A Diva Moment

Pandemonium August 2, 2014

My family. Ah, my family.

They drive me bat shit crazy. Yep, you read that right: bat. shit. crazy!

Surprised? I imagine you probably are. Many of you, who I’m happy to call my friends, have over the years said what great children we have, how well-behaved they are, what a great mom I am, what amazing parents we must be to have such great children, etc. Generally, I smile and say “Thank you!” Today, I say, “But you don’t live at our house. You don’t see what I see.”

Pandemonium. Pure and utter pandemonium. All. the. time.

The toddler loves to shout and yell. It was cute when he was an infant. Now, not so much.

• Add his loudness to the child who, when frustrated, becomes unable to use language and is thus relegated to screaming bloody murder.
• Add his loudness to the other child who constantly shouts “NO!NO!NO!” when someone is bothering them rather than using calmer language.
• Add his loudness to the other child who slams doors, knocks over chairs and is generally wild when frustrated.
• Add his loudness to the parents, who, weary from all of the above anger and shouting, add their own shouting to the mix.

Add all of that together and you have pandemonium.

So you see, if you stepped into my house, you would be tempted to retract all of the compliments about well-behaved children. You would rethink whether or not you wanted to shower me with accolades for being a supermom. You would likely gather your things and make a hasty retreat from the pandemonium, bedlam and mayhem that seem to reign supreme.

Some of you might say, “Give yourself a break. Your family is dealing with the huge stress of cancer right now. It’ll get better.” Our house was bedlam-filled long before cancer popped up in my left boob. I’ll concede that the cancer makes it more stressful, because in addition to dealing with the mayhem, I’m also doing my best to, you know, not die. But, that doesn’t really change the fact that bedlam seems to reign in our house and that I’m going BSC.

Sometimes, who am I kidding, MOST of the time, I feel like grabbing my purse and Kindle and running out the door. I imagine myself having peace and quiet in some idyllic, secluded place for weeks, or months even. But then I realize that I’d return and everything would be the same, and the idyllic vacation would have been all for naught. So I don’t physically run away. I run away inside my brain. I wonder what we did wrong, or IF we did wrong. I wonder how in the world to change the behaviors. I wonder why we seem to be the only ones with children who scream and yell so much. I wonder and wonder and end up feeling like we have failed at this thing called parenting.

And then, the 4 year old will say, “Mommy, watch this!” and proceed to kick up into a head stand against the wall, and then push up into a hand stand. And I’m amazed.

And then, the toddler will run over, give me the biggest bear hug ever and plop a giant kiss on my cheek. And my heart melts.

And then the 7 year old reminds me in very specific detail of an event that took place when he was 2. And I’m astounded.

And then the 5 year old flashes her award-winning smile, the same one she’s been flashing since she was 5 weeks old. And I’m smitten.

And then the hubs plays some crazy game with the babes and they are all laughing and giggling like crazy. And I’m hopeful. Hopeful that maybe we didn’t mess up.

And then the bedlam starts up again and I want to run away again.

A friend posted this on FB just now: “Action is the antidote to despair.” – Joan Baez.   It was as if she posted it just for me.  I’ve realized that running away inside my brain doesn’t help. I’ve realized that I can’t change the behaviors of others.  I’ve realized that grumbling and complaining and being angry about my life doesn’t get me anywhere, except for maybe to the doctor’s office with high blood pressure. (And really, I’m kind of maxed out on doctor’s offices right now!) I’ve realized that the best thing, and really the ONLY thing I can do, is to change MY reaction to the BSC-making behaviors. I have no idea how exactly I’m going to do that, but I’ll figure out a plan tomorrow.  Today, I’ll revel in the fact the end of the pandemonium starts right here, with me.

I’d say coming to that conclusion is accomplishment enough for today.

Drama drama drama January 9, 2014

Life in a family of six, in which four of the people are under age 10, is full of chaos, noise and unpredictability. Most days, things go pretty well. Then there are the days when mayhem reigns. This morning started out with the promise of a good day: the babes were in a happy mood and we made it to breakfast time without any meltdowns. Then, before DH or I knew what hit us, three of the four littles were crying their heads off and being totally irrational. Fortunately, the 6 year old realized that things were wild and he forewent his usual breakfast foolishness. Eventually, I got the Little Boss (15 months) calmed down by popping him into a baby carrier. The middletons (the 3 and 5 year olds) eventually ate most of their breakfast and skipped merrily off to play. Really, I still have no idea what all the wailing was about. But, whatev.

