For the record, I didn't get kissed at Sasha's party

To stop myself from complaining (again) about how crazy busy and ridiculous my life is and how whenever I try to get out of the house one of the children poops or takes their shoes off or runs away from me when I’m trying to put their jacket on or refuses to let me brush their teeth or their hair or spills my coffee and causes me to almost cry,  I thought it was time for me to post another of ‘Jaime’s embarrassing journal entries about boys she loved and also how much she wanted to get her period.’

I’ve really got to shorten that title.

It’s either this or I also complain about how my husband’s new job causes him to work late so I don’t get to go to the gym and GET OUT OF THE DAMN HOUSE BY MYSELF , and also allows him to eat in fancypants restaurants WITHOUT ME and also without having to pick up food off the floor that someone has thrown down there to show that they are finished and want to be out of their high chair rightthisverysecond.

Here’s the first.  And second.

………………………………………………………………………

5-18-93 (almost 12 years old)

Life is so weird.  I can’t explain the feelings inside me.  I feel like I love Napoleon & Jag.  I’m really not sure.  I also think I like Beacon.

Napoleon is cute & nice.  He’s really sweet.  He also doesn’t like me.  It’s the same with Jag.  Only I don’t really know if he likes me or not.

Beacon, I can’t really tell.  He’s cute, & he looks good without his shirt.  Beacon can be very mean & snotty sometimes, but I think thats what makes me like him.  (WISE BEYOND MY YEARS.)  He might like me but I don’t know.

You wouldn’t believe the stories I come up with (They’re all in my head though).  They are really perverted.  Well some of them.  Most of them just have kissing though.  I’ve never been kissed.  I might get my turn soon though.  Sasha’s having a party & we might play spin the bottle.  I doubt if anyone will want to kiss me though.

Everything I write about in this journal is depressing.  Nachelle is really starting to get on my nerves.  She keeps flirting with every guy & she doesn’t even talk to me. 

Here's what I did when I wasn't here

Oh, hello there.  Sorry for the absence on Friday.  And Thursday.  And I guess last Tuesday, while we’re on the subject.  I have no real reason for the absence, other than utter and complete apathy and also naps.

It’s always the naps.

I’ve decided to give up on making Sebastian stay in his bedroom for naptime every day.  In reality it’s more like quiet time anyway, in that most of his time is spent playing with toys.  But if I call it quiet time he’s coming out of his room every seven minutes asking if he can come downstairs.  I started feeling guilty, like I was hanging on to something that was never going to work.  So while his sister was sleeping he was spending his time watching a movie or a long show and then we’d play together.  But as I was never actually alone at any point during the day, that didn’t leave much time for rambling. 

And I know what you’re thinking.  I have lots of time while he’s watching TV.  But you don’t know my special, clingy son.  Nope.  If he’s left alone too long usually there’s a punishment doled out for me once I am back in his eyesight in the form of an epic tantrum.  He just needs to remind me of his existence in the form of yelling and throwing things and also screaming for more TV.

So.  Not worth it.

But today, however, he’s decided that he wanted to take a nap.  And so he is.  Of course, by nap I mean opening and closing his door and doing a headstand in his bed and also, maybe, reading a book.

Whatever.  He’s up there and I’m alone. 

Thank you sweet baby Jesus.

In other news my husband turned 30 yesterday and I’m relieved.  I’ve had to endure six months of him telling me that I was a cougar for being in my 30s while he was still in his 20s.  Six months is not that much older, CHRISTOPHER. 

I couldn’t force him to have a party because it was too cold or he was too old or something so we just spent Saturday in Louisville together.  Well, this was after making repeated attempts to leave the house but always having something come up and when we finally did leave the house and were 15 minutes away from home we realized that we’d left the coffee pot on so we had to turn back around and by that time we were starving and when he’s hungry he kind of shuts down but the banana we grabbed when we turned the coffee pot off helped.  Kind of.

We ate at Harvest, which is local and hippie and had the best potato salad I’ve ever eaten, but that made me feel like there was something wrong with me for wanting ketchup on my unique, fancy burger because they don’t give it to you automatically.  But really, it needed something to cut through the heaviness of the meat and chevre.  And the ketchup came in a little bowl and was probably made from humanely raised organic tomatoes that were sung ‘You are my sunshine’ every morning as dawn broke.

