It was during my Stay @ Home Mom Days (or S@hM days, the 'h' is silent) that the dare came about.
BW and JB were both active toddlers and as the days grew longer and the temperature rose that the challenge of being home all day with little to no adult interaction bean to wear upon my soul. Working through a serious case of Post-Partum Depression didn't help either, but it was the lack of stimulating conversation that haunted me most.
Charles had recently finished his Masters degree and now with the extra time that he normally spent working on his thesis was complete, he used the extra time to pursue the hobbies and interests that he had put on hold while his few free hours off of work and Dad duty was spent programming and finishing his educational and professional goals.
It was during one especially challenging week that culminated into the perfect storm of frustration.
Charles' father and grandfather were scheduled to arrive in a day or two for a couple of weeks and my days were spent trying to prepare the house for guests, keep up with the daily chores while also meeting the needs of the topplers.
The week that his father was to arrive coincided with several invitations from various camping, hiking and cycling buddies, and without realizing the confluence of events ~ he'd said yes to all of them, and I'd agreed that he should go and have fun.
The week had been a peaceful one, which should have been a hint at the ensuing storm... The day before grand and great grand fathers were to arrive, Charles's was invited to hike a 14er. We had been tempting fate, and by accepting the invitation to clime a mountain, Mother Nature must have felt as though she was being mocked.
The morning he left, the house was filled with nervous energy. Bickering, battles of wills involving both children, a sick dog and a literal glass of spilled milk filled the day, and not nearly enough work was completed.
It was the spilled milk that did me in. Flailing toddler arms in the midst of a temper tantrum resulted in a half a gallon of milk flying as though in slow motion in the air, across the dining room and pouring the entirety of it's contents into the carpet.
Charles was late in coming home and the clock was ticking for the relatives arrival and the milk in the carpet was beginning to sour.
I've personally never seen a 'wet hen' but I'm certain that Charles does, as that was what met him when he finally came home.
Once I'd expressed my frustration and had a chance to take a break from the little ones, we quickly readied for our guests and retired for the evening.
After the kids had been put to bed for the 29th time that night, we were sharing stories about our days. I took a moment to apologize for having been so emotional. I mentioned that it was so challenging to be with kids for so many hours in the day without the opportunity to take even a few minutes for myself. (Even the bathroom provided no relief - they sat on the other side of the door, beating it with their little hands, calling for me through the door-jam.)
Charles replied in a very un-Charles like manner.
"Well, if you did have an afternoon to yourself, what exactly would you do? It's no like you have any hobbies or anything."
The truth of his words took the breath out of my lungs and it was several days before I was able to think about what had been said without the sting of his words causing tears to spring forth.
In the time since then, I've taken up many different hobbies, returned to school, begun working full time and volunteering at the local hospital and with daughter's persistence, started a Girl Scout Brownies troop and developed several different social groups.
At the same time, BW and JB have found their own hobbies, and we have had a few weeks where we've not been able to sit down for dinner as a family for an entire week.
Not once has Charles' complained about how busy I've become, though I doubt that he would ask what I'd do if given a few free hours.
Monday, July 29, 2013
Sunday, July 28, 2013
Lost Romo
Earlier this summer in the post 'Inadequacy', I reflected on the fact that summer time is one very long 80 day weekend. As I bemoan summer break, or question my sanity, please help me remember this image.
The boy lost the all-in-one-very-expensive remote sometime Friday afternoon. We couldn't find it even after searching high, low, under, over and behind nearly every object in the house.The girl found it Saturday afternoon while looking for a snack.
We couldn't find it because we never thought to look IN the bag.
22 days friends.
22 days until the hallowed halls of school once again welcome these little voices in wiggly bodies and sanity returns to the Olson's household.
Sunday, July 21, 2013
A Matter of Timing
"Mama?"
"Yes, JB?"
"Don't you need to go to the bathroom?"
"No. I'm good."
"No, Mama. I think you need to go to the bathroom. Don't you."
"Really, I'm good."
"No. Mama. you need to go to the bathroom NOW."
"Charles, why does she keep telling me I need to go to the bathroom?"
"She's hungry and she wants to eat."
"What in the world does that have to do with me going to the bathroom?"
"Haven't you ever noticed that whenever we go out to eat, you go to the bathroom and when you return our food is at the table?"
".... um.... maybe..."
"Well, they are convinced that if you go to the bathroom, the food will come."
"Yeah Mama. GO to the bathroom. I'm HUNGRY!"
In an effort to end this ridiculous conversation, I complied, and as I returned to the table our food had been served and both BW and JB were happily munching on their french fries.
Yeah. They might be onto something.
"Yes, JB?"
"Don't you need to go to the bathroom?"
"No. I'm good."
"No, Mama. I think you need to go to the bathroom. Don't you."
"Really, I'm good."
"No. Mama. you need to go to the bathroom NOW."
"Charles, why does she keep telling me I need to go to the bathroom?"
"She's hungry and she wants to eat."
