Poot and Cubby

More mouses in my houses

June 8, 2008 by Andi

One of the not-so-charming things about living in an older neighborhood is the tendency for furry roommates to muscle their way in. They pay no rent. They eat your food and they make me shudder just thinking about them. I naively thought we’d obliterated all of our mice in October, but now we have more.

I started noticing little black flecks in the kitchen. I thought Jason was spilling loose tea all over the place, so I never paid much attention. Then he noticed it and thought it might be mouse poop. A quick consult with Dr. Google confirmed that my husband was not being a slob. Our nasty little house guests were using our kitchen as an anything-goes outhouse.

And so began the ritualistic killing. Jason and his murderous accomplice, Elliot, bought more traps. We assembled our arsenal. There were so many traps a mouse couldn’t sneeze and live. Jason joked that if we couldn’t catch them, maybe we could at least potty train them as that would minimize our nasty shat- cleaning duties.

The first night I heard the tell-tale SNAP. Because the thought of looking at or touching a dead mouse triggers my gag reflex, Jason disposed of the corpse. He said it was a big one. I began to wonder if we’d caught the lone rat in Alberta.

We all know that there is never just one mouse, right? So now we’re waiting for the others, or as Jason so nicely put it, we just have to wait around until the babies are old enough to come out of the nest to scavenge for food. Grim.

Elliot is under the impression that we let the mouse go to play with his family. What? You wanted me to tell her that mommy and daddy snapped her little friend’s neck and threw it in the trash? She was upset that she couldn’t pet and hold it (thanks, Disney!) Then she started to cry because she thought we were really going to potty train it and we’d robbed her of that wholesome fun. Note to self - make time to explain the concept of “joking” to a three-year-old.

As is her pattern, Elliot continued to obsess about the mouse, especially after Jay said it was a big one. She insisted that when she got bigger she was going to find the mouse and ride it. Another note to self - find way of explaining to a preschooler that the word “big” is a relative term. I told her if it was big enough to put a saddle on, Mommy would have moved out of the house.

Maybe by the time Elliot is an adult there will be freaky, radioactive mice large enough for her to realize her dream of becoming a Mouse-Cowgirl. I can imagine her now, riding through the streets shouting, “YEE-HAW” while trying to lasso a piece of cheddar to feed her trusty steed. I just hope one of the giant mice eats me before I have to witness such an awful scene.

Posted in House, Irritants, she's crazy but she's mine | 25 Comments »

How you doin’?

June 4, 2008 by Andi

Random bits from the past two days:

Thanks for all of your well-wishes about my return to work. Monday was way, way easier than I thought it would be. Jay and I tag-teamed the kids and made it out the door within an hour. When I left the kids at daycare, there were no tears (shockingly, not even from me! Although I was mildly irritated by the fact that some of my colleagues said inane things like: “You’d probably rather be at home right now, huh?” or “I bet you really miss your kids.”) Anyhoo, when I arrived to pick up the kids, there were no colossal meltdowns, just smiling faces. I was so proud of how well Elliot and Arlo adjusted, I thought I might burst. And the daycare owner actually told me my kids were “amazing.” Sure, I’m paying her, but I like to think she meant it, because I think so too. I’m ridiculously thankful that they are in a place where they are so well cared for.
I’d forgotten how completely insane the after-work routine is - making dinner, squeezing in some quality playtime and then before you know it they’re off to bed and you’re packing up stuff for the next day. Drink, anyone?
Yesterday went well, too. Well, except the part where Elliot had a total meltdown because the daycare staff dared to feed her something that is not included on her list of 8 foods she’ll consider sampling with her discerning palate. The daycare owner was almost in tears because she couldn’t get her to eat. Poor thing - I told her it’s all about power with Elliot. Don’t engage - if she wants to eat, she’ll eat. If not, she can be stubborn and feel hungry for a few hours. Lord knows she has more than enough reserves to draw on without being in danger of wilting away.
Oh, and then there was that minor part after we returned home and Arlo dipped his entire hand into a bowl of hummus and walked around the house leaving hummus hand prints all over the couch and walls. Yum!
After dinner last night, the kids and I walked to a nearby park. Elliot wanted to try out the tire swings for the first time. She was delighted that they spun around. She looked up at me and said, “I think I’m gonna stay here forever.”
Another thing that made my day on Monday, was receiving a Perfect Post Award from my bloggy friend, Mrs. Chicken for my Illusion of Choice post. Who knew it was possible for me to love her more? Thank you all for your amazing comments and support on that post - I was overwhelmed by the response. I tried to respond to all of your comments as I think it sparked an interesting and important discussion.
Speaking of blog-business, it probably goes without saying that I may be scarce around these parts for the next few weeks while I get adjusted to my new schedule. I’ll try to at least lurk around your blogs - and who knows, maybe I’ll even write a decent post next time! If I’m not around, please know that I’ll be thinking of you and missing you.

