To Do, To Done, TaDa!!

To me, there's just something so empowering about writing up a to do list and checking off my accomplishments.  Even if it's just laundry and dinner.

So, I've decided to start a To Do List for My Life From Now On.  Here's the first ten things:

1)  quit smoking --- THIRTY DAYS!!! CHECK!!!
2)  buy a house --- we're doing this sometime in December!!! almost check!! lol
3)  go on a family vacation --- also doing this in December, but just a weekend getaway
4)  write a book --- I've started this a million times, let's see if I ever check this one off...
5)  quit biting my nails --- tough one. been trying that for YEARS.
6)  have another baby :) or two lol --- sometime after February
7)  paint a (realistic) landscape
8)  say thank you everyday to The Man Upstairs --- CHECK!!!
9)  tell everyone I love that I love them ALL THE TIME!!! --- CHECK!!!
10)  learn to speak Italian (and make an Italian cream soda myself... and cook an authentic, from-scratch Italian dish [besides spaghetti]... I bet Dammit loves number ten lol)

Until next time!!!

hm.

i feel like creating the most depressing, self-pitying playlist on my computer, drawing on super thick black eyeliner raccoon circles around my eyes, and thinking about all the hateful shit i've heard recently while i listen to that playlist.

BUT.

as much as you have hurt me (all of you), with what you've said recently, i love my kids that much and more, so instead of continuing to feel bad for finding out how you really feel, i'm going to concentrate my energy on them.  i don't need your validation, your approval, or even your respect.  it would have been nice to have, but i figured out a long time ago where i stand in this situation, i was just too foolish to accept it.

Tantrum Personalities.

Dammit and I love stand-up comedy.  We recently purchased a Kevin Hart one hour comedy special on DVD, called Seriously Funny.  During his hour, Kevin Hart talks a lot about his kids (this is one reason why I like him so much... he can talk and laugh about his kids in a way that other parents sometimes think and laugh to themselves about their own kids... he's kind of got the balls to say what some parents don't... like, wow, is my kid really doing that? and what does that say for their intelligence??? lol).  He mentions his son's tantrums.  The boy stands with his feet apart, one hand kind of behind him, but visible.  The other arm waving up and down in a defensive motion, and making a noise that reminds me a lot of the noise Dammit made while describing a dying deer to me (wuhaaaaaaaaaah, wuhaaaaaaaaaaaah... something like that hahaha).

So this morning, Thing Number Two is prancing around in her black, gray, and pink zebra print dress (complete with giant pink heart-shaped rhinestone on the belt and ruffles everywhere), white lacy socks, and black patent leather shoes... just doing her Diva Thang.  I notice her chewing and sucking on something, so when she walks by, I catch her real quick and get a button out of her mouth.  Just a random button.  Well.... she was... infuriated.  And because we watched the Kevin Hart special, my mind automatically recorded her every movement, and I swear I saw it all in slow-mo.  She threw her body forward, and her arms backward... like a skier on a jump. Her face scrunched up and her mouth opened wide, and out comes the eardrum-piercing Diva Cry. It goes something like this:

"AhhEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!"

Once it was over, I couldn't help but laugh.  Thing Number Two has a crazy tantrum personality, just like Kevin Hart's son.  And it fits perfectly with her real personality.  She's a Drama Queen, with a capital D and a capital Q, and she throws a fit like a Drama Queen would.  So I tell Dammit (who is sick and pitiful on the chair, wrapped in a blanket and looking like Death just texted him and told him to meet him outside), "Watch her, watch how she throws her fits."  My plan was to just show her the button and hope for a Tantrum Reaction, but I didn't even have to do that.  It was like she knew I wanted her to do it again, and the simple act of me talking about it reignited her fury, so she did it again.  And it was still hilarious.  We both got a good laugh out of it, and then I loved on her and apologized for teasing her, and she tried to pull my fingernails off (they're painted a dark purple this week, and long nails intrigue her).

Then, I thought about my son.  Thing Number One's Tantrum Personality has evolved with his age.  I'm assuming most Tantrum Personalities do that, but there are probably those 30-something year old women who still fall on the floor in a fit when they don't get their way. 

