this past weekend

I’m ok, we’re ok. I’ve got stories that I’ll share. In the meantime …

 

the way I feel right now

Embarrassed. Humiliated. Sad. Angry.

He missed it. And it becomes increasingly clear to me what this kid needs. A strong father figure.

At the train playground, yesterday afternoon. He knew we would be there … we go every Monday afternoon around 4 pm. I call him 4:50pm and say we’ll stay until 5:30, come and play. You work 1 mile away from the train playground. Come play. Come be a dad.

I’ll call you when I leave, he says.

In the meantime, G attaches himself to a father and son pair, the son about G’s age. This father is literally ON the playground, going down the slide, talking, laughing, making up games. Gray is in heaven.

I am on the grass with Dashiell, supervising. Longing.

5:05
5:10

G follows this man around. He taps the man’s leg, looking up at him, seeking approval. When the man sits, G snuggles right next to him, tapping him on the shoulder and jabbering at him. Wanting. I intercede, urging Gray to come play with mama and Dash. Like a boomerang, he runs back to the man and his family.

5:15
5:20

The man, his wife, and two kids leave the playground. Gray follows him to his car. I follow after, pleading with Grayson to come with mama. I make apologetic faces to the family. I offer bribes of soda (sprite zero) and Jack’s Big Music Show.

My heart aches.

I can’t be what he needs. THIS is what he needs. And he doesn’t have it.

5:25. I give up.

G throws his arms around me, exhausted and sweaty.

I’m SO ANGRY at PK for putting something else in front of this kid. Whatever it was … could it not have waited until 8:30 the next morning? I want him to be the kind of man who likes kids. Who wants to play with his own. Who gets up on the playground slide and laughs and makes up games and interacts with his three year old on that boy’s level. Who can’t WAIT to leave work so he can BE that dad.

And I’m angry at myself for marrying someone who doesn’t. Who can’t.

It’s my fault, I think.

That … hunger in my kid’s gaze as he sought this strange man’s approval.

I ache.

 

It’s only 3 and I’ve already had a day.

Although we had a miserable experience the last time we went, I got coerced into going back to the JCPenny Portrait Studios today. It was a new photographer and to give her training, they were offering FREE sitting and a FREE 8×10. Anything else I wanted to order would be 50% off. I reluctantly said OK, knowing in my heart we’d only take the 8×10, but agreeing to a Christmas background and perhaps their new saffire (THAT IS HOW THEY SPELL IT) background, circa 1982.

Anyway, the last time we went was with Greta and Dash was too little to sit on his own and it was just bad. Bad photographer, bad background, bad Grayson, bad photos to choose from. And yet we still ended up spending $50 (split b/w me and gertie) and we walked away with a bad taste in our mouth. Later, when I went to get the sheets (because it takes 7-10 days for them to come in), I complained and the district manager, who happened to be there, gave me an additional $45 worth of photos … all bad, and I was mollified, but still irritated. Wish I’d asked for our money back instead.

Back to today.

Our appointment was set for 1 and I arrived at 12:50. Time enough to get the boys into their outfits, wipe their faces, throw them in the room, and get out. OR SO I THOUGHT.

1:05 and they still haven’t taken us back. 1:15 and Grayson’s already thrown three fits, Dash is crying, and I’m done. And we haven’t even gotten into the room yet. FINALLY we get back there and immediately, Gray and Dash sit next to each other and smile for the camera. PERFECT.

Except she hasn’t logged into the computer and has to fiddle with the camera. And by that time? The moment was gone, never to return.

IDK how it is with YOUR portrait studio, but when you photograph kids? You just have to keep shooting. ESPECIALLY in this digital age. You just click click click click click and keep going and we’ll see what we get later. Don’t wait for that Perfect Shot because it doesn’t exist when you think it does.

I know this simply by photographing my OWN kids.

Gray is playing with the train, belly flat on the floor. Dash is dismantling the fake tree. The photog is just sitting there, making cooing noises and saying, “look at the camera!”

*I* am working my butt off, repositioning, moving, dancing, singing, comforting, distracting, etc etc etc etc etc. Every time I reposition, she says, “SMILE FOR THE CAMERA!”

lady, by that time? It’s too late.

