Supersize

When did everything in my life become supersized? I spend more time at Costco than ever, where I purchase nearly everything necessary to run my home in institutional sized packages. Yet, somehow, I seem to run out of the same stuff in the same amounts of time, which means I'm also spending supersize. My stress is supersize. With two kids recently diagnosed with ADD/ADHD, and one having behavioral issues at school and at home, I could easily resort to a liquid diet. And I'm not talking about Slim-Fast. Add to that a husband who is rarely home, and when he is, he's working on his 1970 Karmann Ghia (that old German girl is more high maintenance than any lady you've ever met), or watching every episode of Top Gear ever recorded. It's spring, and the Christmas lights are still up. The laundry room has remained unfinished since my older daughter was three. There were no other children then...now there are four. That was NINE years ago. The windows are unfinished from two years ago. Several rooms need to be painted (including the two supersized messes-Cameron's and the boys' room), the porch needs to be stained. The siding needs to be replaced, but that is a supersized battle. My husband wants to use some old siding (he swears it will match) that he found in his grandmother's garage to cover the section that's been lacking for nine years. I want new siding. Yes, it's a considerable expense, but one that would make a phenomenal difference for our house. I'd say a supersized difference, but I'm getting tired of that word. You get the picture. I need to somehow simplify, get stuff done, and relax. How does life fly by so fast?

If

If you go around grumbling in your head about your husband, you'll probably be hanging up his coat (for the thousandth time) and cussing him when one of those big wooden hangers flies off the rod and smacks you in the nose. You might think God is trying to tell you something...or that the karma kicked in. You might then go to get the baby, and decide to change her. Then you put her down for a few minutes, and wrangle the three-year-old into bed. You might immediately have to threaten him to get BACK into the bed. Then you might get the baby again, and realize that she's peed through the new outfit and onesie you've put on her. You might commence to mentally grumbling again. You might change her with your icy cold hands, and the three-year-old will complain that she's keeping him awake (as if he's had any thoughts of sleep at all). He'll ask to poop for the third time in ten minutes. You'll then know that he really HAS mastered bowel and bladder control, because he's only letting out enough to last him a few minutes, thereby increasing his out-of-bed time. Then your older children might come in off the bus, making as much noise as their little bodies can produce. You might threaten them, too, and your mind might wander back to your guilty husband, sitting ALONE in his QUIET office. You'll probably start cussing him again, and the fact that he refuses to use birth control. You might curse the fact that you're nearly 35 and therefore it's probably not a good idea to use hormonal birth control anymore. And the IUD already failed...and condoms are, well, you know...and now the baby's worked herself up to a frenzy, so you'll probably have to go ahead and nurse her. You might park yourself near your laptop, so you can at least surf or update your Facebook status with one hand. The baby might behave herself and burp right away, and not even spit up on you, so you might sit there and snuggle her a while longer, ignoring all the Christmas stuff that still needs to be put away, and the third and fourth loads of laundry. Sooner or later, you might realize that the baby kind of smells like poop. Then you might realize that the smell is a little larger-than-life, if you will. You might look down and see that the baby has indeed pooped out of her onesie, and onto the second outfit you were holding in your hand, ready to put on her. Now you'll realize that there'll probably be a FIFTH load of laundry, and you'll drift back to your husband, who could easily wash clothes while playing his Xbox. While you're walking to your bedroom, you might hear a splat on the floor, and you'll note that she has indeed spit up...half on you, half on the floor. You might put the baby on your bed, on a waterproof pad so that she can do no more harm, and go get the infant bath tub ready. You might look down and notice that the baby has pooped all over your only clean pair of jeans. Your nine-year-old might dramatically burst into the bathroom and announce that the baby has peed...BESIDE the waterproof pad (who said only boys had that capability?), and all over your bed. Yes, it is Sheets Change Day. Yes, there'll be a fifth, and probably a sixth load of laundry. And you'll start mentally grumbling about your BGE and water bills. You'd then put the baby in the bath, noting that she does like being submerged in the water better than being in that bath-chair-thingy. But only for 90 seconds. You'd probably then hurry to dress the baby, who is screaming her fool head off. You see any hopes of a nap for the three-year-old slowly sailing away.

