beanski

bullet-style because i'm sick of nablopomo

This posting every day shit is hard. But I'm not a quitter so I will soldier on and next year when I get the urge to sign up for this thinking that I have plenty to say I will go back and read this post on Day 9/30 and then I'll probably remember it being easier than I remember (sort of like being pregnant and having kids because I remember pregnancy as being not that bad and I think it was) (Holy run-on sentence):

• The new green is way better than the suffocating red walls in the dining room but I don't really love the green either. I wonder how many times I can paint that dining room that we never go in.
• I just took my husband's dinner order for McDonald's over gmail chat. HE'LL GO WITH THE ANGUS BURGER, THE ONE WITH BACON in all caps. When I asked him what our lives had come to, he said, "You get old, you have a couple of kids and you eat Dirty Ron's for dinner."
• We're still trying to figure out what we're going to do about our broken dishwasher. We're going to Best Buy after work then home to drink beer and watch the Steeler's and figure out what we're going to do.
• I've been thinking about MckMama and baby Stellan all day. I sort of hate getting involved because it isn't about me (it's about Stellan) and turning it into something about me. But I can tell you that I'm going to go home today and kiss my babies and hug them tighter than normal.

That's all I know today. Exciting, huh?

have resorted to working weekends

Life is crazy. We are moving in TWENTY-FIVE DAYS and have not packed a single thing. We don't even have boxes to pack things in. Where do you go to get boxes? Do I actually have to pay money for something that I am usually paying money to get rid of at the dump? Suck.

The dishwasher FINALLY got fixed after something like twenty days of hand-washing everything (including all of the birthday dishes and no fewer than six bottles, 15 pump parts and eight sippy cups per day) and the car is finally back to running again. To fix these two things we spent a THOUSAND DOLLARS. Which is really awesome considering we're buying a house in TWENTY-FIVE DAYS and we really didn't need that money for anything else.

I worked on a Sunday today, leaving my poor husband at home with both kids for the first time ever. I worked because our daycare is closed for three days this week and we don't really have the vacation time to cover it and still be off of work to be at the closing of our new house. My parents are in Alaska for most of the month and Ski's mom and dad have to work and we don't really know anyone else in the world that could/would take care of our kids. I thought about leaving Dora to babysit, which would totally work with Renee but something tells me He Who Is Pissed Off About Everything Right Now might not be able to handle that. I mean, he really wants to do everything himself but he hasn't quite figured out how to open the fridge and heat up his own milk just yet. And it's not because he doesn't want to do it himself, BELIEVE YOU ME. He just can't and sweet Jesus he is sure pissed off about it.

I'm not complaining about daycare being closed as our daycare provider has taken off like two days in two years and I'm not complaining that I get to spend a few extra days at home with the kids this week. But really, could the timing suck any worse?

The silver lining here is that my girl Gretch is getting married this weekend and Ski's parents are being so kind as to watch the children so that Ski and I can stay overnight in a hotel with NO CHILDREN.

{GASP}

Is it wrong that I'm literally counting the minutes to our big escape? Can you imagine the awesomeness of sleeping through the night and not having to get out of bed at 5AM? I can't imagine it because we haven't done it in TWO YEARS now.

I'm playing catch up with posts this weekend because pictures and posting will be light this month as we try to pack up and move our entire life. I wouldn't want the blog to go neglected so I'm stocking up saved posts to get me through. And I'm sure I'll feel guilty for a minute about not taking any pictures this month because eight month old babies? They are chubby and cute and they have dimples on their knees and elbows and honestly I know I'm going to wake up in our new house in a month and they'll be gone and then I'll totally just die because I missed the chance to photograph them forever and ever.

too much at once

First of all, my baby girl turns two tomorrow at 2:24AM. Seriously, WHAT? TWO YEARS OLD (sob, sob).

We had a birthday bash for her this weekend and I didn't get hardly any good pictures of her. If you were there and took pictures, like when everyone was singing Happy Birthday to her, would you send them to me? PLEASE. I CRIED last night when I went through the pictures I have. I FAILED. I forgot the video camera too...for the SECOND YEAR in a row. Renee will have no video of her first or second birthdays because her mom forgot. I'm blaming her dad because he didn't remember either.

WHY DO I HAVE TO REMEMBER EVERYTHING?

She sure was cute though. And she LOVED her presents. EVERY. SINGLE. ONE.

That little girl SLAYS me.

In between singing Happy Birthday and eating cake and ice cream, WE BOUGHT A HOUSE. A much bigger house and I feel like we sort of bought it on a whim. It isn't the house we put on house on the market for but a totally different house. I am sure to regret this, right? This is what happens when you sell your house the first day it's on the market for asking price with the caveat that you have to be out FAST and that you have to find something TODAY. Again, I'm sure to regret this, right? It isn't ours yet but if the inspections go well this week and none of the financing falls through and I don't LOSE MY MIND and decide that I JUST CAN'T DO IT, we'll be moving on July 31st. Which is Harry Potter's birthday. I'm just saying.