Posted in Lists, Random, boring me | 25 Comments »

Happy birthday, Arlo!

June 2, 2008 by Andi

Arlo Henry,

Today you are one! How on earth did this happen?

You have changed from an eating/crying/snuggly baby-blob into a little man. I’ll be honest with you – I was unsure about this whole having a son business. No one told me what a charmer boys could be. No one told me you would look at me with eyes that say you worship me. I’m grateful you think I’m a goddess and will try my best to lengthen your state of delusion.

I’m thankful for so much about you that it’s difficult to put into words. I love that you:
-eat (well, usually inhale) whatever food I put in front of you.
-are adventurous and busy and independent.
-still like to cuddle and turn to me for a source of comfort. When you put your head on my shoulder, or give me one of your famous bear hugs, I melt.

I love that you are outgoing and enjoy meeting new people. Most strangers say one of two things about you: “He looks like such a little man!” or “He’s such a happy little guy.” And you are. Smiley. Laid-back. A charmer all-around.

In the future you won’t be able to: look up the exact date you got your first tooth; see the times down to the minute of your night wakings; hold a plaster rendering of your tiny hand; or thumb through as many baby pictures as your sister will. These things don’t prove that I have slightly more love for Elliot than you. They prove that you have already taught me more than I’ve taught you. You’ve taught me to relax and enjoy every moment, instead of record-keeping and obsessively collecting mementos. The fact that I give you countless kisses and laugh with you every day is proof that I love you more than you’ll probably ever know.

This year, you will start saying things beyond “mama”, “dada”, and “uh-oh!” You will gain more confidence in your walking. You will continue changing before my disbelieving eyes. There are things I will miss about baby Arlo. Every time I put you and your sister to bed, I feel like I’m saying goodbye to a person who will disappear overnight - that person is replaced by a slightly older version of you who smiles at me from your morning crib. But, I’m also excited to see the person you’ll become. I don’t mind that you keep growing up, I just hope the things that I see in your core don’t change – a gentle, loving spirit, an insatiable curiosity, and an old soul hiding behind your young, shining eyes.

Well, now I’m all weepy. But they’re happy tears - happy because I get the chance to be a mother to a son. Especially since that son is you. I’m so proud and lucky to be your mama.

Happy birthday, sweet boy.

Posted in Arlo, General, letters, yay! | 33 Comments »

The illusion of choice

May 28, 2008 by Andi

Consider yourself warned - this is a very long, and very ranty post…

I started writing a post about how my one-year maternity leave ends this week and I’m returning to my full-time job on Monday. I wrote about the circumstances that forced me to reluctantly return to the work force after my mat leave with Elliot. And how something I fought tooth-and-nail against, became a positive and rewarding situation.

Some day in the future, I will tell you that back story. But at the moment, I couldn’t simply write a personal post without sounding defensive. And no matter how much I’ve seen people write similar posts and emphasize that they weren’t trying to make a political point about staying at home versus working, someone always seems to use it as a starting point for vicious mommy war-mongering.

So, I’m writing this post instead, because I think the Mommy Wars are bullshit. I keep getting into what are essentially surface discussions about the merits of the SAHM and working mom. Within those discussions, someone always says they are grateful to have a choice. The choice to stay home. The choice to work. The problem is that I think that “choice” is an illusion.

Did the character in Sophie’s Choice feel empowered that she got to “choose” which one of her children lived and which one died? I realize this is an extreme example, as we’re not exactly talking about a life and death choice when it comes to how we raise our kids. But, there are similarities – as mothers we have the overwhelming, sole burden of making countless childcare and domestic decisions. And a “choice” in which you are damned for picking either alternative is not much of a choice at all.