When Thing Number One was a baby, he had a trait that he (and Thing Number Two) inherited directly from me.  We are all breath-holders.  When we cry, we have that open-mouth, red cheek, watery eyed face that seems frozen in time because no sound comes out.  And that's because there is no air going in.  My medical chart at my pediatrician's office when I was a kid said BREATH HOLDER, and they rolled in an oxygen cart when I received injections.  Thing Number One is the same way.  When he was about 8 or 9 months old, he was crying about something, held his breath, and proceeded to pass out.  My dad was holding him up, Lion King Style, but facing him (instead of all the various animals of the African wild), hollering at him to wake up.  Within a few seconds, the limpness of his body went away, his eyes opened, and he looked like he was recovering from heavy anesthesia.  Funny afterward, but scary as hell when it happens.  He still makes that terrible, pre-pass-out face, but he doesn't hold his breath anymore.  He started something new, about a year ago.

He SHRIEKS.  This awful, make-your-ears-bleed screech that makes me want to throw myself from a moving vehicle.  And I don't know if this goes for all 4 year old boys, but this kid is strong.  Getting him to move six inches when he doesn't want to is like trying to wrestle an ox.  So when we're in public, and he decides it's time to throw a fit, it is nearly impossible for 5 foot 0 inch tall, 120 pound me to move him anywhere (like the car, so I can drive away as fast as possible).  And unlike his sister, who is ALWAYS in diva mode, his Tantrum Personality is completely opposite of his real personality.

But with the observation, we picked out names for our lovely little Things' Tantrum Personalities.

Thing Number One was once The Blackout Personality (aka the Coma, the Nap, or the Do You Think Mama Wet Herself??), but has evolved into the Immobile Banshee Personality.

Thing Number Two has Queen Snow Bunny Personality.  Luckily, she's still small enough that we can distract her with something shiny and the earsplitting whine shuts off instantly.

Miss Peregrine's Home for Peculiar Children

written by Ransom Riggs

The concept of the book is, to me, ground-breaking.  I loved the idea of it.  Incorporating these dark, dismal, incredibly creepy (and real) photographs into his story was fantastic.  The book was visually beautiful and intriguing. 

But the actual story... I can't physically make myself say that I loved it or hated it.  Before I knew the answers to the mysterious questions running frantically through my head, the book was so exciting.  Once everything was explained (all at once and way too soon), the excitement was kind of... gone... and it was just a task of finishing what I had begun.

Don't get me wrong, I don't think it was bad--- not that bad, anyway.  It just could have been so much better!  The characters were great; I loved Emma.  I just feel he didn't spend enough time developing the actual story.

Now- the ending.  Maybe he's planning on a sequel?  It was like he just forgot to put int he last part of the story.  Maybe he doesn't want us to know what happens to Jacob, Emma, Miss Peregrine, and the rest of the Peculiars.  Either way, I hope the sequel (if there is one) is more thought out than this book was.

Also, I've heard talk of a movie... I hope they can do the photographs justice... The visuals are stunning additions to the story.

Clarification

I just want to clear something up reeeeeeeal quick.

My husband's nickname on here is a JOKE.  He gets it, and it was clearly explained.

Also, we are happily married.  We have no marital problems.  We're a normal married couple, and we have fights.  The point is, as was also clearly stated, when we fight, we get to the root of the problem and we figure out a solution.

With that said, my next post will be a book review. :)

Disappointed...

I have to say this: when I look at my children, I feel nothing but pride.  Thing Number Two is a soldier.  She has come so far from her 2 lb. 10 oz. self 16 months ago.  Thing Number One is so smart and sweet.  He is the most loving, affectionate child I have ever laid eyes on.  Which is why I'm feeling so disappointed right now.  I'm disappointed with his actions, but I'm also disappointed with myself and Dammit, because maybe this could have been prevented???

Thing Number One hit someone at school today.  Now I don't know all the details, but I do know he hit a girl, and he admits to feeling bad because he knows he did the wrong thing.  A few weeks ago, he came home with a full-mouth bite mark on his arm, saying that a classmate did it.  He later confessed that he bit himself, so I was hoping with every ounce of my being that maybe he was fibbing this time, too.  Isn't that terrible?  Because tomorrow or the next day, I have a blog about my feelings toward liars, and here I am hoping that my son is a fibber instead of a bully.

But is he a bully?  I mean, they are 4 and 5 year old children.  I know that they go through phases and they aren't always 100% in control of their emotions.  But does their age excuse their behavior?

