Fall is definitely here. The leaves are glowing with color, the breeze has become brisk, and the days are shorter. And everyone on Facebook is putting up pictures of pots of chili, kids posing with pumpkins on a carpet of bright leaves, blah blah blah.
Except me, because I can't seem to get anything done. I have all these ideas, and Facebook and blogs don't do anything but frustrate me. How do all these people manage to take all these pictures and get them on the Internet? How? Everyone does it.
You have the High School kids who are like, "Look, I'm going to take a picture of myself with my cool cell phone and put it on Facebook so all my friends can tell me how pretty I am! Then I'm going to do it again every single day!" Please stop doing that. Its annoying. It makes you look self-centered, even though you may not be. And some of you are wondering why I'm friends with High Schoolers on Facebook. I am now wondering the same thing, because I just remembered that I am thirty years old.
Then you have the young married people who are like, "Look, I'm going to take a picture of this delicious dinner I just made and put it on Facebook so all my friends can tell me how delicious it looks!" Well, why did you make it? To take a picture of it or to eat it? Just eat it, already, before it gets cold. We're all busy eating our own food. We don't really care about yours.
There are also the pregnant people who are like, "Look, I'm going to post a picture of my pregnant belly so all my friends can tell me that I'm the most beautiful pregnant person they've ever seen and that I look great!" I love pregnancy. I love babies. Really, I do. And all of you pregnant people do look great. I'm just jealous because when I was pregnant I looked like a monster.
Also, there are the young families who are like, "Look, I'm going to post another sixty-five pictures of my kids so all my friends can tell me how beautiful my children are and how perfect my family is!" Okay, I really do like seeing family pictures. Just not quite so many.
Sometimes I feel like all this Facebook and blogging stuff is just a big popularity contest to see whose life is more perfect. I'm going to start putting fat pictures of myself on Facebook to make other people feel better about themselves. Oh, you think the pictures I have on Facebook ARE the fat pictures? Oh, no, those are my skinny pictures. Wait till you see the fat ones. Then you'll really feel good about yourself.
Okay, disclaimer. If I sound bitter its because I am. None of these mean, sarcastic remarks are directed at anyone in particular. I'm just angry because its two o'clock in the afternoon, I am still wearing stretch pants, my pink eye has returned so my eye is swollen and I'm wearing my glasses that are broken and taped with electrical tape, and Benaiah absolutely refused to take a nap today until just now. Run-on sentence? Yes. And I keep gazing out at the beautiful fall day, wanting to be out there, but it just didn't happen this morning and now both kids are asleep. Which is good, but I really want to go outside.
So yesterday evening I decided to join the ranks of Facebook picture-takers all over the world, take my kids outside to enjoy the crisp fall weather and snap some pictures of the little darlings. Beans were bubbling on the stove and all I had to do to finish supper was whip up some cornbread. Jiffy cornbread. From a box. You heard me, I make cornbread from a box. I don't make very good cornbread from scratch, okay? So sue me.
Anyway, the evening light was perfect, slanting trough the trees making the leaves glow with breathtaking vividness. I decided to put Benaiah in the stroller and walk to the mailbox first.
Except that the stroller was still folded up in the trunk of the Nova from when we went to the Folk Festival at Beavers Bend last weekend. Yes, its Tuesday and I haven't used my stroller since Saturday. Of course, normally I would use it every day to run 12 miles with my kids, then post it on Facebook so all my friends can tell me that I'm Super Mom. NOT. I usually forget I even have a stroller. Thats how much walking I do.
I could've just gotten it out, except that the Nova is on a trailer because while we were cruising through Beavers Bend we hit a bad spot in the road, smashed the oil pan, gushed oil all over the road, and had to trailer the car back home, where it now sits on the trailer until Ben can get to it. My brother Joseph, who thankfully was available to come retrieve us from the side of the road where we sat like a family of hobos, helpfully said, "Well, at least oil pans are cheap." Yeah, unless its a custom oil pan for a '63 Nova. Then its like $300. He didn't know.
Anyway, I didn't feel like fighting my way through all the crap in the carport and climbing the trailer to get the stroller out. And I don't know where the keys to the Nova are. I think Ben hides them, but I'm not sure. He's wierd like that.
