Whiny Wednesday

Why do I always have to be "the Frog" in Lennon's game of "Princess and the Frog"? Some days Mommy would like to be the princess too.

Whiny Wednesday

How could someone this cute be so evil?

Well let's just start by stating the obvious: This is a less than flattering photo of me. I'm looking all sorts of lumpy, schlumpadinka Mommy. Makeover anyone??!! Sigh--Okay the hard part's over.

Above is a picture of one of those moments in your life when everything seems peachy keen. Mother and daughter are posing oh-so-adorably right before Easter Sunday service. Little does the on-looker know that underneath that mother's predetermined smile there is a strong will that urges her to eat her young (if only 2 times a week) and that underneath her daughter's perfect "CHEESE" is a demon waiting to be unleashed. Case in point: Today's Events.

Today started like any other day. I rose out of bed at the butt-crack-of-dawn--or what other's like to call 7am--slowly waking up by curling up on the couch and checking my e-mail. I gave Josh a kiss goodbye and wished him a good day at work like the perfect little woman. Lennon actually sleeps in (okay, I should have known from this odd turn of events that today would be unlike any other), rises with smiles and kisses ready to start her day. Sounds great so far, right? Well it was....until the demon residing in my 2 year old decided to burst out of her like something out of the Exorcist.

Since I am trying to block out today from my memory what happened next is a bit fuzzy. It may have had something to do with her new DVD "The Princess and the Frog" and her Barbies. All I can remember is that a new type of temper/tantrum/eruption of emotion exploded from my child, which resulted in me having to perform the Vulcan death grip around her entire body until she could stop scratching every inch of my exposed skin (not to mention some of hers) and calm down. What happened to my angel baby?

After this ridiculous episode it was time to load up and head on over to Grandma Sweet's in Corvallis so Mommy could attend at scholarship workshop. Sounds so responsible, doesn't it? WRONG!!! The first 20 minutes or so of the car ride were like any other: a constant cacophony of commotion in the backseat, that is generally entertaining. But somewhere outside of Monmouth, near mile post 68, the demon decided now was the perfect time to rear its ugly head. Any and all sharp objects begin being chucked directly at me! Books, Barbies, fairy wands, hair ties and hair clips, shoes and socks. AHHHH!!! WHILE I AM DRIVING! Then the demon begins to scream bloody murder, as if she is being scrubbed down from head to toe with a pumice stone. Why, you may ask? Just cause. So what do I do? I try to contain the situation as best I can while continuing to drive.

Mother's all over the world understand the move that I had then chosen to administer. It involves a steady speed, one hand on the wheel as your other arm is contorted in such a way as to reach into the back of your car to discipline and/or appease your child in any way possible. Well, unfortunately I did not administer this move under standard regulations. I forgot the steady speed part. I was so distracted (I know, HORRIBLE excuse) by the surprising demon antics of my once sweet and darling girl that I continued to stretch my foot to the accelerator and press down--hard. I was just trying to keep up a steady momentum when a hill slowly starts to rise and fall, catapulting my car up to 70-ish (ALLEGEDLY!). By the time I noticed my speed and had composed my toddler the po-lice are hot on my tail.

Now, I am not emotionally capable of being pulled over by an officer of the law. I'll be honest: I have authority issues. I very much dislike disappointing my superiors. This includes cops. Let's forget for a moment that my once demon-like child is now cooing from the backseat, blatantly flirting with Officer What's-His-Name (I don't know who taught her that). I am sitting in the front seat just trying to hold it all together. I am trying to act like a composed, responsible mother as I answer his questions and provide the necessary paper work. Meanwhile, Little Miss Sunshine is rattling off all sorts of questions and doing everything possible to get on the officer's good side. Of course, her efforts are wasted. I get cited and fined $190.

I want to make this clear: I did not cry....at least not in front of the officer. I waited till he drove off, then I immediately had an emotional breakdown like every other normal woman on the planet. I did not make excuses for myself. So why was I deliriously drenched in my own ocular fluid? Because I inadvertently endangered my child and was deathly afraid of Josh's reaction. God forbid I EVER put my child at risk again or disappoint Josh. Catholic Guilt anyone?

