Parenting Is A Full Contact Sport

I'm nursing a major fat lip tonight.

A boy child, who shall remain nameless, is to blame.

There was blood. There were tears (mine and his, because all the blood and my tears scared him). And there was a major time out.

All before 8:30 this morning. That's when I recovered sufficiently to send my hubs the picture:

It actually looks worse now that the bruising has shown up. It's fat and black, top and bottom.

This stay-at-home mom gig is hazardous to my health!

The injury occurred as part of an out-of-the-blue fit while said boy was enjoying some one-on-one time on my lap. (Talk about adding insult to injury!) We've tried to teach this boy many a time that he can't fling himself around like that because someone will get hurt.

I'm hoping the visual aid of blood all over my shirt might help him learn the lesson once and for all.

Otherwise, I'm asking Santa for a hockey mask and helmet for Christmas. And football pads and shin guards might not be a bad idea either.

© Trippin' Mama 2011

English, please?

I never would have guessed that life as a SAHM would make me feel exactly the same as discussing chaos theory with a group of international colleagues. But sometimes it does.

When I was a student in England, my class was composed of students from all over the world. Greece, Norway, Japan, Chile, France, Russia, England, America. We were a diverse group. Most of my classmates spoke English as their second language. Frankly, I found that I didn't speak English, but American, which is decidedly NOT the same!

We all quickly came up against the same communications barrier. We could use cultural references to make a point. You couldn't refer to some TV show or use Wal-Mart as a model. Because some of your classmates may have no understanding of your reference or, in the case of a Wal-Mart reference, it might be a very different thing in their country than in yours.

Overcoming this hurdle required some additional thinking and some interpretation skills. Some days my brain hurt from trying to explain myself or understand my classmates' explanations.

We were all foreigners in a foreign land, so to speak. The same is true in my house these days.

I am forever trying to interpret three different versions of "English" as the boys are learning to talk. They might all want the same thing, but the word they use does not sound the same. And I'm doing my best to figure it out as fast as possible before everyone gets mad and starts yelling at me.

Alex wants a "bah," Isaac's saying "pa" and Sam is pointing and squealing. Turns out everyone wants a paci, which no one gets because it's not naptime or bedtime. Cue the yelling.

And then there's Amelia. Her English is perfectly clear. (Today she used the word "perseverance" in a sentence and then explained to me exactly what it meant.) But her references sometime elude me.

Like at bedtime. She asked me to tell her a "Pongo story." That's a story about the 101 Dalmatians show. I referred to Purdy as Pongo's wife. About three minutes later Amelia asked me if Pongo was a farmer. Since my story had nothing to do with the dogs visiting a farm, I was very confused.

I was racking my brain for farm references from the movie. Nothing. So I explained that Pongo and Purdy were married, so the girl is the wife and the boy is the husband. Amelia responded by asking again about Pongo being a farmer.

Then the light bulb went on in my head.

"Oh, do you mean 'the farmer takes a wife?'"

That was it!

I might be a long ways and quite a few years away from my days as a student in England, but Mama's still got it.

© Trippin' Mama 2010

Life As A SAHM: I Really Miss The Shoes

Today I met a couple of friends for lunch and a little shopping. We checked out a new thrift store, and even found a couple of bargains.

All three of us are stay-at-home moms, and we laughed about our "uniform" of t-shirts and jeans. The reality is that practicality has completely trumped style. In fact, what would be most practical for me these days is a Teflon track suit. Everything would slide right off, and I could chase kids comfortably in it.

I went through my closet lately and weeded out clothes that are too big, that I have no place to wear anymore (unless I start wearing suits to do laundry in), and almost everything that needs to be dry cleaned. I kept a few nice things, just in case. And I have vowed to do a better than my usual ratty t-shirts. I bought myself a couple nice t-shirts and tops that are still casual, but wash-and-wear and practical for all the lifting, chasing and wrangling I do every day.

I don't miss getting dressed up every day, but you know what I do miss?

I miss the shoes.

I really miss the shoes.

I miss buying nice shoes to wear to work. I miss cute shoes that were perfect with just a few things in my closet. I miss shoes like these, which I have had for a year and worn exactly twice.

Nowadays my requirement for shoes is that they are comfortable for my 16-hours days and that I can do a 100-yard sprint in them. Tennis shoes, baby. Tennis shoes. And maybe a pair of sandals, but not the cute kind. The athletic-looking kind that can keep up with me and my kids.

