Note: The bed is REALLY high after you put it on risers. I know this because I fell out of bed last night for the second time since I put them in. Have you ever stepped off a curb or step that you weren't expecting? You know the feeling you get that makes your mouth go dry and drops your stomach into your knees to turn them to rubber all in the time it takes you to think "Oh sh*t"? Try that at two in the morning when you are half asleep, but literally rolling out of bed to go to the bathroom. I'm not used to the floor being so far away and by the time my body remembers, I'm crumpled in heap trying to figure out what happened. This is one of the times that I'm grateful that Jordan is such a sound sleeper, because I think that casual would be a little hard to pull off at this point. I'm hoping that I'll get used to it eventually and that my body will learn how to repel with my eyes closed.
Jack had a really hard day today. I feel for him, because I've been there, but I'm also jealous because he got to cry all day when he felt like it, but on my worst days I feel as though I have to try to be brave and hold it in. It might be healthier his way, however. I mean, he cries and moves on to the next thing that doesn't go his way, while I get upset, internalize it and add it and the next disappointment to the pile of things I'm still trying to process emotionally. I'll end up crying eventually, but by then I'm not really sure what it is that I'm crying over since I'm officially distraught and overwhelmed. Maybe we all would be less stressed and happier if everyone had mini tantrums as things happen, rather than holding onto them for a "more appropriate time". Or maybe I just want a get out jail free card if ever I do find myself rolling on the ground kicking and wailing with a snotty face because someone told me I had to get dressed. I think I'll play it by ear.
And the drama continues on the field. Today was our first scrimmage against another team and no fewer than four people cried, myself included. We were against five year olds, which normally wouldn't be such a difference, but these kids have been playing for YEARS, literally. They are two years ahead of my little three year olds, and our team had a very hard time dealing emotionally with other people taking the ball away from them. Darling Angelina was all lined up for a sweet goal, and someone helped her kick the ball into the net. Despair, grief, anguish- all crossed her little face because she didn't get do it herself, someone stole her moment and she ran off the field in tears to be consoled by mom. At least she was on the field. Jack spent the entire practice standing on the sidelines shaking with emotion and nonstop tears because I made him come to practice. To be fair, he also cried because we didn't drive in the Mater (Jordan's truck), because I dropped him at school, I picked him up from school, I drove him home and made him take a nap. The entire day was just too much for the guy, and he tapped out of participating in life right there and then. After practice we drove to the head coach's house so I could pick up our team's uniforms. I have five small people on my team, and they gave me four uniforms, no one else noticed the math thing didn't add up on this? I failed math (not going to say how many times), and I figured it out right away. Apparently, Angelina's uniform is missing and hopefully if we order it now, it'll be here in time for the first game. Bambo (yes, his name really is Bambo) also said that they never got a size for Jack. They didn't know what to order, so they ordered the largest small they had for him, which is two sizes too big. I wonder why I drove to the park in July and had Jack try on uniforms then if they weren't going to write it down. I also found out that one of the dates for a fundraiser that I have a major role in (this wasn't in the original job description), is on the day that I scheduled Jack's birthday party. I have seventeen kids under the age of three planning on being at my house the same time that I'm supposed to be at the park raising money for things I didn't know I need. People told me that I'd be great at this coaching thing, that I'd love it and have a blast. I don't feel like I'm doing all that great, but I do look forward to getting on the field, running and cheering with the kids, and I think that as the Warriors (we finally agreed on a name), we are certainly living up to our name. Against all odds, we are having fun.
Tuesday, September 6, 2011
Saturday, September 3, 2011
Karate Kid
I have a baby ninja. Not everyone can say that, but then again not everyone has a two year old that climbs things just to jump off yelling "Hiya!". He also has some pretty amazing kicks that he's perfecting as well as dancing by wiggling his bum and doing straight arm karate chops, all while yelling "Hiya!" of course. I want to look into the place here that teaches karate and see what they say about age limits. He's obviously a natural. We all know how much Mitch loves villains of any kind, but now when he sees them I can't tell wether he thinks he is one, or he's fighting them off. Either way, it's equal parts nerve wracking and adorable, which leaves me worried and delighted at the same time. He's also ninja fast. When I'm coaching Jack's team at soccer practice I'll look around and he's right beside me, two minutes later I'll look again and he is all the way across the field taking some other kid's ball. Does he come back when I call him? No. He does not. He makes me run to him. I had no idea that I ran funny, but apparently I do since it's all he can do to stand up straight because he's laughing so hard watching me. It's pretty bad when a two year old can make you worried that you run like a duck. I don't though. Do I?
