I’ve decided there are two letters in the alphabet that kids detest and getting them to say them is as difficult as applying sunscreen to a child’s eyelids. These letters are “O” and “K”. Why oh why is it so difficult to get a little bit of agreement or even acknowledgement of my request going on in my house using these two letters? No matter the situation, “OK” is never the response. Never, ever, ever… I’m convinced there is some “little kid night school” that happens while I’m sleeping that teaches kids how to torture their parents. It teaches 4 year olds how to twist words around and ask so many questions that the parents don’t even remember what the request was in the first place! The following non-ok conversations were just from TODAY.
Monthly Archives: July 2009
I thought briefly about writing another “woe is me” post about my precious daughter who makes me wonder how I’m going to make it another day with her hurl-me-out-the-window tantrums (yes, we had another of those days yesterday), but then I stopped in my tracks. I’ve been hearing about and reading some blogs lately about moms who probably would give their left arm for a child who at their worst throws a 30 minute tantrum. I’ve been reading about moms who are grieving over children that they sadly lost or moms who are fighting alongside their terminally ill babies. Babies who are the same age as mine. Babies who so unfairly aren’t given the chance that they should be given to live a full life. And it makes me realize that I really have no right to complain about what’s “normal”. She might throw abnormally, outrageously LONG tantrums over things as silly as the blanket on the couch not being placed correctly on top of her or her Cinderella “wedgie-free” undies giving her a wedgie, but it’s what every mom of a 4.5 year old goes through (right? right?) so I really shouldn’t complain. So I won’t. At least not today. Because today, my heart is aching for MckMama who you can read about here and Heather Sphor who you can read about here.
I did not go to Blogher. I FELT like I was at Blogher because I stayed tuned to all of the goings-on through Twitter and felt involved in all of the drama that occured but I. Was. Not. There. And I was bummed. Bummed that I didn’t get to meet all of the blogelebrities (the name I’ve given to the “Her” bloggers who EVERYONE knows and wants to meet) that I dedicate my time to reading. Bummed that I didn’t get the excuse to go shopping for some hip new clothes for going out to all the cool parties that were thrown. Bummed that I didn’t get to learn ways to drive more readers and commenters to my blog and ask some of the well renowned bloggers how they’ve become so successful. Bummed that I didn’t get to make some new friends who have a new found passion for writing like I do and who are going through much of what I am.
Tim thinks I worry to much. I just say I wonder a lot. Tim thinks I get stressed too easily. I think he might be right. I wish I wasn’t one of those people who gets worked up over little things. I try to relax and just go with the flow but I guess it’s just not in my genes. For someone with such a disorganized house (MY fault, not Tim’s) you’d think I wouldn’t care so much about “order”. But even if you can’t see “order” when you walk into my house, the behind the scenes operations run like a very well greased machine. Don’t mess with my machine… it’s held together nicely with duct tape and string but could fall apart pretty easily if pushed or pulled the wrong way. And then we’d all be in trouble. Ok – where am I going with this… my list of today has to do with what’s behind Me “the stress-ball”
My dog ate three crayons yesterday. It has made for rainbow colored poop today which Hannah thinks is just beautiful but I am quite disturbed by. I’m telling you, that dog will eat ANYTHING. Anything includes tinfoil, the innards of a stuffed animal, lipstick, rubber soles of shoes, chicken bones and plastic spoons. She will NOT however eat grapes. Not sure what THAT is about but she’ll carry it off, and then just rest her chin on it, as if it’s her most prized possession.
Reading one of my favorite blogs (Not Drowning, Mothering) yesterday reminded me how much I absolute detest vomiting. And it’s not just ME vomiting (although there is absolutely nothing worse in my mind) it’s anyone or anything vomiting. I truly am paranoid about it and feel there should be a phobia dedicated to it. I’ll call it Barphobia (like Barf-obia). All it takes is to HEAR that someone who I make have been around, spoken to, or read about got sick and I all of a sudden am convinced I will in turn start vomiting. I get the chills, abdominal pains, dizzy, etc. This actually happened yesterday in reading the latest post in Not Drowning. Maybe it was the descriptive words she chose in describing her husband and child getting sick that made me nauseous but none the less, I shut off my computer and went to get some ginger ale. The cure all in my book.