Tuesday, June 29, 2010
So we are on week 2 of keeping the house in the order I would prefer it and we are doing well. There has had to be some slight ‘nudging” when Tarzan and I just want to be lazy but in the long run it has paid off. Until Sunday afternoon, that is. The family returned from a very fruitful visit to the library and we were all still buzzing from the sights, smells, and sounds of one of our most treasured places. I was emptying the contents of the dryer onto the recliner with a smile on my face and a song in my head. That is where something in me snapped. It may have spurred from being sassed by Cheetah for the the 20th time in the past hour or it could have been my lack of ‘happy momma’ pills (I am starting to think I may need to be on something full time from now on, lol), who knows really. Sigh, here it goes.
I tell Tarzan that in this load are his work clothes so he may want to get hangers. He replies, “Are they hot” and I say, “Yes”. He begins folding the rest of the clothes as I return to the laundry room. Tarzan is getting on to Cheetah for sassing me when I notice that he has draped his freshly laundered work pants on top of the recliner (a haven for the cats so it’s COVERED in fur) and I interrupt him discipling Cheetah and ask, “What’s the deal with your pants? I am not rewashing them because they are covered in fur.” He replies, “They don’t need to be rewashed, just ‘warmed up’ in the dryer.” Furious I say, “Why didn’t you say something before I took them out of the dryer?” He responds, “I did. I asked you if they were hot and you said they were…but they weren’t.” Fuming I turn and say, “From now on I will be washing Cheetah’s and my clothes only. If you are going to be so particular then you can wash your own crap. I don’t care if you live out of the dryer. I am done.” Seeing my crazy eyes, Tarzan STILL doesn’t waver. He retorts, “Fine, are we going to alternate cooking and dishwashing too? Pissed I bellow, “No I will cook for the boy and I and you can fend for your damn self.” We continue cleaning up the house and putting away clothes in TOTAL silence. I decide to start cooking the family’s favorite meal, fuming. Midway through I decide that I am done with my tirade and I want to make this a peace offering. Tarzan isn’t buying it. Cheetah says, “Daddy why are you so quiet?” Tarzan responds, “I am just trying to enjoy the last meal that your mother will ever cook for me.” We both burst out laughing.
For the rest of the night and the next day (and I am sure for a lot longer than that) Tarzan has been making little jokes poking fun at my insanity. A whole 48 hours later, I am still trying to figure out what the hell that was all about. It’s amazing how things get out of control so quickly. I think the next tattoo I get should read, “Contents under Pressure”.
Tuesday, June 22, 2010
The sudden change made me look back in some of my journals I used to keep, before the good old days of airing your dirty laundry and I realized a trend. The Smith household has a pattern of moods, if you will. For several weeks or months the house will run like a well oiled machine and then a gear gets stuck and production hits a snag. This is where I usually pick up the slack, without realizing it and everything continues as normal. We can go for several more weeks like this until the gas runs low and I begin to run on fumes. Then comes the blowup. For about 2 weeks the house is like a mind filed, just a misspoken word could warrant a full frontal attack by either party. It’s not pretty. Then one of us gives in, usually Tarzan, (I don’t always give him the credit he deserves) and the cleaning crew is called in and we are ‘business as usual’ yet again. So I have decided that obviously this needs to be addressed. If this is the SAME fight we have over and over again, it’s time to lay it to rest.
After a DEEP cleaning the house is where I (the stress should be on the ‘I’) like it to be and I plan on keeping it that way. I have decided to suck up my pride and deal with the heavy sighs and eye rolling that I get from Tarzan and ask (nicely and with NO nagging) to please help with daily tasks so things will never reach my land mind state. Mind you I have tried this before but I am up for giving it the 'good ole college try' and seeing if we can really push past this mess (pun intended).
So far so good, now mind you we are on week one but I am hopeful. I will make sure that I ASK for help and don’t attempt to do it all myself and I will allow for his need for a night off from chores every once and a while and his weekly boy’s night. Now who’s up for starting a weekly girl’s night? How DO you get one of those??
Monday, June 21, 2010
I know that there are people in my family that are going to read this and think, “Bout time that girl gets a taste of what it was like having her around” but I swear I can NOT handle the constant talking. I am beginning to think that he just likes the cadence of his voice and wants to hear it over and over again. Maybe it’s soothing to him. All I know is that after like 2 hours my ears are bleeding and my sanity is hanging by a thread (I MAY be over exaggerating, but only a little). Heaven forbid if I tune out for a bit and try to regain some control or if he asks me a question that takes some thought. If he asks a question and I don’t answer fast enough he will ask it over and over again until I instinctually holler the answer. Bad Momma.
