Things my Husband Will Never Experience

 

 

1. Taking a dump with an audience nearly every day.

 

2. Getting dressed with an audience nearly every day.

 

3. That trying to work while you are the main caretaker of your children is like being constantly poked, prodded and hair-pulled by chimpanzees and that 30 seconds is not nearly long enough to sustain the concentration needed to complete a task. any task, really.

 

unless you are taking a dump.  because then you are just trying to get out of the bathroom and lose your audience as fast as possible.

Toddler-rama

 

 

You know how when your 2 year old is being charming and winsome when you are out in public?  And people come up to you and tell you some variation of:

 

I miss those days!

 

Enjoy it! They grow so quickly!

 

Those are the best years!

 

And you look at them with a pained smile because:

 

Clearly they have FORGOTTEN.

 

The intensity, the mercurial emotion, moving from smiling happiness to screaming Hulk-out rages in 3.7 nanoseconds

 

The physicality, bearing the brunt of a child who decides he needs to be picked up and held right about the time when you are actually involved in actual work that goes best with 2 actual hands and, if you don’t pick him up, hearing the ear-splitting cries of rage and tragedy, getting the lash-out with hands or feet or the attempts with teeth.

 

The constant reaching and grabbing for things that should not be reached or grabbed and the following rage when you dare to move it out of reach or grab range or even wrestle it from victorious fists.

 

I’m not actually sure HOW you can forget this, but apparently most people do, or at least the ones that tell me how much I will miss it do.

 

Five,  yes, I’m having fun with five but 2? not so much….

What If

 

 

I hate it when Reality interferes with my Imaginary Life.

 

And vice versa.

Halloween

Miles wants to be a dolphin for Halloween this year.

(and a whale next year. and a ghost the year after that. and maybe a dog the year after that.  He takes long-term planning seriously.)

I am seriously considering a costume for myself.  Something highly impractical, long-skirted, that makes one want to yell “huzzah!”  quite often.

Yeah, you know what I’m talkin’ about.

I’m about to get medieval on your a$$.  (ha)

But you see how this will devolve, don’t you?  Not having a job in which I have to actually go out in public in decent clothes, I can, you know, pretty  much wear whatever I want.  First it’s a Medieval Dame for Halloween, next I’ve made a bunch of hoop skirts to wear around the house and pretty soon my whole wardrobe will consist mainly of period garb. Which I will start wearing out, since I pretty much don’t really care what other people think (I mean, for the most part.  Or maybe it’s just that I’m too tired).

 

Yeah. My kids are going to be scarred for life.

 

 

Innie, Pt II: The Parent Trap

The only thing about being an innie, right? Is that no one tells you how being a parent is going to be SO HARD.  Devastatingly hard, at times. Cah-RAZY hard. Need-a-drink-right-this-minute-give-me-the-whole-damn-bottle hard.

Cause on the one hand, see, you got this powerful need to decompress, right?  to let your brain not have to deal with any more sensory input, right? to be quiet and think and listen to maybe even nothing, just the crickets and a random car going by.

And on the other hand, see, you got these two boy children. And boy children?  They don’t stop.

Ever.

The Energizer Bunny?  He’s got nothing on them.  They NEED to go. They NEED to yell and scatter toys and wreak havoc and mayhem and stick tape on the cat.  They NEED to tell you what is going on in their brain every second because it’s so important and interesting to them (which is fine, by the way)

And it’s all fine.  I understand that they need that.  But. I need the other stuff, too. the quiet and calm.

So it’s two conflicting needs fighting.

And I’m not saying extroverts have it easy.  I can stay home for days on end with the kids (as long as we can get outside) and its fine.  It’s hard to go out with kids; its got to be super-hard for extroverts to fill their tanks with adult social interaction just as it’s hard for me to carve out some peace to process.

There’s more and more books and articles about parenting introverted kids (OMG!  Little Debbie doesn’t want to come out of her room! She just wants to read ALL DAY LONG!  What’s WRONG with her?? Does she need therapy??? Medication????)  (um, puh-lease. she just needs to you let her read and be there with a hug and a cookie when she comes up for air. she’s fine. it’s cool. just chill.), which is very good. The last thing a kid needs is to feel like there’s something wrong with him because he doesn’t want to be simultaneously part of 3 sports teams, the debate club and orchestra.

But there’s not a whole lot out there about how to stay sane as an introvert parent.  Blogs? Yes. Books? Not so many.

Maybe I’ll write one someday.

If I survive.

Innie, Pt I

 

 

I’m an introvert.

 

I’ve always known I have been an introvert and, until a couple years ago when I read Quiet by Susan Cain, I never actually realized that introversion can be viewed very negatively by some people or by society at large. Not that I wasn’t aware that extrovert traits are prized in our culture, but i didn’t know innies were looked so badly upon.

 

Frankly, I feel like being an introvert is awesome. I love being an introvert.  True, I’d rather stay home in my jammies with an adult beverage and a book (and ice cream. and chocolate.) than go to a party but I’m certainly not SCARED of parties. And also I don’t need anyone to entertain me. So its kind of the most awesome of both worlds.

 

Introverts rule.

8.12

I know you don’t understand my life, the goodness, the sweetness and the parts that make me tear my hair out.

A lot of it is me. I know that. I don’t do well under certain conditions that seem to transpire quite frequently when you are a parent of small ones.

So.  It’s more me than them.

(I wrote you a long letter, did you know?  When I had that bad day after our brief interlude, when I was crying. I won’t post it here. Maybe somewhere else. But nowhere where anyone knows me.  I don’t want to hurt you. What you said was true.  At any rate, I believe what you said as my own way of thinking.  Sometimes I need to highlight the tediousness, tho, you know?  As a way to get through it. I know you don’t understand)

You’ve seen the pictures, right?  All the pictures out there in the cyber-world, of mamas and dads learning with their kids, the instagrammed photos of sweet faces, chubby hands, curly heads, the sun streaming in the window over the table filled with crafts, everyone happily creating some darling work of art or quietly learning their letter of the day.

It’s peaceful and harmonious and full of such love.

Image

Here’s my version.

 

You see, they don’t record the scene five minutes later.  The havoc. The 2 year old cutting up everyone’s delicious art project. The 5 year old collapsing on the floor because he can’t get it to look just the way he wants.  The 2 year old again, applying glue or glitter or crayons or magic marker or watercolors or colored pencils or (did I mention sidewalk chalk?) anything really, to the walls, again, for the 10th time.

No biggie.

Gotta run.  The 2 year old is cutting up all the flowers outside with his kiddie pinking shears.

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