I’m just guessing.

That evening, at about 8 we went to Red Lobster in Elizabethtown because we had a gift card.  Apparently everyone thought it was a good idea because it was super crowded but no matter, I got drunk off two margaritas and then glared passive-aggressively at our waitress who, even though we were there long enough for most of the tables to clear out still couldn’t manage to come back and refill our water glasses or get our check for us or, you know, do her job. 

We were there two hours which is about an hour and twenty minutes longer than anyone needs to be. 

Hey!  Since there’s really no point to this blog, let me show you this picture:

And also these, which are a photo-memory box of how ridiculous my morning has been and also the pictures I've been sending Chris all day to share with him how lucky he is to not be around these children at the moment:

Yes, she did grab as many of these as she could
and shove them in her mouth before I could clean them up. 
It made breakfast a little easier this morning.

I spent an hour cleaning up Sebastian's
room yesterday. Today he did this.

I'm pretty sure this one was just for attention.

 

Even though the littlest one is in all the pictures she’s only responsible for the top mess.  Well, her and her father who forgot to close up the cereal and move it out of her reach when he was done with it.

Thanks, Chris.

Motherhood & More: Winter, the kids and I are done with you*

Bah.

I’m tired of cold. And it hasn’t even been that bad this year.

But man, I spend a little too much time daydreaming about long, warm days filled with running and playing and swimming and better behavior. That last one is for my 3-year-old, who currently thinks he is in charge of everything and we all should do whatever he wants, whenever he wants. It’s been lots of fun.

I used to be such a winter person. I loved to hole up under blankets with my cup of tea or coffee and read for hours, staring outside at the gray days. Or knitting until my wrists ached.

But these days there is zero time for relaxing and even less for reading books. I’ve started three in the past month and haven’t gotten passed page 30 in any of them. And not to mention that my children have to be entertained continuously so that leaves little time for me to entertain myself in a way that doesn’t involve Duplos or board books.

And both the kids want to be outside, love to be outside. But we don’t get there often enough because the littlest one won’t keep her mittens on and also won’t stay out of puddles or the road. But I am trying. It makes me feel a little less awesome when it gets to the end of the day and I realize that I haven’t left the house once, not even to check the mail.

In the summertime we live an outdoor life. And it feels so good. My oldest runs in and out as he pleases — mostly out — and only coming in to eat or show me something cool he’s found. And it’s easier for them to find stuff to do on their own, without me constantly having to be right beside them.

January and February always are hard for me because somewhere along the way I got it stuck in my head that as soon as Christmas was over and the New Year came along, it was time for spring. My mind says it’s time for spring. My aching joints, as I am now old, tell me it’s time for spring. My bare garden patch tells me it’s time for spring. And my unruly children who would rather chase a ball outside than watch TV (sometimes) tell me it’s time for spring.

The only thing not cooperating is the calendar. And maybe the weather.

I am tired of goose bumps and multiple layers and wool socks — hand-knit, of course. I’m tired of boots and soups and staring wistfully outside. I’m tired of hats and gloves that won’t stay on. And I’m tired of restless children who I know would be much better behaved if only they would be allowed to swim in the pool or play in the dirt. Because they are bored, too.

They are tired of staring at these walls and playing indoor games. They are both physical children who love to jump and run and chase each other and wrestle and there’s only so much of that they can do inside without bumping into an end table.

So, collectively, let’s all think about warm sunshine and flowers growing. About planting a garden and turning on the sprinkler. About windows open and barbecues. About grass stains and mud-covered fingers, lightning bugs and s’mores.

And maybe, just maybe, we can turn that calendar a little faster.

It's just not the same.

*This column originally published in The News-Enterprise on January 25, 2012.

Of course, now as I type this the youngest is crying in her crib instead of napping

I am feeling slightly better about the whole raging 3 year old. 

It’s just that when things go wrong I feel them with my whole body and it plagues everything.  I doubt myself and my role in this world and I doubt my abilities and my strength. 