The rest of the morning went mostly uneventfully: the babes had fun at the babywearing meeting, the toddler went down for his nap without a hitch, everyone ate several servings of lunch and even said “This is so good, I want to have it again next week!”, and then it was time for school, which also went relatively well. Since we’d been cooped up in the house for a few days thanks to the snow and the ridiculously cold weather, we took advantage of the heat wave (18 degrees) and went out again after school time. We decided to hit the mall play area, got beverages at the coffee shop, and I stopped into Teavana and got a few things. I was so impressed with the babes while we were at Teavana. They behaved remarkably well, didn’t break anything and were quite patient during the half hour it took me to decide and purchase. We were all excited to go home and make pancakes for our pancake bar dinner.

While I made the pancakes, the babes got their baths and half of them decided it would be fun to have a screamfest. I should have known that the screamfest was only the beginning. Long story short . . . .the 3yo managed to slice his finger on the brand new and VERY sharp vegetable peeler. It sliced through his nail, and into the nail bed about a quarter of an inch. I don’t even really remember how we did it, but DH and I got his finger out and then I applied immediate pressure. DH took over while I finished up dinner. I realized it was pretty serious when after 10 minutes, it was still bleeding like crazy. It finally stopped after about 45 minutes of constant pressure. It also helped when the 3yo put his hand on his head. I took him to convenient care, just to be on the safe side. He’ll be fine, but, the little escapade threw a monkey wrench into our bedtime routine.

But wait, there’s more. After we’d returned from the clinic, I was walking through the kitchen and caught a glint under the griddle. I thought it was the flame and thought, “Great! I left the burner on!” I bent down to have a closer look, then inhaled sharply and jumped back. DH says, “Uh-oh, what happened?” I replied in a very dramatic whisper, “THERE’S A MOUSE ON THE STOVETOP!” The fact that there was a mouse running around on the stovetop was bad enough. (GROSS!) It was made worse by the fact that we’d already had a rather traumatic experience last week catching another mouse!

So now we were left trying to figure out how to catch this mouse, trying to wrangle four very tired children into bed, and I was trying to not pass out from the stress of the day and lack of dinner! Amazingly, we got the little humans in bed with no crying and everyone was calm within half an hour. Based on how our day began and ended, I would have thought that feat should have taken us at least an hour, or more.

Ooof! Drama! Drama! Drama!

Oh well, at least I didn’t have to think about breast cancer at all today . . . that’s a plus, right?

Instincts April 4, 2013

Last week, I slipped and fell down the stairs.
I was holding the baby.
It was horrifying.
It happened so fast and in slow motion.
I realized my instincts are terrible.

We recently moved into a house with hardwood and tile floors throughout. Our new rule is that you have to be barefoot or wearing rubber-soled slippers if you are going to be running around. I wasn’t running around, but clearly, my socked feet should have been wearing slippers.

The baby was on one hip, and I was holding a small box of toys in the opposite hand. I took one step down the second flight of stairs and slipped, landed on my butt, and then slid down the rest of the flight (6 stairs). Had the flight been longer, I’m sure I would’ve kept sliding as the only thing that stopped me was my feet touching the basement floor. As I was falling, I looked over and noticed the baby bending backwards and thinking “He is going to hit his head!” I also remember holding on to both the baby and the box for dear life.

I heard myself making a grunting sound as I fell/slid. I sat, stunned, at the bottom of the stairs, and I heard DH washing his hands in the bathroom upstairs. The baby started crying. I called for DH and he came running down. When I talked to him about it later, he said it was pretty terrifying to hear the WHUMP!. He was sure that both the baby and I had met our demise. Fortunately, neither of us was seriously hurt. The baby was just startled. I have a bruised tailbone and a healthy respect for slippery, wooden floors.

I have no idea why I held on to that crazy box to tightly. I DID consciously lean back to keep myself and the little boss from tumbling forward. But, I should have also let go of that crazy box and used that hand to support the baby. I’m realizing that my “protect the baby” instincts are just not that good.

That is a sobering thought.