The neighbor's chihuahua was strangely silent last night, but I still had trouble sleeping. At first I woke up because it was quiet. Too quiet. I found myself a teensy bit concerned for the little freak, which led to getting angry with myself for not being strong with the whole idea of peticide. I'm so weak. After I'm awake, it takes a long time for me to get back to sleep because I'm unable to turn my brain off. I start thinking things like "When I wake up I need to remember to ___" or "Tomorrow I need to call ___" and it snowballs from there. By 3:15 I was pondering the differences in the words Caribbean and carabiner, and thought I was being completely rational when I got the idea to lift the bed onto risers today while Jordan was at work. Let me just take a moment to assure everyone that I am fine. I will eventually regain the use of my left arm and someday I hope to be able speak without stuttering. The bed looks awesome however, and I have a lot more storage space underneath with the added benefit of the kids not being able to climb up by themselves anymore. No more monkeys jumping on the bed with soccer cleats.
Pre-School for Jack is going splendidly, and he is still thrilled to go. I hope he never loses that love of learning, and we are doing everything possible to ensure he keeps it. His teacher says that he hugs her all the time and calls her honey, which is the highest praise from him. She'll correct him and he will say "Okay, honey.". I love it that he loves her, it tells me that he's comfortable there and will listen to her. During picture day, while they were doing the class pictures he kept checking on her to make sure she was having fun, it was very sweet. He gave me a thumbs up, then smiled at her to see if she saw his mom. He did really well with following direction, but he had issues with keeping his hands down for the picture. Have you seen Talladega Nights? The part when Will Ferrell is in the interview and he doesn't know what to do with his hands right now... Jack was having the same problem. Miss Gloria kept reaching over and gently pulling his arms down to his sides, and very slowly Jack would bring them back up and just hold them next to his face with a deer in the headlights look. The individual pictures were a lot more successful, and they even took Mitch's picture so that we could have them match. That was an exercise in futility if ever there was one. Half of the pictures that the photographer took were of Mitch barely in the frame. I stood next to his chair and would grab him as he tried to make his escape and plop him back down. Just that quickly the guy would snap a picture, only to have an image of a laughing, running baby. We finally got one that has him relatively stationary and everyone agreed that that was the best we could ask for. I'm anxious to get them back, I kind of think we should've asked the photographer to choose the best one of Mitch barely in the frame, since that is how we normally see him. He is so not the sit still on a chair kind of kid, and it's false advertising to put up a picture displaying that of him. People are going to get the wrong idea.
We are stuck at home today, which I'd not mind normally, but I had plans for a fun afternoon with the boys. They are showing the movie Rio at the recreation center here, and having kids crafts as well as lunch and snacks. I thought it would be a fun diversion and a way to get out of the house, but still stay in Douglas. But Jordan's truck wouldn't start this morning and he had to take my car to work since I wasn't about to get the kids up at 4:30 am to drive him myself. Call me crazy, but I had just fallen back to sleep at four and wasn't willing to give that up. Then I tried to let my friend know that I wasn't going to be joining her, only to find out that she's in the hospital having kidney stones and won't be going either. I have another friend who is getting ready to have a liver transplant, another friend whose husband was in an accident at work and had to have surgery on his leg to put it back together, and my sister Cindi is waiting to find out if she needs surgery on her heart. Was it a full moon last week? It feels like an overwhelming rash of medical emergencies. My heart and thoughts are with them all, and I wish there was more I could do to help them. For now, if I can remember what day it is and take people their meals on time, I will consider myself helpful.
The neighbor's chihuahua was strangely silent last night, but I still had trouble sleeping. At first I woke up because it was quiet. Too quiet. I found myself a teensy bit concerned for the little freak, which led to getting angry with myself for not being strong with the whole idea of peticide. I'm so weak. After I'm awake, it takes a long time for me to get back to sleep because I'm unable to turn my brain off. I start thinking things like "When I wake up I need to remember to ___" or "Tomorrow I need to call ___" and it snowballs from there. By 3:15 I was pondering the differences in the words Caribbean and carabiner, and thought I was being completely rational when I got the idea to lift the bed onto risers today while Jordan was at work. Let me just take a moment to assure everyone that I am fine. I will eventually regain the use of my left arm and someday I hope to be able speak without stuttering. The bed looks awesome however, and I have a lot more storage space underneath with the added benefit of the kids not being able to climb up by themselves anymore. No more monkeys jumping on the bed with soccer cleats.