Some women mourn the loss of their pre-baby bodies. I mourn the loss of my pre-baby footwear.

*sigh*

It's probably just as well. With what it costs me to put shoes on my kids' feet, cute is no longer in my budget anyway.

© Trippin' Mama 2010

Dear Today, You Suck

Dear Today,

You suck.

Sorry to be so blunt, but someone had to say it.

You've sucked from the minute I got up with the first triplet at 12:30 a.m. You still sucked at 2 a.m. At 3:15 a.m. At 5 a.m.

The suckiness continued at 7 a.m. when it became clear that Isaac had succumbed to the illness going around our house. Fever of 102, you suck, too.

Trying to take care of three other kids while carrying a 20-lb boy on one hip all morning. Sucked.

Incessant crying and whining. Sucked.

Finally getting everyone down for a nap and then lying down myself for some much-needed rest, only to be greeted seconds later by crying. Sucked.

For the record it sucked when the second and third babies woke up in the middle of the nap, too.

I think that was when I tweeted that I thought I should get a nanny and return to work. At least then I'd be getting paid to listen to my colleagues whine.

It's 3:30 now, so you still have a chance to redeem yourself, though I must admit I'm not very hopeful. You do have sick children working against you.

Still, do your best, would you? Thanks.

Sincerely,

Trippin' Mama

© Trippin' Mama 2010

Lunch Hour?

A week or so ago I was talking to a friend who doesn't have kids yet and is part of the paid work force. She was bemoaning the fact that lately she's been so busy that she has to eat at her desk and work through her lunch hour at least twice a week.

I tried to be sympathetic.

Really. I did.

But I was envious.

Lunch hour?

Lunch? As in that midday meal that I often gulp or miss completely?

Hour? As in a whole hour to yourself?

Lunch hour? As in a whole 60 minutes dedicated to the consumption of a meal, perhaps even a meal you didn't make yourself, and maybe even partaken in the pleasant company of others who don't throw food or spill their milk?

*sigh*

I miss those lunch hours.

I will admit that lunch hour has gotten much easier since the boys can mostly feed themselves, but still I don't always sit down and eat. It can be done, but it requires precision timing.

First, I must cut up an entire meal's worth of food for three boys, guessing at their hunger level: starving, ravenous, or seriously, Mom, when did you last feed us?

Then I have to prepare something for myself to eat.

Then, and only then can I put the boys in their high chairs to eat. Because this is where the tricky part comes in.

I must time my intended consumption of my lunch carefully. There is a tiny window of opportunity. It is that precise moment between when my boys have quit falling upon their food like lions on a zebra -- which requires me to refill trays rapid pace, rather than eat myself -- and before they have filled up, lost interest and starting throwing food or screaming at each other and must be cleaned up and gotten down.

Miss that window, and I must either eat standing up, gulping food in between feeding my boys or cleaning them up, or I wait until nap time.

And when Amelia isn't at preschool, we have an added danger that must be avoided: The mid-meal potty run. Because nothing says appetizing like helping a preschooler with the potty!

Ah, yes. Lunch hour. I remember you fondly.

Some day we shall meet again.

Got a New Job

Today I started my new job as stay-at-home-mom. Well, technically, my last day of work was Dec. 29, but with Jeff here all last week it didn't really feel official until today.

When I got up this morning and looked at those three sweet little faces in their crib, I remembered returning to work after Amelia was born. I cried the night before because I didn't want to leave her. We dropped her off at daycare the next morning and I started panicking. I remember telling Jeff I thought I had miscounted and I actually had one more week before I had to return to work. Of course I hadn't miscounted, and Amelia was properly doted on at daycare. So this morning I was grateful to be here with my guys instead of leaving them with someone else. Besides, they are the cutest workmates I've ever had!

So happy together: Alex, Sam, Isaac

Oh, I'm sure there will be days when I will want to eat my children whole or leave them at the curb for someone to pick up, but then over the years there have been days when I've felt that way about some of the people I've worked with, too! Frustrations aside, I know that I will still be glad to be here raising these boys. It won't last forever, and already they are growing so fast. Too soon they'll be waving goodbye as they head off to school.

In the meantime, I'll try to treasure all the fun things, like being here for all the firsts (Isaac was the first to really laugh out loud on Saturday!) and watching my guys interact with each other. It really won't be that different from my career in PR anyway. I'll still do a lot of communicating (in short declarative sentences: "NO!") and still be cleaning up other people's messes. :-)

And I'll take payment in million dollar smiles like this any day.

Isaac