Help Wanted

Suddenly my darling baby has turned into a devilish tornado of energy and anger, resulting in wall-banging, yelling, throwing, and inevitably... time outs. And then occasionally, catches me off guard with the cutest little finger-pointing, "I love YOU"s. How is it possible to be so cute and so difficult at the same time?

Houston has always been what Dr. Karp would call "spririted" -- he knows what he wants and will certainly let you know what it is, even if you can't decode his screaming language. At 3 months old, we couldn't go anywhere in the car without hearing Houston's shrill cries in the backseat. Now, Houston gets angry about having to wear a coat. And in case you don't live within 500 miles of my zipcode, it's approximately, oh, 0 degrees outside.

This is how we spend the last 30 minutes in the car:
Houston: pulling at chest, screaming, "OFF! OFF"
Me: Houston, we have to wear coats outside. It's winter!
Houston: WAHHHHH.
Me: Houston, look, momma wears coats too!
Houston: WAHHHHH.
Me: Houston, mommy is getting mad. No more crying.
Houston: WA-HAAAAAAAH.
Me: Houston, stop crying. You are FINE.
Houston: WA-HA-HAAAAA.
Me: Fine. Mommy's going to Dunkin Donuts and getting a chocolate donut JUST FOR ME AND NOT FOR YOU (turns music up)!

I've turned just as freakin' crazy as my kid!

I tried looking up my issues on the internet. Lo and behold there ARE other kids who don't wear coats. Advice on this issue? a) Spanking. b) Dressing your kid outside. c) Letting your kid wear what they want. d) Letting your kid choose their coat.

Here are my issues with these solutions: a) I don't spank. Although, I've learned as a mom, you never rule anything out, I'm pretty sure I'm not a spanker. And certainly not for something like not wanting to wear a coat. b) Dressing your kid outside? I hate being cold. That doesn't work for ME. I don't even care about what Houston thinks on the subject. c) I'm sorry, but I hardly think a 2-year old is capable of making decisions about proper dress. I guess this is the "let them figure out that they'll be freezing in 3 minutes" approach. Doesn't seem safe. Doesn't seem practical for someone who doesn't fully understand the concept of WEATHER. d) Do other people have more than one winter coat for their kid? I certainly don't.

Thus, I'm on my own. Pretty soon I'm going to be doing all of my errands from 7-9 when Justin's home from work because I can't STAND the crying and I can't STAND the public tantrums and I'm going to get FAT on anger donuts. Help a sister out. Give me some tantrum advice PLEASSSSE.

Dear Future Self:

When you become the mom of an 8 year old, remember not to believe everything your darling child reports to you. Eight year olds LIE. Do not write threatening emails to your child's teacher. Do not tell the teacher that you are going to "hold them responsible" for your child losing their own damn hat 5 times. It's a hat. 5 hats. Face it mom, your kid's irresponsible. Do not tell the teacher that their winter accessories are being stolen. Guess what mom? 8-year olds don't steal gloves. Or hats. They don't want to wear them in the first place... why would they steal more of them? Furthermore, don't bitch to your child's teacher when that's the only form of communication you've ever had with her: Bitching. Show up to parent conferences. Man up, and talk to her face-to-face. Guarantee you won't be so rude. If you keep writing those notes, riddled with spelling errors from your writing fury, she won't take you seriously. In fact, she'll probably show that note to all the other teachers she knows, ridiculing you for spelling "responsability" with an a. Future mom, above all else, don't be a pain in the ass to the person who spends so much time and energy ensuring that your flesh and blood becomes smarter than you are.

Sincerely,
Me.

Car shopping is/makes me feel stupid

The lease on my husband's Trailblazer is up in April, which to those illiterate in car-speak (me) means we have 4 months to look for a car. Except my mailbox/voicemail tells me different. With the amount of "reminders" I get weekly, you'd think if we didn't turn that damn truck in tomorrow it would explode mid-drive.

So Justin and I had a little car shopping date - which proved to be a great idea and a terrible idea at the same time. It was a great idea because what we thought would be "just a few minutes" in the Honda dealership turned into 2 hours, 2 test drives and lots of standing around (not exactly Houston's idea of fun-- or mine for that matter). It was a terrible idea because it turned into 2 hours, 2 test drives, lots of standing around, and honestly, more anxiety and pressure than I bargained for.

