Most days, Brent comes in the door and very innocently asks about how my day was or what we did that day. So often I begin listing off the days activities and although Brent doesn't question where the time went, there are many times that I do. So, here was an article I read that I thought maybe gave me a little better understanding as to how I lose so many hours in the day:) Enjoy!
Tell Me About It by Carolyn Hax : Friend really doesn't get the kid thing
● Carolyn:
My best friend has a child. Her: Exhausted, busy, no time for self, no time for me, etc. Me (no kids): Wow. Sorry. What'd you do today? Her: Park, play group . . .
OK. I've done Internet searches; I've talked to parents. I don't get it. What do stay-at-home moms do all day? Please, no lists of library, grocery store, dry cleaners. . . . I do all those things, too, and I don't do them every day. I guess what I'm asking is: What is a typical day, and why don't moms have time for a call or e-mail?
I work and am away from home nine hours a day (plus a few late work events), and I manage to get it all done. I'm feeling like the kid is an excuse to relax and enjoy — not a bad thing at all — but if so, why won't my friend tell me the truth?
Is this a contest ("My life is so much harder than yours")? What's the deal? I've got friends with and without kids, and all us child-free folks get the same story and have the same questions.
— Tacoma, Wash.
Relax and enjoy. You're funny.
Or you're lying about having friends with kids.
Or you're taking them at their word that they actually have kids, because you haven't personally been in the same room with them.
Internet searches?
I keep wavering between giving you a straight answer and giving my forehead some keyboard. To claim you want to understand — while in the same breath implying that the only logical conclusions are that your mom friends are either lying or competing with you — is disingenuous indeed.
So, since it's validation you seem to want, the real answer is what you get. In list form. When you have young kids, your typical day is: constant attention, from getting them out of bed, fed, clean, dressed; to keeping them out of harm's way; to answering their coos, cries and questions; to having two arms and carrying one kid, one set of car keys and supplies for even the quickest trips, including the latest-to-be-declared-essential piece of molded plastic gear; to keeping them from unshelving books at the library; to enforcing rest times; to staying one step ahead of them lest they get too hungry, tired or bored, any one of which produces the kind of checkout-line screaming that gets the checkout line shaking its head.
It's needing 45 minutes to do what takes others 15.
It's constant vigilance, constant touch, constant use of your voice, constant relegation of your needs to the second tier.
It's constant scrutiny and second-guessing from family members and friends, well-meaning and otherwise. It's resisting the constant temptation to seek short-term relief at everyone's long-term expense.
It's doing all this while concurrently teaching virtually everything — language, manners, safety, resourcefulness, discipline, curiosity, creativity, empathy. Everything.
It's also a choice, yes. And a joy. But if you spent all day, every day, with this brand of joy — and then when you got your first 10 minutes to yourself, you wanted to be alone with your thoughts instead of calling a good friend — a good friend wouldn't judge you, complain about you to mutual friends or marvel at how much more productively she uses her time.
Either make a sincere effort to understand, or keep your snit to yourself.