Pre-School for Jack is going splendidly, and he is still thrilled to go. I hope he never loses that love of learning, and we are doing everything possible to ensure he keeps it. His teacher says that he hugs her all the time and calls her honey, which is the highest praise from him. She'll correct him and he will say "Okay, honey.". I love it that he loves her, it tells me that he's comfortable there and will listen to her. During picture day, while they were doing the class pictures he kept checking on her to make sure she was having fun, it was very sweet. He gave me a thumbs up, then smiled at her to see if she saw his mom. He did really well with following direction, but he had issues with keeping his hands down for the picture. Have you seen Talladega Nights? The part when Will Ferrell is in the interview and he doesn't know what to do with his hands right now... Jack was having the same problem. Miss Gloria kept reaching over and gently pulling his arms down to his sides, and very slowly Jack would bring them back up and just hold them next to his face with a deer in the headlights look. The individual pictures were a lot more successful, and they even took Mitch's picture so that we could have them match. That was an exercise in futility if ever there was one. Half of the pictures that the photographer took were of Mitch barely in the frame. I stood next to his chair and would grab him as he tried to make his escape and plop him back down. Just that quickly the guy would snap a picture, only to have an image of a laughing, running baby. We finally got one that has him relatively stationary and everyone agreed that that was the best we could ask for. I'm anxious to get them back, I kind of think we should've asked the photographer to choose the best one of Mitch barely in the frame, since that is how we normally see him. He is so not the sit still on a chair kind of kid, and it's false advertising to put up a picture displaying that of him. People are going to get the wrong idea.
We are stuck at home today, which I'd not mind normally, but I had plans for a fun afternoon with the boys. They are showing the movie Rio at the recreation center here, and having kids crafts as well as lunch and snacks. I thought it would be a fun diversion and a way to get out of the house, but still stay in Douglas. But Jordan's truck wouldn't start this morning and he had to take my car to work since I wasn't about to get the kids up at 4:30 am to drive him myself. Call me crazy, but I had just fallen back to sleep at four and wasn't willing to give that up. Then I tried to let my friend know that I wasn't going to be joining her, only to find out that she's in the hospital having kidney stones and won't be going either. I have another friend who is getting ready to have a liver transplant, another friend whose husband was in an accident at work and had to have surgery on his leg to put it back together, and my sister Cindi is waiting to find out if she needs surgery on her heart. Was it a full moon last week? It feels like an overwhelming rash of medical emergencies. My heart and thoughts are with them all, and I wish there was more I could do to help them. For now, if I can remember what day it is and take people their meals on time, I will consider myself helpful.
Monday, August 29, 2011
Eating Behaviors
Is it feed a cold, or starve one? I can never remember, although I'm not sure it makes a difference since I've never been able to starve myself. Or even go a couple of hours without food, for that matter. Here I am with a stuffy nose, sore throat and a headache, but I'm wondering what we have to eat and wishing that McDonald's delivered. I suppose I should be grateful I don't weigh 500 pounds with how much bacon I cook with.
Do all children look at their mother like they've never seen her before and have absolutely no idea what language she is speaking, or am I the only one blessed with this frustration? It never happens when I announce that the chocolate cake is ready, or that it's time to go to the park to play. No, I only become unrecognizable when I ask them to not stand on the dining room table, or tell them to stop stuffing their mouths with fruit snacks and throwing themselves backward off the arm of the couch onto the cushions. That's when they look at me like I just crawled out from under a rock, speaking Swahili. Why am I the bad guy for trying to keep them alive? And why do they become so much more thrill seeking when I'm at my worst? They wait until I'm near death, then start moving furniture for greater distance on the jumps from couch to chair to ottoman. After spending the last 3 hours distracting them from death defying acts, I think I've convinced them to live another day. Right now they've got my exercise ball in the office and are hitting it back and forth with tennis rackets. I can live with that, and what's more- they can too.