He has now decided that he wants to sing ‘like me’ in the car. Yeah, he doesn’t know the words, so it’s this loud (hilarious) humming form the backseat. When you turn around and look at him, he is SO proud of himself. He says, “Did you hear that Momma? I sing like you, a rock star.” Right, LMAO! At night he asks me to sing to him and the whole time I am trying my hardest to regain my composure. It’s very difficult to sing when you have someone repeating you in song the whole time. It sounds like a bad stereo rendition of really old camp songs.
His showmanship doesn’t stop there he has now begun his career as a Chippendale dancer. If the child is EVER asked to take off a piece of clothing he takes this as an open invitation. The clothes are off, and he IS shaking it! The entire time he’s alerting Tarzan and me to his shenanigans, “Hey, you see my new moves?!?” He’s four! I swear I have NO idea where he gets this from. The talking I get, the singing I get (I do both but with no real talent), but the naked dancing??? I’m drawing a blank. When I ask him where he learned this he gives me his blanket answer: “When I was in high school I learned this.” Really, high school?
I have heard of people that believe souls just leave one body and move to another. Maybe this is only REAL explanation to the abundance of personality that my son has been ‘blessed’ with. He does have some RARE moments of calm and sweetness that momentarily ice over the moments of shock and awe I experience. For example: He informed me why he loves God, “he makes everything just the way I like it” and one day he said,” I want to marry you Momma because you're perfect”.
Maybe it’s all a rouse to draw more people into his show. The other day I said, “Dude can you just chill for a minute, take a deep breath and calm down?” He shook his head and said, “How ‘bout you just stop fussing and watch.” Oh good God!
Tuesday, June 15, 2010
I am what I would consider to be a morning person, as long as I get those 15-20 minutes alone in the bathroom when I first get up. I didn’t get that today. Maybe that’s what’s wrong with me. It makes me wonder how that lady with 19 kids still has a voice; I would HAVE to be heavily medicated. How is she not screaming at the top of her lungs for just 15 minutes of quiet in a day?
I am beginning to think that getting out of the door every morning is now my daily ‘test’ from God. I just don’t get it. How hard is it to get your shoes on and get out the door? I feel like a broken record in the morning, “eat Cheetah, eat Cheetah, Cheetah eat your breakfast, shoes son, son your shoes, shoes boy, put on your shoes.” I do believe he must be part blue jay, if there is something shiny or bright I might as well give up on getting to work early. So we’ve made it out the door now we have to walk the 50 yards to the car, I so wish there was a way to blindfold him (I bet child services would ‘frown’ upon that). I love his enthusiasm and wonder he holds for the world but not on our way to school.
Having a child has driven me insane, I actually FEEL crazy. When I get in the car I have to have the a/c on because I am sweating, the last 15 minutes before heading to work is like 1 hour of cardio at the gym. My blood pressure must be through the roof! By the time I finally make it to work I have already answered about a bazillion questions and have been told to ‘watch this’ so many times I’m afraid my head might pop off.
How do you continually respond to the same question without losing your cool? How do you explain to a pre-schooler why (for the 500th time) you cannot turn around and watch him as he makes some strange face or dance move in my backseat? It must be me, I see other mother’s passing me on the road and they are smiling and saying something sweet to their young dears in the backseat (they’ve got to be taking their kid’s Adderall). I just have one and can’t keep my cool every day. Of course as I am dropping him off I feel like a big ole pile of poo for making just ONE more question a big deal or for fussing at him because he can’t hold on to his baggie of cereal. Of course even though I have been an ass for the last 30 minutes he still would rather spend the whole day with me at work than without me at all. ‘Mommy guilt’ it should have its own text book for psych majors, heck maybe its own degree.
I love that my child is exuberant (that’s one of his best qualities actually) it just boggles my mind when I consider I am supposed to train him in keeping on task. How will he ever make it at school? No wonder so many kids are being labeled as ADD, I believe we are expecting too much from our children. I mean they ARE children, the world is all new and exciting to them; of course they are going to be distracted by a bird or a plane flying over head.
I must keep repeating to myself, “He’s just 4. He’s just 4.” Followed quickly by, “Give yourself a break, you’re only human.”
