So this is another one of those guilty pleasures I have...I heart bed time. And by bed time, I mean not only my bed time, but the girls' bed time most especially. I think it has something to do with the following facts:
1) While the kids are in bed, I will not hear a whiny version of "Mooommmmmmmy..."
2) I will not have to say "Eat your dinner" for the 45th time straight, only to have Arlin get a little crazy look because he's so tired of hearing me say "Eat your dinner", and Laney apparently has not realized I was even talking to her
3) While the kids are in bed, I will not have to worry about who put what in their mouth or any other orafice
4) I will not have to think of ways to creatively entertain anyone while I make the dinner I know they will not eat, at least without the aforementioned 45 reminders to "Eat your dinner"
5) After bedtime, I will not have to to remember to get anyone a drink, to make sure anyone finished their homework, to see if anyone has crawled into the no-touch zone near any plugs/appliances/toilets/etc.
6) And after bed time, and falling asleep of course, they just look so dang innocent and cute I can't help but go into their rooms to look at their sweet faces and little hands and feet, and kiss them a bajillion times so I can remember how they are growing up so fast
7) MOST OF ALL, after bed time, I go by the name Brandy AND I can do whatever I want!!*
*Disclaimer: If by whatever I want equals doing the dishes, folding the last of the laundry, packing lunch for school the next day, hanging up clothes I've thrown on the floor during my haste when coming home from work, paying bills, doing paperwork for the hair salon OR cuddling with Arlin and watching a tv or movie or reading while taking a hot bath before I fall asleep in the tub from exhaustion. Because while the kids go to bed at 7 and 8 pm, I'm so tired I follow them well before midnight usually. Makes me feel a little old indeed!
Wednesday, September 15, 2010
Thursday, September 9, 2010
Blog Picture
I love this picture. The one where Laney is watching Lindsay with love and where Lindsay is staring, just staring at Laney with wonder and curiosity and love too. These sisters love each other so much. I think that is the best part of the whole...their feelings for each other. They love to play together, take baths together, eat together, and Laney gets upset if she misses a night kissing Lindsay before she is put to bed. I pray they always have that.
Friday, September 3, 2010
Thoughts of a Guilty Conscience
So I have a lot of things I've been thinking about lately, and I thought I would share. I've realized I actually enjoy things I'm not supposed to, or that society dictates is in appropriate. I'm going to share these things one at a time over the course of this blog and I hope you don't stone me if you see me in the streets...
VOL 1
I'm a working mother, and in polite company I say that's not by choice, or even by chance, but as a result of family financial necessity. I reality, if you were my BFF and we were drinking some tasty hot chocolate and eating donuts together, I'd tell you it's slightly by choice and a little by a personal need to feel intelligent and like someone other than "Mom". While I don't relish being away from home a lot (read 50 - 70 hours a week), I do actually enjoy working. I enjoy the challenge of a job that requires me to juggle my separate lives, to coordinate more than the legos and dinner time, more than alphabetizing my DVD collection or color and seasonally sorting my clothes closet. I feel so guilty about this enjoyment of "work" though - isn't work supposed to be this awful thing where I'm the donkey and my boss is this angry short person who rides in the cart I haul around all day? I'm supposed to want to stay home and "sleep in", play with my kids and do nothing but watch Oprah right? I actually enjoy the projects and the days, I feel more productive and like I use at least 50% more of my brain.
I have news for you working thinkers of what staying home means -- it is not always that fun. You wake up early so your spouse, who works at a "real" job (my thoughts not his), can sleep that last few minutes before the alarm. You get up with a the babies and the kids, fix them breakfast and listen to endless rounds of "I don't like ______", "Why can't we have ______?", "I don't want to go to school today", "I don't know where my homework is", "Why can't I wear this to school?", etc., etc., etc. You are the world's master negotiator for your house, determining what to battle, what to let go, what to pretend you don't see, and what to talk to your spouse about later because you're stumped. You continue through your day with a list of chores (inside and outside), a list of broken things to fix, and meals to create during the in-between "down" time. You hug the hurt, you punish the naughty, you coordiante the activities of all, and some how you are expected to know where everyone has dropped every item in their possession so you can find it when they want it. You also get to experience some of the great moments: a first step, a first word, sucessful shoe tying, potty training victories, angelic faces during naps, learning how to eat ice cream cones, first line of report for great days at school, a first boyfriend, etc. There are some great moments in there during all that laundry and cleaning and cooking, right?! And while I really love those moments and miss them when I don't see them, that's what they still are to me -- small moments of victory. Small moments of endless joy. I'm not so good at abiding my time waiting for a moment or a highlight (you could say I have a short memory).