Do all children look at their mother like they've never seen her before and have absolutely no idea what language she is speaking, or am I the only one blessed with this frustration? It never happens when I announce that the chocolate cake is ready, or that it's time to go to the park to play. No, I only become unrecognizable when I ask them to not stand on the dining room table, or tell them to stop stuffing their mouths with fruit snacks and throwing themselves backward off the arm of the couch onto the cushions. That's when they look at me like I just crawled out from under a rock, speaking Swahili. Why am I the bad guy for trying to keep them alive? And why do they become so much more thrill seeking when I'm at my worst? They wait until I'm near death, then start moving furniture for greater distance on the jumps from couch to chair to ottoman. After spending the last 3 hours distracting them from death defying acts, I think I've convinced them to live another day. Right now they've got my exercise ball in the office and are hitting it back and forth with tennis rackets. I can live with that, and what's more- they can too.
Wednesday, August 24, 2011
Being Neighborly
How awful am I that I fervently hope someone drops a piano on the neighbor's chihuahua? It might seem a little extreme, but I really don't want to take any chances on the yippy little nightmare surviving. It recently discovered that it can bark you see, and it does so from 10pm until 2am. Not with any sort of enthusiasm, but more with a sense of obligation- like there's absolutely no enjoyment in it for him, he's doing this for our benefit alone. The barking is so monotonous that you can tell time by it, and in fact I have. Count with me: Bark (one mississippi), bark (two mississippi), bark (three mississippi), bark... and when I get to sixty, the numbers on the bedside clock change. Keep that up for the next four hours every day for six days and you will be willing to help me with that piano. I had to take a nap with the kids today so that I can count barks again tonight. Jordan of course has slept through the barking metronome every night and has no idea that I'm plotting against Satan's minion. This way he can deny having any prior knowledge of my wrong doing, and can work on getting me released from prison. I'm hoping that temporary insanity will get me off, or justifiable peticide. Are chihuahuas really real, though? I've always had problems with believing they are living things. I look at them (but never in the eye) and they seem fake, or like little alien dolls in people's purses. What kind of dog allows that? And the way they shake uncontrollably like a ticking time bomb, freaks me out too. The whole thing is making me crazy, I'm a twitchy wreck when I lay down to sleep at night. And when he pauses for a few minutes, I get even more crazy because I KNOW he's going to start again, and the waiting is almost worse than the continuous barking. I'm afraid to go to bed tonight.
Friday, August 19, 2011
The week of WTH?
Jordan hurt his back last week, and 7 days later is still shuffle walking like an old man. In fact, Daniel Trujillo (he's Mitch's friend and he's 2) called Jordan "Grandpa" last night. Just calling it like he sees it, I guess.
Wednesday we found out that Jack's soccer coach bailed, and the entire team wasn't going to be able to play soccer this year if one of the parents didn't "step in". Since Jack has been sleeping in his cleats for over a month now, and little Shane was yelling across the parking lot to us as we pulled in, "Hey, Jack! We get to play soccer!", I HAD throw myself under the bus and 'volunteer' to be coach. I played soccer when I was in Jr. High, but was always made center forward because I wasn't able to follow the rules and could never remember where exactly I was supposed to stop (I've just never been a rule kind of person. The one time I played golf, I got so bored I decided that if I could drive backwards through the sprinklers in the golf cart without getting my hair wet, I didn't have to play the 9th hole.). But everyone seems okay with the idea of me being in charge of teaching their kids, so I suppose I'll just wing it until someone complains. I have a friend who is sending me a Soccer for Dummies book, and I'll cram as much as I can before practice next week so I can seem a little more professional. We had our first practice scheduled for yesterday, but I canceled it due to lightning on the field. Not a good idea to send our babies out as human lightning rods. So, in true Callie fashion- I invited everyone to our house for hot chocolate and snacks. Food is the one thing I'm comfortable with. "When in doubt, feed them" is my motto and it's never failed me yet.
