I just came from tucking R in. I was lying beside her in her bed and she was telling me I couldn't wear a dress tomorrow and I said, "You're not the boss of me." To which she replied, "No, Old Gray Hair is the boss of you." And then we both laughed so hard we cried. I've never heard a four year old make an actual funny joke and I've never shared a laugh like that with one either. It was quite funny.
For anyone not in on the joke, Old Gray Hair is my poor mother. And also a Native American in The Last of the Mohicans. R decided to call my mom Old Gray Hair on a whim last week and I explained to her that this was also an ooooooooooooold man in a movie. She was quite pleased with her cleverness.
In other news, the iPod in the baby's room is stuck on repeat and has been for two days now. We put music on while he sleeps to block out the noise of the rest of the house. During the blackout that followed the hurricane the iHomes were all useless and the house was SO quiet. I swear that baby has super sonic hearing as well, and he woke up every time we breathed too loudly.
But he doesn't seem to mind the same song (Time to Say Goodbye -- by Some Italian Guy) playing over and over and over and over again all night long. The rest of us do, but he doesn't. Last night T and E were out and I had to take the monitor downstairs with me. I almost ripped my ears off. Then I just turned the volume off and hoped that if he woke up crying I would just see the red light indicating blood-curdling screams in the dead of the night.
Fortunately he didn't wake up on my shift and the very second I heard the garage door open above me I turned off the monitor.
Baby I's new catch phrases include "Oooooooooooooooooo!" and meowing. I take full responsibility for both of them as I like to meow and also exclaim "OOOOOOOOOO!" every time I discover something I like, no matter how mundane.
The doorbell rings and it's a package for me.
"Ooooooooooooo!"
T's blow dryer brushes hair stick straight while drying.
"Ooooooooooooo!"
The garbage man has been throwing away our recyclables because this company doesn't take plastic and if I just stick to glass and metal the right truck will pick it up.
"OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!"
That was a big moment for me. It's been an ongoing battle since I got here. E and T told me not to bother with the recycling because the garbage man was just throwing it all out but I knew there had to be a reason. And I was right.
This company doesn't take cardboard or plastic. How lame is that? It has greatly reduced the amount of actual recycling we have any given day. And no we are throwing out oodles of plastic and cardboard. Especially right now.
Do you know how many milk jugs, tissue boxes and Cheerios boxes having three kids in the house can produce? Enough. That's for sure.
I spent all of today kneading cookie dough and freezing it for the next few weeks. I baked some and the kids decorated sugar cookies. E came into the kitchen while we were hard at work.
"Ahhhh, Kimberly, I know what you're doing here." He said smugly. "Child labor. Having the kids make Christmas cookies for you. I know that's what's going on."
He couldn't be more right.
I am not even really a nanny.
We were all home all day and the banter and ridiculous accusations have gone on just as long. There was much laughter today.
Except for the baby. He's moody and all he does is throw tantrum after tantrum. He's learned that his gentle "falls" to the ground aren't getting attention and so he has actually begun to throw himself to the tile floor and has several bumps as a result. He's still not getting his way though and it's really ticking him off.
He ran from adult to adult all day trying to get us to give him things he wasn't allowed to have or do things he's not allowed to do to no avail.
So maybe he would be more bothered by the repeating iPod if he wasn't so exhausted from screaming at everyone all day.
I have to go turn the heat down now. It's become something of a sauna in here.
I'm going to put on a sundress and wrap Christmas presents while singing Christmas carols to myself. It should be fun.
Saturday, December 3, 2011
Gobble gobble.
The two days that I worked after J’s birthday party were all about cleaning this place up and making it livable again. 30 kids can do a lot of damage in three hours. Someone spilled cranberry salad in the playroom, but right on the gate so that it also bounced into the hallway. The playroom is wood floor and the hallway is tiled, so I got to mop all kinds of different things. The night of the party R had the BIGGEST pee accident in the universe and T put baby powder on it to keep the smell to a minimum until the washing machine was free. So of course then there was baby powder all over that floor, the bathrooms had been trashed during the party and then there was the tiring after-party chore of popping all the balloons that haven’t already popped and finding ALL the pieces to those that exploded and throwing them all away. I hate balloons. They’re loud, annoying choking hazards that have no place in my household.
I was going to take the day off on Wednesday because my mother was coming into the city for a good old Snobby Thanksgiving. She planned to arrive around 1, so naturally I was expecting her around 3. When I saw the weather prediction for Wednesday, I told T I would work Wednesday morning rather than go out to town in the downpour. I told her my mother was due in around 4 and made dinner reservations for 5.
At 3 o’clock I changed our res to 6 and while Mom, after leaving over 2 hours later than planned, was sitting in traffic, T got home and I went down to the basement to pack.
At 5 Susie McQ (that’s my mother’s REAL name, despite what she says) arrived with some boxes of mine from the Perez storage unit and I put them in my room, showed Suze the changes that had been made around here since I moved in, introduced her to T’s mom who had dropped by and we ran out of there to escape R and J, who were swatting my mother on the rear end and being otherwise bratty. The baby cried and tried to come with me. I love him.
I had spent the morning browsing coupons and dinner deals in the Great Neck area but didn’t find anything I wanted to take advantage of. Buy one get one hamburgers just didn’t seem like a festive enough pre-Thanksgiving dinner dinner, especially because I don’t eat beef. All my regular haunts are pretty regular so I thought I’d take Mom to a place that I have wanted to try since I got here but didn’t have a big enough occasion to do so.
Simply Fondue.
Fondue is among the top ten best foods ever invented. Nay. Top five.
Our waiter was bored, so he gave us all the extra help and attention we needed to order from the complicated menu and after we chose all our fondues and meats and sauces and salads we were served the best meal I have had in a really long time. And I eat a lot of good food.
We got to dip all our own food in one of the two fondues we had chosen and we had veggies and meats and pasta and shrimp. The waiter showed us how to stuff mushrooms and bread them and dip them. For dessert we had white chocolate amaretto fondue and I’m telling you this to make you jealous (Brianne). Our waiter lit a layer of alcohol on fire and we roasted marshmallows and then stirred in amaretto and dipped fruits and cookies until we ran out. We were offered more but there was no room left in the waist of my pants and it was getting late so we headed out.
To sum up, it was the most fantastic pre-Thanksgiving dinner dinner I have ever had. And everyone should eat at Simply Fondue.
Everyone.
We went on from there in our fancy dinner clothes to visit my Aunt and cousin on Staten Island and drop off Susie’s car. We made a pit stop at the place we were staying in Manhattan to first drop off three pies. Three.
Mom made three pies. For six people.
We were late to my aunt’s house but we hadn’t seen her in a while so we had to gab and then we missed the ferry back to the city. By the time we got on the next ferry we were tired. When we disembarked from the ferry and began looking for the subway we were pooped. As we walked the 8,432 miles (I clocked it) underground to the train we needed my poor feet succumbed to the pain of walking in fancy boots for 8,432 miles and my mood plummeted.
I started to ask if we were there yet.
And then when we finally were, Mom was so tired she second-guessed herself and we let a train pass that would have taken us where we needed to go. So we sat down. And we waited. And I cursed my feet for not being better sports about wearing such pretty boots.
We got our train. We got to uptown Manhattan within blocks of our destination.
I took off my boots and walked in my brand new white socks on the New York City sidewalk. I could feel blisters that had formed and they were on fire and I just wanted to go to bed.
I threw my socks away immediately.
We were staying with a family friend from the Poconos (Poke to the oh to the nose) who now lives in Manhattan and whom we call Mare. It had been a while since we visited with her and we were going to spend Thanksgiving with her and her two grown children. We even had an ambitious plan to get up and go see the Macy’s Parade at the hiney crack of dawn.
Since it was nearly 2 am when we dropped into bed I let Mom out of getting up at 5 am and we slept in a bit.
Until 7. Mom got up and got ready and I missed my alarm and got up after 7. We left before 8 and hurried out to get good spots. We had seen the setting up going on the night before on our pass through the city. The giant balloons were blown up and waiting under nets on side streets and bleachers had been set up along Central Park. My plan was to climb over whomever I had to in order to get on the bleachers.
But the cops wouldn’t let us through. We walked and walked and walked and were told several different things by several different cops about where we should go. We went up a side street and my little mother tried to muscle her way through a crowd to get back up to the park and get a good spot. Instead we got stuck in a crowd with no view at all.
We backtracked and tried again with no better results. We stood back in the middle of the side street, directly in front of a police car. We had a view of the balloons, the tops of the floats, and all the children’s backs in front of us.