Monday, February 16, 2009
Thursday, February 12, 2009
More Peenie Stuff
Honestly, how many posts can I write about peenies? With three boys, I am sure the number is bigger than I or anyone else wants to guess, so please forgive me. The peenie is a regular part of our daily discussions which means that from time to time I will post about it. However, I will just try to not make back to back peenie posts in the future:)
The other night at approximately 5:53 pm I heard an annoying sort of crying coming from Sam down the hall. I say annoying not because I was annoyed he was crying but because it just wasn't a full on cry but just a whiny sort of noise. At that very moment I was actually changing a pasty, poopy diaper which made me wonder what Sam could possibly be whining about that was worse than my current situation. About a minute later Sam rounded the corner with his pants around his ankles. I looked up to see his "Sammie" (ok, we don't call it that at home but I was kind of tired of saying peenie so we will use both interchangeably during this post:)) bleeding. I mean, the thing was in trouble! And, I am not sure that until the moment I looked at it, Sam had either. Maybe it was a defense mechanism until he could seek first aid, but at about the same time I looked at it, Sam did and then the crying, real crying began. I tried to ask him was had happened and got bits and pieces of a story about closing the toilet lid on it and then something about falling off the toilet. It was all very confusing and nauseating really. I decided that the details of the injury could wait but that some medical attention was needed. Unfortunately, that wasn't really what Sam had in mind. He didn't want it touched or looked at unless it was by Jesus himself who could heal it in an instant! So, I did the only thing I knew to do that would maybe help which was spray it with some numbing medicine (It is the stuff they give women when they have babies to help heal her precious region but I would never tell the boys that what works for my parts also works for theirs!), I gave him some Advil for the pain, popped some popcorn and started a movie. Honestly, I knew only two of the four of these steps would help Sam but I just needed a moment to think and was hungry. Just kidding! Anyway, since this is not my area of expertise, I decided Brent needed to be involved in this so I tried his cell but of course since this is like the one part of the body that the boys have that I don't and therefore I will never understand, he didn't answer. He had decided to try an exercise class at the gym that started at 6:00 pm and of course this injury happened at 5:53pm. So, next I tried cleaning the region without touching which meant spraying it down with a water bottle. Sam seemed ok with it. His only complaint was that my head was in the way and he couldn't see the movie. So, after careful assessment and a few calls to my parents and Brent's parents, I decided that it would probably be ok just needed a little TLC, Advil, and vagina numbing spray:) Well around 7:00, Brent arrives home and I inform him of the situation. He gave it a quick once over and informed me that I should have taken Sam to someone. In my mind I am thinking about how I could have possibly carried a 1 year-old on one hip and a 4 year-old who can't bend or wear pants because his penis is bleeding on the other? (The 1 year-old can walk but he currently likes to walk in the exact opposite direction of anywhere I need to go.) But, I didn't say what I was thinking, instead I said that I was fine for Sam to go somewhere I just needed some help watching the other kids. He then said something about me specifically needing to take Sam because after all, I would be caring for it during the day and things. Ok, that made sense. I made a call to the doctor and got an appointment for 8:00 pm. As we waited to leave for our appt. time, Brent kind of wandered around but said very little. I thought to myself that maybe he was mad that I hadn't taken Sam somewhere already. I asked him what was wrong. He proceeded to tell me that he was sick to his stomach. No he didn't have food poisoning or the flu, it was Sam, well Sammie that was making him ill! The thought and idea of Sam's injury was making Brent nauseous. He couldn't even look at Sam without feeling sick which was the real reason why I was taking Sam to the doctor and not Brent.
Boys! I think that this is what God meant when He said that He would create a helper for Adam. Had I been out of town, Will would have had to call 911 because I am certain Brent would have needed medical attention had he needed to address Sam's unfortunate injury.
So, Sam and I went to the doctor. She took a look and thought that proper cleaning, ointment application, and time would remedy this situation. When I returned home and told Brent of the doctors treatment plan he questioned if it didn't need a stitch. I told him that I didn't think so and that I was sure that the doctor would have suggested it if she thought it was necessary. Brent's response, "It was a woman doctor? It figures!"
