up.

I started to notice a couple of odd diapers. Juneau seemed to be pooping very frequently but each time only yielded a few, highly odorous pebbles. I took note but carried on, business as usual. Then I noticed that it had been a few days since her last poop. In these few days Juneau went from the baby who never cried to a fussy little girl. She had a tummy egg.

We tried prunes. It helped for one day but then we were back to square one. One night Juneau would not sleep. She was tired but she just kept screaming and screaming. Every so often I would smell something funky and check her diaper but alas, it would be empty. I told my husband, “Desperate times call for desperate measures. I’m going to have to run to the drug store and get some suppositories.” I didn’t know just how desperate the evening was about to get.

By the time I returned home Juneau was asleep in my husband’s arms. I took her over to the changing table and laid her down. She woke up as I was taking her pants off. Immediately she began screaming in pain. I opened up her diaper to see a little turtle head stuck between her little butt cheeks. She had likely fallen asleep with it like that. I lifted her legs so that they pressed into her belly and pushed while she screamed. I briefly noticed that I was holding my breath and flexing my stomach right along with her. I grabbed a diaper wipe and began trying to help her along by pulling that arrogant turd from the outside while she pushed. It was a team effort. It sort of reminded me of trying to open a bottle of wine after the cork breaks.

Eventually, after a lot of screaming and tears, Juneau gave birth to an enormous clump of fecal matter. I cleaned her up and handed her off to my husband. “I need to go wash my hands, after all, I just delivered that turd.” He laughed.

I yelled from the kitchen as I was washing my hands, “Dear God. The shit a person will do when they become mother…”

My husband replied, “Literally.”

No Love in the Elevator

The majority of my time in any given day is spent rushing around. I am rushing to get to work on time, rushing to get to appointments, or rushing to get the kids to bed because for the love of God I need a minute to myself before I collapse into a night of interrupted slumber. Ruby has preschool every morning at 9am. If I can make it there by 9:15 I consider it to be a successful day. This drives my husband crazy because he is a very punctual person. We frequently argue about when it is the appropriate time to leave the house in order to get somewhere. When he is in charge, we are the first ones to show up at parties. It is embarrassing and awkward. Hi hosts. You indicated there was a party here from 3-9pm. Is it ok that it is 2:58?

My husband and I share a car. I pick him up from his job on the days that I have to work so we can quickly switch roles as to avoid childcare costs. It is stressful. I typically go to the gym before picking him up on these days so that I can get ready for work in a kid free zone. I am not sure what I was doing that put me so far behind yesterday but I had just enough time for a quick workout and a shower before picking up my husband.

Like nearly everyday that I go to the gym I forgot something crucial. This time it was my underwear. I was dressed very professionally but let my inner hippie flag fly. I had to go commando. I was wearing heels so I took the elevator down to get the girls.

“Hurry! Let’s go, let’s go! We’re running late to get Daddy! Rue, get your coat. Quick! Hit the button on the ‘alligator’!” We scurried into the elevator. The door closed and we began our ascent. Ever her mother’s child, Ruby began thrashing about pretending to be trapped in a padded room, “Let me ouuuuut!” This is when I noticed that we were a bag short. Back down we rode. “Ruby. Run to the desk and ask for the diaper bag. Make sure to say please.” The doors opened, “GO!” Ruby took off running. I stepped out of the elevator so I could see her. At this moment the elevator doors closed. I looked at Juneau just in time to see her expression of horror as the doors closed her in. I laughed and hit the button for the doors to open.  They didn’t open. The elevator left with the baby in it. “SHIT! Ruby meet me upstairs with the diaper bag. Juneau is gone!” I sprinted up the stairs with my heels loudly echoing all the way. I ran around the corner to the elevator and hit the button franticly. One of the trainers asked, “Are you racing?” I managed to say something along the lines of, “Baby. Stuck in the elevator….” At this point all of the front desk staff were watching me. It was shift change time too. They were all there.

I hit the button to find that someone had called the elevator all the way upstairs to the too floor. You would think Ruby would have found this funny given the dumpster baby incident but she was mostly just confused. I waited for the elevator to come back down, knowing that I wouldn’t make it up in time to catch her. When the door opened there was an old man holding the car seat. I sighed in relief and took the baby from him. I looked wide eyed at the trainer and said, “Jesus. What a train wreck! Have you ever seen anything like this happen before?” Everyone shook their heads in unison. No. They had not.

Even though the crisis had been averted, were still running very late. As we ran out of the lobby I managed to call out, “Sorry guys! No need to called child services…”

Exercise the Demons

Lately I have been in a rut that has consisted of sweatpants, tons of Kleenexes, endless hours of TV, and just plain feeling sorry for myself. I seem to get sick every year around Christmastime but this year it lasted for most of December and long into January. It never occurred to me that the outcome of Ruby’s Christmas break combined with some sort of Nazi Cold Virus, could be exponentially worse than either variable on its own.