And usually I cry a lot.

But today, so far, has been spectacular. 

We’ve all played together.  He’s been helpful, hanging up his pants on the hangers all by himself and picking up toys when asked, without screaming and stomping around and possibly flinging said toys into oblivion.  We’ve ridden bikes and jumped and used our ‘lightsabers’ to get the bad guys. 

We’ve had lunch that was at least moderately healthy, if you count the apples and carrots we had and ignore the turkey dogs.

We’ve had fun.  And danced and laughed and played and there has been zero cause for me to raise my voice. 

And the littlest one was right in the middle of it all, singing and playing alone or all together with the oldest one.

And he’s currently in bed.  Not sleeping but at least not making too much noise up there.

Days like these I feel like I can do it.

(I’m fairly certain I’ve said all of this before, but that’s because it’s a cycle that repeats itself over and over.  Also, I’m one of those old people who like to repeat their stories.  Your welcome.)

Homemade Friday: A photo essay of unfinished knitting projects

The thing about me and knitting is, I’m mostly a winter-time knitter.  And that’s not to say that I don’t knit in the summer, it’s just that once the colder weather of autumn comes around, I begin to have panic attacks that my family-or-friends will freeze in the coming winter unless I start knitting in every free moment I have.  So there’s a lot of that has been going on lately. 

And I love it. 

My ridiculously puny wrists don’t love it.  But I love it.

And January seems to be the month around here to have lots of different projects going.  Mostly socks, though.  My feet get cold easily.  Poor circulation, you know?

So, instead of showing you the things I have finished, which are gifts I’ve made for friends that haven’t been gifted yet, ergo I can’t show them to you, I will show you the unfinished partial projects.

Exciting, no?

First up are these socks:

I do not like the yarn pattern, which is why this sock has been languishing on the needles for months.  Wait, scratch that.  It’s been at least a year since I’ve started these.  Have I shown this to you before?  I feel like I have.  Anyway, I started with the yarn using my own standard knitting pattern, and didn’t like it, but kept hoping that the stripe would improve.  And by the time I’d gotten through a whole rotation of the stripe pattern I was almost done with the sock.  So I figured if I ripped it out it would be a complete waste of time.  So there you go.  I take this out when I’m finished with a project and haven’t figured out what my new project will be.  I use it to keep the knitting muscles toned.

And then there’s this sweater:

  

I LOVE this sweater.  It’s my own pattern, using The Knitter’s Handy Book of Sweater Patterns, which, as its title suggests, is super handy to have around.  It’s for Sebastian, made out of an organic cotton, since the last sweater I made him that had wool in it he says is itchy.  This one is soft, and I think he’ll like it, if it actually gets finished before it’s 90 degrees outside.  But it’s a little big, so he should be able to wear it next year, unlike his yellow sweater I made this year that Adele is wearing today.  It’s a little long but the sleeves fit her.  My measuring is awesome, is what I’m saying.

Next are more socks:

These socks are for me, using my pattern, made out of yarn I got from my mother-in-law for Christmas.  These stripes make me so happy and I can’t wait to see what the next one will look like.  They don’t have needles in them because I only have one pair of the harmony wood dpns, which are my new favorite.  They’re thin but still sturdy, unlike the bamboo ones I have in this size which broke right away.  But I needed them so I could make these socks for my neighbor:

They’re bright and awesome.  There the first time I’ve made toe-up socks and I’m pretty stoked about them.  The color makes me smile when I look at it.  They’re going to be knee-highs for my neighbor, using this pattern. 

And that’s all I currently have on the needles, unless you count the projects that have been languishing for literally years, which I don’t.

And I’ve got so many more things on my list that need to be knit this winter.  My neighbor’s husband wants a fornicating deer hat (yes, you read that right.)  Adele needs a sweater.  I’ve got a sweater in mind for myself.  Everyone needs socks and hats and mittens and scarves. And at some point I have hopes that Chris, who is extremely hard to please when it comes to clothes, will let me knit him another sweater.

I will not get it all done.  I’m realistic enough to admit that.  But the planning is pretty exciting, too.