Thursday, June 10, 2010
We’ve been concentrating on likes and dislikes as well as relationships lately so I asked why it is that he likes certain girls. He explained how he doesn’t like all girls the same and that there are girls he doesn’t like at all. We got back to discussing the girls that “he loves” (his words), Sara and Alexis. I asked, “Why do you love just these girls?” He sighed and said, “Momma I love girls who laugh when I fart, smell like perfume, look like make-up, and wear dresses.” Surprised I asked, “Why dresses Son?” Matter of factly he stated, “Because when they wear dresses I can see where their legs go.” I was left speechless and scared.
Here I was trying my hardest to raise the man all us women hope for and I end up getting one just like all the others. I am hoping that when the awkward teen years come about they will help to mellow his personality a bit, cause if not he is going to be the boy all the girls are warned about.
I guess this puts a couple of frequently asked questions to rest though, “Are they all like that?” “When do they turn into to such animals?” Yes, they really are ALL like that (to some extent) and apparently when they turn 4.
Tuesday, June 8, 2010
The answer is The FART.
Cheetah has discovered flatulence, and like all boys he finds it hilarious, amazing, and did I mention hilarious? The 4 year old has even discovered how to “pin it on” someone else. So far we have been able to keep this under wraps because it has happened at home or other non-public venues, until this weekend that is. I swear to you we did not feed him beans, broccoli, or other gas inducing agents, so I was shocked as to how much napalm one rear-end could dispense. He was letting his smoke bombs off in restaurants, stores, gas stations, and church; all the while laughing and pointing at who he felt, ‘dealt it’! Those I didn’t mind so much because he was laughing and pointing so all victims knew it was him, more than likely. It was the silent ones that were getting me. He would be sitting by me at church and I would get this huge whiff of the foulest air in the world, look down at him, and he would just grin. As soon as I would look up I would see that people around us were giggling and looking our way. ..He SO knew what he was doing by not breathing a word. He had me at his will. Damn kids.
Thursday, June 3, 2010
The 1st two nights went well. Tarzan was extremely helpful in getting the house ready for all of the Smith family and relatively well mannered as the family partied it up on Saturday. That is where my fantasy long weekend came to a screeching halt. Tarzan had borrowed a video game from a friend and I could only steal him away from it long enough to fold 4 loads of laundry and 1 load of dishes.
I had to wash dishes just so I could make a pitcher of tea...ridiculous. I drank as much of the tea that I could in the next day and a 1/2 and when I poured the last sip of tea, I put the empty pitcher in the fridge. To prove a point, of course. Two hours later he walked down the hall to our bedroom (where I was painting my toenails) and said, "Jane did you seriously put an empty pitcher BACK in the fridge?" "Come on, really?!?" I looked at him, shocked. He turned and walked away. I swear I was so pissed that I dreamed about that damn pitcher all night. I awoke with a plan. I wondered, would he react the same to other ‘tastes of his own medicine’.
He is always getting on to me for leaving condiments out after I fix my plate, I intend to be thoughtful and leave them out for his use, and I really don’t see it as a big deal. So on Sunday we made hamburgers and hotdogs, I was in the kitchen first to fix my plate. As soon as I was done with everything I put it back in the fridge. He walks in as I am sliding the ketchup in the door and he says, “Now come on, you know I was gonna need that.” I said, “Sorry you are always reminding me that I leave things out and I wanted to try to think ahead.” He responds, “Be reasonable.” Suprisingly I left this alone. I must say I am getting pretty good at this ‘biting my tongue’ thing, if I learn nothing else from this…I must say it’s probably worth it. Pick your battles.
Speaking of picking battles…Tarzan has this habit of hanging his clothes (freshly laundered) on the jam of the laundry room door (as well as on the shower curtain in Cheetah’s bathroom). At one point Monday night they were knocked down (I SWEAR that it was not me) and he found the dog laying on them in the hallway. He came to me (laughing) and said, "You owe me, the dog was laying on my pants (that were on the floor), I cleaned them off and hung them back up." I wanted to scream. Since when am I his maid? I responded, “Yeah you’re right, I owe YOU for cleaning your pants.” As he turned and walked away I gave serious thought to hurting him. LOL. How does it go from sweet, happy, loving, newlyweds to maid, cook, washer woman, and concierge?
All in all it was a good weekend, Cheetah and I cuddled as often and as long as he would allow it. His explanation for the shorter cuddle time was, “I’m older Momma, things are going to be different.” Oy vay. Tarzan and I did get lots of stuff done, we marked lots of stuff for our upcoming garage sale. It was a little hard to get it done though, between all the “killing” he did on the video game (insert sigh). Oh well, I guess we really all do have our own idea of a fantastic LONG weekend.