I am feeling less complainy today. Much better.
Debriefing helped, and a full night's rest didn't hurt either. Sorry if I hurt anyone's feelings with my rants or made anyone upset. It wasn't my intention at all!
I'm glad I have my daily picture blog to see the real happiness that surrounds me on an almost daily basis. You should read it, otherwise you just might think I'm crabby, complainy, and grouchy all the time!
Saturday, July 16, 2011
Friday, July 15, 2011
Complainy-pants
I am in a complainy-pants sort of mood.
My house is a pathetic wreck. I sit here in our sunroom and look around at papers strewn about, 4th of July decorations yet to be put away, dust collecting, cobwebs, Pearl's toys that have been sent to timeout, and odds and ends that drive me bonkers. You'd think I'd clean up in here seeing as how we walk through here every single day, every single time we go in and out of the house, or to Pearl's room. Nope. It's the one room I never seem to get around to cleaning anymore.
I hate cleaning lately. I used to love it. But it seems hopeless. There are still crumbs all over the floor, cereal in the carpet, cobwebs hanging from my bedroom ceiling to the curtain rods, dust, horrible garbage smells, food in the sink, and clutter everywhere. I did scrub every square inch of the bathroom though. Although I'm sure the sparkle won't last more than a few days. I seriously can't describe the utter despair I feel when I think about cleaning. Hell freezing over has a better chance of happening than a clean house.
And if I hate cleaning, then I absolutely loathe cooking. Why should I even bother? Nothing sounds good. And when I do make something, no one wants to eat it. Pearl complains until we have to threaten her with her life to try it. Cole spits it out. I know I'm not a great cook but I'm trying. And if I didn't have two kids screaming at me come 6 p.m. for something to eat, I'd just let everyone eat Goldfish crackers for dinner. They'd prefer that over anything I made anyway.
I'm bored, unchallenged, and frustrated at work. Sometimes I think, just quit then. But then how would we pay for our bills and let's face it. I suck as a stay-at-home mom. I barely make it through a Friday and the weekend. Like today. I had had it with Cole's constant crying, whining, and clinging to my legs. I couldn't even go pee! So I put him in bed and have let him scream for a good half hour while I blog and cry.
I have no friends.
My feet are gross. Really, they are disgusting.
I need a haircut so bad. My hair is a stringy, limp, mess. It has a bazillion split ends, which I pick out constantly, and I swear it's falling out in clumps.
I feel fat. Ugly. Useless.
The days I get to stay home from work are the days my kids are sick. Not for something fun. Yeah, both were puking this week.
Why doesn't money just grow on trees? Or why can't I find some long lost rich relative? So I can go on vacation, pay someone to build us a covered patio since no one seems to have time or desire to come help us with it, fix our stupid 101-year-old, falling apart house (have I mentioned our titled floor is cracking AGAIN?), have a maid service come in and deep clean my house, put in a sprinkler system, etc, etc, etc.
I'm super irritated at Cole. He's reverting back to infancy! The kid wakes up every three hours at night! I need to break my own bad habit of staying up until 11:30 or midnight, but holy moly! Does he have to get up at 1 a.m. then 4 a.m. then 7:30 a.m.? Every night! For months! Considering the last kid I had to let cry through the night took THREE hours of screaming to do and me sitting in the dining room the entire THREE hours bawling isn't helping with my lack of desire to repeat this process with Fern. It's crossed my mind that maybe he has an ear infection again but I don't want to take him to the doctor because if it's nothing, then I'll feel stupid for having to spend $25 for a copay to be told he's fine.
Cole uses me like a dang chew toy! I thought we were almost done nursing but now that's the only thing he wants from me. But with four sharp teeth, he gnaws at me and sucks me dry until it hurts and then freaks out when I stop him. I AM NOT A TEETHING RING!
My family only calls when it's in severe crisis mode. I feel lonely. And not sure what to do with strained relationships.
Logically, I should be able to come up with solutions for all these things.
Pay for a maid service or quit complaining and clean.
Don't stay up late.
Let Cole cry it out one night.
Call your mom and sister. Tell them how you feel.
Take Cole to the doctor.
Go get a haircut.
Go on a walk.
Find a new job.
But for all these logical answers, I find a million reasons why I can't. Like the exercise one for example. Since I get about six hours of interrupted sleep, I refuse to get up at 5:30 a.m. to exercise. And come 9:30 p.m. when everyone is finally in bed, I don't want to go. It's dark. I'm tired. I don't feel like I can go when I get home from work because how can I leave my kids with someone again, when I've left them at daycare all day?
See I told you I was in a complainy-pants mood. And mind you, I had to tell myself to just stop writing or this complaining would never end.