Yesterday morning was a school day, so we got up early to drive the hour to drop Jack off at school. One mile outside of town our tire blows and since I was wearing a dress, Jordan had to be macho macho man and change the tire himself. I was flattered that he thought I was too pretty for manual labor, but I was incredibly frustrated with the stubborn fool. He can barely breathe without wincing, but was crawling around on the ground so I wouldn't get dirty. Bless his gallant heart. Then the canyon was closed to one lane of traffic for construction, and we almost ran out of gas while waiting for our turn to go. By the time we got Jack to school, he was only an hour and a half late, which I thought was pretty good all things considered. So we went to get a new tire while we waited for school to let out. Turns out we needed four, so there went the savings we had started for a trip to Utah for Christmas (sorry everyone). So along with the soccer practice turning into refreshments at my house, I felt blessed to still have all my hair by bedtime.
Today I tried to catch up on all the housework that I've abandoned this week and it took almost all day because I had little people helping me. For some reason, the boys took a dislike to the vacuum and with no communication between them that I could discern, they both ran to get plastic swords so they could beat the hell out of the vacuum as I went through the house. Every time I turned it off, they would step back for a breather, but as soon as it started up again, it was Olympic level Whack-a-mole. When I swept, Mitch stirred the dirt piles with the dustpan, and Jack washed the window with softscrub. I did have a very nice afternoon when my Aunt Linda came to visit with my cousin Bart and his lovely wife Carolina. Jordan didn't have as much fun, however because Bart is also his chiropractor and he tried to rip Jordan in half. Caro (who is a physical therapist) warned me that men usually say their backs hurt when they want to get out of something, and that I should keep an eye on Jordan to make sure he isn't milking it. She was totally kidding of course, but I'm starting to wonder....
Wednesday we found out that Jack's soccer coach bailed, and the entire team wasn't going to be able to play soccer this year if one of the parents didn't "step in". Since Jack has been sleeping in his cleats for over a month now, and little Shane was yelling across the parking lot to us as we pulled in, "Hey, Jack! We get to play soccer!", I HAD throw myself under the bus and 'volunteer' to be coach. I played soccer when I was in Jr. High, but was always made center forward because I wasn't able to follow the rules and could never remember where exactly I was supposed to stop (I've just never been a rule kind of person. The one time I played golf, I got so bored I decided that if I could drive backwards through the sprinklers in the golf cart without getting my hair wet, I didn't have to play the 9th hole.). But everyone seems okay with the idea of me being in charge of teaching their kids, so I suppose I'll just wing it until someone complains. I have a friend who is sending me a Soccer for Dummies book, and I'll cram as much as I can before practice next week so I can seem a little more professional. We had our first practice scheduled for yesterday, but I canceled it due to lightning on the field. Not a good idea to send our babies out as human lightning rods. So, in true Callie fashion- I invited everyone to our house for hot chocolate and snacks. Food is the one thing I'm comfortable with. "When in doubt, feed them" is my motto and it's never failed me yet.
Yesterday morning was a school day, so we got up early to drive the hour to drop Jack off at school. One mile outside of town our tire blows and since I was wearing a dress, Jordan had to be macho macho man and change the tire himself. I was flattered that he thought I was too pretty for manual labor, but I was incredibly frustrated with the stubborn fool. He can barely breathe without wincing, but was crawling around on the ground so I wouldn't get dirty. Bless his gallant heart. Then the canyon was closed to one lane of traffic for construction, and we almost ran out of gas while waiting for our turn to go. By the time we got Jack to school, he was only an hour and a half late, which I thought was pretty good all things considered. So we went to get a new tire while we waited for school to let out. Turns out we needed four, so there went the savings we had started for a trip to Utah for Christmas (sorry everyone). So along with the soccer practice turning into refreshments at my house, I felt blessed to still have all my hair by bedtime.
Today I tried to catch up on all the housework that I've abandoned this week and it took almost all day because I had little people helping me. For some reason, the boys took a dislike to the vacuum and with no communication between them that I could discern, they both ran to get plastic swords so they could beat the hell out of the vacuum as I went through the house. Every time I turned it off, they would step back for a breather, but as soon as it started up again, it was Olympic level Whack-a-mole. When I swept, Mitch stirred the dirt piles with the dustpan, and Jack washed the window with softscrub. I did have a very nice afternoon when my Aunt Linda came to visit with my cousin Bart and his lovely wife Carolina. Jordan didn't have as much fun, however because Bart is also his chiropractor and he tried to rip Jordan in half. Caro (who is a physical therapist) warned me that men usually say their backs hurt when they want to get out of something, and that I should keep an eye on Jordan to make sure he isn't milking it. She was totally kidding of course, but I'm starting to wonder....