Plan B. Put the kids in the wagon and pull them down the road to the mailbox. Except that the wagon is still full of leftover cans of pop from our Halloween party last weekend. Yes, it was over a week ago, and no, I haven't finished dealing with the aftermath. I forgot about the wagon full of cans of pop. There were 65 people here. Cut me some slack. I've been busy jogging with my kids and my stroller. NOT.
Well, the light was fading fast, so Patience and I hurried to transfer the pop from the wagon to the ice chest. Not sure why it wasn't in the ice chest in the first place. Patience transferred approximately one can and I did the rest. Finished that, bundled the kids up in quilts in the wagon, and bumped them out to the yard where I started snapping some photos.
I sat Benaiah up in Patience's lap and had her wrap her arms around him since he can't sit up yet. Well, that lasted about 5 seconds. He started to slip down, I snapped pictures and loudly encouraged Patience to hold on to him and she started to panic and yell back, "Little bit heavy, Mama!"
A little perspective here. Benaiah is 4 months old and weighs 19 pounds. Patience is 2 1/2 and weigh 24 pounds. Benaiah's head is 19 inches around. Patience's head is.....19 inches around. Benaiah wears size 4 diapers. Patience was wearing size 4 diapers until just a few moths ago when we potty trained. Perhaps I shouldn't expect her to be able to hold him up.
The light was really going now so I quickly sat Benaiah back up, told Patience to hold on tight, and started snapping more photos. He started to slip again, then my phone rang. It was my neighbor, Ada, wanting to know if I had any cumin. She was making chili and had no cumin. Of course I had some, so she buzzed over on her four-wheeler to get it. We chatted for a minute, then she buzzed back home to her chili.
Needless to say, by this time the light was gone. Guess how many good pictures I got? Zero. And in the last hour, while I've been trying to write this, Benaiah has woken up and I've nursed him back to sleep twice, and Patience woke up from her nap because she had wet the bed. And I am still wearing stretch pants. And I have no idea what I'm making for supper. Probably left-over beans from last night. Want me to take a picture of them for Facebook? Why does no one post pictures of their leftover beans and cornbread from a box? Hmm?
So, will I attempt another photo op this evening? Maybe. Now I have extra laundry to do, so it'll be a miracle if we make it outside at all. But the reality is that I can enjoy my beautiful yard, the beautiful fall day and my even more beautiful children without taking pictures of them. Its nice to have the pictures to capture memories, and someday I want to learn to be a real photographer because its something I'm interested in and I really do appreciate nice photos. But right now I've got some sheets to wash and a little girl who wants to sit in my lap.
Getting good pictures doesn't seem so important anymore.
P.S. For those of you who feel like your life isn't as perfect as is should be compared to all the other Facebook/Bloggers out there, be of good cheer. You are not alone. I am basically failing at life in general, so you're probably doing better than me. And all those people whose lives look perfect online? It isn't real. They don't post their fat pictures, either.
Tuesday, November 13, 2012
Tuesday, November 6, 2012
A Trip to Remember
A couple of weeks ago we drove up to northwestern Oklahoma to visit my older brother and his family and help them begin the project of adding onto their house. My nephew, David is four years old and they're expecting a baby girl in just a few weeks. Ben was kind of at a standstill on our new cabin (block being laid), so we told Daniel and Rachel we would head that way, stay a week or so, and turn Ben loose on the project.
So we loaded kids, luggage, scaffold, ladders, guns, books, snacks, drinks and various other paraphernalia into the big black Chevy Duramax, hooked onto the tool trailer, and rumbled away. We did not bring the dogs. Or the kitchen sink. Those are about the only things we left. I have no idea why we take so much stuff when we travel. Maybe because it fits. Perhaps we should scale down our vehicle and just drive a VW Bug. Then we could only travel with a toothbrush, and maybe the children. Seems like it would be much more simple. I'll talk to Ben about it, but I don't think it will go over well.
So we drove along and I read Agatha Christie's Death on the Nile aloud to Ben. The children were remarkably quiet and good, and the trip was quite pleasant, except for the fact that my left eye kept feeling irritated, like there was something in it. Well, technically there was something in it. My contact lens. But this was something else. I kept rubbing and looking at it, but didn't think much of it. I was much more interested in learning who committed the horrific murder on the Nile. I'm not going to tell you. Read the book.