Then you might pick up your clean, sweet baby, nicely wrapped and smelling like Burt's Bees Milk Bath. You might snuggle her and decide all is right with the world. And decide maybe your attitude needs rebooting. But your husband will probably still be wrong.

So Much

I haven't written anything in quite a while. That would be because I've been pretty darn busy. Not as busy as Kim (I don't know how she stays afloat), but pretty busy none the less.

My two older children are in school now. The daughter's having a hard time adjusting to the rigors of fourth grade (and not being on a summer schedule again). She's also just plain having a hard time. I'm certain she has ADD. Therefore, I've been having a hard time with her. Most of the time, I could choke her. She's completely defiant, and forgets E-V-E-R-Y-T-H-I-N-G. Even those people in whose eyes she's always been perfect are now singing a different tune. I feel sorry for her, but she's maddening. She's extremely difficult to live with, and frankly, extremely difficult to love right now. Which makes me sad and depressed. I quite honestly feel like the daughter I used to know has died.

The middle boy is doing well in kindergarten, but it occurs to me that he needs a LOT of help in the handwriting department. Must be a boy thing. He also did something that surprised me today-he switched to his left hand. He hasn't done that since he was about two. I hope he's not a lefty in hiding.

My little boy is still the affectionate, lovable bully. He's even started pooping on the potty once in a while. Usually, that's followed by a poop in his pants, but hey...it's progress.

And, why does everything in the house have to break at once?

The A/C died some days ago. Thank God, we have some window units which are carrying us through the end of summer. Today we have the windows open, of course, which is also fine. For some time now, the toilets have been clogging, off and on. That's problematic, when you have five people who need to use the bathroom, and one who goes about every nine minutes (that would be my pregnant self). It's especially problematic when four are trying to get ready in one bathroom. At any rate, I've plunged, dumped hot water, tried Dawn, cussed, prayed...you name it. My dear husband has plunged. He also ruined the bowl of our new toilet with a crappy, worthless snake. He flooded the basement when he tried to flush the air vents. Then, on Sunday, neither toilet would work. I had had it, and I decided it was time to call the plumber. We know a plumber, and while it might not be cheap, we know he won't screw us. Well, G refused. He insisted he could fix the problem. Yes, dear, but when?! Needless to say, Monday, I went to stay with G's grandmother. Me, and all three kids. G was surprised, but I'm not exactly sure what he thought I would do if I stayed home...camp out at McDonald's most of the day? Dig a hole in the back yard? Honestly, I really wonder what he thought I would do. He did not seem to see the urgency in the matter, and didn't seem to be in any hurry to fix it. That's fine-I wouldn't be in a hurry to mess with shit, either. Which is why I would CALL THE PLUMBER. Expensive, yes. Maybe needs to go on a credit card-ouch, perhaps. But NECESSARY. TODAY. He couldn't understand why I was short with him. Eventually, I guess he wanted me to be nicer, or he wanted his family to come home, or something. Eventually, he began working on the problem. Really working. He removed the downstairs toilet, and there lay a bath toy, all covered in poo. SIGH. Love that little boy. You know that commercial where the man flushes all manner of things, trying to summon the hot plumber lady he saw next door? Yeah, that is my son, I guess. Rest assured, the toilet will flush. But the object might not ever enter the pipe. It WILL cause a problem, eventually. G has already deduced that the same problem exists upstairs. He rented a professional snake, but has already taken it back, because he's sure it's another toy. You can imagine that I'm not too pleased about that, either. One working toilet is good. One broken toilet is bad. But hey, I'm back home.

Staying with G's grandmother wasn't so bad. I only had to clean up after the kids, and I actually had help without asking once in a while. On the other hand, when I came back to my house, disaster awaited. A man, alone in the house for three days, is not a good thing.