Let’s think about it for a moment - when was the last time anyone thought (or even said aloud) the following of a father: Why did he even bother having kids, if he was just going to let strangers raise them? For how much he’s paying for childcare, it’s not even worth it for him to return to work. If he really loved his kids, he’d stop being selfish and find a way to give up his job to stay home with them.

How often do you hear the term “working dad?” If you see a man without his children, do you ask him if his wife is “babysitting” them? How often is a father’s love for his children questioned because he seeks sources of joy and accomplishment in addition to raising kids?

How often do dads suffer from Daddy Guilt? Guilt because they don’t spend enough time playing. Because they put their kids in front of the TV so they can have time for themselves. Because they get frustrated or bored or don’t otherwise revel 24/7 in the sweet miracle of their beloved angels. Because they want to take a class or paint or blog or go out dancing or write or run or volunteer or do any other fulfilling activity that would require they occasionally leave their kids in someone else’s care.

When we think of these issues affecting men, it seems absurd, doesn’t it? Why is that? Because there is still much work to be done if mothers are to actually achieve anything close to equality with their partners. Actual equality would mean that both parents were equally responsible for the moral integrity of our children and held accountable when things go awry. That means if my child is poorly behaved or otherwise maladjusted, or if my house is a pig-sty that people would be just as likely to blame my husband as they are to blame me.

I know there has been progress. I know fathers are more involved than ever and that attitudes towards mothers are evolving, but I still maintain that we have a long way to go. Obviously, a shift towards a more balanced view of parenting is not going to happen overnight. For the time-being, my hope for you, my fellow intelligent, strong mothers, is that regardless of how you live your life, that you are doing so because it brings you joy. Because it fulfills you. That you are not living for anyone else or according to the impossible obligations put upon you by “just the way things are.” That one day we will all be members of respected parenting teams governed by equitable and reasonable expectations.

For my part, I’m going to give the middle finger to Mommy Guilt – because it accomplishes nothing. Because I love my kids fiercely and I do the best I can, my children will turn out brilliantly, regardless of the stupid things I choose to become guilt-riddled by. I’m going to refuse to participate in the manufactured Mommy Wars. I’m going to freak out the normals by doing crazy things like asking expectant fathers what they plan to do about their personal work situation once their child is born. I’m going to do the unthinkable and support all parents in their child-rearing endeavors. And I’m going to do these things in the hope that mothers will stop being distracted by petty in-fighting and come together to fight the real enemy – not other mothers, but a culture that oppresses us by feeding us false choices and then asks us to be thankful for them.

My wish for my daughter is a future where her husband has half of her endless To-Do List living inside his head. That it will be just as likely that he will wrestle with the decision of whether or not to stay at home with their children. That she will not face the great weight of false choices. That “mothering” issues or challenges will become “parenting” issues. That in her future, society won’t make blanket assumptions about the lives of stay-at-home and working parents, because no one can truly understand how another’s personal circumstances affect their decisions. And that she, together with all moms and dads, will be part of a cohesive group of parents - a group capable of working together to harness the actual power of choice to create a better world for themselves and their children.

Posted in I only think I know everything, it's my blog and I can rant if I want to | 71 Comments »

Ah, retirement

May 26, 2008 by Andi

They’re back! Lefty and Mrs. Right have agreed to talk to you about their recent retirement since I appear to be incapable of writing a coherent post about it.

Lefty: I can’t believe we’ve only been retired from the breastfeeding gig for 2 weeks and our slave-driver of a host is making us reminisce about it on the Internet.

Mrs. Right: Ah, Lefty. Why do you have to be so bitter?

Lefty: On the contrary, my dear Mrs. Right, I’m elated. Whoopee! No more feedings! Pass me a noise-maker, I’m going to party till the cows (suckers!) come home.

Mrs. Right: A noise-maker? Now really, Lefty, how do you expect to blow into it?

Lefty: It seems just as likely as me chatting with you, doesn’t it?

Mrs. Right: Touché, Lefty. Touché. So, how did you find the weaning process?