We arrived in Enid around 8:30 that evening, and after all the hellos and hugs and happy-to-see-yous, we all went to bed. Of course all four of us were sleeping on one room, which is totally fine with us because we often end up that way at home anyway. It actually quite amazing how comfortable it can actually be to sleep with 4 people in a Queen bed. Maybe it isn't actually comfortable. Maybe I'm just so tired that I'm basically passed out.
So we settled in for the night, Ben and me in the bed, Patience on a comfy pallet on the floor, and Benaiah in the crib that Rachel already had set up in preparation for their baby. Things were going smoothly. We were all sleeping. Why did I think the whole night would actually stay so blissfully peaceful?
Sometime in the middle of the night Benaiah started to fuss. Not unusual. He still wakes up to eat at night. What was unusual was that I couldn't open my eyes. I tried, but I couldn't. I felt of them and realized they were both completely crusted over with grossness and glued shut. I literally could not pry them open. What should I do? Try to feel my way to the bathroom and open them? Try and get Benaiah? I opted to head to the bathroom, but in the process of groping my way blindly to the door I stepped on what I strongly believed to be Patience's head. She must have rolled off her pallet. I retreated to the bed. Benaiah was getting pretty worked up at this point, so I felt my way to the crib, sat down on the bed and tried to nurse him.
All this time Ben hadn't moved. I wondered if he was really asleep or faking it. My guess would be faking it because no one can sleep with a baby crying and someone stumbling around, running into things.
I reached over and tapped him on the shoulder.
"Babe?" I whispered loudly.
He mumbled something that sounded like, "what."
"Well, my eyes are glued shut and I"m trying to nurse Benaiah and Patience is in the middle of the floor."
Silence.
"Babe?" I whispered a little louder.
He sighed deeply. "Is there something you want me to do?"
Actually, yes, I thought. Get Patience off the floor. Go get me washcloth to soak my eyes open. Hold Benaiah so I can get myself a washcloth to soak my eyes open. Take your pick. There's plenty to do.
What I said was, "Could you go get me a wet washcloth so I can try to soak my eyes open?"
He sighed deeply again, climbed out of bed, and headed to bathroom. I warned him about Patience, just in time, and he narrowly missed stepping on her. I think. I couldn't really see since my eyes were stuck shut.
Roughly two seconds later he returned and tossed a wet washcloth on my lap. It was cold.
"Its cold." I whispered.
He sighed deeply. Again. I was about to be done with the deep sighing.
He said, "I didn't want to wake David up making noise in the bathroom, so I was trying to hurry."
And he promptly rolled over and went back to sleep while I attempted to peel my eyes open using an very unpleasantly cold wet washcloth on my face and nursing an over sized, wiggling infant at the same time.
Here's the deal. I had momentarily forgotten that my husband is and absolute ogre when he gets woken up at night. During the day he's one of the nicest people you will ever meet. But he loves his sleep. He loves it very much. And he does not like it to be interrupted. Its sort of a Jekyll and Hyde scenario. Or maybe he's part were-wolf, only instead of turning into a wold at night he just turns into a mean person. Yeah, and we have two small children. Makes for some interesting nights.
Anyway, I had momentarily forgotten all this, and when I asked him to get me a washcloth for I guess I had these visions of him gently, tenderly and lovingly holding a warm, steamy cloth to my eyes and wiping away my blindness and with it all my fears of the night.
Well, those rose-colored glasses came off. They came off in the form of crusty eye goop, scraped off with a cold rag. I blame myself entirely. I forgot that he's part were-wolf. What can I say? The guy loves his sleep. I don't really blame him. Sleep is nice. I wish I could get some. I haven't had a full night's sleep in 3 years.
Needless to the say, the next morning Rachel and I went straight to the walk-in clinic, where I got some nice little drops to treat pink-eye.
Let's see, that was Thursday. On Friday night and Saturday night I had a terrible sore throat, so I was up roaming the house, looking for Tylenol, Ibuprofen, anything. Couldn't find anything but some cough drops, so I lay in misery, trying to to swallow because it felt like swallowing needles, then waking up with that awful post-cough drop taste in my mouth.
