- Grown women wearing their hair in pigtails. Really. If you are over the age of 10 (and 10 is really pushing it, people) you have no business whatsoever wearing your hair styled that way. Especially not in public. Are you trying to attract perverts? Are you trying desperately to cling to your youth? Are you just as dumb as a box of rocks and think that it looks good? Unless it's Halloween (and even then you should think it through), just don't.
- Miley Cyrus. I don't see the appeal. At all. She has a chubby child face and dresses like a street walker. I get that she sings and plays instruments and I appreciate talent like that because I don't have it, but there's something about her that bothers the hell out of me.
- Decorating for holidays. If I didn't have kids there would be no Christmas tree. Don't get me wrong - I like my house being decorated, I just wish someone else would come and do it for a reasonable fee. By reasonable, I mean free.
- Doctor's office waiting rooms. I feel like I have those special glasses that allow me to see human fluids with a black-light like on CSI but with germs. I feel like I can literally see the germs on everything from the doorknob to the chair to the pen I use to sign in. I hate them even more when I have to sit in them far past my scheduled appointment time, but that's a different thing altogether. At my last appointment I had to wait over an hour past my scheduled appointment time. When I complained politely the doctor basically told me to get over it. Needless to say that almost ended in violence.
Thursday, September 30, 2010
Get Ready - Here Comes a Vent
Everyone needs to vent sometimes. Those that know me know that I vent a lot. It doesn't mean that I am a miserable person, just that I choose not to internalize my negative feelings (at least that's how I justify it to myself). Here are a few of the things that are making me shake my head and frown at the moment. I expect all future blog entries may have a few "vent of the week" items at the end.
Wednesday, September 1, 2010
A Day In The Life
Recently I received a request to write about a day in my life. Unfortunately that's kind of like asking someone to tell you where the beginning of a circle is. A circle has no beginning or end - kind of like a "day" for me. I'll start with the morning because that makes the most sense, but when you haven't slept all night the night before it doesn't make as much sense as you would think.
In addition to its unambiguous start and finish, every day is different ... and much the same. Sometimes we have things like doctor's appointments or visits from friends, but the basic concept is still the same. Feed, replace pacifiers, change diapers, laundry, dishes, cooking, and answering a million questions.
I've never been a huge fan of the TV show "24" but I watched a few seasons. It would always baffle me how Jack Bauer never went to the bathroom. When you're saving the world, you don't have time to pee. Guess what - when you are at home with a 3 year old and twin infants you don't often have time to pee either. Then again, Jack wasn't sustaining his life on Diet Coke exclusively. Sure, I'm not being shot at (with bullets at least), but it's still pretty intense. (Don't bother asking what I am being shot at with - use your imagination). My assailants are not foreign or domestic terrorists, but tiny little toothless people inflicting not physical, but mental anguish on me, their target.
So the day starts between 6 am and 7 am. Luckily Ken is very hands on and many times takes the night shift, especially if I have had an especially tough day. Please don't get in line to tell me how lucky I am. I know I am fortunate to have a husband willing to participate in the raising of our children, but luck is only half of the deal. The other half is necessity. I'll stop now for fear of going off on a tangent that will only make everyone think I am certifiably insane.
I get up (if I am ever asleep in the first place) and make bottles - this involves formula powder of the most expensive variety as my kids have allergies to the cheap stuff (go figure), rice cereal as my kids have reflux that causes them to spit up everything the eat without the cereal, and about 17 pieces that make up a Dr. Brown's bottle. For those who don't know, Dr. Brown's bottles are supposedly he best thing for reflux and gas. Dr. Brown himself is a sadistic master of torture who gets his kicks from knowing that not only do all the pieces have to be assembled for the bottles to work, but they have to be disassembled, rinsed and sterilized. The twins are also on reflux meds three times a day. While I make bottles for the first feeding, I get Camille's breakfast ready (sometimes she is already awake) and disassemble and rinse the bottles from the night before (usually 4-6 bottles) and load them into the dishwasher. The dishwasher HAS to be started then or else we will not have bottles for the rest of the day (we only have as many as we need since Dr. Brown also drives a freakin Ferrari because he charges so much for these bottles). I start a load of laundry then feed the babies.