So, anyway, since we're talking about spending money, we're talking about REALLY spending. Maybe 50% of our windows work (meaning, the others are painted shut, just plain don't open, or just plain won't stay open). You can imagine the loss of heat and cool they account for. The siding is ugly-it either needs to be painted (not my preference) or replaced. At least one portion of our roof needs to be replaced-might as well do it all. Our concrete looks terrible. And, we have a tree in the back yard that's going to cost a few thousand to have removed. It's pretty dead now, so it's time...before it falls on the house itself. It looks like we're going to suck it up and refinance. It makes me nervous, and I hate the thought of all that needs to be done. I don't even know if we can afford to do it all. But man, it will be so nice not to worry for a while when it's done. And it will be nice to enjoy our home, rather than want to stay away from it. Ah, if only the same would apply to the INside! Does refinancing come with a maid???

God Help Me

G announced on his way out the door to volleyball that he would be calling his mother, so to expect a call afterward.  Fabulous.  Can I really say I was asleep at 9:30pm??? 

He's finally going to tell her that I'm pregnant.  Again.  I feel like I'm in high school and we've gotten into trouble or something.  I can't even imagine what she'll say.  Well, yes, I can...I just don't want to.

My kids have been driving me absolutely crazy this week.  They've been disobedient little hellions.  I don't know what their problem is...maybe we're all just tired of eachother.  My anxiety is back, which doesn't help the situation at all.  Instead of being tolerant and creative, I'm short and I yell a lot.  I hate it.  Something has to give.

I have been feeling really crappy this week, too.  I'm not really feeling nauseous anymore, thank God, but my heart is working harder, so the more forceful, sometimes much faster beating makes me worried...which probably makes it work even harder...it's a vicious cycle.  Add shortness of breath and lightheadedness, and I'm really miserable.  I just don't know if it's "normal" or just a side effect of anxiety, or what. 

On a very happy note, my dear mother helped my pigpen son clean his room today.  I'm quite sure she did most/all of the work, but man!  What a relief and a joy for me!  My daughter even cleaned her room all by herself (with initial prodding from me, of course).  She actually did a really good job.  The House Fairy will probably pay our house a visit tonight.  Good thing she recently replenished the surprise supply.

I hope everyone has a good weekend!

No Thanks, I'll Take My Own Bed

So, G had a good idea the other day. He heard about the great American campout, or some such thing...where families were supposed to camp out in their back yards. He's having his own version, a little after the fact. For the past couple of years, camping has left a bitter taste in my mouth (some of you know why). It was something I once enjoyed, and absolutely loved as a child. Ok, so I've never liked being dirty, and I never liked using a latrine instead of a bathroom...and I'm sure not dropping my drawers to pee behind a tree. And I really, really love my own bed. And air conditioning. And my ceiling fan. And my television, which often lulls me to sleep. And no bugs.

I could go on, but you get the picture. There are many reasons why I really don't like camping now, but they are very different than missing my modern amenities. The biggest reason is that it's such a huge stress!

As I said, G had a great idea, but it was a very poorly planned one. In fact, the only thing he planned to do was pitch a tent or two, and build a fire. I came home late from my mom's today, after dinner time, and I suppose I had not communicated well enough with G about the children. Long story short, they never ate dinner. Until 10:30. I even went to Target after coming home, and still they went hungry. I'm sure one of them had to have mentioned it. He never asked them if they were hungry, despite our discussions about cooking out. He had no food ready for them. No breakfast for the next morning. No toothbrushes & bottles of water, no diapers and wipes, no s'mores, for God's sake. SIGH. Guess who had to do all that?

I really had no desire to stand at the grill at 10:00pm and make some dinner. Thank God there were ridiculous leftovers from Mom's party yesterday. The middle boy took a hundred years to eat his dinner, as usual. He hates cheeseburgers & hot dogs. He hates everything except PB&J and pizza. Noah ate part of his (although he had already gotten into tomorrow's cereal), and then protested the rest. There's another issue-Noah has been very sick. I didn't even want him to stay up that late, much less eat his dinner that late.