Lefty: Right down to business, hey Mrs. Right? Well, I was happy that the host (evil though she is) decided to do it gradually this time. With the girl-child, it was a bit speedy for my liking - I thought my head was going to explode, you know?

Mrs. Right: Oh, how I know. But didn’t you find the three weeks a bit much? It was almost like a tease. When the wee parasite kept cutting out one feeding every 5-7 days, I would think it was finally over only to be periodically attacked.

Lefty: I know what you mean. Especially that long feed first thing in the morning. I mean, I know the host could catch a few hours of shut-eye because of it, but what about us? What about our needs for rest and relaxation?

Mrs. Right: Exactly! Equal rights for Breasts! Speaking of relaxation, what have you been doing during your retirement?

Lefty: What do you mean what have I been doing? We live on the same chest, crazy woman! Alright, I’ll indulge you. I’ve been lounging about, mildly depressed about how thin I’m becoming. Although I have to say, I’m not nearly as saggy as I’d anticipated - that’s a bonus.

Mrs. Right: It is a bonus. I’d hoped the host would take us to the beach to celebrate our retirement and I could get cozy in a nice bikini. As usual, though, she only thinks of herself. She says she has to go back to work soon and can’t be lolly-gagging in the sand. Plus, she’s still fighting with Belly, so she told me a bikini is out of the question.

Lefty: Ya, that Belly has really become a pain in the teet. Speaking of the self-absorbed host, I suppose we should tell the readers how she’s been handling all of this.

Mrs. Right: Sigh. Yes, it is our responsibility as her slaves to inform them of her condition. The host is doing well. She had anticipated being weepy and mourning the loss of what is probably her last nursing relationship (yippee!) When the time came, she was surprisingly unphased (which is shocking, because she can be quite the drama queen). She knew after 11 months that it was time. Time to send her sweet little boy out into the world beyond the comfort of her lap. It was time for us to be replaced with those vile sippy cups filled with the homo milk of cows.

Lefty: Hee hee. Homo milk.

Mrs. Right: Oh, Lefty, you’re such a child.

Lefty: Ya, ya. Oh, Mrs. Right. Are you crying?

Mrs. Right: Of course not. I’m not sentimental in the least - do you have any idea how uncomfortable I was with the boy’s new teeth rubbing up against my delicate body? What you think are tears must be some left-over drops of renegade milk. Stupid lactation.

Lefty: It’s okay to miss the boy a bit, you know. It really did get better towards the end, didn’t it?

Mrs. Right: I suppose it wasn’t the worst thing I’ve ever done. Ahem, well enough of this sappy talk. Stupid Brain manipulating us with her ridiculous emotions.

Lefty: Shh. We need to join forces with Brain to convince the host to take us to the beach.

Mrs. Right: You’re right, Lefty. I’ve grown weary of our dark, depressing home. Commence Operation: Perky Girls Basking in Sunshine.

Lefty: Perky? Now for that we’ll need medical intervention. After everything we’ve gone through, I don’t think I can stomach going under the knife.

Mrs. Right: True. I’ll settle for unperky as long as I get to see the inside of a bikini some time soon. Set up a meeting with Brain, post haste.

Lefty: Will do. Ta ta, host’s readers. We must be signing off. As you can see, we have a lot of work to do.

Posted in breastfeeding | 18 Comments »

Dumbassery makes for excellent blog fodder

May 20, 2008 by Andi

I should have written this post, um, a week and a half ago when it actually happened, but a wicked cold and brutal sleep-deprivation from said cold along with a general case of the Blahs has made me scarce in the blogosphere lately. Anyway, here it is…

A few Fridays ago, we had the first official summeresque day of the year.

The kids and I had lovely time at the playground. Arlo entertained himself without eating a single grain of sand. Elliot ran around like a wild animal that had finally been let out of its cage.

After Arlo had collected the entire contents of the sandbox within his shorts, we walked down to the nearby shops to buy some knitting needles. The girl-child complained the whole way, telling me, “I’m so tired of that place” even though we hadn’t actually been there in months. When we arrived, the knit shop was mysteriously closed. Sometimes Elliot’s powers terrify me.