I started to make small talk with the nice looking policeman at my side. I smiled and made jokes and he laughed and I tried to convince him to let us climb on top of his car. It didn’t work. We stayed there until we were nearly frozen and then gave up and started home. But on the way we were beckoned by curiosity and driven by determination to walk up a pathway that we had previously been shooed back down. This time when we reached the street where the parade was taking off there were no cops to stop us. The crowd was thin and we walked along the street until we had a front row spot. We were face-to-face with some men dressed as fairies and some performers dancing. We were standing before the start of the parade line and we had the best view of everything.
Best parade I’ve ever been to.
Back at Mare’s house we began the blessed American tradition of stuffing our faces.
It was so fun to just sit and talk and laugh and eat that we decided to do just that all day.
I checked in with T around 7 to tell her I would start home soon. She and the family had gone to E’s aunt’s for Thanksgiving and T was jealous of my dinner because it would include a turkey while hers would be largely Persian food that she eats all the time. She was headed home as well so I stayed until nearly 8 and then said my goodbyes and headed for the subway while slightly under the influence.
Merlot.
I found my subway, entered on the wrong side, went back up to the street, entered on the right side and boarded a train that was already in the station.
I was back in Penn Station with five minutes to get to a Great Neck train that I hadn’t expected to even see. I got home an hour earlier than planned.
Slightly under the influence.
Merlot.
Turkey.
Pie. Pie. Pie.
E and T were home and all the kids in bed. They were so tired they had left the garage door open and the door unlocked and gone to bed. This is not like them.
I texted T to ask if I should close the garage because the merlot had eaten away at my brain cells and made me think that there could possibly be a reason they would leave the house open on purpose. T confirmed that there wasn’t, congratulated me on having a good time with my family and I went downstairs giggling.
I discovered on my bed a pile of clothes and beside my bed the stacks of things my mother had delivered from Pennsylvania and I realized that a small part of me hates my future self. Whenever I am going out and I know full well that I will come back late and want nothing more than to just crawl into bed, I leave junk all over my bed and all over my room and I don’t know where anything is. I stood there for a good five minutes trying to decide whether or not I had to deal with the mess.
In the end, I did, because I couldn’t even get to my bed without doing something.
It was awful.
Have you ever tried to move boxes and make decisions with a turkey dinner, dessert enough for three people and too much merlot all in your belly after walking over 8,000 miles the night and day before and laughing all day?
It’s hard.
Don’t do it.
I stacked everything quite precariously in front of my dresser, posing a problem for my future self in the morning, but I don’t care about her anyway. All I know is right now I am going to crash and it’s going to be wonderful.
Merlot.
I was going to take the day off on Wednesday because my mother was coming into the city for a good old Snobby Thanksgiving. She planned to arrive around 1, so naturally I was expecting her around 3. When I saw the weather prediction for Wednesday, I told T I would work Wednesday morning rather than go out to town in the downpour. I told her my mother was due in around 4 and made dinner reservations for 5.
At 3 o’clock I changed our res to 6 and while Mom, after leaving over 2 hours later than planned, was sitting in traffic, T got home and I went down to the basement to pack.
At 5 Susie McQ (that’s my mother’s REAL name, despite what she says) arrived with some boxes of mine from the Perez storage unit and I put them in my room, showed Suze the changes that had been made around here since I moved in, introduced her to T’s mom who had dropped by and we ran out of there to escape R and J, who were swatting my mother on the rear end and being otherwise bratty. The baby cried and tried to come with me. I love him.
I had spent the morning browsing coupons and dinner deals in the Great Neck area but didn’t find anything I wanted to take advantage of. Buy one get one hamburgers just didn’t seem like a festive enough pre-Thanksgiving dinner dinner, especially because I don’t eat beef. All my regular haunts are pretty regular so I thought I’d take Mom to a place that I have wanted to try since I got here but didn’t have a big enough occasion to do so.
Simply Fondue.
Fondue is among the top ten best foods ever invented. Nay. Top five.
Our waiter was bored, so he gave us all the extra help and attention we needed to order from the complicated menu and after we chose all our fondues and meats and sauces and salads we were served the best meal I have had in a really long time. And I eat a lot of good food.
We got to dip all our own food in one of the two fondues we had chosen and we had veggies and meats and pasta and shrimp. The waiter showed us how to stuff mushrooms and bread them and dip them. For dessert we had white chocolate amaretto fondue and I’m telling you this to make you jealous (Brianne). Our waiter lit a layer of alcohol on fire and we roasted marshmallows and then stirred in amaretto and dipped fruits and cookies until we ran out. We were offered more but there was no room left in the waist of my pants and it was getting late so we headed out.
To sum up, it was the most fantastic pre-Thanksgiving dinner dinner I have ever had. And everyone should eat at Simply Fondue.
Everyone.
We went on from there in our fancy dinner clothes to visit my Aunt and cousin on Staten Island and drop off Susie’s car. We made a pit stop at the place we were staying in Manhattan to first drop off three pies. Three.
Mom made three pies. For six people.
We were late to my aunt’s house but we hadn’t seen her in a while so we had to gab and then we missed the ferry back to the city. By the time we got on the next ferry we were tired. When we disembarked from the ferry and began looking for the subway we were pooped. As we walked the 8,432 miles (I clocked it) underground to the train we needed my poor feet succumbed to the pain of walking in fancy boots for 8,432 miles and my mood plummeted.
I started to ask if we were there yet.
And then when we finally were, Mom was so tired she second-guessed herself and we let a train pass that would have taken us where we needed to go. So we sat down. And we waited. And I cursed my feet for not being better sports about wearing such pretty boots.
We got our train. We got to uptown Manhattan within blocks of our destination.
I took off my boots and walked in my brand new white socks on the New York City sidewalk. I could feel blisters that had formed and they were on fire and I just wanted to go to bed.
I threw my socks away immediately.
We were staying with a family friend from the Poconos (Poke to the oh to the nose) who now lives in Manhattan and whom we call Mare. It had been a while since we visited with her and we were going to spend Thanksgiving with her and her two grown children. We even had an ambitious plan to get up and go see the Macy’s Parade at the hiney crack of dawn.
Since it was nearly 2 am when we dropped into bed I let Mom out of getting up at 5 am and we slept in a bit.
Until 7. Mom got up and got ready and I missed my alarm and got up after 7. We left before 8 and hurried out to get good spots. We had seen the setting up going on the night before on our pass through the city. The giant balloons were blown up and waiting under nets on side streets and bleachers had been set up along Central Park. My plan was to climb over whomever I had to in order to get on the bleachers.
But the cops wouldn’t let us through. We walked and walked and walked and were told several different things by several different cops about where we should go. We went up a side street and my little mother tried to muscle her way through a crowd to get back up to the park and get a good spot. Instead we got stuck in a crowd with no view at all.
We backtracked and tried again with no better results. We stood back in the middle of the side street, directly in front of a police car. We had a view of the balloons, the tops of the floats, and all the children’s backs in front of us.
I started to make small talk with the nice looking policeman at my side. I smiled and made jokes and he laughed and I tried to convince him to let us climb on top of his car. It didn’t work. We stayed there until we were nearly frozen and then gave up and started home. But on the way we were beckoned by curiosity and driven by determination to walk up a pathway that we had previously been shooed back down. This time when we reached the street where the parade was taking off there were no cops to stop us. The crowd was thin and we walked along the street until we had a front row spot. We were face-to-face with some men dressed as fairies and some performers dancing. We were standing before the start of the parade line and we had the best view of everything.
Best parade I’ve ever been to.
Back at Mare’s house we began the blessed American tradition of stuffing our faces.
It was so fun to just sit and talk and laugh and eat that we decided to do just that all day.
I checked in with T around 7 to tell her I would start home soon. She and the family had gone to E’s aunt’s for Thanksgiving and T was jealous of my dinner because it would include a turkey while hers would be largely Persian food that she eats all the time. She was headed home as well so I stayed until nearly 8 and then said my goodbyes and headed for the subway while slightly under the influence.
Merlot.
I found my subway, entered on the wrong side, went back up to the street, entered on the right side and boarded a train that was already in the station.
I was back in Penn Station with five minutes to get to a Great Neck train that I hadn’t expected to even see. I got home an hour earlier than planned.
Slightly under the influence.
Merlot.
Turkey.
Pie. Pie. Pie.
E and T were home and all the kids in bed. They were so tired they had left the garage door open and the door unlocked and gone to bed. This is not like them.
I texted T to ask if I should close the garage because the merlot had eaten away at my brain cells and made me think that there could possibly be a reason they would leave the house open on purpose. T confirmed that there wasn’t, congratulated me on having a good time with my family and I went downstairs giggling.
I discovered on my bed a pile of clothes and beside my bed the stacks of things my mother had delivered from Pennsylvania and I realized that a small part of me hates my future self. Whenever I am going out and I know full well that I will come back late and want nothing more than to just crawl into bed, I leave junk all over my bed and all over my room and I don’t know where anything is. I stood there for a good five minutes trying to decide whether or not I had to deal with the mess.