Feeding the babies is its own challenge. We choose to feed them one after the other instead of tandem (propped up at the same time) since they rarely get one on one attention except at these feedings. They eat every three hours so here's the math: Change Sawyer's diaper, give him his reflux meds and start feeding his around 8 am. Once he burps and gets another diaper change since he typically poops during the first morning feeding it is approximately 8:40 am. Put him down and pick up Noelle who has at this point probably been crying for about 15 minutes since she's now hungry and ready to eat. Change her, dose and give meds and feed her. She eats very slowly so it's usually 9:15 am by the time we finish. Then I get Camille cleaned up from breakfast and dressed. It's 9:40 now. I get a shower and get dressed. I put on tennis shoes because I am literally running for the rest of the day and my feet need the support. If no one is screaming I usually get to pee before my shower (yay! Take THAT Jack Bauer!). Once I finish I transfer clothes into the dryer and put another load to wash, unload the dishwasher, reload the dirty dishes and bottles and get bottles ready to feed the babies again. During all of this I am stopping many times to wipe spit-up, change diapers, replace pacifiers or soothe babies (since I know you are wondering why it takes me so long to do these simple household chores). The truth is, everything takes more than twice as long. Writing this blog entry is going on 5 hours now since I keep having to stop for various reasons. Exhausted yet? That was just three hours....
I won't bore you with the rest of the day - the previous paragraph repeats itself multiple times with variations thrown in like lunch, Camille going down for a nap, cursing out telemarketers, cooking dinner, cleaning and making appointments. It takes a great deal of planning to make the days go smoothly (yes, that was a smooth day I was describing). On Sundays I plan the dinner menu for the week and make sure I have everything I need to make all the meals. On Tuesdays Camille has dance class so on Mondays I make sure her leotard, etc are clean and her tap and ballet shoes packed and in the car. Yesterday we had an appointment for the twins to get shots so that involved all of us getting dressed and out of the house on time then when we finally got home and settled Noelle had a reaction and we had to go back. So Tuesday was spent "catching up" on laundry, dishes, etc since I was "out of the office" all day Monday. Eventually we will get to the point where we can attempt outings of the recreational sort but for now it's easier just to stay put.
I can remember when Jon & Kate plus Eight first aired and everyone was remarking how miserable it must be to live with Kate in all her regimented glory. I totally get it. It's not fun a lot of the time, but it's the way it has to be if we are going to survive this. Controlling the chores, schedules, outings, etc allows me to let go of the many things I am not able to control these days like sickness, lack of sleep, not sleeping in the same bed with my husband and gassy, fussy babies. It's a coping strategy. And while I will say that in recent episodes of Kate plus Eight Kate has started to dress a little less than classy with her 4 inch heels, halter and short shorts on her vacation to NYC (she complained incessantly about the heat but not her feet hurting??) she has her stuff together. We may only be "Ken and Kristyn plus Three" but anyone who has multiples can tell you that one plus one doesn't equal two.
So there it is - a day in my life. Probably not all that interesting, but with any luck the end result will be well-rounded kids. This post wasn't as funny as my previous one but if you come for the humor don't fret because I'll be back with more soon. Likely the next time I am in public and someone asks me if the babies are twins (no, jackass, the hospital gave us an extra one).
In addition to its unambiguous start and finish, every day is different ... and much the same. Sometimes we have things like doctor's appointments or visits from friends, but the basic concept is still the same. Feed, replace pacifiers, change diapers, laundry, dishes, cooking, and answering a million questions.
I've never been a huge fan of the TV show "24" but I watched a few seasons. It would always baffle me how Jack Bauer never went to the bathroom. When you're saving the world, you don't have time to pee. Guess what - when you are at home with a 3 year old and twin infants you don't often have time to pee either. Then again, Jack wasn't sustaining his life on Diet Coke exclusively. Sure, I'm not being shot at (with bullets at least), but it's still pretty intense. (Don't bother asking what I am being shot at with - use your imagination). My assailants are not foreign or domestic terrorists, but tiny little toothless people inflicting not physical, but mental anguish on me, their target.