"What in the world does that have to do with me going to the bathroom?"
"Haven't you ever noticed that whenever we go out to eat, you go to the bathroom and when you return our food is at the table?"
".... um.... maybe..."
"Well, they are convinced that if you go to the bathroom, the food will come."
"Yeah Mama. GO to the bathroom. I'm HUNGRY!"
In an effort to end this ridiculous conversation, I complied, and as I returned to the table our food had been served and both BW and JB were happily munching on their french fries.
Yeah. They might be onto something.
Monday, July 15, 2013
Inadequacy
School supplies have started appearing on store shelves, warm evenings with stagnant air render us fodder for mosquitoes and patience is a virtue lost to days past.
I reach this point nearly every summer, and this one is no different. Too much of everything and everyone else and not enough time to think without interruption. The ability to focus on one item is a distant and evasive memory. It's during these last months of summer vacation that my inabilities as a parent becomes apparent to everyone, not just me.
The loudness of unrelenting noise, bickering and constants in their demands leaves me worn out and grumpy and in a constant state of irritation that is one hair away from a complete temper tantrum (a mommytrum).
I hate that person. I hate everything that she is and actively work to evolving into her, this shadow of a destined fate. While I am successful during most days in the year, it is during summer break that I stumble in this endeavor. I fall and fail in such a grand fashion that the sting of my failure washes away the memory of any accomplishments that I'd made the school year before. And I hate myself for it.
Each night as the children are tucked in, I promise to myself that I will do better, I will be more patient, I will spend more time with them, read them more books and be a better mother. But this is an unrealistic expectation. I work from home, and it is the nature of children that they interact with their mamas at least 30 times in an hour, if not more.
This constant is what does me in. During the course of the school year, their brains and bodies are engaged with learning, practicing and constant stimulation. Weekends are a time of relaxing and having fun and getting caught up on chores that didn't fit in our schedules during the week. Given the shear amount of work to be done at home, even those days are often full and moments to relax are cherished. Once school comes to an end though, the days stretch into one long unending and mind-numbing weekend that lasts 80 days.
Teachers eagerly release wiggly children into the wilds of their homes where their active little minds and bodies are no longer being filled with useful and practical bits of information. No, instead they are filled with boredom and irritation at their limited social life. At least that is the way it works in our home. I've work to do if I want to keep my mind sane and money in my account leaving little time to 'play' cruise director.
We've made the hump, and are now on the down slope of vacation, and though that seems like it should be easy from now until the end of August, these are the longest days. Summer vacation is a marathon. And like marathon the easy part is at the beginning. There is a lot of energy and excitement and the challenge is to find the right pace and stick to it so that you don't crash and burn before you finish.
I thought I had it all worked out, but as the days have melted into each other I've come to the realization that yet again, I was mistaken.
My liver and I need to hold it together for 30 or so more days. School starts in 35, but the week or so before is filled with a flurry of Back-to-School excitement that we all find refreshing, like a salve on skin weathered from having spent too much time in the sun and wind.
As has become our ritual, when BW and BB see me at work on a blog post, they inquire about it. In chatting with them about the topic of summer and how I feel as though I'm not as good a mama as I can be. BW paused deep in thought, and replied "Well, mama. If that's true, then I could certainly be a better child. I think we are all doing it just right. It's just a tough season." BB nodded in agreement and said that she missed the homework too.
Together my team mates and I will slog through the next several weeks and hopefully arrive at the end of the season unscathed.
They did make me promise them two things. To laugh more, and to write more. Those are promises that I intend to keep.
I reach this point nearly every summer, and this one is no different. Too much of everything and everyone else and not enough time to think without interruption. The ability to focus on one item is a distant and evasive memory. It's during these last months of summer vacation that my inabilities as a parent becomes apparent to everyone, not just me.
The loudness of unrelenting noise, bickering and constants in their demands leaves me worn out and grumpy and in a constant state of irritation that is one hair away from a complete temper tantrum (a mommytrum).
I hate that person. I hate everything that she is and actively work to evolving into her, this shadow of a destined fate. While I am successful during most days in the year, it is during summer break that I stumble in this endeavor. I fall and fail in such a grand fashion that the sting of my failure washes away the memory of any accomplishments that I'd made the school year before. And I hate myself for it.
Each night as the children are tucked in, I promise to myself that I will do better, I will be more patient, I will spend more time with them, read them more books and be a better mother. But this is an unrealistic expectation. I work from home, and it is the nature of children that they interact with their mamas at least 30 times in an hour, if not more.
This constant is what does me in. During the course of the school year, their brains and bodies are engaged with learning, practicing and constant stimulation. Weekends are a time of relaxing and having fun and getting caught up on chores that didn't fit in our schedules during the week. Given the shear amount of work to be done at home, even those days are often full and moments to relax are cherished. Once school comes to an end though, the days stretch into one long unending and mind-numbing weekend that lasts 80 days.