In the end, I did, because I couldn’t even get to my bed without doing something.
It was awful.
Have you ever tried to move boxes and make decisions with a turkey dinner, dessert enough for three people and too much merlot all in your belly after walking over 8,000 miles the night and day before and laughing all day?
It’s hard.
Don’t do it.
I stacked everything quite precariously in front of my dresser, posing a problem for my future self in the morning, but I don’t care about her anyway. All I know is right now I am going to crash and it’s going to be wonderful.
Merlot.
Sunday, November 20, 2011
That was a good party.
As little J, with his brand new hair cut, drifted off to sleep tonight he muttered those words to himself and then quietly recapped the day.
"That was a good party. I got my hair cut like Daddy's. I got some toys. I got some candy. My hair's not long anymore. It's short."
Turning three involves a hair cut and a little ceremony for Jewish boys. And he was SO GOOD. Everyone was afraid that he would be scared of the haircut since he is scared of getting his nose cleaned, he cries when you brush his teeth too long and he shies away from new experiences in general.
But he was excited for it and when he and his parents snuck up to the master bathroom with the haridresser after the ceremony, he was so quiet and sneaky and happy to go that no one knew where they had gone. Just as we had planned.
T ordered the pizza to arrive at exactly the moment that they ran upstairs to hide and cut his hair without the interference of all the hands-on grandparents. And at that very moment, the baby woke up from his early nap and I had to run around and do a hundred things AT THAT MOMENT, so I couldn't even stop to lie to the grandparents about where T was. Which was the goal. Not having to tell them or lie.
The party was wonderful. The kids had a great time. I looked adorable and several people told me so, including hot Dr. M. All the bitties love me and tell me how good I am with the kids and Mom E even redeemed herself.
Near the end of the party when only a handful of people were left we were sitting around in the living room trying to squeeze in a few more calories before we exploded and Mom E came, kissed me on both cheeks like family and gave me a present for being so good to the chidren. She thanked me for taking care of her babies and told me she hoped I always stay. HOW NICE IS THAT?
The sweat suit she gave me is truly awful, but her actions just reenforce what I already know about her and make her much easier to tolerate. She means good in all her nagging. She is not trying to annoy me. She is a very, very sweet woman and very caring. And even though she tries my patience, I need to think nicer thoughts about her.
When the party was over the three of us who live here started tackling the mess. My first goal was t get every scrap and remnant of food out of the basement so as to not attract any critters. When that was over, we tackled all the food and I started washing things while T got the kids ready for bed.
E came into the kitchen with half a bottle of champagne that was missing a cork. It had my name all over it.
So I tackled the champagne while I washed the crystal and the Tiffany platters and the china. I don't know if T was nervous about that, but I guess not very because she yelled, "drink one for me!" as she ran through the kitchen on their way out the door.
After all this, they had to go to a memorial service tonight. They stayed to help with clean up so long that they were an hour late for it and when they got home and the kitchen was clean and the champagne bottle was empty T started laughing at me.
"Are you drunk?!"
I don't think I am but I'm so tired, who can tell? I can still type pretty quickly and I didn't break any of the highly breakables so I think I'm in pretty good shape. Still, it's a long, hard trek from here to my room, to the shower and to bed.
Maybe I'll just sit here and sleep it all off.
"That was a good party. I got my hair cut like Daddy's. I got some toys. I got some candy. My hair's not long anymore. It's short."
Turning three involves a hair cut and a little ceremony for Jewish boys. And he was SO GOOD. Everyone was afraid that he would be scared of the haircut since he is scared of getting his nose cleaned, he cries when you brush his teeth too long and he shies away from new experiences in general.
But he was excited for it and when he and his parents snuck up to the master bathroom with the haridresser after the ceremony, he was so quiet and sneaky and happy to go that no one knew where they had gone. Just as we had planned.
T ordered the pizza to arrive at exactly the moment that they ran upstairs to hide and cut his hair without the interference of all the hands-on grandparents. And at that very moment, the baby woke up from his early nap and I had to run around and do a hundred things AT THAT MOMENT, so I couldn't even stop to lie to the grandparents about where T was. Which was the goal. Not having to tell them or lie.
The party was wonderful. The kids had a great time. I looked adorable and several people told me so, including hot Dr. M. All the bitties love me and tell me how good I am with the kids and Mom E even redeemed herself.
Near the end of the party when only a handful of people were left we were sitting around in the living room trying to squeeze in a few more calories before we exploded and Mom E came, kissed me on both cheeks like family and gave me a present for being so good to the chidren. She thanked me for taking care of her babies and told me she hoped I always stay. HOW NICE IS THAT?
The sweat suit she gave me is truly awful, but her actions just reenforce what I already know about her and make her much easier to tolerate. She means good in all her nagging. She is not trying to annoy me. She is a very, very sweet woman and very caring. And even though she tries my patience, I need to think nicer thoughts about her.
When the party was over the three of us who live here started tackling the mess. My first goal was t get every scrap and remnant of food out of the basement so as to not attract any critters. When that was over, we tackled all the food and I started washing things while T got the kids ready for bed.
E came into the kitchen with half a bottle of champagne that was missing a cork. It had my name all over it.
So I tackled the champagne while I washed the crystal and the Tiffany platters and the china. I don't know if T was nervous about that, but I guess not very because she yelled, "drink one for me!" as she ran through the kitchen on their way out the door.
After all this, they had to go to a memorial service tonight. They stayed to help with clean up so long that they were an hour late for it and when they got home and the kitchen was clean and the champagne bottle was empty T started laughing at me.
"Are you drunk?!"
I don't think I am but I'm so tired, who can tell? I can still type pretty quickly and I didn't break any of the highly breakables so I think I'm in pretty good shape. Still, it's a long, hard trek from here to my room, to the shower and to bed.
Maybe I'll just sit here and sleep it all off.
Friday, November 18, 2011
Insomnia causes delusions.
Like thinking nonstop work all day long is a good idea.
Like being absolutely sure that eating five slices of bread for dinner is normal and not at all a betrayal of your nutrition plan.
Like saying the words, "I'll mop the basement tonight" out loud when everyone can hear you and really believing that you can.
My family just left for Shabbat dinner at F's house. F is E's sister and she's very sweet. She has a daughter who is a horrible, snotty teenager and a son who is a hot doctor.
F stopped by this morning after being called in by Ebby's mom, Mom E. T left the house this morning to shop for J's upcoming birthday party, a party 90 people large that is happening here on Sunday. The plans were in place right before T's visit to the ER, so naturally after all that, her family and in-laws took over cooking for the entire thing.
That left shopping for dry and paper goods and fixing up the basement, which we have been working on anyway.
As T left this morning Mom E showed up and I died a little inside.
Mom E was dropping off some baskets for the party, and of course she then had to say hello to the baby. And then of course she had to linger and ask what he ate for breakfast and if he had any fruit yet. And if I gave him milk. She was with him in the kitchen so I went about my business as if she weren't there, because I was trying to will her away as I still haven't forgiven her for DRIVING ME CRAZY.
I heard her talking to me from three rooms away and as I bit my tongue about that I went nearer to her and asked her to repeat herself.
"When you are here along with him and you do your work, what does he do? Who plays with him?"
"The %$#@!#$%! dog!"
Just kidding. That's not what I said.
I told her that he usually just plays in the play room or follows me and "heps" as he puts it. She didn't seem satisfied with that and told me I should only do my work while he's sleeping. Rather than explain that I can't mop the wood floor in his room while he's sleeping and that he only naps for less than an hour before the other two start getting home and that HE IS JUST FINE PLAYING ON HIS OWN FOR AN HOUR IN THE MORNINGS THANK YOU VERY MUCH I just smiled and told her I had a lot to do today in getting ready for this party, which is true.
I thought rather than split up my share of the work between today and tomorrow I would do as much as possible today so that I can nap tomorrow. Saturday naps are very important to me and since no one is cooking in this house, T and I are really looking forward to our pre-party down time.
I offered to stuff the goody bags along with some of my regular housework and some irregular housework created by the needs of the party. Those sorts of things include washing the crystal that the woman who lived and died in this house before us left behind, making sure the curtain that is hiding the cess pool trap is hung and figuring out why in tarnation the dehumidifier chose NOW to stop running properly.
I was quite busy.
But I've been in child care for half my life now and I have tackled way harder chores with several more children present. I thought this one baby whose routine I know like the back of my hand and who is quite capable and more than willing to entertain himself free of his oppressive older siblings for a short, precious while would be ok in my care while I did a few things.
But Mom E didn't think so, and she told me as much.