My house is a pathetic wreck. I sit here in our sunroom and look around at papers strewn about, 4th of July decorations yet to be put away, dust collecting, cobwebs, Pearl's toys that have been sent to timeout, and odds and ends that drive me bonkers. You'd think I'd clean up in here seeing as how we walk through here every single day, every single time we go in and out of the house, or to Pearl's room. Nope. It's the one room I never seem to get around to cleaning anymore.
I hate cleaning lately. I used to love it. But it seems hopeless. There are still crumbs all over the floor, cereal in the carpet, cobwebs hanging from my bedroom ceiling to the curtain rods, dust, horrible garbage smells, food in the sink, and clutter everywhere. I did scrub every square inch of the bathroom though. Although I'm sure the sparkle won't last more than a few days. I seriously can't describe the utter despair I feel when I think about cleaning. Hell freezing over has a better chance of happening than a clean house.
And if I hate cleaning, then I absolutely loathe cooking. Why should I even bother? Nothing sounds good. And when I do make something, no one wants to eat it. Pearl complains until we have to threaten her with her life to try it. Cole spits it out. I know I'm not a great cook but I'm trying. And if I didn't have two kids screaming at me come 6 p.m. for something to eat, I'd just let everyone eat Goldfish crackers for dinner. They'd prefer that over anything I made anyway.
I'm bored, unchallenged, and frustrated at work. Sometimes I think, just quit then. But then how would we pay for our bills and let's face it. I suck as a stay-at-home mom. I barely make it through a Friday and the weekend. Like today. I had had it with Cole's constant crying, whining, and clinging to my legs. I couldn't even go pee! So I put him in bed and have let him scream for a good half hour while I blog and cry.
I have no friends.
My feet are gross. Really, they are disgusting.
I need a haircut so bad. My hair is a stringy, limp, mess. It has a bazillion split ends, which I pick out constantly, and I swear it's falling out in clumps.
I feel fat. Ugly. Useless.
The days I get to stay home from work are the days my kids are sick. Not for something fun. Yeah, both were puking this week.
Why doesn't money just grow on trees? Or why can't I find some long lost rich relative? So I can go on vacation, pay someone to build us a covered patio since no one seems to have time or desire to come help us with it, fix our stupid 101-year-old, falling apart house (have I mentioned our titled floor is cracking AGAIN?), have a maid service come in and deep clean my house, put in a sprinkler system, etc, etc, etc.
I'm super irritated at Cole. He's reverting back to infancy! The kid wakes up every three hours at night! I need to break my own bad habit of staying up until 11:30 or midnight, but holy moly! Does he have to get up at 1 a.m. then 4 a.m. then 7:30 a.m.? Every night! For months! Considering the last kid I had to let cry through the night took THREE hours of screaming to do and me sitting in the dining room the entire THREE hours bawling isn't helping with my lack of desire to repeat this process with Fern. It's crossed my mind that maybe he has an ear infection again but I don't want to take him to the doctor because if it's nothing, then I'll feel stupid for having to spend $25 for a copay to be told he's fine.
Cole uses me like a dang chew toy! I thought we were almost done nursing but now that's the only thing he wants from me. But with four sharp teeth, he gnaws at me and sucks me dry until it hurts and then freaks out when I stop him. I AM NOT A TEETHING RING!
My family only calls when it's in severe crisis mode. I feel lonely. And not sure what to do with strained relationships.
Logically, I should be able to come up with solutions for all these things.
Pay for a maid service or quit complaining and clean.
Don't stay up late.
Let Cole cry it out one night.
Call your mom and sister. Tell them how you feel.
Take Cole to the doctor.
Go get a haircut.
Go on a walk.
Find a new job.
But for all these logical answers, I find a million reasons why I can't. Like the exercise one for example. Since I get about six hours of interrupted sleep, I refuse to get up at 5:30 a.m. to exercise. And come 9:30 p.m. when everyone is finally in bed, I don't want to go. It's dark. I'm tired. I don't feel like I can go when I get home from work because how can I leave my kids with someone again, when I've left them at daycare all day?
See I told you I was in a complainy-pants mood. And mind you, I had to tell myself to just stop writing or this complaining would never end.
Sunday, July 10, 2011
Birthday wash
My sexy, smart, funny husband turned 33 on Friday. Don't let him fool you when he says he turned 30. He's obviously getting old and having a hard time with math now.
I'm crappy with gifts. And the whole hoopla that should surround special days like birthdays. I want to be the party planner, bake-you-own-cake type, I really do but it just doesn't happen. I had visions of a USU-themed party for Jeff but he said he didn't want anything.
Well he got exactly what he wanted. Nothing.