Teachers eagerly release wiggly children into the wilds of their homes where their active little minds and bodies are no longer being filled with useful and practical bits of information. No, instead they are filled with boredom and irritation at their limited social life. At least that is the way it works in our home. I've work to do if I want to keep my mind sane and money in my account leaving little time to 'play' cruise director.
We've made the hump, and are now on the down slope of vacation, and though that seems like it should be easy from now until the end of August, these are the longest days. Summer vacation is a marathon. And like marathon the easy part is at the beginning. There is a lot of energy and excitement and the challenge is to find the right pace and stick to it so that you don't crash and burn before you finish.
I thought I had it all worked out, but as the days have melted into each other I've come to the realization that yet again, I was mistaken.
My liver and I need to hold it together for 30 or so more days. School starts in 35, but the week or so before is filled with a flurry of Back-to-School excitement that we all find refreshing, like a salve on skin weathered from having spent too much time in the sun and wind.
As has become our ritual, when BW and BB see me at work on a blog post, they inquire about it. In chatting with them about the topic of summer and how I feel as though I'm not as good a mama as I can be. BW paused deep in thought, and replied "Well, mama. If that's true, then I could certainly be a better child. I think we are all doing it just right. It's just a tough season." BB nodded in agreement and said that she missed the homework too.
Together my team mates and I will slog through the next several weeks and hopefully arrive at the end of the season unscathed.
They did make me promise them two things. To laugh more, and to write more. Those are promises that I intend to keep.
Friday, July 12, 2013
Hard at work, Constantly Moving
BW is off at Cub Scout camp, and now that he is a WeBeLo, will spend an extra day in the mountains using the time to visit the Boy Scout Camp as an introduction to the events and activities that are available once the Cubs have 'bridged' into Boys.
At first I was gleeful at the lack of bickering that would occur between he and JB, but after last evening and this morning, I've come to the realization that I now have Dot's attention - ALL to myself. Level one of Dante's Inferno ~ Check!
She's been requesting for the last several months that I change her nickname, JB. Originally intended as JuneBug, she and others her age identify it as Justin Beiber. While many fawn over this 'superstar singer' JB CANNOT stand him.
BW has taken to teasing her for her initials, and to eliminate this as a 'tool' in his arsenal of taunting I've been attempting to honor Dot's wishes.
But nicknames aren't easy to whip up, and I've been toying with names for the last several weeks. Today, her high spun level of interaction and activity made it obvious what her nickname should be.
She is always moving, working, creating and singing when she's not talking. She is a breath in talk out kind of girl and I am in love with her. Graceful, witty, clever, intelligent and creative, she has an unmatched ability to make us all laugh when situations become too tense or serious.
This morning, with BW at camp, and Dot focusing her attentions on the only other person at home with her, me, her new nickname came in a literal flash. BB. As in Bumble Bee. Always hard at work and constantly moving.
She is beyond happy with the name, and she's excited that I share her new name with the world.
Here you go BabyGirl. Loves you!
* Update: BW Threw a FIT about Dot's nickname - that's the name of his beloved pillowpet. So, with the promise of not teasing JB for her name, she's decided to stick with JB.
At first I was gleeful at the lack of bickering that would occur between he and JB, but after last evening and this morning, I've come to the realization that I now have Dot's attention - ALL to myself. Level one of Dante's Inferno ~ Check!
She's been requesting for the last several months that I change her nickname, JB. Originally intended as JuneBug, she and others her age identify it as Justin Beiber. While many fawn over this 'superstar singer' JB CANNOT stand him.
BW has taken to teasing her for her initials, and to eliminate this as a 'tool' in his arsenal of taunting I've been attempting to honor Dot's wishes.
But nicknames aren't easy to whip up, and I've been toying with names for the last several weeks. Today, her high spun level of interaction and activity made it obvious what her nickname should be.
She is always moving, working, creating and singing when she's not talking. She is a breath in talk out kind of girl and I am in love with her. Graceful, witty, clever, intelligent and creative, she has an unmatched ability to make us all laugh when situations become too tense or serious.
This morning, with BW at camp, and Dot focusing her attentions on the only other person at home with her, me, her new nickname came in a literal flash. BB. As in Bumble Bee. Always hard at work and constantly moving.
She is beyond happy with the name, and she's excited that I share her new name with the world.
Here you go BabyGirl. Loves you!
* Update: BW Threw a FIT about Dot's nickname - that's the name of his beloved pillowpet. So, with the promise of not teasing JB for her name, she's decided to stick with JB.
Saturday, July 6, 2013
Whispering Bees
"BW ~ Can you please get up off the driveway and go change into something else. You are going to stain your ghi."
"Sure Daddy. I'm just talking with the bees at the moment. I'll be in when we're done with our conversation."
"Alright then. Be sure to say hi for me."
"Sure thing Daddy. But it's not really that kind of conversation."
"Ok, then."
Never a dull moment in the Olson household I tell you what. Maybe that's why we call him Bug Whisperer.
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