She then called F and asked her to come over since she herself had to run.
F never misses a chance to show up and visit the baby, as evidenced in her bedtime visit the night T was in the hospital.
But when she arrived she too had been bested by Mom E.
She had been told Mom E was there and that they were visiting. She had no intention of hanging out there all day to do half of my job while I did the other half of my job. She played for a bit, chatted with me while I tied goody bags, snuck a Kit-Kat and then thanked me for my time and left.
I finished everything I had intended today, except for the basement floors, which I offered to clean because I don't like how the cleaning lady does it (I'm getting territorial, I know, but she leaves whole sections unmopped!) and in a moment of excessive lack of sleep induced delirium I actually volunteered my night of freedom to mop down there.
The words were out before I knew what was happening.
In the course of the evening both T and I forgot that the baby needs to eat dinner (so maybe he's not ok in our care) and got lost in our party planning. We were setting up tables for food in the basement, dining room and living room and deciding how best to strategically place the scented candles that would mask the cess pool trap (this sounds a lot grosser than it really is -- they had it pumped Wednesday night and it's empty now) when it dawned on us that since the rest of the family was going to F's for Shabbat, the two of us staying home would probably get hungry.
I whipped up some soup and fed the baby while simultaneously reading Curious George Rides a Bike to J. I walked R through choosing an outfit for the evening without setting her off, a process which requires an hour of time, three glasses of water for the parched throat you get using your "calm voice" and expert level skills at dodging land mines, because that is how carefully you have to tiptoe around her potential tantrums. I have perfected the mixture of firm, order-giving tones and understanding, patient murmurs. She got dressed pretty quickly and I just pretended not to see the small hole in the back of her tights, as did T.
After they left I put the baby to bed and then thought, "If I go sit down and blog I am going to lose steam and I'll never get the basement mopped." And then that's exactly what I did. I sat down. I wrote this. And now I am so severely low on steam that I might not make it to the shower.
Wait.
I know what can fix this.
Chocolate.
Like being absolutely sure that eating five slices of bread for dinner is normal and not at all a betrayal of your nutrition plan.
Like saying the words, "I'll mop the basement tonight" out loud when everyone can hear you and really believing that you can.
My family just left for Shabbat dinner at F's house. F is E's sister and she's very sweet. She has a daughter who is a horrible, snotty teenager and a son who is a hot doctor.
F stopped by this morning after being called in by Ebby's mom, Mom E. T left the house this morning to shop for J's upcoming birthday party, a party 90 people large that is happening here on Sunday. The plans were in place right before T's visit to the ER, so naturally after all that, her family and in-laws took over cooking for the entire thing.
That left shopping for dry and paper goods and fixing up the basement, which we have been working on anyway.
As T left this morning Mom E showed up and I died a little inside.
Mom E was dropping off some baskets for the party, and of course she then had to say hello to the baby. And then of course she had to linger and ask what he ate for breakfast and if he had any fruit yet. And if I gave him milk. She was with him in the kitchen so I went about my business as if she weren't there, because I was trying to will her away as I still haven't forgiven her for DRIVING ME CRAZY.
I heard her talking to me from three rooms away and as I bit my tongue about that I went nearer to her and asked her to repeat herself.
"When you are here along with him and you do your work, what does he do? Who plays with him?"
"The %$#@!#$%! dog!"
Just kidding. That's not what I said.
I told her that he usually just plays in the play room or follows me and "heps" as he puts it. She didn't seem satisfied with that and told me I should only do my work while he's sleeping. Rather than explain that I can't mop the wood floor in his room while he's sleeping and that he only naps for less than an hour before the other two start getting home and that HE IS JUST FINE PLAYING ON HIS OWN FOR AN HOUR IN THE MORNINGS THANK YOU VERY MUCH I just smiled and told her I had a lot to do today in getting ready for this party, which is true.
I thought rather than split up my share of the work between today and tomorrow I would do as much as possible today so that I can nap tomorrow. Saturday naps are very important to me and since no one is cooking in this house, T and I are really looking forward to our pre-party down time.
I offered to stuff the goody bags along with some of my regular housework and some irregular housework created by the needs of the party. Those sorts of things include washing the crystal that the woman who lived and died in this house before us left behind, making sure the curtain that is hiding the cess pool trap is hung and figuring out why in tarnation the dehumidifier chose NOW to stop running properly.
I was quite busy.
But I've been in child care for half my life now and I have tackled way harder chores with several more children present. I thought this one baby whose routine I know like the back of my hand and who is quite capable and more than willing to entertain himself free of his oppressive older siblings for a short, precious while would be ok in my care while I did a few things.
But Mom E didn't think so, and she told me as much.
She then called F and asked her to come over since she herself had to run.
F never misses a chance to show up and visit the baby, as evidenced in her bedtime visit the night T was in the hospital.
But when she arrived she too had been bested by Mom E.
She had been told Mom E was there and that they were visiting. She had no intention of hanging out there all day to do half of my job while I did the other half of my job. She played for a bit, chatted with me while I tied goody bags, snuck a Kit-Kat and then thanked me for my time and left.
I finished everything I had intended today, except for the basement floors, which I offered to clean because I don't like how the cleaning lady does it (I'm getting territorial, I know, but she leaves whole sections unmopped!) and in a moment of excessive lack of sleep induced delirium I actually volunteered my night of freedom to mop down there.
The words were out before I knew what was happening.
In the course of the evening both T and I forgot that the baby needs to eat dinner (so maybe he's not ok in our care) and got lost in our party planning. We were setting up tables for food in the basement, dining room and living room and deciding how best to strategically place the scented candles that would mask the cess pool trap (this sounds a lot grosser than it really is -- they had it pumped Wednesday night and it's empty now) when it dawned on us that since the rest of the family was going to F's for Shabbat, the two of us staying home would probably get hungry.
I whipped up some soup and fed the baby while simultaneously reading Curious George Rides a Bike to J. I walked R through choosing an outfit for the evening without setting her off, a process which requires an hour of time, three glasses of water for the parched throat you get using your "calm voice" and expert level skills at dodging land mines, because that is how carefully you have to tiptoe around her potential tantrums. I have perfected the mixture of firm, order-giving tones and understanding, patient murmurs. She got dressed pretty quickly and I just pretended not to see the small hole in the back of her tights, as did T.
After they left I put the baby to bed and then thought, "If I go sit down and blog I am going to lose steam and I'll never get the basement mopped." And then that's exactly what I did. I sat down. I wrote this. And now I am so severely low on steam that I might not make it to the shower.
Wait.
I know what can fix this.
Chocolate.
Sunday, November 13, 2011
Home sweet health.
T is home.
On Friday afternoon as we were getting ready for Shabbat dinner at her mother's house she was plagued but a headache, one of several in the last few weeks. By the time we got to her mother's house she was also nauseous and having terrible stomach pains.
Let me just tell you that in the presence of your Persian Jewish mother and your Persian Jewish mother-in-law is not the best place to get sick. T knows this, but I don't think she could have hidden it. As it was, she tried to play it down, simply resting in the den where I hide with the kids.
It didn't stop the sporadic fits of worry that struck the mothers, but we muscled through the evening and went home early.
Somewhere around 3 am T came to wake me to let me know she was going to the emergency room. I retrieved the baby monitor and went back to sleep. I think.
Somewhere around 4 am Baby I's diaper exploded in a fit of rage and drenched his entire crib in pee.
I cleaned him up, threw all the peed on pajamas into the peed on crib, wiped his entire body with baby wipes and set up camp with him on the playroom bed. He fell asleep rather quickly and snuggled right up in my arm and it was SO CUTE.
Somewhere around 6 am J came down to the playroom and I nearly shot and killed him. But I don't own a gun. I roared something about it being too early, turned on PBS and went back to sleep. R joined us a bit later and I tried to snooze through them babbling and climbing all over me. Baby I woke up shortly after her arrival and then even feigning sleep was over. All over.
I got up, made breakfast and set about entertaining the munchkins until further notice. First, T's mom called to see how T was feeling. I told her the couple was out. She seemed unhappy with my answer, but she let me go. She called back an hour later and asked what they were wearing when they went out. I stuttered a little bit and then thought of something truthful to say about the situation without giving away T's location.
"I don't know. They woke me up early to say they were leaving and I wasn't really paying attention to what they were wearing."
Still unhappy with me and my lack of knowledge, she hung up. I texted E to let him know I was having a hard time fending off T's mom, which could only mean that when his mom grilled me the beans would be spilt.
He called a few minutes later to say they would call the family. T had been admitted for tests which had all come back negative. No kidney, appendix or gallbladder problems. She was about to undergo an MRI.