So I go to work, out of necessity, out of a small personal need to be recognized for my small successes. A need to see my work in the bright lights, and to bask in my co-workers awe (humor me here). And I feel guilty, I do. I'm not wishing away their childhood, I'm not. I really do LOVE the smiles, the cuddles, the innoncent questions, the simple challenges that don't involve dating or drugs or illegal activities. Don't hate me because I can't stand endless laundry or diaper changes with a wiggley twenty pound baby. Don't hate me because I feel like my surrogate dad who told me once that he liked his kids better after they hit their late teens because at that age he could talk in conversations with them. Don't hate me because sometimes I have a need to be known only as "Brandy" and not just "Mom".
VOL 1
I'm a working mother, and in polite company I say that's not by choice, or even by chance, but as a result of family financial necessity. I reality, if you were my BFF and we were drinking some tasty hot chocolate and eating donuts together, I'd tell you it's slightly by choice and a little by a personal need to feel intelligent and like someone other than "Mom". While I don't relish being away from home a lot (read 50 - 70 hours a week), I do actually enjoy working. I enjoy the challenge of a job that requires me to juggle my separate lives, to coordinate more than the legos and dinner time, more than alphabetizing my DVD collection or color and seasonally sorting my clothes closet. I feel so guilty about this enjoyment of "work" though - isn't work supposed to be this awful thing where I'm the donkey and my boss is this angry short person who rides in the cart I haul around all day? I'm supposed to want to stay home and "sleep in", play with my kids and do nothing but watch Oprah right? I actually enjoy the projects and the days, I feel more productive and like I use at least 50% more of my brain.
I have news for you working thinkers of what staying home means -- it is not always that fun. You wake up early so your spouse, who works at a "real" job (my thoughts not his), can sleep that last few minutes before the alarm. You get up with a the babies and the kids, fix them breakfast and listen to endless rounds of "I don't like ______", "Why can't we have ______?", "I don't want to go to school today", "I don't know where my homework is", "Why can't I wear this to school?", etc., etc., etc. You are the world's master negotiator for your house, determining what to battle, what to let go, what to pretend you don't see, and what to talk to your spouse about later because you're stumped. You continue through your day with a list of chores (inside and outside), a list of broken things to fix, and meals to create during the in-between "down" time. You hug the hurt, you punish the naughty, you coordiante the activities of all, and some how you are expected to know where everyone has dropped every item in their possession so you can find it when they want it. You also get to experience some of the great moments: a first step, a first word, sucessful shoe tying, potty training victories, angelic faces during naps, learning how to eat ice cream cones, first line of report for great days at school, a first boyfriend, etc. There are some great moments in there during all that laundry and cleaning and cooking, right?! And while I really love those moments and miss them when I don't see them, that's what they still are to me -- small moments of victory. Small moments of endless joy. I'm not so good at abiding my time waiting for a moment or a highlight (you could say I have a short memory).
So I go to work, out of necessity, out of a small personal need to be recognized for my small successes. A need to see my work in the bright lights, and to bask in my co-workers awe (humor me here). And I feel guilty, I do. I'm not wishing away their childhood, I'm not. I really do LOVE the smiles, the cuddles, the innoncent questions, the simple challenges that don't involve dating or drugs or illegal activities. Don't hate me because I can't stand endless laundry or diaper changes with a wiggley twenty pound baby. Don't hate me because I feel like my surrogate dad who told me once that he liked his kids better after they hit their late teens because at that age he could talk in conversations with them. Don't hate me because sometimes I have a need to be known only as "Brandy" and not just "Mom".
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