Our dishwasher is STILL broken and we are STILL waiting on the FIVE HUNDRED DOLLAR part. Seriously, FIVE HUNDRED DOLLARS to fix the dishwasher that is apparently constructed solely of solid gold. You would think, right? I love paying five hundred dollars to fix a dishwasher in a house that we just sold.

To top it all off, the car didn't start this morning. I mean, REALLY. As though we needed that too. We just looked at each other like "WTF is next?" We didn't even talk. We are just PRETENDING IT ISN'T HAPPENING.

My brain isn't totally functioning but I still had to make the decision today to turn down a job offer. I decided I might just die if I change jobs because I just can't handle any more stress. I'm sure to regret this in a few months when my current job gets cut or when I'm bored out of my mind. But honestly? TOO MUCH CHANGE AT ONCE, PEOPLE. CAN'T HANDLE ANY MORE CHANGE.

Also, I just want to throw it out there that my son still wakes up every two hours. He's almost EIGHT months old and he was up about seven hundred times last night. SHOOT ME, JUST SHOOT ME. PLEASE.

All of this crap aside, I'm excited. I'm excited to have a new place to make into our home. A new house to decorate. I'm excited to have my own sink to brush my teeth in before bed. I'm excited to watch the kids run around the much bigger backyard. I'm excited to meet the neighbors and I really hope they don't suck. I'm excited to not have to share a driveway. I'm excited to take a shower without baby toys all around my feet. I'm excited to not have to haul my groceries (and children) up an entire flight of stairs when we get home. I'm really excited about the main floor laundry. I'm excited to have somewhere for our families to sleep when they come to visit.

Most of all, I'm excited to have a place to put the new toys that the (very lucky) birthday girl got for her birthday.

I'm sure I'll be posting at least a million pictures of our current house, you know, TO REMEMBER, but this what our new house looks like. I mean, as long as everything goes as planned. Which I'm sure it won't. So really, this is the house we were planning to buy before the universe decided that it hates me and screws things up AGAIN.

good golly miss molly

I'M FREAKING OUT HERE. FREAKING THE FRICK OUT.

My husband is apparently too busy working to talk to me about the fact that someone just made an offer to buy our house and they want us out by July 24. Yes, ONE BLESSED MONTH to move my entire life to some house out there on the MLS that we haven't even made an offer on. We were testing the market, people. Not planning on moving in ONE MONTH. The average house takes four months to sell. Ours? ONE FRICKING DAY. I have two children under two, do you realize what this might entail?

Padded rooms and straight-jackets. Lock me up and throw away the key. I need drugs, lots and lots of drugs. Drugs that make it so that I don't think about anything. Or feel anything.

I'm doing the only thing I can do. I'm talking to the Internet. I'm complaining and at the same time, I'm FREAKING OUT.

Renee's birthday party is in TWO DAYS. My parents are coming to visit tonight and staying until Sunday. I have fricking birthday banners to make and tissue balls to construct. Doesn't this lady know that THIS IS A BAD WEEK FOR ME. I'm BUSY. I'm busy thinking about my baby girl and how she's TWO FRICKING YEARS OLD. I need to wallow in that. Doesn't this lady know that? IT'S WHAT I DO.

The icing on the cake is my whole job situation where I'm trying to make a REALLY big decision about my, dare I say it, career and I have to make this decision by MONDAY. Yes, THIS MONDAY. As in, two days after my baby girl turns two and three days after we make a huge decision about where we call home.

Internet, will you be offended if I use the f bomb? Because HOLY FUCK I'm FREAKING OUT.

And my husband? He's unavailable. Un-freaking-available. He's busy working.

When I started this post, the first thing that came to my head was Good Golly Miss Molly. I don't think I have EVER used that phrase before. I'm going to be THIRTY years old in a few months and I've never used that phrase and Good Golly Miss Molly is all I can come up with to say today. This is a very thin thread I'm clutching here. VERY THIN.

I better go and call my mom. Maybe she's available to talk to me and not busy working.

HOLY SHIT, I can't believe this is happening.

i'm counting on my mind to remember

Our house hit the market today. After I told our Realtor to go for it, I went into the bathroom and threw up. I sat there alone and cried, reliving every minute of our lives in this house, in our home.

I flashed back to the night Ski proposed to me in our living room. I can still see the very shy, nervous and excited look on his face. I can still feel the wetness of our combined tears on my cheek as we hugged and promised forever.

When I close my eyes I can picture myself sitting in the bathroom during the exact moment the pregnancy test announced Renee's up and coming arrival, only to follow-up that exact same moment seventeen months later notifying us of Cameron.

When I open my watering eyes, I struggle to focus on the the alarm clock reading 3:13AM and I can feel my feet on the cold hardwood floors as I stumble in to the baby's room for that middle of the night feeding.

This house, it smells like us. It smells like home.

I can see both of my children, my babies, in the Exersaucer screeching and talking to me while I cook dinner in my tiny little kitchen.

I can see her first steps, his first bath, their first kiss. I can hear his tiny little newborn moaning and grunting and I can remember the exact instant she called me MOM for the first time.

I can feel my heart skip a beat watching my husband carrying our babies around in the Daddy Chair to look at the dragonfly light in the dining room.