10 minutes into our session, she’s taken 6 photos and then the fun begins. Gray, in one of his tantrums, knocks into Dash. Who bites through his lip and begins to bleed. ALL OVER. The set. His white shirt. The “present” he was gnawing on.

Now Gray is crying, Dash is bleeding, I’m frazzled and the photographer looks bewildered. Hesitantly, she asks, “Do you want to reschedule? You could feed them some lunch and then come back?”

LADY. They have ALREADY been fed. Their golden time? Was when we FIRST ARRIVED. It’s after 1:30 now. Do you REALLY think another sandwich is going to fix this problem?

Abort the session, get everyone calmed down, and go to look at what we have. A whopping 7 photos to choose from. She begins to choose individual shots to turn into a Christmas card. Except that in NO photo is a child looking at the camera. If I wanted a shot like that, I could take them AT HOME. I was looking for a posey, sweet photo. And the only one that was acceptable was one in which Dash was giving Gray the side eye and Gray was making a doofy face. OF COURSE.

Still, I chose that one, got my free 8×10 ordered and rushed out.

I don’t know if it is THAT PARTICULAR studio that is so incompetent or JCPenny’s in general. No clue. But rest assured I will NEVER go back there. Not even for another free promotional. Because it? Is just Not Worth It.

 

this past weekend

 

I used to be angry, but now I’m just sad.

I think, sometimes, that PK and I won’t make it.

On the whole, we’re happy and things are fine. We communicate, we make each other laugh, and we’ve been more intimate since Dash was born than we ever had before.

But there are moments when I think … our priorities are different. And I sometimes wonder if that will one day drive a wedge between us that is too big to gap.

For me, family is first and foremost. And family, especially raising these boys, is messy and fun and hard and complicated and sloppy. He’s just not built to handle that. He likes ordered, neat, orderly, structure, rules … and our life just isn’t that way most of the time.

I think for him (and this is just what I think, deep in my heart of hearts), HE comes first. I KNOW he’s resentful of the loss of his freedom. He loves us, I know this. But I also know that he sometimes wishes we would all go away so he could play his game and read his book and not bother him with our careless lifestyle.

I can understand. I want to be able to read my book and sleep until whenever I want and get my toes done and live my life. But THIS is my life now. I’ve adjusted. And I think sometimes I’m still waiting for him to. And that sucks.

He’s a good dad and he wants to be a good dad. But when he complains that he “didn’t get any sleep” I want to throw him off the porch. Because HE was not the one to get up 2379018273912 times in the night with Dash. And HE is not the one who spent 2 hours with Grayson, watching Sesame Street clips on youtube because Gray is coming down with something and woke up in the middle of the night. And he is NEVER the one to get up at 5 am with both kids. So I find his complaints to be hollow. So he actually heard the baby in the night for once? How nice.

I guess there are times when I’m just tired of worrying about HIM as well as my children. He’s like my third child sometimes … needing something from me every day, every time. Instead of being self sufficient, he asks me what’s for dinner, is there food? It isn’t rocket science. Look in the fridge and MAKE yourself something. He has trouble seeing the forest for the trees. Because he’s focused on the BARK of the trees, he totally misses the whole panorama.

I’m an enabler. I need him to grow up. Get over it. Be the kind of father I want him to want to be. And maybe … maybe that’s just too much to ask.

 

for sale, one toddler, slightly used. NO REFUNDS.

Grayson is … well, he’s a handful these days.

It’s not the time change. It’s just … being three. I really find Ask Moxie to be helpful when I hit these rough patches. She always knows just what I’m going through and just what I need to hear. And it isn’t just her … it’s the commenters, too.

Anyway, this child of mine, he is difficult. He is stubborn and he has WORDS that he can USE to EXPRESS his stubbornness.

Case in point: we’re potty training, sort of. We’re working on it. And he’s potty trained!
At home.
When he’s naked.
And not for poop.

But he obviously had to pee the other day. And Baa said, “buddy, go put your pee pee in the potty” and he said, “NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! Diaper!” and she said, “You don’t need a diaper. Go pee pee in the potty, please.” And he finally ran in there, peed, flushed, washed his hands, came out, looked at her, and said, “THERE.”

It’s so funny, but it isn’t.