Ok, so that's not entirely true. He did get a pair of new shoes a couple of months ago that I had to remind him were for his birthday, even though he's been wearing them. And he got a squeaky, clean truck. It might not sound like a real present, but I assure you I put in more sweat and effort into washing the truck than wandering up and down some store looking for a present you can wrap. Not only did I scrub the outside of the truck, but I washed the windows inside and out, vacuumed (twice... Cole and Pearl decided to climb in with their wet and mud covered feet after they helped wash the truck), and washed the dashboard and other various plastic parts inside. Had I found a big red bow, I'd have put it on top of the truck.
Pearl and Cole were thrilled to help out with the birthday present too. Cole self-appointed himself in charge of the bucket, hose, and scrub brush.
Pearl actually did fairly well staying focused on the task at hand. She loves birthdays and was excited to help with Daddy's present. But eventually a four-year-old's attention span has to shift gears. Especially if a hose is involved.
Pearl was intrigued by something in there.
Pretty soon I had two wet kids on my hand. I stripped Cole down to his diaper and told Pearl to go change her clothes. Hopefully no one driving by saw me yelling at a naked pipsqueak to get in the house pronto! Those two had just as much fun getting shut inside the truck as I finished washing the windows as they did getting soaked with bubbles and cold water. 
For the record, I did wash the windows again after Cole put his grubby little hands all over them.
I think Jeff was pleasantly surprised with our gift. Even if I ruined the surprise when I called him to ask where he kept all the fancy car washing supplies. But we did surprise him with our giant birthday banner we made. I had Pearl help me color a big piece of paper with "happy birthday" written on it and then asked her why she loved her Dad. We hung it up on the garage and I was going to go back out and take a picture, but Jeff thought he was supposed to bring it inside when he got home. Duh, no! We wanted everyone to see why we love him... you know because, in Pearl's own words, "he's the greatest thing for me... and... Cole makes him really mad."
And lastly, we've had to enact a new birthday dinner rule. No kids. Not only did Jeff get out voted by Pearl and Pearl alone as to the restaurant we went to, but Cole was grouchy as could be during dinner. We had no idea he'd end up puking (and has continued to be sick all weekend). Luckily after we had eaten, but still. Nothing screams "Happy birthday" like a good barf!
Happy birthday Babe! We love you!
I'm crappy with gifts. And the whole hoopla that should surround special days like birthdays. I want to be the party planner, bake-you-own-cake type, I really do but it just doesn't happen. I had visions of a USU-themed party for Jeff but he said he didn't want anything.
Well he got exactly what he wanted. Nothing.
Ok, so that's not entirely true. He did get a pair of new shoes a couple of months ago that I had to remind him were for his birthday, even though he's been wearing them. And he got a squeaky, clean truck. It might not sound like a real present, but I assure you I put in more sweat and effort into washing the truck than wandering up and down some store looking for a present you can wrap. Not only did I scrub the outside of the truck, but I washed the windows inside and out, vacuumed (twice... Cole and Pearl decided to climb in with their wet and mud covered feet after they helped wash the truck), and washed the dashboard and other various plastic parts inside. Had I found a big red bow, I'd have put it on top of the truck.
Pearl and Cole were thrilled to help out with the birthday present too. Cole self-appointed himself in charge of the bucket, hose, and scrub brush.
Pearl actually did fairly well staying focused on the task at hand. She loves birthdays and was excited to help with Daddy's present. But eventually a four-year-old's attention span has to shift gears. Especially if a hose is involved.
Pearl was intrigued by something in there.
Pretty soon I had two wet kids on my hand. I stripped Cole down to his diaper and told Pearl to go change her clothes. Hopefully no one driving by saw me yelling at a naked pipsqueak to get in the house pronto! Those two had just as much fun getting shut inside the truck as I finished washing the windows as they did getting soaked with bubbles and cold water. 
For the record, I did wash the windows again after Cole put his grubby little hands all over them.
I think Jeff was pleasantly surprised with our gift. Even if I ruined the surprise when I called him to ask where he kept all the fancy car washing supplies. But we did surprise him with our giant birthday banner we made. I had Pearl help me color a big piece of paper with "happy birthday" written on it and then asked her why she loved her Dad. We hung it up on the garage and I was going to go back out and take a picture, but Jeff thought he was supposed to bring it inside when he got home. Duh, no! We wanted everyone to see why we love him... you know because, in Pearl's own words, "he's the greatest thing for me... and... Cole makes him really mad."And lastly, we've had to enact a new birthday dinner rule. No kids. Not only did Jeff get out voted by Pearl and Pearl alone as to the restaurant we went to, but Cole was grouchy as could be during dinner. We had no idea he'd end up puking (and has continued to be sick all weekend). Luckily after we had eaten, but still. Nothing screams "Happy birthday" like a good barf!
Happy birthday Babe! We love you!
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