Suzy Q Homemaker

I’m having a hard time adjusting to the boys being home all day.  Jamie had a lot of time off last week, which helped with the official start of summer vacation.  And it does help that he gets off work at 2:30 now that it’s summer.  I still can’t help but feel overwhelmed, though.

Aiden and Simon fight constantly.

Corey bugs me nonstop about playing video games.

And of course, the house is a wreck.

Did I mention that our $1500 Rainbow vacuum died?

I’m having severe anxiety with going back to “work” on Wednesday night.  For goodness’ sake, I’m leaving Timothy in the loving hands of our church nursery for not even two hours.  My heart is pounding just thinking about it.  It makes me wonder how mothers who go back to work full time do it.

Sorry to be such a Debbie Downer, y’all.  I just didn’t want to disappear from my blog completely and have you wonder whether or not I got carted off to the looney bin.

Life Starring Ellie & Eve put together a new meme: The Mommy Confessions.  She says, “As moms many of us have things that we would like to get off our chests or that we would just like to confess.”  Here’s my weekly confession:

It’s hot, there are bugs out there, and it’s dirty.  I kick the kids out of the house on a daily basis, so don’t think I trap them in the house all day.  I just don’t like going out there with them.  Here in Georgia, the humidity makes it feel like stepping into a sauna as soon as you set foot outside the front door.  I can’t stand it when my clothes stick to me or when I’m constantly wiping at a film of sweat on my upper lip.  I’d rather sit indoors where there’s air conditioning and cool water to drink. 

I want my kids to go outside and play.  They need the Vitamin D and fresh air.  They need to get dirty and play with bugs.  Do I like to go with them, though?

Today marked six weeks since Timothy made his debut in the Grant household.  I think these past weeks are all a blur because of more than just sleep deprivation.  There’s also food-deprivation, affection-deprivation, and quiet-deprivation.

I don’t know why they call it a “babymoon.”  Ok, sure, that first week when you’re sore and want nothing more than to ice down your lady parts and eat chocolate cake all day, you appreciate everyone offering to help you to the bathroom or bring casseroles.  Your newborn only sleeps, poops, and nurses, so you can do things like lay in bed for hours at a time while watching Oprah.

But then your husband goes back to work.

It’s just you, the baby, and a three-year-old who refuses to do eat or wear clothes.  I can’t tell you the number of times my mother-in-law came over and asked Simon, “Where are your britches?”  Jamie is a saint and cleans when he can, but you can fight the forces of nature…or a household full of boys.

As I sit here in the kitchen, waiting for the Lipton Spanish Rice to cook for our Mexican Dip that we will eat for dinner, I see dishes on the floor under the table, a wooden alphabet block that’s been on the counter for days, not to mention a cat waiting patiently by an empty water dish.  These are but a few reminders that a babymoon isn’t anything like a honeymoon.

1. You can’t drink
2. You can’t have sex.
3. You can’t travel to an exotic location and do #1 or #2 for days on end.

My makeup has probably expired since it sat untouched in the bathroom drawer for months on end.  There is a perpetual counter covered in dishes. Lucy is always reminding me to feed her and the other cats.  And a pile of clean laundry always sits unfolded in the 10-year-old papasan chair.  I could control these and all of the other everyday annoyances.  I could spend every waking minute folding, wiping, picking up, and scrubbing.  But it wouldn’t leave me time to watch the milk dribble from Timothy’s mouth as he nurses.  And it wouldn’t give me a free hand to hold an action figure while Simon’s action figure punches it.

Maybe this is a different kind of holiday.  If the next few years go by as quickly as these six weeks did, I should probably stop caring about the paper that’s been on the floor in the corner of the kitchen for days and enjoy snuggling the tiny baby who will one day be too big to give me a hug in public.

I like this meme.  This week, Momdot’s Small Talk Six topic is “6 pieces of advice that you think are obvious, but some people just need to hear.”

So I thought I’d take a moment to list the advice I give to my children every night at the dinner table.

1. Chew with your mouth CLOSED.  It is absolutely revolting to listen to anyone smack their lips.  You sound like cows and no one wants to see what you’re eating.
2. Don’t talk with your mouth full.  Again, we don’t need to view the contents of your mouth while you’re trying to tell us about what Emily did at recess.  If you need to say something, it can wait until you’re done chewing.
3. Get your elbows off the table!  You look like you are bored and don’t want to be here with us.  If you’re that tired, go to bed.
4. Please use a knife.  Use the knife to cut your food and to push the bits of rice and corn onto your fork.  We don’t use our fingers at the table unless we’re eating “finger” foods.
5. Don’t slurp your drink.  Especially if you are using a straw, it’s rude to audibly siphon the last few drops of your milk.  Get some more to drink if you’re still thirsty.
6. NO BODILY NOISES AT THE TABLE!  No burping, farting, snorting, grunting, growling, or loud singing.  This includes fart noises made with knee pits and armpits (Aiden)!

What advice would you give?  Join in the conversation at Momdot.

Where has this month gone?  It seems like just last night that Timothy came barrelling through my birth canal and into our lives.  He’s gone from a life of nursing, pooping, and barfing to a life of nursing, pooping, barfing, and staying awake for extended periods of time in order to crack a smile when it suits him.

Ah yes, now we’ve entered a world of change.  Just this morning, Timothy made a sound that was almost a coo.  It was different from the usual grunts and snorts.  We have started calling him Mr. Piggy occasionally.  He has no problem letting us know when his diaper needs to be changed or if it’s been more than 20 minutes since he last nursed.  How I missed the cluster feeds!

Even in his not-so-happy times, I can’t help but laugh because I know it’s not that bad.  Is it because this is my fourth baby that I’m so much more relaxed?  Baby language isn’t all that hard for me to interpret anymore.  Corey asked me the other day how I knew when Timothy was hungry.  I explained the rooting a little bit and he seemed to get it.  Not that I’m 100% accurate.  There are times when I think he’s hungry and Timothy isn’t interested.  But we live & learn.

And yes.  I cry sometimes, too.