He’s limit testing. He REALLY could use a daycare or school … something to stimulate him more than we can, or are able to. But until we get this potty training thing resolved, school is out. What I really need is a mother’s morning out program … but the only one I found (granted, I haven’t looked too hard) was $185/mo for TWO DAYS a week.

But he is SO FREAKING FUNNY at the same time that he’s so trying and irritating and exhausting. For example, he answers the phone now. “HERROW?” he says … and then listens and jibber jabbers back to whomever it is on the other end. It’s awesome. He knows how to get to places and he knows how to read (he’s got maybe about 50 or so words he can read. He read “BANK” just yesterday and I was shocked. Where did he learn THAT word?)

I hope this phase, or whatever it is, passes quickly. I’m EXHAUSTED. I need a break.

 

Dashiell, 8 months

Dash turned 8 months old last week. I will never understand why pregnancy goes so SLOW and growing up happens so FAST.

We had a really neat month. Dash is getting fast with being able to move around. He still does his worm movement crawling, but he also got up on his hands and knees this month and really started crawling for real! Once he did it once, he decided he was ready to walk. He ADORES holding onto our hands and toddling around the room. He cackles while doing it. He thinks he’s hot shit, apparently. It’s hysterical.

He’s eating table foods … anything that we eat, he wants to try too. He is NOT interested in baby food anymore, thankyouverymuch. His current favorite is macaroni and cheese. I find I’m hoping that his broad interest in food will spill over onto his (very picky eater) brother. But so far … not so much, lol. Dash can also drink out of a cup and we started using a sippy cup with him, too. He’s turning into a “big kid” right before my eyes.

Dashiell has 5 teeth and we think he’s working on a 6th (they seem to come in pairs, for him). So nighttime has been a bit of a nightmare in terms of sleeping. Meaning … my excellent sleeper is no more. Sigh. Perhaps, though, one day I will again get 8 hours in a row. Well, a girl can dream! (get it? GET IT??)

Dash has started saying “mama” … and I think he really means it. He’s very much aware of us, who we are, and what “role” he has assigned to us. He’s laughing now and loves games like peek-a-boo. Oh my goodness, and does he ever ADORE Grayson. If Gray deigns to look at Dash, Dashiell smiles and laughs and is completely pleased with himself. Of course, G is ready for Dash to be rough-and-tumble … sometimes we have trouble remembering to be gentle with our baby brother. But the other day, Gray and I were in the bedroom and Dash was in the living room … and Gray turned to me and asked, “Where my Dashiell?” Mama heart, melted. Right there.

We took a road trip up to Dahlonega and on the way back, Dash was sobbing, inconsolably. That didn’t stop Grayson from shouting, over and over again, “DON’T WORRY, DASHIELL. EEZ OK. EEZ OK! DON’T WORRY, DASHIELL. EEZ OK!” That was a fun trip.

In short, we are having a blast and adore being a family.

 

three years in the making

My hair grows reaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaally slow. I mean REALLY slow.

The last time I significantly cut it … cut it SHORT, that is … was the summer before I got pregnant. WITH GRAYSON.

So my long hair was three and a half years in the making. Because it grows so slow, it was “only” midway down my back. When I pulled it over my shoulders, it didn’t even cover my breasts. Pitiful.

Yet.

It was long enough to ANNOY THE EVER LOVING SHIT OUT OF ME. I always pulled it back. Every day. In a ponytail. In a bun. Sometimes in two buns, ala German milkmaid. But it was always up.

And Dash loves to pull it and nom on it and it was clogging our shower drain.

And so I cut it.

All.

Off.

Here’s a before:

and now look! LOOK!

I’m sending this to locks of love

I freaking love it.

so much.

I spent $14 at supercuts. And when I walked in the door back home? I nearly gave my mother a heart attack. She told me it took 20 years off of me. Which, I HOPE SO BECAUSE NO ONE HAS CARDED ME IN 9 MONTHS. Sheesh. Guess I started looking my age or something. ::pout::

 

this past weekend

 

random

Dashiell can crawl, really crawl, up on his hands and his knees. He often doesn’t, thought, preferring to do his inchworm impression.

He also can say “mama” … and I think he really means it. He tends to only say it, though, when he’s been left behind in the room and wants someone to come back. Pitiful baby.