I spent the day trying to talk the kids into going to the library but they were too happy to be home all day so we stayed put. I turned a diaper box into a house which they finger painted. We made soft pretzels which no one but the baby and I would eat. We were having a good old time when the mothers showed up.
Sometime in the afternoon they decided that if they weren't going to be allowed in the hospital they would just set up camp under my feet and drive me closer to the edge of sanity than I have ever been.
The curses dripping out of my mouth that day were unfathomable.
E's mom kept telling me to feed the baby more fruit even after insisted that he had had enough. The next day he had some fierce bowel movements. T's mom kept telling me to follow him around the house even after I explained that he is quite a large baby now and can move freely about without dying. I decided not to mention the fact that he can go up and down stairs alone, but just started repeating myself.
"He can play in the living room. It's ok. He knows what he can touch."
"It's dangerous!"
"No, no, he plays in there all the time. He's ok."
As I was making dinner they both came into the kitchen to tell me how dangerous the table was. In their defense, Baby I has run face first into the table's edge before, but it's been a while. In my defense, it's not their house, it's not their table, it's not their job to watch the kids, it's not going to kill the baby to figure out that he can't walk directly into the table anymore and it's not going to kill the other two kids to not run in the kitchen, which they are not allowed to do anyway and if it takes running smack into the table for them to figure out why, then I think that is a lesson they need to learn.
The two mothers turned the table and pushed it up against the wall, telling me how much better it was and insisting that I help them in their quest by telling E and T it was better this way.
I pretended to have fallen deaf and finished making dinner.
As the lasagna cooled down, E's mom verbalized something I hadn't realized she understood.
"If I stay, the children will not eat."
"Yes, they sit and eat much better when there's no one else here." I agreed, exchanging a look with T's mom to let her know I didn't mean her. For some odd reason the kids will listen to her, but not E's mom. When the latter is here they are monsters at the dinner table.
"I'll go then, I'll go." E's mom said, putting on her coat and proceeding to stand directly behind the kids at the table. I waited a moment and then looked right at her.
"They really do much better when no one is here."
"Yes, they sit and eat when I go." And she stood there. She said goodbye to the baby, which makes him cry, and then held him to make him stop and set him in his chair and did it again.
Instead of tearing my hair out, or hers as I would have really enjoyed at that moment, I took a deep breath.
"Ok, thanks for coming. I can't serve them until you go, so...bye."
She took the hint and hurried out of the room.
T's mom sat down and I served the kids and they ate. Every bite.
E stopped by that evening and I got the kids all ready for bed pretty easily with T's mom helping and whichever child I was not handling at the moment following E around.
And then, JUST as I was going into the baby's room with him in arm, tired and cranky, more of E's family showed up. These people are very nice and very, VERY sweet. BUT DO THEY EVER THINK????
His sister and her teenage daughter came upstairs and right into the baby's room and took him and kissed him and tried to get him to talk to them. And he was moody. He wanted to go to bed. He started crying and reaching for me and they still kept at it. Finally E came in, took the baby and said, "He's going to bed now." And they got the message and left the room.
UGH.
Sunday morning E called to say T was being released later that morning.
Around 11 she came home and then had to go for an acupuncture treatment to alleviate some pregnancy related digestion issues that were believed to be the cause of all her pain.
Sunday evening the mothers decided it was their job to cook a huge meal and invite everyone in the family for dinner at our house, you know, to help T relax and recover.
E barbecued and T's sister's kids trashed the playroom and the new basement playroom. T's dad cleaned up the dinner dishes and put most of the food away and I will love that man forever for doing so.
Monday was back to normal.
In the afternoons after school we have been working on getting the basement put together for J's birthday party coming up on Sunday.
My other ongoing project, is keeping the baby's newly developed love for a security blanket in check. He has several of those tiny soft square blankets with a stuffed animal head attached. They're all blue and they are all the same or similar material but there are two that he favors. He never used to care about them but suddenly in the last two weeks he wants them all the time.
I am all for a security object but I hate when kids get too attached, mainly because I don't want to be the poor soul standing in the library while the baby screams bloody murder for a stupid blanket that I left at home.
So I am trying to keep them in his bed and we give them to him only for sleeping. He calls them "da-das" while the rest of the family calls them "na-nas".
Because of the timing of his naps and when R returns from school she us usually the only one home when he wakes up. She likes to go up to his room when he's awake and get into his crib with him until I come for him.
On Monday afternoon I was listening to them on the monitor and when it sounded like he had had enough crib time I started up the stairs. As I reached the top I could see R facing I in the crib and pointing a serious finger at him.
"Drop. Your. Na-na." She ordered. He did.
Smoothest transition ever.
On Friday afternoon as we were getting ready for Shabbat dinner at her mother's house she was plagued but a headache, one of several in the last few weeks. By the time we got to her mother's house she was also nauseous and having terrible stomach pains.
Let me just tell you that in the presence of your Persian Jewish mother and your Persian Jewish mother-in-law is not the best place to get sick. T knows this, but I don't think she could have hidden it. As it was, she tried to play it down, simply resting in the den where I hide with the kids.
It didn't stop the sporadic fits of worry that struck the mothers, but we muscled through the evening and went home early.
Somewhere around 3 am T came to wake me to let me know she was going to the emergency room. I retrieved the baby monitor and went back to sleep. I think.
Somewhere around 4 am Baby I's diaper exploded in a fit of rage and drenched his entire crib in pee.
I cleaned him up, threw all the peed on pajamas into the peed on crib, wiped his entire body with baby wipes and set up camp with him on the playroom bed. He fell asleep rather quickly and snuggled right up in my arm and it was SO CUTE.
Somewhere around 6 am J came down to the playroom and I nearly shot and killed him. But I don't own a gun. I roared something about it being too early, turned on PBS and went back to sleep. R joined us a bit later and I tried to snooze through them babbling and climbing all over me. Baby I woke up shortly after her arrival and then even feigning sleep was over. All over.
I got up, made breakfast and set about entertaining the munchkins until further notice. First, T's mom called to see how T was feeling. I told her the couple was out. She seemed unhappy with my answer, but she let me go. She called back an hour later and asked what they were wearing when they went out. I stuttered a little bit and then thought of something truthful to say about the situation without giving away T's location.
"I don't know. They woke me up early to say they were leaving and I wasn't really paying attention to what they were wearing."
Still unhappy with me and my lack of knowledge, she hung up. I texted E to let him know I was having a hard time fending off T's mom, which could only mean that when his mom grilled me the beans would be spilt.
He called a few minutes later to say they would call the family. T had been admitted for tests which had all come back negative. No kidney, appendix or gallbladder problems. She was about to undergo an MRI.
I spent the day trying to talk the kids into going to the library but they were too happy to be home all day so we stayed put. I turned a diaper box into a house which they finger painted. We made soft pretzels which no one but the baby and I would eat. We were having a good old time when the mothers showed up.
Sometime in the afternoon they decided that if they weren't going to be allowed in the hospital they would just set up camp under my feet and drive me closer to the edge of sanity than I have ever been.
The curses dripping out of my mouth that day were unfathomable.
E's mom kept telling me to feed the baby more fruit even after insisted that he had had enough. The next day he had some fierce bowel movements. T's mom kept telling me to follow him around the house even after I explained that he is quite a large baby now and can move freely about without dying. I decided not to mention the fact that he can go up and down stairs alone, but just started repeating myself.
"He can play in the living room. It's ok. He knows what he can touch."
"It's dangerous!"
"No, no, he plays in there all the time. He's ok."
As I was making dinner they both came into the kitchen to tell me how dangerous the table was. In their defense, Baby I has run face first into the table's edge before, but it's been a while. In my defense, it's not their house, it's not their table, it's not their job to watch the kids, it's not going to kill the baby to figure out that he can't walk directly into the table anymore and it's not going to kill the other two kids to not run in the kitchen, which they are not allowed to do anyway and if it takes running smack into the table for them to figure out why, then I think that is a lesson they need to learn.
The two mothers turned the table and pushed it up against the wall, telling me how much better it was and insisting that I help them in their quest by telling E and T it was better this way.
I pretended to have fallen deaf and finished making dinner.
As the lasagna cooled down, E's mom verbalized something I hadn't realized she understood.
"If I stay, the children will not eat."
"Yes, they sit and eat much better when there's no one else here." I agreed, exchanging a look with T's mom to let her know I didn't mean her. For some odd reason the kids will listen to her, but not E's mom. When the latter is here they are monsters at the dinner table.
"I'll go then, I'll go." E's mom said, putting on her coat and proceeding to stand directly behind the kids at the table. I waited a moment and then looked right at her.
"They really do much better when no one is here."
"Yes, they sit and eat when I go." And she stood there. She said goodbye to the baby, which makes him cry, and then held him to make him stop and set him in his chair and did it again.