We own a house in South Minneapolis. I love our house. It is an Arts and Crafts style home from 1916. Adorable. Unfortunately, with the addition of two kids the house seems to have shrunk, maybe it was in the dryer for too long. Now add record breaking low temperatures and, my friends, we have a recipe for extreme and severe cabin fever.

Every day after work while I was sick, my husband would come home to a house that looked like it was being consumed by toys and laundry. Laying on the couch with Kleenexes all around me, I would grunt a greeting and return to feeling sorry for myself. To be fair, this was a serious mother of a cold.

Today started like most days of late. I woke up blew my nose, changed a diaper, and explained to Ruby that she wasn’t getting candy for breakfast. I turned on Netflix and went to the kitchen to make breakfast. I heard laughter followed by Ruby saying, “Hey mom! He said, ‘Holy shit! There is a baby in that dumpster!’ hahahaha!” I had flash images of Ruby wearing a bandana and ripped up jeans in the ally behind our house trying to hurt small animals. I thought to myself, Why do I always fail to censor shit?! We needed to get out of the house. 

We all bundled up and headed out for the gym. I dropped the girls off at their day care area for two glorious hours. Because I am on the mend I had to take it easy. I couldn’t risk getting short of breath because that would have induced a coughing fit that would have elicited stares from my fellow gym goers. I finished my workout in a deep stretch, reading my book.

I thought that after taking nearly three weeks off from working out that it might be hard to get back into my routine. Maybe I will be too out of shape and won’t be able to do anything anymore. I have had way more time on my hands since not going to the gym, what  else could I do with that time? None of those potential excuses will ever be able to trump two hours a day of free child care. I have exercised for much, much less than that before.

One Sick Mother

In preparation for the new year, yesterday was spent in urgent care. I have been sick, really sick, for almost 2 weeks! Every Christmas I seem to be miserable with some form of ailment. If it is not due to gestating, then it is the flu, or a serious cold. This year was a sinus infection with an unbearably sore throat and a nasty cough. The type of cough where you expect to look in your Kleenex to find an oxygen deprived lung quivering.

 I waited in the doctor’s office for a long time, with both kids. I brag a lot that my kids have been described as “freaks of nature” because they are so well behaved. Even though Ruby was still fairly well behaved she was bugging the hell out of me. Ruby was climbing all over the doctor’s office. When she was chastised for her behavior she swore that she “didn’t hear me the first time.”

On the way out to the car (at -2 degrees), Ruby began campaigning for why she should get to have candy. Through gritted teeth I said, “No. You were very naughty in the doctor’s office. You don’t get candy. I’m very upset with your behavior.” Ruby took this as a cue to enter into her drama queen mode and began accusing me of wanting her to die. “You want me to die, mom? Huh? Do you want me to die?!” After ignoring this for a while, she got over it and transformed back to her normal self. I don’t know where she learned to be so dramatic.

I have been under the weather from various things since the beginning of December. As a result I have been irritable and exhausted. I woke up yesterday morning and gathered up everything to go downstairs so I could start making breakfast for the girls. I had the baby under one arm and everybody’s outfits for the day plus three dirty milk bottles from the night in the other. I didn’t have a free had for my phone so I stuck it in the waist band of my sweatpants. I made it all the way downstairs with my phone firmly held in place, until I reached for it. That is when my phone fell into my pants and got stuck on my butt. Ugh! I wiggled and began shaking my leg like a dog getting a good belly rub so the phone would just fall out of the leg. Finally, the phone fell down a pant leg. Of course this was the one day I was wearing sweatpants with an elastic band around the ankle. I haven’t owned a pair of those pants since the age of 6, or maybe even younger. Now I remember why. I huffed and mumbled hoarsely under my breath, “This is my life. Why does this weird shit always happen?!”

After returning home from urgent care I promptly put on my fat pants and engaged in the best form of couch parenting I could muster. Poor baby Juneau has been sick too, she has been very congested with a high beaver. This has made her very clingy. She wants her Mama. It is really very sweet, but when I feel like I’m hanging on by a thread, it is awful.

By the end of the day I had had enough. I pulled out the sage. I burned sage all over the house to clear out all of the negative energy. Ruby complained about the smell and my husband rolled his eyes. As I was finishing the sage process my husband said to me, “As much as I don’t appreciate this, at all, I really wish you would carry around a glass of water with you in case a piece of that falls off and starts a fire.”

This time I rolled my eyes.

Today I burn sweet grass. Sweet grass is supposed to welcome in the good. I could use a little positive energy around here because if I don’t get a break soon, I will die!