Little Men of Mine
Wednesday, August 09, 2006
Here Come the Guilts
I seriously cannot wait until this project is over. I must have had temporary amnesia when I agreed to do this job because I failed to recall the difficulties I had the last time I worked for this person.Two years ago, I had a deadline. I met the deadline. And on deadline day, this person suddenly discovered he had more space to fill and assigned me three more stories . . . the day before my middle son's 1st birthday party. I had a house to clean, food to prepare, a cake to make, presents to wrap; you name it, and it hadn't been done yet because I'd been busting my a-- to finish the aforementioned project. I had to move the party to the following weekend, and then half the guests couldn't come (including my brother and his family and my father). It was a teeny-tiny little party, and it was all Mr. Here's One More Story's fault.
This time, I told this guy that I needed to start the project as soon as possible so that I'd have as much time available to spread the work out as I could. It's very difficult to research, schedule interviews, execute the interviews, write the stories and follow up with the subjects when three extremely LOUD boys are all awake and going about their daily destruction. Did I mention that these projects usually entail writing about 10-15 stories in two or three weeks? So imagine my delight when Mr. Here's One More Story started getting me the assignments a full month before deadline!
Well, that's all well and good, and I did get a good jump on things. But last week, when there was another story assignment waiting every time I checked my email, it all started coming back to me. And yesterday, one week from deadline, with six stories still hanging over my head (including three elusive subjects who I still hadn't interviewed), I started freaking out. So I called my wonderful mother-in-law and asked if I could drop the boys off in the morning so I could get some quality writing time in. She agreed, and the boys were excited to go.
Here's where the guilt comes in (other than the guilt over yelling at and ignoring them for the past three weeks while I try to work). I had a lovely, productive morning alone. But when I arrived to retrieve my children, my MIL had to tell me about a mishap she'd had with Lou. While she was changing his diaper, he picked up her cylinder of Wet Ones and emptied it over his face. There were no longer any wipes in it, but there was a puddle of soapy liquid at the bottom, and he poured it right in his eyes. She had a hard time flushing them with water as the package recommended, but he seemed okay, if a little bloodshot.
Well, by the time I got him home, he wouldn't stop crying and kept telling me, "Eyes. Hurt." So I filled the sink with water and tried to splash it in his eyes. Let me tell you, that is not easy. He did a lot more yelling and crying, and then I gave up. I called my MIL to find out what the package said exactly. It recommended seeing a doctor if irritation persisted for more than 72 hours. 72 hours! So I let him fall asleep on my shoulder, put him down for a nap, and figured if he woke up complaining, I'd take him in. No way would I wait 72 hours!
Of course he woke up fine and virtually unscathed. My MIL called to check up on him, and that's when I really started to feel bad. She'd felt awful all day, worried that he could've blinded himself on her watch. I felt awful for putting her through that. I mean, being the grandma is supposed to be fun. The three of those boys together are a TON of work, especially when there's only one of you. Normally my FIL is around, but he had to take his mother to the doctor today, and I think Grandma was a little overwhelmed on her own.
I'm not going to do this to her again, and I'm not going to do it to my kids again, either. From now on, I only accept jobs from conscientious people who understand my schedule and my family's needs. Unless of course, the job pays well enough for me to hire a nanny. Yeah, right!
Posted by Jennifer @ 12:25 AM
Sunday, August 06, 2006
That Time of Year Again
Yes, it's upon us. I'm referring to the "back to school" season, but not in the way you'd think. Of course we're cramming in last visits to the pool and field trips with our friends, shopping for new shoes and backpacks and, for the first time, a lunch box (my oldest baby's going to kindergarten--sob!).But the back to school season I'm referencing is the one that requires my husband to work on the weekends. As a carpenter, he does a lot of work on schools, and August is always crunch month. New schools have to be ready in time for grand opening ceremonies. Work on old schools has to be completed so teachers can set up their rooms for the coming year. And everyone needs it done yesterday.
So it was no surprise that he had to work on Saturday, meaning six straight days of togetherness that featured me and the kids, exclusively. "That's okay," I just keep telling myself, "time and a half, time and a half." My dad was on a fishing trip, so my mom was home alone too, and we spent most of the morning with her for a little variety.
When my cell phone rang on Saturday night while I was scrapbooking with some friends, I immediately panicked. Other people's husbands call to chat or ask questions, or to put the kids on to say goodnight. Mine does not. We use the cells strictly for commuting updates ("traffic is horrible--I'm gonna be late") and food requests ("I'm at the store--what should I get for dinner?"). He NEVer calls me when I'm out with friends, so I thought something must be terribly wrong. Well, no one was in jeopardy, but the news wasn't good either. His boss wanted him to work on Sunday.