So the day starts between 6 am and 7 am. Luckily Ken is very hands on and many times takes the night shift, especially if I have had an especially tough day. Please don't get in line to tell me how lucky I am. I know I am fortunate to have a husband willing to participate in the raising of our children, but luck is only half of the deal. The other half is necessity. I'll stop now for fear of going off on a tangent that will only make everyone think I am certifiably insane.
I get up (if I am ever asleep in the first place) and make bottles - this involves formula powder of the most expensive variety as my kids have allergies to the cheap stuff (go figure), rice cereal as my kids have reflux that causes them to spit up everything the eat without the cereal, and about 17 pieces that make up a Dr. Brown's bottle. For those who don't know, Dr. Brown's bottles are supposedly he best thing for reflux and gas. Dr. Brown himself is a sadistic master of torture who gets his kicks from knowing that not only do all the pieces have to be assembled for the bottles to work, but they have to be disassembled, rinsed and sterilized. The twins are also on reflux meds three times a day. While I make bottles for the first feeding, I get Camille's breakfast ready (sometimes she is already awake) and disassemble and rinse the bottles from the night before (usually 4-6 bottles) and load them into the dishwasher. The dishwasher HAS to be started then or else we will not have bottles for the rest of the day (we only have as many as we need since Dr. Brown also drives a freakin Ferrari because he charges so much for these bottles). I start a load of laundry then feed the babies.
Feeding the babies is its own challenge. We choose to feed them one after the other instead of tandem (propped up at the same time) since they rarely get one on one attention except at these feedings. They eat every three hours so here's the math: Change Sawyer's diaper, give him his reflux meds and start feeding his around 8 am. Once he burps and gets another diaper change since he typically poops during the first morning feeding it is approximately 8:40 am. Put him down and pick up Noelle who has at this point probably been crying for about 15 minutes since she's now hungry and ready to eat. Change her, dose and give meds and feed her. She eats very slowly so it's usually 9:15 am by the time we finish. Then I get Camille cleaned up from breakfast and dressed. It's 9:40 now. I get a shower and get dressed. I put on tennis shoes because I am literally running for the rest of the day and my feet need the support. If no one is screaming I usually get to pee before my shower (yay! Take THAT Jack Bauer!). Once I finish I transfer clothes into the dryer and put another load to wash, unload the dishwasher, reload the dirty dishes and bottles and get bottles ready to feed the babies again. During all of this I am stopping many times to wipe spit-up, change diapers, replace pacifiers or soothe babies (since I know you are wondering why it takes me so long to do these simple household chores). The truth is, everything takes more than twice as long. Writing this blog entry is going on 5 hours now since I keep having to stop for various reasons. Exhausted yet? That was just three hours....
I won't bore you with the rest of the day - the previous paragraph repeats itself multiple times with variations thrown in like lunch, Camille going down for a nap, cursing out telemarketers, cooking dinner, cleaning and making appointments. It takes a great deal of planning to make the days go smoothly (yes, that was a smooth day I was describing). On Sundays I plan the dinner menu for the week and make sure I have everything I need to make all the meals. On Tuesdays Camille has dance class so on Mondays I make sure her leotard, etc are clean and her tap and ballet shoes packed and in the car. Yesterday we had an appointment for the twins to get shots so that involved all of us getting dressed and out of the house on time then when we finally got home and settled Noelle had a reaction and we had to go back. So Tuesday was spent "catching up" on laundry, dishes, etc since I was "out of the office" all day Monday. Eventually we will get to the point where we can attempt outings of the recreational sort but for now it's easier just to stay put.
I can remember when Jon & Kate plus Eight first aired and everyone was remarking how miserable it must be to live with Kate in all her regimented glory. I totally get it. It's not fun a lot of the time, but it's the way it has to be if we are going to survive this. Controlling the chores, schedules, outings, etc allows me to let go of the many things I am not able to control these days like sickness, lack of sleep, not sleeping in the same bed with my husband and gassy, fussy babies. It's a coping strategy. And while I will say that in recent episodes of Kate plus Eight Kate has started to dress a little less than classy with her 4 inch heels, halter and short shorts on her vacation to NYC (she complained incessantly about the heat but not her feet hurting??) she has her stuff together. We may only be "Ken and Kristyn plus Three" but anyone who has multiples can tell you that one plus one doesn't equal two.