Instead of tearing my hair out, or hers as I would have really enjoyed at that moment, I took a deep breath.
"Ok, thanks for coming. I can't serve them until you go, so...bye."
She took the hint and hurried out of the room.
T's mom sat down and I served the kids and they ate. Every bite.
E stopped by that evening and I got the kids all ready for bed pretty easily with T's mom helping and whichever child I was not handling at the moment following E around.
And then, JUST as I was going into the baby's room with him in arm, tired and cranky, more of E's family showed up. These people are very nice and very, VERY sweet. BUT DO THEY EVER THINK????
His sister and her teenage daughter came upstairs and right into the baby's room and took him and kissed him and tried to get him to talk to them. And he was moody. He wanted to go to bed. He started crying and reaching for me and they still kept at it. Finally E came in, took the baby and said, "He's going to bed now." And they got the message and left the room.
UGH.
Sunday morning E called to say T was being released later that morning.
Around 11 she came home and then had to go for an acupuncture treatment to alleviate some pregnancy related digestion issues that were believed to be the cause of all her pain.
Sunday evening the mothers decided it was their job to cook a huge meal and invite everyone in the family for dinner at our house, you know, to help T relax and recover.
E barbecued and T's sister's kids trashed the playroom and the new basement playroom. T's dad cleaned up the dinner dishes and put most of the food away and I will love that man forever for doing so.
Monday was back to normal.
In the afternoons after school we have been working on getting the basement put together for J's birthday party coming up on Sunday.
My other ongoing project, is keeping the baby's newly developed love for a security blanket in check. He has several of those tiny soft square blankets with a stuffed animal head attached. They're all blue and they are all the same or similar material but there are two that he favors. He never used to care about them but suddenly in the last two weeks he wants them all the time.
I am all for a security object but I hate when kids get too attached, mainly because I don't want to be the poor soul standing in the library while the baby screams bloody murder for a stupid blanket that I left at home.
So I am trying to keep them in his bed and we give them to him only for sleeping. He calls them "da-das" while the rest of the family calls them "na-nas".
Because of the timing of his naps and when R returns from school she us usually the only one home when he wakes up. She likes to go up to his room when he's awake and get into his crib with him until I come for him.
On Monday afternoon I was listening to them on the monitor and when it sounded like he had had enough crib time I started up the stairs. As I reached the top I could see R facing I in the crib and pointing a serious finger at him.
"Drop. Your. Na-na." She ordered. He did.
Smoothest transition ever.
Tuesday, November 8, 2011
Well that'll screw them up.
Today the kids had no school for election day.
WHY DON'T WE DO THIS IN PENNSYLVANIA?!?!?!
I grew up getting off for the first day of deer hunting season, but not election day. How does that make sense? I guess a redneck is as a redneck does...
Since they had no school, T let them stay up last night. I'm not sure what the logic is behind this. Parents, you've all uttered the phrase, "Well they don't have to get up so..." Please, explain this to me.
I know they don't HAVE to get up, but we both know they will. And we also know that without a proper night's sleep they are going to be absolute monsters. Do you like to torture yourself? Do you value your child's teachers' sanity more than your own? Please, I just want to understand. I don't care if it's Friday or a holiday or a snow day or the summer. Your kids won't know there is a "stay up late" option if you don't plague the your household and the rest of the world with it.
Anyway, she let them stay up. And don't you judge her because you know you've done it too.
And this morning they were up at six.
And I wasn't.
So, HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA T. Haha.
When I did get up around school time the house was already full of tantrums and whining and the dog hadn't been let out and if he could cross his legs he would have.
I let Willie out and promptly forgot about him, as T, who was supposed to be suffering all day at home with me, came down the stairs with bad news.
"I have bad news." She said. "I have to go in to work for training."
I don't ask a lot of questions about what she does or trains for. She's in real estate and that's as much as I care to know. But she had to go, so that was that.
I would have all three beasts -- I mean, kids. All day.
"Go somewhere. Go to the library." She told me sympathetically as she ran out the door to childless bliss.
Ok. I collected the emergency fund from the "draw" in the kitchen and called a cab.
The kids love riding in a cab and they have a special song that they sing to our drivers whenever we go out in one. Today they sang and our utterly personality-less cabby grunted from up front.
We got to the library a little before ten and spent as much time there as the kids could handle. There are computers the big two can play on and a Lego table so the baby can feel like he is destroying something without actually doing so. Of course, we read books and there's also a nice little yard in the back with giant animal statues the kids can climb on and a nice stone seat overlooking the creek that runs behind the building.
The baby took his nap in his stroller after throwing a tantrum about...something. I don't even try to find out anymore. I just put him to sleep. He's such a grump lately.
While he was asleep I went to sit on a couch just outside the play area and still well within the confines of the children's room. I was lost in the depths of Zimbabwe when I heard R calling to me. I cursed the gods of Murphy's Law (if you want to get a child's attention, sit down and look comfortable) and looked up. She was running over to me with a look of panic on her face.
When she reached me she looked as if she was unsure as to whether or not she should deliver her news. She likes a good opportunity to tattle but I think she realized that what she was about to tell me might change the course of the afternoon, nay, our very lives.
"J hit somebody!" She finally spilled the beans.
"Oh reaaaaaaaaaaaaaally?" I said in a voice only dogs could hear.
I'm not normally one to freak out about kids fighting other kids, but here in Great Neck where kids are all "children" and women can be a little uppity I tend to be a bit stricter with my minions. And J has been hitting nonstop for three days now. He had been thoroughly warned before we left the house this morning.
And usually punishment when we are out is getting strapped into the stroller for a timeout, but Baby I was sound asleep in the single stroller I brought along. Of course. Because I normally have a double with me but it doesn't fit in the cab.
I tried to find the precious child my runt had struck but the play area was jam packed with moms and nannies alike trying to fill up the day off from school. In the chaos of the zoo, R couldn't point him out. I took J back to my little couch haven and gave him his timeout there.
He didn't seem all that concerned.
Later, when we had gone outside and then run back in for a potty break and then gone back out and then gone back in again, we were cleaning up the part of the mess we were responsible for and getting ready to head back outside for good. R was right there helping me but I lost track of J for a moment or two and when he registered again on my radar he was having a yelling match with a little boy who had climbed onto a book shelf. The baboon child was standing halfway up a shelf and hurling insults back down at my little J.
Now, J is very sweet tempered and usually very patient. For instance, one day T was smothering him with love on the couch. When the same is done to R she screams, "GET OFF ME! YOU'RE KILLING ME!" But when done to J he simply said, "I love you Mommy, but you're squishing me."
His recent hitting habit is usually reserved for his little brother, who has been increasingly annoying lately. J rarely fights with R unless she starts it.
So I was curious as to how this boy-war had gotten started.
From up on the book shelf the demon child yelled again.
"Well, I'm stronger than you!"
"No, I'm stronger than you!" J said defiantly. He was several inches shorter than his opponent, had they been on even ground, and he probably weighed half as much. But he was angry and unintimidated.
I tried to distract him and get him to follow me, as we were leaving, but he had to finish what was started.
"I'm stronger and I'm bigger!" And then I grabbed him and hauled him out of the children's room before the little punkface hoodlum could retaliate, thereby giving my little punkface the last word.
They didn't sing on the ride home.
Once home, around 2pm, I started some spaghetti sauce for dinner and changed the baby's third poop of the day. A while later T called with exactly 40 minutes to spare before she had to leave for the city. She picked us up and we met up with her sister at a playground.
By the time we got home from there all three kids were EXHAUSTED, bratty and covered in sand. I threw them into the tub and explained how the rest of the night would go. There was going to be no more tantrums (Baby I), no more hitting (J!) and no more whining (R -- before my head explodes). Everyone was going to eat their dinners, all of it. Every bite. Without any problems. And then, they were all going to sit like angels and watch Finding Nemo. That was the deal.
R asked if we could modify it and eat in the playroom with the movie, which I normally object to, but I didn't expect them to last long enough to do one thing after the other, so to appease them and keep my head, I consented.
We set up dinner at the playroom table and I put on the movie, which they were already mostly through.
They started off golden.
Halfway through, J lost steam and I had to start feeding him. A little bit after that, the baby just started to be a jerk and I had to force feed him while he laughed spaghetti back into my face. He thinks he's SOOOOO funny.
J finally stopped eating altogether and I told him fine, but he wasn't getting another chance or dessert. He agreed and I cleaned up and everyone pretended to watch the movie for a few more minutes.
Then.
It started.
The baby crying about goodness knows what, R started a fight and J started doing every naughty and annoying thing he could think of, from hitting me with a giant plastic crayon to jumping all over the furniture.
They were tired.
I was tired.