Dammit and I do not condone violence.  Our children may experience a pop on the hand if they grab for something off-limits, or a pop on the behind if they misbehave.  But spanking is always a last resort punishment for us.  I fear that the root of the problem lies with Thing Number One's favorite movie: the new Karate Kid.  Don't get me wrong, I know karate isn't about violence or revenge or whatever.  It's about self-discipline and a lot of other noble things...... but does HE know that?  Is he too young to grasp that?

And he is a BOY.  They like to wrestle and play fight.  He wrestles with my nephews and he wrestles with Dammit.  Do we cut that out too?

I hate that he did this.  I'm dreading talking to his teacher tomorrow (me and Dammit take turns bringing him to school and we walk him to class out of fear of him getting distracted by the playground that is right next to the building his class is in).  We didn't get any kind of note or anything, but I absolutely have to know the circumstances behind this incident.  I don't feel like anything will make it okay, but I want to know why he did it.

I don't know if anybody is even reading this, but if you are, and you have any advice to offer, please feel free.  It will be much appreciated.

Your definition of "job" kinda sucks.

I started my first job at Chuck E. Cheese two days after I turned 16.  From then on out, I worked on a fairly regular basis.  Through high school, I worked during the summers as a "transient farm laborer," which meant I sat in soybean fields for hours, cross-pollinating the plants, or walked through miles and miles (or so it seemed) of corn fields inoculating and cross-pollinating.  In our downtime, we massacred weeds in acres of fields and primed and painted my boss' house.  I continued this summertime slave labor until the summer after my second year of college.  I had also returned to Chuck E. Cheese, working nights and weekends.

I worked at Chuck E. Cheese on the weekends once school was back in session.  I quit in November of that year (2006) because I was pregnant with Thing Number One and the constant regurgitation of EVERYTHING I ATE made it nearly impossible to function properly.  I went back to work there when he was three months old.  I started my first Grown Up Job when he was six months old.  I worked there until I was hospitalized in 2010 before Thing Number Two's birth.

Now, almost a year and a half after Thing Number Two's overly dramatic entrance (just her style), I find myself a Stay At Home Mom.  This is the most difficult job I've ever had.  There is very little glory in it.  And often, at least one of the three P's is involved somehow (if you're a parent, you know what the three P's are).  Generally, the only appreciation comes from my children themselves.  Don't think I'm foolish enough to believe that will last forever, either.  But for now, they love on me and give me kisses all the time.

So here comes the moral of the story:  Do not ever tell a woman who stays at home with her children that she doesn't have a job.  Not being on a corporate payroll does not mean she does not work.  She is often covered in poop, puke, pee, slobber, dirt, spaghetti sauce, and/or boogers.  She gets up first and goes to bed last.  She plays maid, chef, taxi driver, and nurse.  She washes your dirty dishes and your dirty underwear.  You don't say the person who babysits your kids doesn't work, so don't say that about us, either, because (and this is aimed mainly at husbands and boyfriends) we're usually raising the kids AND you.

I've learned over the past 16 months that I LOVE my job.  I really love my JOB.  And I guess that's why it's so upsetting to hear, basically, that I'm not contributing because I'm not bringing in a steady income.

Let me outline how things were around the time Thing Number Two came along.  Dammit (my husband-- and I call him this because that word often precedes his real name when I say it lol) worked 40 to 60 hours a week at a dead-end job, making a couple dollars more an hour than minimum wage.  I worked 40 hours a week and made less than a dollar more than minimum wage.  Thing Number One had just turned three, so that meant two kids in daycare, since he would not be in school yet.  Daycare would cost us $600 a month, and it would go up to $700 once he went to school and needed before- and after-school care.  that would mean that I would work full time for $200 or less a month.  Financially, it would be ridiculous of me to work that much for basically nothing... so why not stay home with my babies and raise them myself?  From another aspect, it would be irresponsible because of Thing Number Two's health issues.  As stated in the last entry, we were told by doctors that daycare was ill-advised due to her immature immune system.  She was a preemie, and would almost certainly catch any virus going around the daycare, resulting in a good, long hospital visit.