So there it is - a day in my life. Probably not all that interesting, but with any luck the end result will be well-rounded kids. This post wasn't as funny as my previous one but if you come for the humor don't fret because I'll be back with more soon. Likely the next time I am in public and someone asks me if the babies are twins (no, jackass, the hospital gave us an extra one).
Monday, August 23, 2010
Where the Wild Things Are
Well, enough people have mentioned this for me to want to give it a shot. So here I am - writing a blog. Don't get too excited - this may all peter out pretty quick. Or who knows? Maybe I will find my calling and become a famous writer :)
My first entry: appropriately titled "Where the Wild Things Are"
You want to know where the wild things are? I'll tell you where they are: they are in my garage!
We live in the suburbs if you want to call it that. In a subdivision with houses all around. We have a pet cat named Tiger who lives outside mainly in the garage as he is lazy and does not like the heat. A little history on Tiger: he is a wimp. We got him as a kitten when a friend took him in as a stray and was afraid her dog would have him for lunch. Rescued from certain death, he came to live with us. Not long after he got into a little scuffle with something - another cat, a racoon, a dog? In any event, he got shots and some stitches and apparently his balls chopped off while he was there because ever since he has been a complete coward. (In his defense he did get his ass kicked so I don't totally blame him.) Another cat comes around pretty often and Tiger practically serves his meals to him on a silver platter. Ken just says that Tiger is a lover, not a fighter.
So now that you know about Tiger you can imagine his state of distress last night when we arrived home (and by "we", I mean me, Ken and all three kids) and saw some other animal in our garage. Our garage is in a perpetual state of clutter no matter how much we try to keep it organized. This is not entirely the fault of Ken, despite the garage being his domain. A large portion of the clutter there now is a china cabinet I just bought that needs repair, but I digress.
I assumed this other animal was another cat that we would just run off like usual so I was taken by surprise when Ken jumped out of the moving car and ran into the garage grabbing a broom on his way. Realizing that the broom was to be used as a weapon (why was a plastic broom his weapon of choice? I hope this is not a dangerous animal!) I sat up in my seat to get a better look. The battle begins. Ken is in a fit of rage swinging the broom (dangerously close to my china cabinet!!) and Camille asks why daddy is playing golf in the garage. Thankfully she had an obstructed view and could not see the animal or the extent of what was happening. Then her questions start: "Mom, what is daddy doing? Why is he playing with that broom? What is that animal? Why is Tiger scared? Can i go play with Tiger and the other animal and Daddy? Where is the other animal going?".....
At this point it occurs to me that this is not simply another cat we are dealing with but some other creature of the night - my money was on a grizzly bear the way Ken was jumping all around and swinging the broom with all his might. I can't get a good view of it but whatever it is, it's not the smartest thing since it is not trying to escape but instead hiding in and around my china cabinet. At this point I am about to get out and take a swing at it myself. Then I see it - it's a possum. And all this coinciding with the premiere of the new TLC show called "Swamp People"! It's fate! Despite Ken's fight I see that it is a tiny possum - not even as big as Tiger who is messing himself in the corner. I had to take a second look to make sure it was not in fact a 250 pound monster-possum. It wasn't. Now he really is swinging the broom like a golf club with the little possum child on the end of it flying at warp speed out of the garage. Apparently, without my knowing, we have entered Defcon 5. This thing ended up at the end of our driveway "mortally wounded" as Ken said.
We are finally all able to safely exit the car (possums don't travel in packs, do they?) and go inside. Camille is still asking what the other animal was and where he went so I tell her it was a possum and he went to see Jesus. I ask Ken if he k-i-l-l-e-d it and he says no, that he needs to finish taking care of it. He leaves again and comes back a few minutes later saying that it was taken care of. I ask if the COD was blunt force trauma (I watch a LOT of CSI on tv...for those of you who do not, COD stands for "Cause of Death"), which it is. Thankfully a storm came right after to wash the blood off our driveway and Ken's proverbial hands.
We all escaped the predator unscathed. Even my china cabinet. The best part is knowing that my husband is a rugged man just like the one on the Old Spice commercials. (Can your man single-handedly kill a 3-pound adolescent possum?) I will say that Ken mentioned after it was over that he first grabbed Camille's toy broom which is all of 2 feet long. While ill-advised, it would have made for a much more entertaining battle - more like a hand-to-hand combat situation. And he didn't take my advice to put the carcass on a stake in the front yard as a warning to his little possum friends. I guess we will just have to be extra careful when going into the garage at night...