I gave J his warning, one more naughty and he was going to bed. It was 6:15.
Ten seconds later he was jumping all over things again and I told him it was bedtime for him. R started in on one of her favorite ways to get in trouble: telling J to keep doing whatever it is he's getting in trouble for.
She's been doing it off and on since I got here, but the last few days it has been constant. She grins while whispering at him to keep being bad, keep spitting, keep ignoring Kimmy. I gave her a warning.
Five seconds later she did it again. I promised her bed as soon as J was asleep, and we both knew he would be asleep in minutes.
She stood in the playroom crying at the top of her lungs until I had J washed and brushed and in bed.
When she came upstairs we talked about how completely sick I was of her telling J to be bad. She apologized, promised to stop and ten minutes later she was asleep too. The baby was all that was left.
I gave him his milk and put him to bed.
And then I got to watch Jeopardy! for the first time in a very long time with no kids yelling all around me. It was glorious. And the kids were all asleep so early that they very well could get up at the crack of dawn tomorrow but you know what?
I'M OFF TOMORROW!
Snobby nanny is going to meet her sisters in the city!
GOOD LUCK AT HOME T!
WHY DON'T WE DO THIS IN PENNSYLVANIA?!?!?!
I grew up getting off for the first day of deer hunting season, but not election day. How does that make sense? I guess a redneck is as a redneck does...
Since they had no school, T let them stay up last night. I'm not sure what the logic is behind this. Parents, you've all uttered the phrase, "Well they don't have to get up so..." Please, explain this to me.
I know they don't HAVE to get up, but we both know they will. And we also know that without a proper night's sleep they are going to be absolute monsters. Do you like to torture yourself? Do you value your child's teachers' sanity more than your own? Please, I just want to understand. I don't care if it's Friday or a holiday or a snow day or the summer. Your kids won't know there is a "stay up late" option if you don't plague the your household and the rest of the world with it.
Anyway, she let them stay up. And don't you judge her because you know you've done it too.
And this morning they were up at six.
And I wasn't.
So, HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA T. Haha.
When I did get up around school time the house was already full of tantrums and whining and the dog hadn't been let out and if he could cross his legs he would have.
I let Willie out and promptly forgot about him, as T, who was supposed to be suffering all day at home with me, came down the stairs with bad news.
"I have bad news." She said. "I have to go in to work for training."
I don't ask a lot of questions about what she does or trains for. She's in real estate and that's as much as I care to know. But she had to go, so that was that.
I would have all three beasts -- I mean, kids. All day.
"Go somewhere. Go to the library." She told me sympathetically as she ran out the door to childless bliss.
Ok. I collected the emergency fund from the "draw" in the kitchen and called a cab.
The kids love riding in a cab and they have a special song that they sing to our drivers whenever we go out in one. Today they sang and our utterly personality-less cabby grunted from up front.
We got to the library a little before ten and spent as much time there as the kids could handle. There are computers the big two can play on and a Lego table so the baby can feel like he is destroying something without actually doing so. Of course, we read books and there's also a nice little yard in the back with giant animal statues the kids can climb on and a nice stone seat overlooking the creek that runs behind the building.
The baby took his nap in his stroller after throwing a tantrum about...something. I don't even try to find out anymore. I just put him to sleep. He's such a grump lately.
While he was asleep I went to sit on a couch just outside the play area and still well within the confines of the children's room. I was lost in the depths of Zimbabwe when I heard R calling to me. I cursed the gods of Murphy's Law (if you want to get a child's attention, sit down and look comfortable) and looked up. She was running over to me with a look of panic on her face.
When she reached me she looked as if she was unsure as to whether or not she should deliver her news. She likes a good opportunity to tattle but I think she realized that what she was about to tell me might change the course of the afternoon, nay, our very lives.
"J hit somebody!" She finally spilled the beans.
"Oh reaaaaaaaaaaaaaally?" I said in a voice only dogs could hear.
I'm not normally one to freak out about kids fighting other kids, but here in Great Neck where kids are all "children" and women can be a little uppity I tend to be a bit stricter with my minions. And J has been hitting nonstop for three days now. He had been thoroughly warned before we left the house this morning.
And usually punishment when we are out is getting strapped into the stroller for a timeout, but Baby I was sound asleep in the single stroller I brought along. Of course. Because I normally have a double with me but it doesn't fit in the cab.
I tried to find the precious child my runt had struck but the play area was jam packed with moms and nannies alike trying to fill up the day off from school. In the chaos of the zoo, R couldn't point him out. I took J back to my little couch haven and gave him his timeout there.
He didn't seem all that concerned.
Later, when we had gone outside and then run back in for a potty break and then gone back out and then gone back in again, we were cleaning up the part of the mess we were responsible for and getting ready to head back outside for good. R was right there helping me but I lost track of J for a moment or two and when he registered again on my radar he was having a yelling match with a little boy who had climbed onto a book shelf. The baboon child was standing halfway up a shelf and hurling insults back down at my little J.
Now, J is very sweet tempered and usually very patient. For instance, one day T was smothering him with love on the couch. When the same is done to R she screams, "GET OFF ME! YOU'RE KILLING ME!" But when done to J he simply said, "I love you Mommy, but you're squishing me."
His recent hitting habit is usually reserved for his little brother, who has been increasingly annoying lately. J rarely fights with R unless she starts it.
So I was curious as to how this boy-war had gotten started.
From up on the book shelf the demon child yelled again.
"Well, I'm stronger than you!"
"No, I'm stronger than you!" J said defiantly. He was several inches shorter than his opponent, had they been on even ground, and he probably weighed half as much. But he was angry and unintimidated.
I tried to distract him and get him to follow me, as we were leaving, but he had to finish what was started.
"I'm stronger and I'm bigger!" And then I grabbed him and hauled him out of the children's room before the little punkface hoodlum could retaliate, thereby giving my little punkface the last word.
They didn't sing on the ride home.
Once home, around 2pm, I started some spaghetti sauce for dinner and changed the baby's third poop of the day. A while later T called with exactly 40 minutes to spare before she had to leave for the city. She picked us up and we met up with her sister at a playground.
By the time we got home from there all three kids were EXHAUSTED, bratty and covered in sand. I threw them into the tub and explained how the rest of the night would go. There was going to be no more tantrums (Baby I), no more hitting (J!) and no more whining (R -- before my head explodes). Everyone was going to eat their dinners, all of it. Every bite. Without any problems. And then, they were all going to sit like angels and watch Finding Nemo. That was the deal.
R asked if we could modify it and eat in the playroom with the movie, which I normally object to, but I didn't expect them to last long enough to do one thing after the other, so to appease them and keep my head, I consented.
We set up dinner at the playroom table and I put on the movie, which they were already mostly through.
They started off golden.
Halfway through, J lost steam and I had to start feeding him. A little bit after that, the baby just started to be a jerk and I had to force feed him while he laughed spaghetti back into my face. He thinks he's SOOOOO funny.
J finally stopped eating altogether and I told him fine, but he wasn't getting another chance or dessert. He agreed and I cleaned up and everyone pretended to watch the movie for a few more minutes.
Then.
It started.
The baby crying about goodness knows what, R started a fight and J started doing every naughty and annoying thing he could think of, from hitting me with a giant plastic crayon to jumping all over the furniture.
They were tired.
I was tired.
I gave J his warning, one more naughty and he was going to bed. It was 6:15.
Ten seconds later he was jumping all over things again and I told him it was bedtime for him. R started in on one of her favorite ways to get in trouble: telling J to keep doing whatever it is he's getting in trouble for.
She's been doing it off and on since I got here, but the last few days it has been constant. She grins while whispering at him to keep being bad, keep spitting, keep ignoring Kimmy. I gave her a warning.
Five seconds later she did it again. I promised her bed as soon as J was asleep, and we both knew he would be asleep in minutes.
She stood in the playroom crying at the top of her lungs until I had J washed and brushed and in bed.
When she came upstairs we talked about how completely sick I was of her telling J to be bad. She apologized, promised to stop and ten minutes later she was asleep too. The baby was all that was left.
I gave him his milk and put him to bed.
And then I got to watch Jeopardy! for the first time in a very long time with no kids yelling all around me. It was glorious. And the kids were all asleep so early that they very well could get up at the crack of dawn tomorrow but you know what?
I'M OFF TOMORROW!
Snobby nanny is going to meet her sisters in the city!
GOOD LUCK AT HOME T!
Saturday, November 5, 2011
GAAAAAaaaaaaahhhhhhh MY EYES!
Tonight was the last of the last of ice breakers in this house.
There were several wardrobe malfunctions on T’s part this summer and the flashing that resulted barely bothered me. Lady parts are something I’d rather not see, but they don’t shock or surprise. Especially those lady parts, used for nursing so often in public places these days.
