Tutus at 8 am?

Yes please!

The evil should monster

I should be researching food culture and the blogosphere right now. Hell, I should have done that a month ago and should actually be writing right now.

I should be writing lesson plans for classes 2 weeks from now so that I can get ahead.

I should be writing a lesson plan for class for tomorrow, or watching the film that I've assigned but actually have only watched scenes from, and thus, will probably end up "winging" class tomorrow which makes me feel awful.

I should be getting better from all the DOOM SICKNESS that enveloped our house, but instead, due to the 25mph winds here today, am full of snot and post-nasal drip because pollen is at an all-time high.

But in the face of all these "shoulds" I'm blogging about it. Basically whining about it. Because instead of putting all that energy into doing something, I am, in fact, seized with such lethargy and innertia that I can't do anything.

This is not a good place to be. What it makes me is a cranky mom.

I snapped at Stella three times in the course of 10 minutes this morning. Instead of calmly explaining why pushing her sister was not the most effective way of keeping her away from the toilet, instead of explaining why pushing her sister to the floor to keep her out of my sink drawers was not the most effective way, instead of explaining to Stella why trying to pick her sister up by the neck was not the most effective way of picking her up, instead of explaining calmly why almost 4 year olds don't really need "mousse" in the hair, regardless of the fact that Mommy used it to try to make her crappy hair look somewhat decent, which in the end did not work.... instead of using calm, I used loud. "Stella! Stop it!" "Stella, we don't do that to Louisa!" "Stella? What are you doing?"

I can understand why she has been so defiant these days. Who wants to be corrected all the time? I certainly don't. In fact, if she truly is my child, which I believe she is, then she wants to be right all the time. ;) So then the should monster rears its ugly head and tells me all day, I "should" be a better parent.

The amount of pressure we parents of young children put on ourselves is enormous. In fact, some days, too enormous to hold the weight and it all comes crashing down. Into yells. Into tears. Into tantrums. Into a big handful of cookies or a drink after the kids go to bed because self-medicating with either chocolate or bourbon seems like the best thing.

I didn't take the dog running this morning. I "should" have. And this is the only should I know I "should" have made at least a priority because maybe the 20 minutes, the simple quiet 20 minutes of a run all myself without any kids hanging off of me might have helped my mood. 20 minutes of "me" time. 20 minutes of doing something for my body to make it have the energy it needs to run around later after 2 children.

I know I'm not in this alone. But without a strong framework of friends or family here, we feel like we are flying by the seat of our pants most days... or adrift on a raft, floating aimlessly, wondering if we'll ever see land. No wonder Stella is at her peak emotionally most days. Without the interaction of other people from school, she's stuck with her family 24-7. We haven't had a little girl to play at our house since Santa Barbara... there, yet again, we "should" do better by our kids. But when her school best friend's mom won't even say hello to me, won't even look me in the eye when we cross paths at pick-up time, I'm not sure how to even broach the "hey, you want to come over for a playdate?" question.

This post has now become a jumble of thoughts... funny, I was teaching my students in Theatre History on Monday about the Surrealists... in a way, today feels a lot like automatic writing. The need to put whatever is in one's head down on paper, and looking back later for the illuminations that arise.

Related?

I always wonder if we look related... still not sure.

As an aside, Stella insisted that we take this photo on the new camp chair that Steve found left at the local baseball field... you know, lest you think that we have some random red frame chair in our living room.

From the mouths of...

Louisa knocks over Stella's play stroller with her stuffed animals in it, and Stella utters:

"Oh Bunny, I know. That was traumatic for you."

Steve and I almost lose it. "Um, Stella, do you know what the word 'traumatic' means?"

"No."

"Well, you used it properly. Do you want me to tell you what it means?"

"No."


***********

Before going to bed a few nights ago:

"Mommy, can I ask you a question?"

Sure.

"Mommy, why does the sorcerer turn the white swan into a black swan?"

What?

"the white swan? Why does he do that?"

Oh, you mean in Swan Lake? (which we watched like 3 weeks before and hadn't talked about it since.) Well, he's a mean sorcerer, and really the black swan is his daughter pretending to look like the white swan.

"Why?"

Um, because that's the story. The sorcerer wants the white swan to live in his lake forever because he likes her.

"But the prince likes her! That's not fair."

No Stella, it isn't.

"Good night Mommy."

When life gives you sand...

you make sand angels. Of course.

Mommy, I'm a Dancer!

We've heard that phrase before. About a year ago, in fact. or something like that... I know I made note of it on the blog before. The time is just smushing together lately. You look around, and all of a sudden, your baby is walking consistently around the house, when you try to put her down on her bottom, she prefers her feet, and you realize, crap, she'll be one in two weeks, and if she's walking that means she's a toddler and not a baby anymore, and how did THAT happen?

But back to dance. Because we are a bit obsessed with it at our house right now. We searched around the area for dance lessons back in early February and then the DOOM SICKNESS enveloped our house and after a month of trying to get out from under the DOOM SICKNESS we are finally headed to ballet class today after school.

It's pretty momentous for Stella. We picked up two new leotards last week at Target (thank you Stella for liking what was on the clearance rack) - you know - one leotard for class and the other to wear around the house EVERY MINUTE that she is awake. Observe:

I have no clue what these poses are, but she's pretty serious about it. So here's to something that might teach her discipline and might, just might, rub off at home.

Tally

I had written a few blog posts in my head over the last few weeks. You know, pithy ones with funny comments by Stella; adorable picture ones of Louisa because she just turned 11 months (!!!) and is now up to 10 steps unassisted, can wave and clap, and kiss my chin (not Steve's because he has too many whiskers); or pictures of our recent trip to the Valley of Fire.

But no. I have to complain.

In the last 2 weeks, here is what we have REALLY been doing.

Pink Eye = both kids.

Horrible wracking cold, complete with mucus galore, no voice, lung-squeezing coughs = both parents.

Ear infection = Louisa. (but that really should say ear infectionS because it never went away and we're on to part two = extended ear infection)

And the piece de resistance?

VOMIT! Entire contents of one's stomach = Stella. Just tonight. Entire bedsheet change. Entire PJ change.

Awesome. I've been to the doctors 3 times for Louisa in the last 2 weeks. One for an undiagnosed pink eye (allergies, she said), one for the real pink eye and ear infection, and one for the follow up ear infection. (Does going to the dentist for a routine appointment count? 'Cause we got two in the last 2 weeks as well.)

I've also been to the doctors 3 times in the last 2 weeks for myself. One for urgent care to tell me, no, 9 days of this cold is totally normal, there is nothing we can do for you, and you probably have 9 days left. And to the worst OB/Gyn in the country who won't give me birth control until I take a blood test pregnancy test and come back to the office then to get said birth control even though I'm a responsible adult and know if I'm pregnant or not. (Not.)

Please please please, blogger, readers, followers, please say a prayer to the higher power (just a small one, reserve the important ones for important things) - nay- not even a prayer - maybe just an aside, an afterthought, that the vomit was just a random vomit and not the FLU or ANYTHING ELSE THAT REQUIRES A DOCTOR VISIT.

Is that trite of me? I hope not.