My first entry: appropriately titled "Where the Wild Things Are"
You want to know where the wild things are? I'll tell you where they are: they are in my garage!
We live in the suburbs if you want to call it that. In a subdivision with houses all around. We have a pet cat named Tiger who lives outside mainly in the garage as he is lazy and does not like the heat. A little history on Tiger: he is a wimp. We got him as a kitten when a friend took him in as a stray and was afraid her dog would have him for lunch. Rescued from certain death, he came to live with us. Not long after he got into a little scuffle with something - another cat, a racoon, a dog? In any event, he got shots and some stitches and apparently his balls chopped off while he was there because ever since he has been a complete coward. (In his defense he did get his ass kicked so I don't totally blame him.) Another cat comes around pretty often and Tiger practically serves his meals to him on a silver platter. Ken just says that Tiger is a lover, not a fighter.
So now that you know about Tiger you can imagine his state of distress last night when we arrived home (and by "we", I mean me, Ken and all three kids) and saw some other animal in our garage. Our garage is in a perpetual state of clutter no matter how much we try to keep it organized. This is not entirely the fault of Ken, despite the garage being his domain. A large portion of the clutter there now is a china cabinet I just bought that needs repair, but I digress.
I assumed this other animal was another cat that we would just run off like usual so I was taken by surprise when Ken jumped out of the moving car and ran into the garage grabbing a broom on his way. Realizing that the broom was to be used as a weapon (why was a plastic broom his weapon of choice? I hope this is not a dangerous animal!) I sat up in my seat to get a better look. The battle begins. Ken is in a fit of rage swinging the broom (dangerously close to my china cabinet!!) and Camille asks why daddy is playing golf in the garage. Thankfully she had an obstructed view and could not see the animal or the extent of what was happening. Then her questions start: "Mom, what is daddy doing? Why is he playing with that broom? What is that animal? Why is Tiger scared? Can i go play with Tiger and the other animal and Daddy? Where is the other animal going?".....
At this point it occurs to me that this is not simply another cat we are dealing with but some other creature of the night - my money was on a grizzly bear the way Ken was jumping all around and swinging the broom with all his might. I can't get a good view of it but whatever it is, it's not the smartest thing since it is not trying to escape but instead hiding in and around my china cabinet. At this point I am about to get out and take a swing at it myself. Then I see it - it's a possum. And all this coinciding with the premiere of the new TLC show called "Swamp People"! It's fate! Despite Ken's fight I see that it is a tiny possum - not even as big as Tiger who is messing himself in the corner. I had to take a second look to make sure it was not in fact a 250 pound monster-possum. It wasn't. Now he really is swinging the broom like a golf club with the little possum child on the end of it flying at warp speed out of the garage. Apparently, without my knowing, we have entered Defcon 5. This thing ended up at the end of our driveway "mortally wounded" as Ken said.
We are finally all able to safely exit the car (possums don't travel in packs, do they?) and go inside. Camille is still asking what the other animal was and where he went so I tell her it was a possum and he went to see Jesus. I ask Ken if he k-i-l-l-e-d it and he says no, that he needs to finish taking care of it. He leaves again and comes back a few minutes later saying that it was taken care of. I ask if the COD was blunt force trauma (I watch a LOT of CSI on tv...for those of you who do not, COD stands for "Cause of Death"), which it is. Thankfully a storm came right after to wash the blood off our driveway and Ken's proverbial hands.
We all escaped the predator unscathed. Even my china cabinet. The best part is knowing that my husband is a rugged man just like the one on the Old Spice commercials. (Can your man single-handedly kill a 3-pound adolescent possum?) I will say that Ken mentioned after it was over that he first grabbed Camille's toy broom which is all of 2 feet long. While ill-advised, it would have made for a much more entertaining battle - more like a hand-to-hand combat situation. And he didn't take my advice to put the carcass on a stake in the front yard as a warning to his little possum friends. I guess we will just have to be extra careful when going into the garage at night...
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