On Sunday Patience threw up.
On Monday Patience ran fever.
On Tuesday night I was up with Benaiah and before getting back into bed knelt down to check on Patience on her pallet on the floor.
She wasn't there.
I groped all around me in the dark, thinking she'd rolled off again. Couldn't find her. I felt around everywhere. The foot of the bed, in front of the dresser, beside the bed. She simply wasn't there. We had watched the movie Taken the night before and I was becoming increasingly certain that someone had stolen my daughter. Then I found her. Under the crib. I dragged her out by her ankles, rolled her back onto her pallet, and went back to sleep. She never even woke up.
On Wednesday I was hit with this terrible and weird fatigue. I couldn't keep my eyes open and I felt like I had weights hanging from my body. I kept falling asleep. I tried everything to feel better and perk up. Took a shower. Went for a walk to the park with the kids and Rachel. Drank lots of water. Nothing worked. I basically had to sleep it off. I felt some better the next day.
Wednesday night David thought he was going to throw up. Luckily he didn't.
Thursday Rachel was hit with the same weird fatigue. Thankfully I was feeling better so I was able to help out so she could rest.
Friday I finally kicked into gear and made some muffins and casseroles to put in their freezer because it wasn't that long ago that I was miserably pregnant I would love to have had some casseroles in my freezer.
Saturday we said our goodbyes and came home.
It was a bit of a rough trip, but still fun. The positives were that I really enjoyed spending time with Daniel, Rachel and David; Ben and Daniel got a lot done on the house and Patience and David had a blast playing together.
And I'm so, so glad no one else got pink-eye.
So we loaded kids, luggage, scaffold, ladders, guns, books, snacks, drinks and various other paraphernalia into the big black Chevy Duramax, hooked onto the tool trailer, and rumbled away. We did not bring the dogs. Or the kitchen sink. Those are about the only things we left. I have no idea why we take so much stuff when we travel. Maybe because it fits. Perhaps we should scale down our vehicle and just drive a VW Bug. Then we could only travel with a toothbrush, and maybe the children. Seems like it would be much more simple. I'll talk to Ben about it, but I don't think it will go over well.
So we drove along and I read Agatha Christie's Death on the Nile aloud to Ben. The children were remarkably quiet and good, and the trip was quite pleasant, except for the fact that my left eye kept feeling irritated, like there was something in it. Well, technically there was something in it. My contact lens. But this was something else. I kept rubbing and looking at it, but didn't think much of it. I was much more interested in learning who committed the horrific murder on the Nile. I'm not going to tell you. Read the book.
We arrived in Enid around 8:30 that evening, and after all the hellos and hugs and happy-to-see-yous, we all went to bed. Of course all four of us were sleeping on one room, which is totally fine with us because we often end up that way at home anyway. It actually quite amazing how comfortable it can actually be to sleep with 4 people in a Queen bed. Maybe it isn't actually comfortable. Maybe I'm just so tired that I'm basically passed out.
So we settled in for the night, Ben and me in the bed, Patience on a comfy pallet on the floor, and Benaiah in the crib that Rachel already had set up in preparation for their baby. Things were going smoothly. We were all sleeping. Why did I think the whole night would actually stay so blissfully peaceful?
Sometime in the middle of the night Benaiah started to fuss. Not unusual. He still wakes up to eat at night. What was unusual was that I couldn't open my eyes. I tried, but I couldn't. I felt of them and realized they were both completely crusted over with grossness and glued shut. I literally could not pry them open. What should I do? Try to feel my way to the bathroom and open them? Try and get Benaiah? I opted to head to the bathroom, but in the process of groping my way blindly to the door I stepped on what I strongly believed to be Patience's head. She must have rolled off her pallet. I retreated to the bed. Benaiah was getting pretty worked up at this point, so I felt my way to the crib, sat down on the bed and tried to nurse him.
All this time Ben hadn't moved. I wondered if he was really asleep or faking it. My guess would be faking it because no one can sleep with a baby crying and someone stumbling around, running into things.
I reached over and tapped him on the shoulder.
"Babe?" I whispered loudly.
