The Aches of Motherhood

21 03 2008

Two nights ago, Colby woke up at about two a.m. screaming like crazy. I could not for the life of me figure out what was wrong–he didn’t want to eat, he wasn’t wet, he didn’t have a fever–he just kept scratching his head with both hands. And screaming. (That’s how I figured out something was wrong.)

After awhile, he finally calmed down, and he and I spent the rest of the night on the couch. Don’t get me wrong, I like snuggling with my baby as much as the next person, but I had stayed up WAY too late the night before finishing a book so I was already pretty sleep-deprived. Stan reminded me that Colby won’t be a baby forever, and to just enjoy it while I still can.

Well, last night before I went to bed, I noticed I was having some back pain. I started doing some back-strengthening exercises about a week ago because I feel like my posture is going to pot, so I assumed the soreness was from that. My assumption was disproved when Colby again woke up screaming (although not until almost six this time). We headed downstairs with Stan’s reminder in my brain, and snuggled down on the couch.


Apparently, it wasn’t so much the back exercises that were making me sore, but sleeping with a 20+ pound weight on my chest.

And what a cute little weight he is.

Can I get lamer?

19 03 2008

I was just picking some stuff up around the house (Easter eggs, mostly, which is why I refuse to get them out until a week before the day) thinking about my last post, and realizing how idiotic I am.

Being completely honest with myself, I realized that, in posting that last thing, I really just wanted people to comment and tell me how cool they think I am. Is that pathetic or what? I really hope my self-worth isn’t dependent on this blog, or I am in for some serious depression.

I may not be cool, but I am a worthwhile person. I do good things. I love a lot of people. I have people who love me. In other words, I am okay.

Please feel free not to comment.

I’m NOT cooler than you. Huh.

19 03 2008

My brother used to have this sticker on his wallet, and whenever I’d say something lame he’d flash it at me–“I’m cooler than you.”

Since then, it has been kind of a catch phrase for us.

But today, as I was wasting time blog-hopping (you can almost go forever!) and reading blogs of people I know from times and places long ago–amazing people, all of them, filled with insight and humor and wisdom and coolness–well, I realized something.

I’m pretty much a dork and my blog is super-lame.

And, in fact, I’m not cooler than anyone. Go figure.

Listening–at least part of the time

17 03 2008

Zack got invited to a birthday party last Saturday. He was SO excited to go and give his friend from school the Lego Racer he picked out at the store. He didn’t even want to go to the mall (usually a favorite outing) on Saturday morning because he was worried he’d be late for the party, which wasn’t for four hours.

I think I might be a little more paranoid than most about letting my kids go to other kids’ houses–you just never know what your kid is picking up. What can I say? I’m a control freak, I guess. Anyway, Zack had gone to this kid’s party last year and had a good time. When I went to pick him up, he was smiling and happy after playing with friends. As he was getting ready to leave, the host mom said to the birthday boy, ‘Don’t forget the party stuff!’ So Zack followed them to the kitchen where the party favors were, and they turned out to be some fake tattoos.

He put up his hand and said, “We don’t like tattoos.”

Host mom said, “You don’t want them?”

Zack again said, “We just don’t like tattoos.”

Host mom, “Well, all right.”

My first thought–wow! He was listening to something I said! With his seven-year-old-punk attitude that crops up more and more often lately (“I’m not doing anything I don’t like to do!”), I must admit the sensation being supremely gratifying.

My second thought–does he know they aren’t real tattoos? I’m not a big fan of fake tattoos, but there is a significant difference between the ones etched permanently into your skin with a needle and the ones that wash off with warm water and some concentrated scrubbing.

My third thought–have I squeezed the joy out of my child’s life? No kid should have to say no to party favors. Still, it’s not like he took the tattoos and I forced him to give them back because they were “eevil”, right?

I decided it was his decision–and I was pleased that he made the choice he did, standing up for what he felt was right.

On our way out, there were two ladies sitting on the porch, visiting while they smoked. They said to me, “He’s so cute!” (Zack gets that a lot, being about the size of a five-year-old with a vocabulary beyond his actual age). We headed to the car and Zack said, kind of loudly, “I think somebody was smoking!”

Next lesson (and hopefully he’s listening): tact.

Eden is Responsible

13 03 2008

At my kids’ elementary school, they have award assemblies once a month to “catch kids being good”. There are principal’s awards and superstar awards; I don’t know what the difference is, but they have them both.

Eden won one this last month–she was so surprised to see us in the back of the room.

Eden with the principal.

Shaking hands (sort of).

Our little superstar! We love you, Eden! Way to act responsibly!

Here’s one of Colby on the floor in the back of Eden’s classroom. I just stuck the camera down and pulled the trigger, and I really like the way it turned out for some reason. The angle, maybe? I don’t know.

Eden loves to draw pictures for people. She’s always leaving notes on me and Stan’s (I don’t know if that’s correct grammatically, but I did it for the ‘Burg) pillows. She also draws one for her kindergarten teacher about once a week. It was fun to see this on the wall when we visited her classroom.

Empty Cheese Ball Container

13 03 2008
Speaking of Sam’s Club–which was the other day, really, but whatever–Rainbow somehow managed to talk me into buying one of those gigantic things of cheese balls. I don’t know how, honestly. Sometimes I think she’s a witch.

But anyway, the kids ate them all within about four days, and I vowed that we would never again buy cheese balls. Unless it’s someone’s birthday. Then it would be okay.

What can you do with the gigantic cheese ball container once it is empty? Rainbow, as usual, has an answer: give yourself a foot bath.

Poor Cinderelly

11 03 2008

As you can see, the server is working again. Phew.

As you may also be able to see, Cinderella didn’t come out of the wash unscathed.

Don’t tell Eden. Maybe she won’t notice.