Although Brent has no problem with females physicians, he clearly felt that had it been a male doctor, more attention would have been given to this particular ailment! Mind you that Brent has never had an issue with my male doctor removing one of Brent's children from my girlie region. He doesn't mention how wrong it is that a man invented the tampon. Strange? Personally, I found it all, not the injury but Brent's reaction to the injury and treatment, humorous. I guess what he is saying might not be practical but maybe makes sense. When it comes to medical problems, women physicians should not take care of penises because we will never fully understand them. On the other hand, male physicians should never tend to a woman's brain, they will never fully understand that:)
The other night at approximately 5:53 pm I heard an annoying sort of crying coming from Sam down the hall. I say annoying not because I was annoyed he was crying but because it just wasn't a full on cry but just a whiny sort of noise. At that very moment I was actually changing a pasty, poopy diaper which made me wonder what Sam could possibly be whining about that was worse than my current situation. About a minute later Sam rounded the corner with his pants around his ankles. I looked up to see his "Sammie" (ok, we don't call it that at home but I was kind of tired of saying peenie so we will use both interchangeably during this post:)) bleeding. I mean, the thing was in trouble! And, I am not sure that until the moment I looked at it, Sam had either. Maybe it was a defense mechanism until he could seek first aid, but at about the same time I looked at it, Sam did and then the crying, real crying began. I tried to ask him was had happened and got bits and pieces of a story about closing the toilet lid on it and then something about falling off the toilet. It was all very confusing and nauseating really. I decided that the details of the injury could wait but that some medical attention was needed. Unfortunately, that wasn't really what Sam had in mind. He didn't want it touched or looked at unless it was by Jesus himself who could heal it in an instant! So, I did the only thing I knew to do that would maybe help which was spray it with some numbing medicine (It is the stuff they give women when they have babies to help heal her precious region but I would never tell the boys that what works for my parts also works for theirs!), I gave him some Advil for the pain, popped some popcorn and started a movie. Honestly, I knew only two of the four of these steps would help Sam but I just needed a moment to think and was hungry. Just kidding! Anyway, since this is not my area of expertise, I decided Brent needed to be involved in this so I tried his cell but of course since this is like the one part of the body that the boys have that I don't and therefore I will never understand, he didn't answer. He had decided to try an exercise class at the gym that started at 6:00 pm and of course this injury happened at 5:53pm. So, next I tried cleaning the region without touching which meant spraying it down with a water bottle. Sam seemed ok with it. His only complaint was that my head was in the way and he couldn't see the movie. So, after careful assessment and a few calls to my parents and Brent's parents, I decided that it would probably be ok just needed a little TLC, Advil, and vagina numbing spray:) Well around 7:00, Brent arrives home and I inform him of the situation. He gave it a quick once over and informed me that I should have taken Sam to someone. In my mind I am thinking about how I could have possibly carried a 1 year-old on one hip and a 4 year-old who can't bend or wear pants because his penis is bleeding on the other? (The 1 year-old can walk but he currently likes to walk in the exact opposite direction of anywhere I need to go.) But, I didn't say what I was thinking, instead I said that I was fine for Sam to go somewhere I just needed some help watching the other kids. He then said something about me specifically needing to take Sam because after all, I would be caring for it during the day and things. Ok, that made sense. I made a call to the doctor and got an appointment for 8:00 pm. As we waited to leave for our appt. time, Brent kind of wandered around but said very little. I thought to myself that maybe he was mad that I hadn't taken Sam somewhere already. I asked him what was wrong. He proceeded to tell me that he was sick to his stomach. No he didn't have food poisoning or the flu, it was Sam, well Sammie that was making him ill! The thought and idea of Sam's injury was making Brent nauseous. He couldn't even look at Sam without feeling sick which was the real reason why I was taking Sam to the doctor and not Brent.
Boys! I think that this is what God meant when He said that He would create a helper for Adam. Had I been out of town, Will would have had to call 911 because I am certain Brent would have needed medical attention had he needed to address Sam's unfortunate injury.
So, Sam and I went to the doctor. She took a look and thought that proper cleaning, ointment application, and time would remedy this situation. When I returned home and told Brent of the doctors treatment plan he questioned if it didn't need a stitch. I told him that I didn't think so and that I was sure that the doctor would have suggested it if she thought it was necessary. Brent's response, "It was a woman doctor? It figures!"
Although Brent has no problem with females physicians, he clearly felt that had it been a male doctor, more attention would have been given to this particular ailment! Mind you that Brent has never had an issue with my male doctor removing one of Brent's children from my girlie region. He doesn't mention how wrong it is that a man invented the tampon. Strange? Personally, I found it all, not the injury but Brent's reaction to the injury and treatment, humorous. I guess what he is saying might not be practical but maybe makes sense. When it comes to medical problems, women physicians should not take care of penises because we will never fully understand them. On the other hand, male physicians should never tend to a woman's brain, they will never fully understand that:)
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