The insane thing is, after 2 hours, we still have NO confirmed lease prices. Even more insane? The damn CR-V is in my garage for an "overnight test." Like if I just go into the garage and see it in there long enough, I'll magically decide it's my car. It's kinda working...

Justin and I had a little pre-dealership pep talk on the way from parking lot to sales desk. We're not confirming anything. Just getting prices. But those bastards are so convincing! Ugh. I almost got duped. "We can trade your truck in now, work it in to the price, get you a price..." and then he walks away and leaves you sitting there thinking, okay, maybe we WILL get a car today.

But there was one little fault to his "pitch." There was this room where the almighty Honda "money man" sits. You know, when you want to know how much a car is, and they say, "Hold on, let me go ask." I want to be the guy who sits behind a desk and chooses random numbers and tries to screw people all day. No I don't. I just want that kind of power. Anyway, it annoyed me because Justin and I could see into that stupid room where like 5 Honda salesmen were just sitting around in comfy leather chairs shooting the shit. They weren't talking about money. They weren't even talking about cars. They were just in there, pretending to be "running numbers." Just trying to make naive car buyers like me sweat. Well eff you, I have enough to sweat about in my life, thank you very much. Eventually our guy comes back out and says, "The lease would be somewhere in the 300s." Uh... it took you ten minutes to come up with that little gem?

I kinda liked our sales guy - he was okay, for a car salesman. But then he introduced us to his "manager" AKA: money guy. He practically had slime oozing from his pores, or maybe that was hair gel. Either way, he was the one who granted us permission for a one-night stand with the car. He was gross. Unfortunately for him, on my way to moving my car seat into my borrowed CR-V, I imagined his fat sweaty hand shaking mine again and thought, this is not going to happen. I may take your car for a late-night ride, but your big salesy face is not what I want to associate this cute car with.

I'm not sure how we got from "let's not commit" to this CR-V in our garage, having a sleepover with my sweet little Jetta. But alas, it's there. 4 months early. But then again, what do I know about cars? Maybe the "overnight" trick will actually work... I'll let you know.

Merry Christmas!

Hope you all had a wonderful holiday with loved ones... I sure did. And thankfully those antibiotics kicked in JUST in the nick of time! Houston had an amazing day (amazingly overwhelming?), and has loved playing with his abundance of new toys. 2010 has been a great year for the Smith family, and here's hoping 2011 is ever better... and hopefully healthier!

Happy Holidays!

Supervirus Be Gone!

Went backkk to the doctor today to figure out why I've had a temperature for the past 4 days, chills, body aches, and oh yeah - those really disgusting white spots in the back of my throat. Found those delicious little wonders with my book light. Over the weekend, the "walk in" doctor told me he saw an ulcer in my throat, which really freaked me out. So I was bound and determined to see it myself... I used my toothbrush to hold my tongue down, but the light in the bathroom just wasn't quite strong enough to see anything. Wah lah! Book light. Had to practically swallow the thing, but there it was, no-- no ulcer, just white gross things all over my throat. I threw down the booklight and put my hands over my throat. I'd had enough. This damn supervirus has to GO!

The doctor told me my throat looked "suspicious." Like it had committed a crime and had some smug look on its face. But no, doctor. It's a throat. That adjective doesn't work for me. She must have sensed my confusion, because she took ANOTHER rapid strep test. Nada. Fortunately, she sent the culture to the lab to find out why my throat was being so sneaky.

She also sent ME to the lab.

Anyone who knows me know that my personal hell is a lab. I have such a blood phobia. I sneakily requested that the receptionist give me a room where I could lay down. She wasn't so sneaky. She found a hot pink post-it that said, "PATIENT WANTS TO LIE DOWN" and stuck it onto my paperwork. Ugh.

A massive man with goggles came out to the waiting room. Not me. Not me. Not me. "Danielle?" EFF! Why is he wearing those goggles? In case my blood spurts out all over his face? I could feel myself getting woozy already. But I laid in the chair and survived. I credit Goggles for telling some pretty hilarious stories that included ugly people and flasks. I survived.

I later when to Target to pick up me new prescription for antibiotics... only need 5 of them, but my insurance company is only paying for 3 at a time. Can't wait to pick up my refill on CHRISTMAS EVE. UGH. Can't blame Target - the sweetest lady worked so hard while I stood there, probably looking like crap in my baggy sweatshirt, and ruffled hair (still matted from laying down for the blood work). She tried calling every connection she had, but alas, I walked out with my 3 pills.