I could handle that.
And one special afternoon T and I were both upstairs in different rooms having a conversation across the house while she was running around doing something and I was running around doing several things and I innocently went into the hallway and boom.
Headlights.
Again, not traumatizing. But still, not preferred.
As one of seven children I have to deal with my share of half-dressed sisters. I don’t particularly care when it’s my sisters, especially because they all possess the normal amounts of decency that keep people dressed to some extent when in company, but of course, there have been mishaps.
With my brothers.
Who also like to run around half-dressed.
And once. On Easter break. One morning. When I came down the stairs.
My brother.
In the kitchen.
Boxers.
Trying to gauge eyes out for several minutes.
I recovered from the Great Easter Catastrophe of Whatever Year That Was and also survived several roommate incidents, mostly with one roommate (who could very possibly be reading this) who really enjoyed her naked time, but also there were other occasions where I would walk in on someone or they would walk in on me. These things happen when you share small spaces.
And drink too much.
And I knew coming into this live-in nanny thing that boundaries were going to be redrawn. I just had no idea what that would mean.
It means having the kids run into the room yelling, “Daddy guzzied!” (which is Farsi for farted) and walking into T’s bedroom to find J’s slippers and coming across T passed out and snoring through an impromptu afternoon nap. And of course, actively participating in couple’s arguments and home renovation decisions.
But tonight was different.
Today, it took until 4 o’clock to get lunch fed to all the kids. Today, we slept in all except Baby I, who has developed a nasty cold. He was up several times in the night (so I heard, I don’t work overnight) and was up for good quite early this morning. He was watching “Doowah” otherwise known as Dora, around 6 while everyone else slept on and on.
After breakfast I went outside with the kiddies to play and T left to do something. E was still asleep. T came home to pick up I for a doctor’s appointment and I went with E to take the kids for a bike ride.
The afternoon was just as lazy as the morning. Baby I threw the mother of all tantrums and all three adults in the house tried to calm him down before finally he finally fell asleep for a nap and then the kids went to play whatever it is they play in their room that involves moving all their bedding onto the floor and stuffing stuffed animals up their shirts.
E and T went to Home Depot for some more things needed in the basement makeover and then with my blessing and encouragement they also went to lunch and ran some other errands. The kids were eating lunch and when their parents come home in the middle of a meal it all falls apart so I do everything in my power to have these things timed.
When they did come home we all did a lot more nothing. Since lunch was so late dinner was also late, and since no one had given one thought to what we should eat for dinner it was even later. So I used one of my favorite tricks and pureed some zucchini to layer under pizza sauce and made a pizza. I fed the older two kids while Baby I was upstairs with E and T.
They were getting ready to go out, I knew, but after the kids finished their meal they went upstairs and I cleaned up a bit before going to get the baby.
Now, let me draw a picture for you here.
The stairs are wood and they aren’t terrible noisy but they’re not very quiet either. There’s also not a lot on the floors or walls, so everything echoes. The upstairs is mostly open hallway, and the master bedroom is visible from the stairs and every part of the hallway. Normally, when my employers are changing, the door is closed. But they had all three kids with them (or so I thought--it turns out the other two were actually in their room) and the door was open. So I climbed the stairs with the usual noise of footsteps and as I reached the top I said,
“Can I take the baby for dinner?”
T was starting to answer me that I could, but my eyes were already burning out of my skull. E had been in the nude, crossing the room and of course, passing the door just as my poor, poor eyes looked in. He said something and then T started laughing and yelling sorry.
And the baby just sat there on the bed watching TV like no one else was there.
I told T I would manage ok and I laughed. I think.
And then of course I had to spend the rest of the evening trying to act like I’m fine and everything is normal and I’m totally cool with everyone being naked all the time.
Just kidding. They both apologized again and I think I really will be ok. The whole event is already becoming hazy. My mind has superior powers of defense and is very good at blurring details until everything looks like a cartoon dream.
So after the kids were asleep I went downstairs to my room, which I cleaned yesterday for the first time in several weeks. I was inspired by my new clothing rack, which is not the one I had picked out originally, but instead a long wardrobe rack like they use for costumes on movie sets. It’s beautiful.
I got a good eyeful of my clothes and then I felt much better.
So I came up here and wrote this and now I feel sick again.
Time to go gaze at my shoe collection.
There were several wardrobe malfunctions on T’s part this summer and the flashing that resulted barely bothered me. Lady parts are something I’d rather not see, but they don’t shock or surprise. Especially those lady parts, used for nursing so often in public places these days.
I could handle that.
And one special afternoon T and I were both upstairs in different rooms having a conversation across the house while she was running around doing something and I was running around doing several things and I innocently went into the hallway and boom.
Headlights.
Again, not traumatizing. But still, not preferred.
As one of seven children I have to deal with my share of half-dressed sisters. I don’t particularly care when it’s my sisters, especially because they all possess the normal amounts of decency that keep people dressed to some extent when in company, but of course, there have been mishaps.
With my brothers.
Who also like to run around half-dressed.
And once. On Easter break. One morning. When I came down the stairs.
My brother.
In the kitchen.
Boxers.
Trying to gauge eyes out for several minutes.
I recovered from the Great Easter Catastrophe of Whatever Year That Was and also survived several roommate incidents, mostly with one roommate (who could very possibly be reading this) who really enjoyed her naked time, but also there were other occasions where I would walk in on someone or they would walk in on me. These things happen when you share small spaces.
And drink too much.
And I knew coming into this live-in nanny thing that boundaries were going to be redrawn. I just had no idea what that would mean.
It means having the kids run into the room yelling, “Daddy guzzied!” (which is Farsi for farted) and walking into T’s bedroom to find J’s slippers and coming across T passed out and snoring through an impromptu afternoon nap. And of course, actively participating in couple’s arguments and home renovation decisions.
But tonight was different.
Today, it took until 4 o’clock to get lunch fed to all the kids. Today, we slept in all except Baby I, who has developed a nasty cold. He was up several times in the night (so I heard, I don’t work overnight) and was up for good quite early this morning. He was watching “Doowah” otherwise known as Dora, around 6 while everyone else slept on and on.
After breakfast I went outside with the kiddies to play and T left to do something. E was still asleep. T came home to pick up I for a doctor’s appointment and I went with E to take the kids for a bike ride.
The afternoon was just as lazy as the morning. Baby I threw the mother of all tantrums and all three adults in the house tried to calm him down before finally he finally fell asleep for a nap and then the kids went to play whatever it is they play in their room that involves moving all their bedding onto the floor and stuffing stuffed animals up their shirts.
E and T went to Home Depot for some more things needed in the basement makeover and then with my blessing and encouragement they also went to lunch and ran some other errands. The kids were eating lunch and when their parents come home in the middle of a meal it all falls apart so I do everything in my power to have these things timed.
When they did come home we all did a lot more nothing. Since lunch was so late dinner was also late, and since no one had given one thought to what we should eat for dinner it was even later. So I used one of my favorite tricks and pureed some zucchini to layer under pizza sauce and made a pizza. I fed the older two kids while Baby I was upstairs with E and T.
They were getting ready to go out, I knew, but after the kids finished their meal they went upstairs and I cleaned up a bit before going to get the baby.
Now, let me draw a picture for you here.
The stairs are wood and they aren’t terrible noisy but they’re not very quiet either. There’s also not a lot on the floors or walls, so everything echoes. The upstairs is mostly open hallway, and the master bedroom is visible from the stairs and every part of the hallway. Normally, when my employers are changing, the door is closed. But they had all three kids with them (or so I thought--it turns out the other two were actually in their room) and the door was open. So I climbed the stairs with the usual noise of footsteps and as I reached the top I said,
“Can I take the baby for dinner?”
T was starting to answer me that I could, but my eyes were already burning out of my skull. E had been in the nude, crossing the room and of course, passing the door just as my poor, poor eyes looked in. He said something and then T started laughing and yelling sorry.
And the baby just sat there on the bed watching TV like no one else was there.
I told T I would manage ok and I laughed. I think.
And then of course I had to spend the rest of the evening trying to act like I’m fine and everything is normal and I’m totally cool with everyone being naked all the time.
Just kidding. They both apologized again and I think I really will be ok. The whole event is already becoming hazy. My mind has superior powers of defense and is very good at blurring details until everything looks like a cartoon dream.
So after the kids were asleep I went downstairs to my room, which I cleaned yesterday for the first time in several weeks. I was inspired by my new clothing rack, which is not the one I had picked out originally, but instead a long wardrobe rack like they use for costumes on movie sets. It’s beautiful.
I got a good eyeful of my clothes and then I felt much better.
So I came up here and wrote this and now I feel sick again.
Time to go gaze at my shoe collection.
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