I have a feeling some children won't be sleeping. That'll be fabulous, considering they have a birthday party to attend tomorrow. Cameron will probably be mostly fine. If Collin doesn't scare himself, he might be fine, too, because he's that exhausted. I'm just willing to bet SOMEone's going to come back into this house tonight. That's another thing-I'm such a light sleeper that whether I stay in or out, either way I probably won't get much sleep. So much for having the house to myself! I can already hear the whining in the morning. I hope it doesn't rain on them, too. That's sure to cause an uproar. On the other hand, we camped with Cameron when she was maybe 1 or 2, and she slept right through a terrible storm. I thought for sure our tent would slide down the mountain on a small river of rainwater.

In another life, maybe camping was fun. Maybe when we were a young couple, and we packed all of our stuff TOGETHER (that means, I exclusively didn't pack for the entire trip), sat around a campfire until we were tired, and then retreated to our tent with no concern about how much sleep we'd get. Maybe when we could lazily cook eggs & bacon over a fire...when our backs were younger and the ground was more forgiving. For now, I think I'll just take my own bed.

A Day in the Life Kinda Thing

I just read my horoscope for today, and it said that in everything I do today, my enthusiasm will bubble up and influence everyone around me. HAH! First of all, let me say that I don't live my life by my horoscope, but I do look at it for entertainment purposes. I like to see if, after the fact, it's had any correlation to reality, mostly. Anyway, I've been sitting on the couch. All day. I watched Noah push around his overflowing toy shopping cart full of other toys, looking for all the world like a bag lady. I commenced daytime potty training-which means we abandon diapers during the day, and park the potty in the middle of the living room. I hate a kids' potty. It's the most revolting thing ever. That may be the hormonally nauseated me speaking. I watched the older two tie eachother, and various other neighbor kids, up to the tree with jumpropes. Other than screaming at the dog for barking nonstop, I'd say I was pretty much a bystander in life today, rather than bubbling over with enthusiasm.

I did take my son to the doctor this morning, and he was strangely excited about his check-up. He obviously doesn't remember all the shots he got last time. He didn't need any this time, either, so he was just as happy when he left. He's right there with my other two, in only the 10th percentile for height. Ah, well, there is nothing to be done about genetics. I also talked with the ped about my older son going to kindergarten "early" this year. He misses the cut-off by only eight days, so I requested that he be tested for "early" admission. It turns out that he scored really high on the cognitive part of the tests, although admittedly 5 points away from the county's guideline score. He scored in the 97th percentile for the academic portion. The school psychologist, gifted & talented coordinator, principal, and area director all recommended him for early admission. Now we await the final answer from the Board [of Education]. What's the problem, you ask? G. G is the problem. He thinks we should hold him back, because he is shorter than average. Even though my husband is a know-it-all devil's advocate, this even stunned me. My immediate thought was, what if he was taller than average? Would you insist he be placed in the second grade?! It just makes no sense. For someone who has so often said otherwise, it's amazing to me that G is focusing solely on the child's genetics, about which we can do nothing. The psychologist's report clearly says that he will need advanced math and reading in his curriculum in order to be stimulated. Hello?! What does that tell you? Now, G's concern is not unfounded. He remembers being teased for being short. Know what? I remember being teased because I wore a dress. Because my last name was Badger. Because I liked to read. Because I wore a brace on my back. Because I rode the bus. My point, obviously is that children of all ages will tease other children for ANY reason, difference, or ability that they observe. Besides, what are we teaching our son if we tell him that we didn't give him ability-appropriate training because of the way he looks?! Additionally, I'm sick to death of people generalizing and saying that boys are behind girls...that is not always the case, nor is it always that cut and dried. They may be somewhat emotionally behind girls, but generally, their academic abilities are equal if not greater. Why do we continue to sell our sons short? I spoke to the pediatrician today, knowing that he is a developmentally concerned, but also a somewhat neutral party. He feels the same way that I do. He said that he totally understands why G feels the way he does, but we have to instill confidence in our son that we can do nothing about genetics, but we can make the most of our abilities...and we deal with our inabilities. He says that especially considering he missed the cutoff by a mere eight days, and clearly qualifies, he needs the stimulation and we should enroll him. We'll see what G has to say about it.