Dammit asked me once why I couldn't get a job.  My heart broke.  It made me feel like he was completely unappreciative.  Like he didn't think about the money I would make going straight to a babysitter instead of in the bank.  Like our child's health meant nothing.  Less than a month later, during a very, VERY heated argument, he yelled at me "Why don't you get a job!!"  That time, I was furious.  I stuffed the $2 cheeseburger I had bought for my lunch in his hands, and when he handed it back, I tossed it to the cracked, uneven concrete of his company's parking lot.  I told him since I didn't "work," I obviously didn't deserve the food bought with "his" money.  His statement (or exclamation, rather) proved to me that he didn't feel like I contributed at all to our family's well-being.  I credit this to the stress he felt (and still feels) as the sole financial provider, but if I understand his stress, why can't he understand mine?  I feel guilty all the time because the only money I bring in is from the occasional paintings I sell.

Luckily, Dammit and I finally gave into the temptation to express ourselves.  We're both more sympathetic toward one another now.  Now it's time for everyone else to realize that we don't just lay around all day playing Sudoku and watching soap operas.

Did you do that on purpose???

"Did you do that on purpose???" my husband asked me yesterday morning, as he watched me fix a glass of water.


Apparently he noticed that I had two birth control pills in my hand, instead of the usual one.


Let me explain a few things.


Number One:  I love babies, and I love being a mother.  I even love babies when they aren't babies anymore.  I love toddlers and young children and even those aggravating-as-heeeelllll pre-teens. I love my teenage nephews.  And if I were rich and had it my way, I would do a Dugger and make babies until my ovaries shut down (or I reached the age at which doing such things is risky for me and these hypothetical babies).


Number Two: We are not rich.  And I most definitely do not have it my way (right now).


Number Three:  My husband is a twin.  He knows firsthand how badly children can behave, because of how he and his twin behaved.  That terrifies him.


Now, with all that explained, we can all see why he would be worried about me skipping a pill on purpose.  But he KNOWS that I can't do that right now.  Let me throw out a few more details.


Number Four:  My best friend is getting married in February.  I recently was fitted for a dress that is paid for in full from a small, privately owned boutique.  Although getting pregnant now would only make me 3 1/2 months pregnant for said wedding, I'm not one of those Started-Showing-In-My-Third-Trimester pregnant women.  For me, peeing on a stick makes the baby bump appear.  And, as stated in Number Two, we are not rich by any means.  We are no where close to rich.  We live paycheck to paycheck like a lot of other people, and therefore can not afford to purchase a second dress to fit a pregnant me (or raise another baby right now).  And I REFUSE to not stand in this wedding, thank you very much.


Number Five: Our second (and youngest) child was born 2 1/2 months premature in 2010.  I was diagnosed with severe gestational hypertension 2 weeks before she was born, and I remained hospitalized until her birth.  This triggered severe separation anxiety with our oldest child, who just started school a month and a half ago.  It would be cruel and ignorant of me to purposely get pregnant again, because while the risk of a second premature birth is slight (we would automatically be a high risk pregnancy and would be closely monitored), it is there.  School has been a terrific help with the separation anxiety, but I would never say it is completely gone.  This is Thing Number One's (my oldest) time to shine.  He is the Pre-K star of our home right now, and it is definitely his turn to have the spotlight.  Thing Number Two was born under a spotlight, and is finally enjoying some quiet time with me and the rest of our family, just being a normal toddler, instead of The Baby Who Almost Didn't Survive.


Number Six:  We live in my parents' house.  With my parents.  Don't judge just yet, lol!!  When Thing Number Two was born, she was in the NICU for more than my entire period of maternity leave.  When she was discharged and allowed to come home over six weeks later, her doctors advised us against daycare because of her inadequate immune system.  That advise, plus financial issues (over $700 a month for daycare!!!!) led us to the inevitable decision for me to stay home with the kids.  I made less than my husband, so obviously he would be the one to keep working.  But with just one income, continuing to rent a house was out of the question.  We finished out our lease and moved in with my parents (this was their idea).  With all they've done for us, I could not possibly bring another child into this world without being in my own home.  The plan is to buy a house in December, but I do NOT want that crazy-eyed look from my mother that I know I would get if I dropped a baby-bomb on her before we leave the nest.


So.... did I do it on purpose?  Absolutely not.  Do I want more children? Yes, but I know that the right time isn't now.  Some of the reasons are practical and obvious.  Some of them are selfish.  But having a selfish reason for not having another baby only makes it more obvious that the time isn't right to do it, right????