Hopefully this darn disease is on its way out... I should know more tomorrow. Here's to a healthy Christmas for everyone!

Ah Yah Vue!

Houston is by far, the best form of entertainment a tired mother could ask for after a long day in the classroom. He's always been animated with his little facial expressions since his first week of life (he even used to be compared to Bruce Willis... judge for yourself:)

Now that he can talk, he's even more entertaining. While watching hockey with his daddy, it's not uncommon to hear him yell, "GOALLLL" or "Nice HIT!" He cracks us up with jolly, animated, "Meh-hee Kissmasssss" wishes, and every time someone says, "Happy Birthday," he finishes their sentence with a "to YOU!" He knows the names of every color of the rainbow, although the only color name he can actually match to a color is "peenk." I just don't know where he picks up all these new phrases and ideas. His little brain is developing before our eyes, and it's just crazy to think that he is learning in spite of us... well, because of us, AND in spite of us. It really is wild.

But by far the BEST new expression he has is "Ah yah VUE!" Tonight when I was laying Houston down in his crib he looked me in the eye, gave me a "ah yah vue" followed by "Buh bye." Just like he'd been saying it all his life... and also like he wanted me to put him to bed already. Have I mentioned how much I love this kid?

Sweet Dreams... Maybe.

It's 3:17 am. I bet all you guys are snug in your cozy beds. Well, except for you in the UK who are probably cursing all of us who are supposed to be snug in our cozy beds. (P.S. Thanks for reading, UK-er!) Yet, here I am, criss-cross like a 7-year old on the couch, tea in hand (between sentences), sound of the dryer tossing my clothes and scraping the buttons of my jeans.

When I had a baby, I learned two things about sleep. A) It's precious. B) I can get by on a lot less than I thought. In the first months of Houston's life, I probably would have done crimes for extra hours of sleep. Perhaps the thought of a private jail cell was appealing. As I've mentioned before, I'm just a rotten girl when I get woken up. I'm a pretty great mom from 6am to 10pm. After that, all bets are off. But there's a difference between "unnatural" woken sleep and natural woken sleep. Now, a veteran at this sleep-deprivation, the clock says 3:17 and I think, welp, at least I got 6 uninterrupted hours. What I wouldn't have done for that amount of time 18 short months ago.

I woke up thinking about my classroom. About changes I wanted to make, grades I had to post, desks I wanted to move. Once the thoughts turn to school, I usually know I'm doomed. Work thoughts are tough. Unless you work at home, you can't just get up and fix the things you need to. You just have to dwell and stress for 6 more hours until you can actually do something, and then when you actually get to work, you're too tired to do anything more than survive... stress cycle continues.

When I can't sleep, I have to get up. I have to feel like I did at least one productive thing to lighten the load (ew, hate the expression) for tomorrow. Hence, laundry. Hence, blog. Usually, after awhile, the feeling that my brain has been infused with crack subsides. I don't really feel like folding that stuff in the dryer anymore. The amazing point I had to make in my blog has sorta faded. It's almost time to head back upstairs.

What do you do when you're too stressed to sleep? Or your mind's alarm clock went off prematurely?(My mind's in the gutter.) I'd love to know how to take better advantage of this time, or alternatively, go back to sleep. Truth is, after babies, sometimes it's nice to have some uninterrupted thinking time. A few minutes to mentally prepare for the days to come. Although I say that now, and if that monitor starts blaring in 15 minutes, I'll be back later swearing...

Sweet dreams!

Praise the Lord for Science

In the past 6 days, I've been to my doctor's office 3 times. Twice for me, once for Hew. I'd been fighting a losing battle with laryngitis - Houston had, for lack of a better word, an extreme case of "bitchassness". That's what I call Houston's condition that kind mothers call crankiness. There was some kind of shmutz being spread amongst the Smith family, and I was bound and determined to find out what it was.

I bet you know what our problem was.

The dreaded... virus. I think that doctors use that diagnosis when they just have no clue what the heck is the matter with you. Thank GOD for science. We Smiths experienced the wonders of science in different ways this week.