We began the walk home, marching to this soundtrack: “I’m so tired. This is a long walk. My legs are telling me I need to sit down.” Because I’m super awesome, I neglected to bring the baby’s sling so I could throw Elliot into the stroller once the inevitable Whine Fest began. Instead, I decided to try and give her a piggy-back ride. While hoisting her onto my back, half the drivers on the busy street beside me were treated to a lovely peepshow of motherly back fat and ass crack as Elliot’s heavy body weighed down on my pants’ waistline. After all that effort, I only made it a half a block as her grip around my neck was choking me. I don’t know about you, but I’m addicted to this crazy drug called Oxygen. Without it, I seem to die.

What’s that you say? Not em-bare-assing enough for you? Oh, right. I forgot to tell you about what happened before we left for the playground. I was running around like a mad woman grabbing snacks, lathering on sunscreen, throwing clothes at wee people, and generally mourning the days when I could pick up my shit and leave the house in 5 minutes. The days before a walk to the playground became a ridiculous three-hour production from intention to execution. I was relieved that it was actually warm enough to make wearing jackets unnecessary. As I closed the locked door behind me, I realized something mildly inconvenient. My house keys were in my jacket. Fa-RICK.

4 hours before Jay comes home. A baby still in need of an afternoon nap. A stroller needed for the walk to the park, locked in the bloody garage. Thus began my attempt to break into my own house. I pulled a plastic lawn chair up to one of the windows in the backyard determined to keep this a private shame. Plus, if I did manage to break into my house, I didn’t need people witnessing my technique and taking notes for their own attempts to gain access into it. Sadly, all the back windows were properly locked.

Desperate, I moved to the front yard, keenly aware that many of my neighbors would see the crazy woman standing on a chair yelling obscenities at a window while an impressionable audience of two looked on over their sippy cups.

We have those old metal slider windows. Apparently, if installed incorrectly, you can just take the windows right out. Right out. So, the good news is - it was easy to break in. The bad news? It was easy to break in. Obviously, new windows - failing that, better locks - are needed immediately if even I, with my limited skills in the art of B and E’s, can gain access into my house at such an alarming speed.

It took me a minute to realize that I was celebrating my victory too soon - the window ledge was too high. Someone who’s arms are not of the spaghetti variety or who isn’t part elf could have easily pulled themselves up. Me? Not so much. Instead, I had to coax a very reluctant three-year-old to join me on my lawn chair and lift her onto the window ledge. I told her to fetch my jacket with the keys in it. She brought me the wrong jacket. Jeebus! Must remember to get smarter criminal accomplices. Scratch that - must remember not to be such a dumb ass in the first place. My tiny co-conspirator then made a hero of herself by opening up the front door.

Have you made an ass of yourself lately?

Posted in Brilliant Moves | 30 Comments »

I’m an auntie again!

May 17, 2008 by Andi

My sister-in-law, Sarah, had her baby on Thursday morning. I was waiting for her to post about it so that she could be the one to announce it rather than me stealing her thunder. Please go over to her place for pictures and details - you won’t be sorry, he is one adorable baby. I’m ever so bummed that it’s going to be a few months before I meet him. I miss them all so much. Go give them a virtual hug and some congratulations for me, m’kay?

Posted in yay! | 12 Comments »

I wasn’t planning on joining the club so soon

May 14, 2008 by Andi

Three. It is both the best and the worst age yet. But I guess if I think about it, every age is like that.

I love her independence. Her sense of humor. Her sensitivity. Having conversations with her. Her elaborate pretend play. Her singing and dancing. Her bold spirit.

What I could do without is the intense attitude. The fits over nothing. The way she sometimes openly defies me. Tells me no. That I’m no fun. That when she gets older she’s going to move away and do whatever she wants. How I’m already becoming that mother I said I wouldn’t be. The one who screams in frustration at her kid. Who yells things like, “I don’t have to listen to you! I’m the mom here.” Or the dreaded, “Because I said so, that’s why!”

What really kills me about Three is its bipolar nature. How yesterday while I was lying sick on the couch, she came up to me and asked me if she could get me anything. “What can I do for you?” She asked. When I told her “nothing,” she decided to read me some stories and rub my head. An hour later, I was telling her for the 100th time to “LEAVE YOUR BROTHER ALONE,” sitting her on a time out, and totally losing my shit.