Saturday, August 13, 2011
Blogging
Here I am, finally getting around to actually writing something on my blog that was set up almost 2 years ago. It hasn't been procrastination that has kept me from joining the millions already pouring their heart out to whomever is internet capable. To tell the truth, I lost the whole blog immediately after setting it up, and it took another year to find it again. I couldn't remember where I had left it on the worldwide web, but I counted myself lucky since the car keys, kids and wallet were still present and accounted for. Once I found it again, it took another 7 months to start thinking that I might want to look into doing something with it. Everyone tells me I need to be writing down the things that the kids do and say, so that I'll remember it years later. If you were paying attention earlier you'll have a pretty good idea what my memory is like these days, so I'm in agreement that steps need to be taken now to preserve their childhood.
I've already made the decision to keep things real and not sugarcoat life in the Everett household. We are not PG. Not even PG-13 most days. If we were a reality show, we'd be on cable after 11pm. But if I'm going to be documenting for prosperity, I'm going to be brutally honest. The kids may disagree with me, when their therapist pins all of life's problems onto Great Aunt Linda reading about their episode of finger painting with poo, but we'll deal with that as it comes up. Or we'll change therapists. So consider this your warning, this blog is not for the squeamish or faint of heart.
Jack has started pre-school and soccer this year, and it's bittersweet for Jordan and me. It's heart wrenching to send him off on his very first independent life experience, but it's wonderful and gratifying that we have raised someone who is confident in himself and us (he knows we will come back for him, and it's not a permanent situation), despite his communication issues. The first day was a trauma for us as parents, and I had to warn Jordan that he should tone down the stalker attitude, or someone was going to call the police about the creepy-weird guy crouched in the bushes under the window at the pre-school. It's going to be so embarrassing for Jack when dad is still doing it in ten years.
Mitch is loving time alone with mommy while Jack furthers himself, and he gets mad at having to share me with his brother after school. He acts like Jack is a traitor, and doesn't deserve to get hugged after deserting me (I do kind of feel deserted, Jack could at least act like he's going to miss me.). Mitch is also testing to see just how far he can push me before I snap for good. It's been close a couple of times, but I can still remember my name most days, and I definitely remember all three of his after saying them all day.
After spending thirty minutes writing this (it would have been less, but I had to pause to pick pizza out of the rug, and stop Jack from sneaking up behind Mitch and pulling his feet out from under him so that Mitch landed on his face), I'm not sure how often I will be back to update until I get into the swing of things, so hang in there kitten.
I've already made the decision to keep things real and not sugarcoat life in the Everett household. We are not PG. Not even PG-13 most days. If we were a reality show, we'd be on cable after 11pm. But if I'm going to be documenting for prosperity, I'm going to be brutally honest. The kids may disagree with me, when their therapist pins all of life's problems onto Great Aunt Linda reading about their episode of finger painting with poo, but we'll deal with that as it comes up. Or we'll change therapists. So consider this your warning, this blog is not for the squeamish or faint of heart.
Jack has started pre-school and soccer this year, and it's bittersweet for Jordan and me. It's heart wrenching to send him off on his very first independent life experience, but it's wonderful and gratifying that we have raised someone who is confident in himself and us (he knows we will come back for him, and it's not a permanent situation), despite his communication issues. The first day was a trauma for us as parents, and I had to warn Jordan that he should tone down the stalker attitude, or someone was going to call the police about the creepy-weird guy crouched in the bushes under the window at the pre-school. It's going to be so embarrassing for Jack when dad is still doing it in ten years.
Mitch is loving time alone with mommy while Jack furthers himself, and he gets mad at having to share me with his brother after school. He acts like Jack is a traitor, and doesn't deserve to get hugged after deserting me (I do kind of feel deserted, Jack could at least act like he's going to miss me.). Mitch is also testing to see just how far he can push me before I snap for good. It's been close a couple of times, but I can still remember my name most days, and I definitely remember all three of his after saying them all day.
After spending thirty minutes writing this (it would have been less, but I had to pause to pick pizza out of the rug, and stop Jack from sneaking up behind Mitch and pulling his feet out from under him so that Mitch landed on his face), I'm not sure how often I will be back to update until I get into the swing of things, so hang in there kitten.
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