Just call me Monster Mommy
I loved this competition idea for a housewife game show ("Top Housewife", scroll down to #4):
Craft a Faberge egg to specification while holding an angry octopus in one hand and reciting the Gettysburg Address while someone screams in your ear. (This one inspired by how I feel about fives times a day.)" The only thing I would add is the requirement that contestants sleep only 1-2 hours at a time between 11 pm and 6 am for two weeks before the show.
It's rare that I read such an accurate and creative description of what my life is like. Naturally it came from someone, who has similar challenges. The crafting of the Faberge egg is trying to arrange life for a toddler, who always has exact particular ideas how things should be and if they are not fulfilled, life will be a hellish nightmare and he'll make you feel it. The angry octopus is the infant, screeching and pulling at my face and my hair just because he is tired/happy/excited/angry/hungry/etc and the Gettysburg Address is me trying to accomplish simple but essential projects like making dinner, buying groceries or making a doctor's appointment on the phone. The last one is actually something only a rookie would do while the kids are awake. But see that would be the fun of the show, because you could watch those inexperienced innocent contestants make grave mistakes and the schadenfreude and glee you'd feel would make you forget your sorrows better than any amount of alcohol.
Last week I had to pick up my sister and her husband from JFK airport. This is a trip I take several times a year, it's about 90 minutes to drive one-way in good traffic conditions and most of the time I don't mind it, because it's a happy event. Bringing three kids has been a new level of challenge and I try to time my arrival well in order to avoid waiting a long time. Little kids have no concept of time and if I tell them to watch the door because so-and-so is about to come out, they will stare at it for 3 seconds and then immediately start whining "Wheeeeen? It's been a looooong time!!!"
Of course that Monday things were delayed and after the long car ride the kids were overcome by one of their crazy moods, where they behave like kittens on uppers, including maniacal giggling and insensical blabbering, tearing at each others jackets, throwing themselves on the floor, running around in circles in the crowded arrival hall. I had brought the baby in the sling, so I could move about quickly, but it turned out to be a mistake, because he too wanted in on the fun and didn't understand why he couldn't move and tried to pry himself out of the sling by leaning to one side, all 19 lbs of him. When that didn't work he started clawing at my face and pulling my hair, interpreting my violent reaction as joyful excitement. I had been there for 2 minutes and I was about to leave my kids right there, maybe retreat to a bench with a cup of coffee and pretend I no longer had children, patting myself on the back for making the wisest decision in a long time.
Instead I felt my face getting hot, feeling everyone's eyes on me - I don't know if that was really the case, but it felt like it, which was enough to make me have one of those out-of-body experiences, where I saw myself in a straight jacket, held together by three certified crazies, who were doing their celebratory rituals before they going to eat me alive. Eventually I grabbed their hands, one left, one right and held them tightly, so they couldn't move and I stood there gritting my teeth while the baby was digging his nails into my neck. I had reached (again) that edge, with sanity on my right and insanity on my left and as I steadied my breathing I tried to focus...on...this...moment... it will pass. There is nothing left to do, but wait for time to pass. In terms of that particular situation and also my situation in general. They will grow and this is not me for life. After that "exercise" I am usually completely drained. It took all the energy I had left, not to fall off that precipice into a meltdown myself.
I dread taking all three of them anywhere. Veronika is chronically out of touch with her surroundings. If you look into her eyes you can see her mind far far away in a distant land. Ivan on the other hand interprets every situation where he has no seatbelt across his chest as a clear indication that now is the time to play pretend baseball and run the bases. The baby is at that perfect stage, where he is too young to speak but old enough to voice his opinion regardless... by letting out loud shrieks in short intervals at just the right time. As soon as we step out of the car, I have to remote-control the two older ones, while I wrestle with the youngest. The only power I have is my voice and this is the reason, why mothers in public sound so angry...
"Step away from the door or I can't open it!" (One of them could read "PULL" if she was mentally present)
"Come back! I need to be able see you at all times!"
"Don't walk away from the car! Stay here. No, HERE. HERE!"
"Watch where you're going, you're going to bump that lady.. yeah, I'm sorry, excuse him..."
"Don't walk in front of me or I'll fall on top of you!"
"Stop walking in front of the cart, you'll get hurt... there, yeah. Where does it hurt?"
"We are not getting candy!"
"Stop using this as a bat!"
"We are not getting this milk. I know we got it last time, but this time we are going back to the car and you're going to spill it and milk smell is hard to get out of.... I know you want it, but you can't have it. Stop screaming. We are not buying it. We are not. I said "no". I'm not discussing this anymore. NO. --- (ten minutes later) It's still "no". I said NO. I already explained it. NO. I'm done!" (On the inside I scream NOOOOO and my head explodes only to reveal that I am actually spewing fire while wagging my enormous reptile tail)
It's like having parts of your body, who you are 100% responsible for, take a walk and lose control while you desperately and inconspicuously try to proceed with the task at hand. (Oh that over there? It's just my leg tripping you, don't worry, it happens all the time, I know, excuse me, while I grab it real quick...) It's ironic that while I feel like I'm on the edge a lot of the time, I also have become much more calm.. so that when we're at the checkout line in the grocery store and Nikola drops the crouton container, which the very friendly but completely clueless cashier (I think he was 18 max) handed to him (Why? Because Nikola wanted it!) and the floor is covered in croutons and I am trying to pay half with a MasterCard gift card (Oh it's a gift from Lincoln's company and the most complicated thing to use, but I do not pass up $75, I do not.) and half with my debit card and that when the cashier then leaves to get me a replacement package and the lady behind me angrily gathers her groceries off the belt and back into her cart and huffing and puffing makes her indignant trek to another checkout line because obviously she cannot take another second of this mess... I barely bat an eye, because heck, if this is what makes your life unbearable, lady, I feel for you and you should really watch your heart rate because what you just witnessed is a spec on the tiniest tip of the iceberg.
I should've invited her to come and see my Faberge collection...
Posted at 11:26 AM on February 18, 2009
I feel ya, girl!!
Have you been shadowing me at the grocery store? I could have written this (I bet you knew I'd say that!), if I were as good a writer as you.
I always enjoy reading your entries, Dinka. Keep your sense of humor--it gets you through these crazy, crazy times! :)
LOL oh Dinka. There is nothing to say other than that was hysterical, so true to life and beautifully written.
Hi dinka!
Yes, I really feel for you-- and I'll say that from my slightly-down-the-road standpoint (kids now 4, 6, and almost 1 year) it does get a bit better when they're older. But still, going out in public with the three of them is no picnic. I was totally laughing about your angry moms out-in-public lines-- this whole post is great! As usual-- I miss your reading voice on here, though of course I understand that you are busy with all of those Faberge eggs...
It. gets. worse. when they get older. When they hit __teen, they become brain dead. Last week, Josh brought the two oldest to visit. I had to tell him "get them out of here!" They were loud, they kept touching things, they were climbing on chairs...I kept expecting them to come to their senses.
Oh my, Dinka... you mean I am not the only one who runs around like a lost shepherdess, trying to herd the bleating sheep towards their pen while they are only interested in grazing a bit more in all the interesting pastures along the way, blissfully ignorant of the dangers waiting for them, and all this with no sheepdog to boot?