He also has been babbling up a STORM and doing this lecture-style hand gesture to go along with it. Freaking adorable.

In fact, he’s gotten a lot cuter over the past few months. I was worried about him there for awhile. I really was.

Grayson had his second gymnastics class and LORD does this child love that class. He was allowed to get up on the balance beam this week and he was very brave. He sort of lost it toward the end of the class, but that doesn’t surprise me as class ends right around lunchtime. Mental note: feed child before class.

He’s talking up a STORM and repeats nearly everything he hears. He adds inflections and he knows when he’s funny. When he’s super excited, he still babbles in jibberish, but he’s doing better about controlling his speech. A lot of it still concerns me, but I found out we could qualify for free testing through our school district. So that’s on our list of things to do.

We survived the latest Gertie visit, although by the end of the 4th day, I was DONE DONE DONE with them in general. It *did* help to have them stay in a hotel and for them to have their own car. But even so, it’s just stressful to deal with three more people and worry about how they are doing.

I’m worried about the upcoming time change, since I don’t have good sleepers to begin with.

I switched Dash to size 5 diapers but he still peed out of his diaper last night. Not sure what to do about that.

I’m worried about a friend of mine, who seems down in the dumps. Wish there was something special I could do to cheer her up.

My kids are funny. Life is busy. I’m feeling better, in general.

 

goldilocks and the three gymnastics classes

Once upon a time, there was a little boy. His mama wanted him to take a dance class, but she was realistic. The child would be better off in a gymnastics class than a dance class. For now.

So she searched for a class that would be both affordable and fun. Not an easy task, as it turned out.

The first class they tried, it was TOO EXPENSIVE.

The second class they tried, it was TOO RIGID.

But the third class they tried? It was JUST RIGHT.

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So … I got a free trial class at a local gymnastics school with a reputation for excellence. Blah Blah Blah … and so on. We went and lo, we got kicked out in the first 10 minutes.

here are all the things that were WRONG about the class (for us):
1.) the teacher never got on his level and introduced herself to Grayson
2.) she expected him to just follow her lead without telling him why
3.) she didn’t let him explore before the class started, or during the class, or really even at all … she just expected him to be able to spin his arms in circles and ignore all the VERY EXCITING EQUIPMENT ZOMG.
4.) she wouldn’t let me or Baa sit on the floor with him
5.) she said, “if he can’t pay attention to me, he’ll have to leave. I can’t have him disrupt my class.”

IT WAS A CLASS FOR THREE YEAR OLDS.

So … yeah, not right. I was bummed and disappointed. And I questioned my parenting ability.

I mean, maybe I am really raising a hellion who sucks at life. And listening.

But then …

I got the idea to look up our local YMCA. Gray’s first swim class was there and we were SUPER pleased with it. This past Monday, we took a free trial class.

Y’all. It. Was. Awesome.

The teacher was REALLY nice and kind and patient. It’s a “mama participates” kind of class, so I’m able to be on the floor and help him and keep him focused. It’s not astronomically expensive (not cheap either, but after paying fees and membership, I still have a little left over from what my dad gave me allocated for his class).

So we signed up and I’m pretty excited about it. If nothing else, it gives us something to do every Monday at 11 am.

 

this past weekend

 

well, it’s a moo point, anyway.

remember when we were all like, WE ARE NEVER SEEING PAULO AGAIN!!!! …?

yeah, we’re seeing him tomorrow.

Turns out, he has a meeting at Big University downtown. So gertie decided that if HE was going to get to come to Georgia, SHE was also going to come. And bring Greta, too.

When it all shook down, my mom had a long conversation with her about all of our concerns. My sister agreed with my mother. My sister and Paulo went through a rough patch. And then, for whatever reason, she got over it. Now they’re talking about having another baby. But that’s a story for another time.

His meeting that he’s coming into town for … it’s going to take all of three hours on Thursday morning. And they aren’t leaving until Saturday. A blessing is that they’re staying in a hotel and have a rental car. So we don’t have to worry about him walking around shirtless and eating through our food like a cockroach.

But we still will have to see him more than we would like. That is to say, we have to see him.

So much for putting our foot down.

 

stupid stepmother.

My father remarried when I was almost 30. So while the woman he married is … nice … she isn’t my mother, we don’t have a close relationship, and I feel very stand offish toward her.