My irritable little monkey of a son had a miraculous recovery in just 24 hours. His body just needed a little sleep, a little extra water, and some lovin' from a more patient daddy. His amazing little body healed itself. My body required a different kind of science. We call that type of science "drugs." I tried my damndest to avoid the doctor, but after 3 days of being out of work (hard to teach with zero voice), I was forced to go in to get a doctor's note... one day after I'd been in with Hew. Of course, a virus. Well the laryngitis started to go away after about 5 days, had one great day of normalcy, then had a BLASTING earache that night.

I tried to be a tough girl. So I called mom. She said ear infections heal themselves and you just have to put up with it. That logic worked about 24 hours. Now, let me remind you... I had a baby. An 8 pound baby. An 8 pound baby with strong shoulders.

I was back at the doctor the next morning. I finally got the antibiotics I probably should have had a week ago. And now, 30 hours later, I'm vertical. Off the couch and FINALLY back at work.

I hate pills. They make me anxious. But there are times when your body needs a little "kick" out of bitchassness. Thank God for science... in all forms.

Holiday Memories

Now that it's December, I can accept the fact that Christmas is rapidly approaching. Now that Houston is almost --- er, 21 months (I can't quite get myself to round up to that second year yet), he is starting to understand that something exciting is happening. He's learned how to say, "San-sah" and "Ho ho ho" and "Mehhhhh Kissmas." And although he's pretty apprehensive about the big guy, he's quick to point out each and every "San-sah" he sees... even the black Santas at Burlington Coat Factory that I thought would confuse him. Hell, they confused me.

This weekend we went to cut down our Christmas tree. Justin and I thought Houston would be pumped to run around the farm and pick out a tree for our house. Well, for one, it was freezing. And if there is one thing this mini Justin inherited from him momma, it's our hatred for an environment below 68 degrees. So he was cranky. Annnd we forgot to bring cash. While Justin hightailed it to an ATM, Mr. Misery and I tried spotting a tree on our own. I pointed out a few of the hundreds of possibilities, limited down to about 30 because we weren't smart enough to tag something ahead of time (probably those damn pre-Halloween Christmas decorators...bastards). Houston, through freezing tears, whimpered, "Over there," and distinctly pointed to a little piece of perfection I had missed. That tree is now standing in our living room.

...much to Houston's dismay. Justin found us, with cash and a saw. He started cutting as Houston tried climbing up his back. Maybe it was a maneuver to distract. Regardless, as the tree hit the ground, Houston's whimpers turned into a full-fledged bawl. "ALL DONNNNNE," he yelled. "Oh NOOOO, all DONE!" He sobbed as Justin dragged it to the car, and only let up when the little old sales lady (Mrs. Claus?) gave him a gingerbread cookie. Okay, I guess we have two common genes: a distaste for cold weather, and a strong taste for cookies.

Here's hoping Houston isn't traumatized or need meds for seasonal depression.

I Make My Own Fashion Shows

Stayed home from school today and already called out for tomorrow due to a little thing called lack of voice. I considered doing all my lessons in sign language then remembered a) I don't know sign language and b) my class needs plenty of "voice intervention."

Too many cups of honey-infused tea has me jittery and sleepless... and oh yeah, still voiceless, thus I was able to enjoy the Victoria's Secret fashion show which was on an hour past my usual bed time. Watching all those glittery "outfits?", listening to the catchy beats, and catching glimpses of so many celebrities had me pretty captivated. I felt like Houston watching his morning episode of Thomas the Tank Engine: colors, music and British accents.

I imagined how much greater my life would be if I too, was a VS model. Except for my small boobs which I happen to like. And the fact that I can't walk in a heel over 1/4 inch. And the fact that I could probably never eat a cheeseburger EVER again. Or my Friday chocolate glazed doughnut. Or take cream in my coffee. And I could never just chill out in granny panties because even when you feel like crud, you'd probably have to don something glittery and floss-like. I'm not cut out to be a model.

I'm not going to lie, sometimes when I'm walking down the halls at school, I feel the need to strut it a little. Those hallways are long. And if you don't look too long in the mirrors along the hallway, you can trick your brain into thinking you're hot stuff. And sometimes my mom's words come into my brain, "Danielle, what if you were in an accident and they had to cut off your pants?" There's about 3% natural model running through my veins. But it's a all a bit too much maintenance for this girl. And I really like my Friday doughnuts. Those poor models don't know what they're missing.