Now, it's no fun missing family time together or losing the "me" time I sneak in when there's another adult in the house to ride herd on the boys. But this time it's even worse because I'M ON DEADLINE! I cannot write during the day when I'm home with the kids. I can't even talk on the phone, which means phone interviews are out. The bulk of my writing happens in the evenings and on the weekends, and right now I'm about halfway through a 13-story assignment that's due by the end of the week. I have three completed interviews waiting to be turned into stories, and two more meetings scheduled for Monday. Several of my contacts can't seem to make the effort to return any of my calls, and I'm really starting to feel the pressure, big time. And now I've lost Sunday, too.
I just have to breathe deeply and keep telling myself, "Double time, double time."
Posted by Jennifer @ 1:35 PM
Friday, August 04, 2006
Cows Are So Immodest
Out of the blue today, Charlie asked, "Do you remember how the baby used to drink out of your bra?"Wondering where we were going with this line of questioning, I answered, "Yes, all three of you did when you were babies."
"Huh," he said. "Sort of like a cow."
"Like a cow!" echoed Ted.
Exactly, except cows don't wear bras.
Posted by Jennifer @ 10:17 PM
Wednesday, August 02, 2006
A Lot of People Must Drink Beer!
This evening I was finishing up my grocery column for the week, and it was about specialty beers. I was having a hard time coming up with a headline, and my husband and I were brainstorming. His were cute, but not useable ("Hop on in and see what's brewing . . . it's the yeast you can do!"). I said out loud, "How about, 'Calling All Beer Lovers.'" From the next room, Charlie responded, "Why don't you just call one of them? It would take a long time to call them all."Posted by Jennifer @ 6:02 PM
Tuesday, August 01, 2006
Cautiously Optimistic
I'm almost afraid to say anything, but I think we may be seeing the light at the end of the tunnel with this potty training thing. We've been working on this with Teddy for quite some time now, with quite a few setbacks.We had some minor success in the spring. He attended a month-long free daycare that our local high school students run every year so they can practice what they've learned in their childhood development classes on real little kids. For that month, he wore pull-ups every day, and while he was rarely dry at home, he did manage to stay dry at school. We grew bold and purchased underwear, but after that month, he announced to us that there was no need for him to give up diapers now that school was over.
We tried again a few weeks later, and were making some progress. But then he had an accident with his older brother's bike that severed the tip of his thumb. With a giant dressing and bandage on his hand, he couldn't pull his pants up and down, so we abandoned the whole idea for another month while he healed (yeah, that was lots of fun).
For our next attempt, my husband decided to take a hard line and just put him in "unders," skipping the pull-ups. One Saturday, he wet at least four pairs, and when I discovered him with a giant lump of you-know-what in the fifth pair, he looked at me and said, "NOW can I have a diaper?"
So it was time to pull out the bribes. We promised M&Ms, lollies, Scooby Doo movies, cupcakes, you name it (mostly junk food--the kid loves to eat). We'd have some good days, with lots of cheering and rejoicing over his little contributions in the potty, but we had plenty of bad ones, too. Then one day, I hit on it. Since bribery wasn't working, how about some good old-fashioned deprivation? The idea didn't exactly occur to me like a thunderbolt--I more or less stumbled upon it out of frustration.
When he had yet another setback (not crazy about the word "accident"), and told me for the umpteenth time with NO conviction in his voice "I'll go peep on the potty toMORrow, Mommy," my eyes came to rest on the beloved "Cars The Movie" Happy Meal toy he'd been carrying everywhere for days. Since nothing else seemed to matter to him, I told him he had one more chance, but if he wet another pull-up that day, he had to hand over Ramone. He could earn his car back the next time he used the potty if his pull-up at the time was still dry.
Needless to say, Ramone was mine about an hour later. I felt terrible as he cried and flung himself at the refrigerator, trying to knock his beloved car off the top where I'd put it out of reach. But my husband and I resolved to stand strong. Unfortunately, my poor baby wasn't dry for the rest of the day, so Ramone had to get used to his lofty perch. He earned him back for a few minutes the next day, and then it was right back on top of the fridge.
Over the next week or so, other beloved toys joined Ramone up there as we decided to put on the pressure. I think losing his "kiki" was the final straw. He's like Linus with that blanket, and one bleak afternoon, my husband took it away. I couldn't stand to look. That night, my older son consoled him by offering his own blankey, and I found the two of them in bed together when I went to check on them.
The next morning, the first thing I did was make sure he earned back that blanket. And that day he earned back everything else, completely on his own! At the end of his first entirely dry day, he finally got to watch that Scooby Doo video we'd been dangling, and from there on out, we never looked back.
He's still wet in the morning, but I'll take my victories where I can get 'em. When I suggested underwear because he's been pretty much doing everything on the potty during the day, he told me, "When school starts, I will wear them." I think we have a deal!
Posted by Jennifer @ 11:24 PM