Today, I awoke feeling like leftover ass. I’ve had a nasty cold for over a week. Yesterday, I felt high as a kite and chocked it up to my cold medicine. But this morning even though I hadn’t taken any meds, I was still all glassy-eyed and had that odd feeling of floating outside of my own body. I spent the first half the morning trying to maintain consciousness, until my angel of a mother came to rescue me so I could lay on the couch in peace. I rested for four hours and began to feel better.

When the kids came home, Elliot dragged me outside for a few hours. When I had to make dinner, she asked Jay and me if she could play in the back yard. We repeated our rule that she was not to leave the back yard. Minutes later, Jason saw her walk into the front yard and hauled her inside. She completely freaked and began her desperate bargaining routine. I’ll listen. I’ll be a good girl. Please. Let me go back out.

When that proved unfruitful, she pulled out all the stops. You’re no fun! I don’t like it when you mean. Several boo-hoos later, I tried to explain to her that mommy and daddy were just keeping her safe. And then it happened. The words that I hadn’t planned on hearing for years flew out of my child’s mouth, “I HATE YOU!”

Huh. I was shocked, but my feelings weren’t hurt. Even if I thought that she knew the power and the meaning of those words (which she doesn’t), I’m not here to be liked, I’m here to be her mother. Sadly, that isn’t always the same thing. She was put on a time-out, her daddy had a long chat with her, she apologized and morphed back into my sweet preschooler like it had never happened.

So, I’m officially a member of the loathed mommy club. (And yes, I’m totally aware of how craptastic her teenage years are going to be when she can both use these words and knows how to drive - save me!) Please share your I HATE YOU stories (c’mon, I know you have them - it’s a cliche for a reason). Failing that, I’ll take any recommendations you might have for a good exorcist.

Posted in fodder for future therapy sessions, she's crazy but she's mine | 31 Comments »

Exactly what I wanted

May 12, 2008 by Andi

I was thinking yesterday how ironic it was that most mothers of small children probably wanted only one thing on Mother’s Day - time away from their kids. In the weeks leading up to Mother’s Day, I had to contain my giggles every time one of those ridiculous commercials came on claiming that what I needed was an expensive pair of diamond solitaire earrings. Those television mothers can keep their diamonds. Give me a few hours where there is no time-out wrangling, ass-wiping, or slave-waitressing, and I will be forever grateful.

I don’t often write about my husband on this blog because I don’t want to embarrass him. Also, he’s as close to perfect as I could have hoped for and I’m not the type to bore you with mushy spousal musings. Sure we drive each other insane sometimes and have the occasional squabble, but we would have to be robots for that not to be the case. He is the funniest, sweetest person I know. And he knows me better than anyone.

Because of who he is, I wasn’t really surprised (but I was very touched) when Jay handed me a card with a heartfelt message written inside. He told me he was dropping me off at a coffee shop so I could go on a field trip with my laptop and one of my favorite magazines that he’d bought me for the occasion.

So off I went for 3 hours of sweet, fancy freedom. Even though a stupid coughing fit made me flee the first coffee house (soon I will be rid of this vile cold!), I happily moved to a bench outside. And then made my way back to another cafe. I wrote. I read. I people-watched and eavesdropped. I got to listen to the thoughts that are usually drowned out by the din of small children.

After a day of relaxation, I arrived home to a clean house - he even did the windows! Swoon! - and smiling kids. Days like this remind me that not only am I one lucky mama, I’m an awfully lucky wife.

Posted in boring me, the husband | 31 Comments »

More quotables

May 9, 2008 by Andi

At the risk of becoming one of those nauseating mothers who gushes over her adorable and hilarious children, I must share three Elliot-phrases (out of the hundreds, I’m sure) that totally cracked my shit up over the past few weeks:

1) When asked to do some minor tidying up - “Oh, mom. What am I going to do with you?”

2) In the video store - “OH MY GOD! They have The Wiggles!” - She yelled it so loudly and sounded so shocked, you’d swear the band itself was playing live in the kids’ aisle.

3) During evening cuddles the other night, while hugging me tightly - “Oh, I wish I had a mother like you.” Pause. “And I do!”

And with that last one, I wish all the mothers out there an early Happy Mother’s Day. I’ll bet all your children wish for a mother just like you.

Posted in she's crazy but she's mine | 25 Comments »

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