She, however, would LOVE to be a “family.” She pushes it.

My sister and I were discussing how our kids should refer to her. We agreed that it was disrespectful to have the kids call her by her first name (which is how we refer to her), but we didn’t want to give her a name that was like “memaw” or “grandmother” etc … it just didn’t sit right with us. My sister and I refer to her as “Tennille” or “That Woman” but neither works for the kids.

So we decided, privately, to call her nana-k.

At Grayson’s birthday party this summer, we started implementing our plan and called her nana-k all day. At the end of the day, she said to my sister, “I don’t mind nana-k, but my daughter always wanted her kids to call me marmee.”

My sister said, noncommittally, “Mmm. We can work on it.”

My sister and my mother were horrified and appalled. The first thing they objected to was … Little Women is one of their favorite novels of all time. So they both felt “protective” over the name marmee, which in that book, meant mother. The second thing they objected to was … if Bird, Tennille’s daughter, wants to one day have her kids call their grandmother marmee, then that’s great. FOR HER. But Bird recently committed adultery and got a divorce. So no kids are imminent in the future.

I didn’t have the same reaction because I am indifferent toward the book Little Women. But I was irritated and slightly amused that when we offered a bone, she decided she wanted the whole steak. We didn’t have to call her ANYTHING. We could’ve had our kids refer to her by her first name until the end of time and we’d have been completely happy with that. This is one of the problems we have with her.

If she hated nana-k, she could’ve said, “wow, that makes me feel old. Can we do something else?” At that point, if she suggested marmee, Gertie could’ve said, “how about ___________.”

Anyway, the damage was done.

Because since that day? Every card, letter, and email sent to my sister and my niece is signed, “love grandpa and marmee”

My sister, absolutely livid, called me. “THAT IS IT,” she announced. “ALL NAME PRIVILEGES HAVE BEEN REVOKED.”

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Tennille has yet to sign anything to me or my kids as “marmee” … she still uses her first name, not even nana-k. So my sister and I talked about it, and here’s the plan:

the next time she refers to herself as “marmee” in addressing herself to MY kids or to ME, I will say something along the lines of, “Oh, Tennille, that’s cute. But it isn’t going to work. Grayson is speech delayed and ‘marmee’ is too close to mommy. We’ll have to come up with something else. You didn’t like nana-k? I thought that was sweet.”

That way, I confront her, we agree on something we can all live with, and hopefully no one gets their feelings hurt.

Hopefully.

 

on doctors, dashiell, and being done

Last week, Dashiell was a TERRIBLE sleeper. In fact, both kids were. It was enough to make me want to leave one, or both, of them out in the snow. I couldn’t figure out what the issue was. Dash was pulling on his ear, screaming, not wanting to be put down at all in the middle of the night. Waking up 4 times and drinking 16 oz of formula in that time.

So, even though he wasn’t running a fever, I brought him to the doctor first thing in the morning. She listened to his chest. Looked in his ears. Looked at his throat and gums.

“Just teething,” she announced.

“Really!?!?!?!?!?” I said, shocked. The kid was obviously not well. OBVIOUSLY.

“Not ears,” she said. “It could be a virus, but it’s most likely just teeth. If he gets worse, come back.”

That will be $35, please.

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Over the weekend, he began to get pathetic. Runny nose. Hoarse cry. Stuffy mouth breathing.

Dash has his first cold.

He’s truly pathetic. He’s miserable. So everyone is miserable. EVERY. ONE.

He gave it to Baa. PK is feeling punky. And Grayson’s nose started running yesterday.

Elizabeth, you might want to stay away. We harbor the creeping crud.

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I have a list of baby names that I quite often — probably about once or twice a day — think about in depth. If I had another boy, he would be this. If I had a girl, what would we name her that would go with both Grayson AND Dashiell? Round and Round and Round.

But every day kicks my ass these days. Two is FUCKING. HARD. Way harder than I ever thought or expected it to be. Way harder than I ever imagined.

Look, I babysat. For more than one child at a time. I was a live-in nanny to twin boys! I thought I knew what this was all about. I thought I could handle this. But I am humbled every day by this job called motherhood.

And we still don’t have a car big enough to fit our whole family.