He mumbled something that sounded like, "what."
"Well, my eyes are glued shut and I"m trying to nurse Benaiah and Patience is in the middle of the floor."
Silence.
"Babe?" I whispered a little louder.
He sighed deeply. "Is there something you want me to do?"
Actually, yes, I thought. Get Patience off the floor. Go get me washcloth to soak my eyes open. Hold Benaiah so I can get myself a washcloth to soak my eyes open. Take your pick. There's plenty to do.
What I said was, "Could you go get me a wet washcloth so I can try to soak my eyes open?"
He sighed deeply again, climbed out of bed, and headed to bathroom. I warned him about Patience, just in time, and he narrowly missed stepping on her. I think. I couldn't really see since my eyes were stuck shut.
Roughly two seconds later he returned and tossed a wet washcloth on my lap. It was cold.
"Its cold." I whispered.
He sighed deeply. Again. I was about to be done with the deep sighing.
He said, "I didn't want to wake David up making noise in the bathroom, so I was trying to hurry."
And he promptly rolled over and went back to sleep while I attempted to peel my eyes open using an very unpleasantly cold wet washcloth on my face and nursing an over sized, wiggling infant at the same time.
Here's the deal. I had momentarily forgotten that my husband is and absolute ogre when he gets woken up at night. During the day he's one of the nicest people you will ever meet. But he loves his sleep. He loves it very much. And he does not like it to be interrupted. Its sort of a Jekyll and Hyde scenario. Or maybe he's part were-wolf, only instead of turning into a wold at night he just turns into a mean person. Yeah, and we have two small children. Makes for some interesting nights.
Anyway, I had momentarily forgotten all this, and when I asked him to get me a washcloth for I guess I had these visions of him gently, tenderly and lovingly holding a warm, steamy cloth to my eyes and wiping away my blindness and with it all my fears of the night.
Well, those rose-colored glasses came off. They came off in the form of crusty eye goop, scraped off with a cold rag. I blame myself entirely. I forgot that he's part were-wolf. What can I say? The guy loves his sleep. I don't really blame him. Sleep is nice. I wish I could get some. I haven't had a full night's sleep in 3 years.
Needless to the say, the next morning Rachel and I went straight to the walk-in clinic, where I got some nice little drops to treat pink-eye.
Let's see, that was Thursday. On Friday night and Saturday night I had a terrible sore throat, so I was up roaming the house, looking for Tylenol, Ibuprofen, anything. Couldn't find anything but some cough drops, so I lay in misery, trying to to swallow because it felt like swallowing needles, then waking up with that awful post-cough drop taste in my mouth.
On Sunday Patience threw up.
On Monday Patience ran fever.
On Tuesday night I was up with Benaiah and before getting back into bed knelt down to check on Patience on her pallet on the floor.
She wasn't there.
I groped all around me in the dark, thinking she'd rolled off again. Couldn't find her. I felt around everywhere. The foot of the bed, in front of the dresser, beside the bed. She simply wasn't there. We had watched the movie Taken the night before and I was becoming increasingly certain that someone had stolen my daughter. Then I found her. Under the crib. I dragged her out by her ankles, rolled her back onto her pallet, and went back to sleep. She never even woke up.
On Wednesday I was hit with this terrible and weird fatigue. I couldn't keep my eyes open and I felt like I had weights hanging from my body. I kept falling asleep. I tried everything to feel better and perk up. Took a shower. Went for a walk to the park with the kids and Rachel. Drank lots of water. Nothing worked. I basically had to sleep it off. I felt some better the next day.
Wednesday night David thought he was going to throw up. Luckily he didn't.
Thursday Rachel was hit with the same weird fatigue. Thankfully I was feeling better so I was able to help out so she could rest.
Friday I finally kicked into gear and made some muffins and casseroles to put in their freezer because it wasn't that long ago that I was miserably pregnant I would love to have had some casseroles in my freezer.
Saturday we said our goodbyes and came home.
It was a bit of a rough trip, but still fun. The positives were that I really enjoyed spending time with Daniel, Rachel and David; Ben and Daniel got a lot done on the house and Patience and David had a blast playing together.
And I'm so, so glad no one else got pink-eye.
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