Long story short--if I can even say that--not a good day. Not the worst day, but not a good day. I love my daughter with every fiber of my being, but damn it that girl needs to work on her flirting. Next time she better seal the deal and get Mommy out of a ticket!

Whiny Wednesday

Does everyone else hate housework as much as I do? Does anyone hate housework but also hates having their house even the tiniest bit untidy? I know, I know, you can't be anal retentive about cleanliness if you refuse to clean. You say it's just not possible. I assure you that it IS possible.

I have dreams of my house being immaculate. A place for everything and everything in its place. Ohhhhh...I am sighing at the thought of it even as I write this. Now I won't get started on my home and its lack of decor, matching furniture and its general state of not being....well, finished. You work with what you've got, and what we've got is a lot compared to some families so I am certainly thankful. But I can't for the life of me begin to make my house look the way I want it to, even with the items we already have. Then on top of all that there's the cleaning. Well, I know I am not the only woman in the world who makes a good go of making sure their house is neat and tidy everyday. As we all know it rarely stays that way. Kids, spouses, the dust that refuses to remove itself from every teeny-tiny nook and cranny; all of these things refuse to keep your home looking the way you feel that it should be. It's an endless, vicious cycle.

You may be asking as I rant and rave: How do I want my house? Well....inviting, warm, kid-friendly, and just homey I guess. Do I dare say that I would like it to look like it came out of a Pottery Barn catalog? Well, maybe not just the Pottery Barn catalog...But I can never seem to get that overall feeling. I feel stuck. I feel stuck between my college apartment and my "adult home". It's decorating and financial purgatory. I am ready to finally take control over my own space and make it my own, but as a young mother in a young family the money just does not seem to trickle down to those needs--I mean, wants. I want to feel pride as I walk through my front door, not defeat. I'm not asking my house to be the envy of the neighborhood.

So what to do?

Give up....for now at least. I have chosen to keep my castle in the sky image of an immaculate adult home in my mind as I concede to the mismatched furniture, the toys that permeate every piece of floor space, the never-ending dust bunnies, crumbs, and piles of who-knows-what. I remind myself that I have a roof over my head and a happy, healthy, loving family and that I want to spend my time enjoying that family. Which makes my home a home--maybe not one from the Pottery Barn catalog or Martha Stewart Living, but that's okay. Is it wrong to envy Martha Stewart or the Pottery Barn catalogs and secretly dream that your home look exactly like the one in the pictures? No. Is it possible to have your home look like the one in the pictures? Sure, but do I really want to drive myself crazy over how clean my house is and whether or not I have the most admired furnishings? No. I'm busy enough as it is trying to keep my toddler alive on a daily basis, my guy happy and myself from imploding over what ever daily catastrophe has popped up. I mean it's not like my house is a deathtrap. At least the State hasn't deemed it as such---yet.

PS: If you're Josh and you're reading this---I LOVE YOU. My incoherent verbal diarrhea is in no way shape or form a criticism of you and your title as "The Provider". You work hard day in and day out to help this family succeed and "The Management" is most thankful and appreciative. If you have any complaints next week's Whiny Wednesday is reserved just for you.

Whiny Wednesday

Today's Whiny Wednesday is brought to you by the letters N and R. N for Noise and R for Racket. I suppose it's inevitable when you co-habitate with a toddler. The general cacophony of shrieks of delight and terror, song singing at the highest volume possible, the din of crashes, bumps and tumbles and---if you're daughter is the Beastie---the grunts, groans and screams of frustration when your crayons, markers, dolls, etc. don't stay in the order in which you put them.

I have to say that I can generally handle the noise and racket of my daughter, however today---well recently Lennon has found an object in our home that elicits a sound that makes me want to simultaneously punch a baby, drill my brain and rip my ears from my head. At first this noise was something I thought I could handle like all the other noises by focusing on my happy place and pretending that it isn't there. But oh no, this noise requires the meditative-like qualities only yogis possess. The noise in question: her Ikea easel being pushed, dragged, pulled, slid and jerked across our wood floor.

I have begun to think that this is Lennon's way of slowly torturing her mother. I have never hated Ikea more.