I can feel her snuggled in close to me on her big felted wool rug, our heads propped up on the big floor pillows I sewed for her in the dining room, reading books and talking about our day during those rare one-on-one mother and daughter moments.

I can hear the persistent creek of the fourth stair from the bottom and the way Cameron's door clicks every time the cat wanders in to check on him.

I can remember each walk up and down our street, friendly hellos from our neighbors and I can remember where the crevices are in the driveway that hit the shovel, making it hard to get rid of the massive amounts of snow.

I can see where each of the perennials are, the plants that my sister planted from seed and brought for me to put in my garden and I will never forget how much I love how the back garden looks through the kitchen window in the springtime when the Hostas are just beginning their spreading.

My biggest fear is that us leaving will erase these memories and they will no longer be so vivid in my mind, that time passing will take them away from me. I fear that I will always look back on this house as home because of the history we made here, and that I'll never be as happy as I have been during these last five years. I fear that I'll regret ever allowing someone else to call it home because it is our home and it is impossible for me to imagine my family anywhere else.

i want a new house. don't i?

We weren’t exactly looking seriously. Well, on and off we were serious but most of the time we found ourselves driving home from a showing talking about how we would rather live in half our house than buy that ginormous, weird house with the ridiculous floor plan and no shower for three times as much money.

Do people really take baths in the morning before work? I’m just saying.

It would get tiring listening to Renee moan “No look at house, Mommy” and don’t get me started on how much fun it is to lug around a twenty pound brick whose idea of a good time is trying to swipe things off of the dressers of strangers or randomly dive bomb the floor. We’d quit looking on and off telling ourselves that the $500 per month in equity we are getting on our current house and the neighborhood are enough to make us stay.

We like our house. It is a colonial-style house with 3 bedrooms and 1.5 baths. It has character and it is built like a rock. It is ours. Everything in it was purchased to go with our house, the rugs coordinate with the paint, the furniture has a 40s feel to match the era of the house. I’ve spent five years making it just how I want it and with the exception of STILL not having a fricking dresser in our bedroom, we are out of things to buy for it. We love our neighbors. There are 30 kids under 10 years old within a three block radius of our house and we live in what is considered to be some of the best school districts in town. While Renee isn’t quite old enough to play with other kids, she is getting closer and I can almost count the days until I can send her out to play with the kids and then sit on the porch and drink margaritas while the neighbor kids essentially babysit each other.

Can you imagine the awesomeness?

BUT.

We are OUT of space. There are toys piled EVERYWHERE and not a weekend goes by that I don’t flip out about not having anywhere to put ANYTHING. The mail is on the kitchen table and the diaper bags and breast pumps and purses are just thrown all over the floor. In order to host a 2nd birthday party for my daughter, I’m renting a storage locker. I’M NOT MAKING THIS UP. We don’t have a room for our parents to stay in when they visit. The bathrooms are TOO SMALL. The main reason why we want to sell it, though, is that we have a shared driveway. I worry to no end about Renee being out there playing and having someone come barreling down the driveway and running her over. I worry obsessively about it. I also hate that her slides are about 10 feet way from the sump pump pipe that pumps ground water from under our house out in to the yard. GROSS.

Last Saturday Cameron was being a CRANKSTER and Renee was whining for One! More! Show! Please! We decided to go for a drive because getting out was the only way to retain an ounce of sanity. We ended up north of town, in the suburbs, checking out neighborhoods. Up until this point our search has been concentrated to the area around our house because we like our neighborhood. But, it has gotten to the point where we’ve accepted that we’d need to spend a half a million dollars to live where we want to live in the kind of house we want to buy. And people? We will never be able to afford a half a million dollar house. Like EVER. So it doesn’t matter how long I wait or if I win the lottery, what I want just isn’t within the realm of possibility.

OF COURSE, on our trip to the suburbs, we found a house that we really like. We REALLY like the floor plan and the size is perfect for us and it is tastefully decorated to the point where we could move in and literally do NOTHING to the inside of the house. The only real drawback to it, other than me finally accepting my suburb fate once and for all, is that the yard is wooded and would need to be thinned out and fenced in for the kids to play. It is on a busier street that I would like but it is set far enough back that I’m not sure that it would matter. Or would it? The guy that owns it is a contractor and insists that he will clear the yard for us but would I be stupid or naïve to really think he would? Would there be somewhere for the kids to ride bikes when they are big enough? Will they even like to ride bikes? What if we hate our neighbors? What if they are all old people? How much do fences cost? Would we regret moving further away from daycare? Will the location of daycare matter in three years? Will Renee get freaked out if we move? Will Cam suddenly start sleeping less than he already does? Will I grow horns and start blowing fireballs out of my nose?

I could honestly drive myself batty trying to figure out if we’d regret it or if we’d love it as much as we think we would love it.

Or would we?

To those of you that have done this, is it worth it? Does the neighborhood or the house matter more? Should I even consider school districts and the location of daycare? Would the longer commute be worth it for more space and a better floor plan? Will the kids be transformed in to enormouse, fire spewing monsters over the course of a move?

HELP ME. PLEASE HELP ME.

the miracle (and curse) of dvr/tivo

My husband is a big hockey fan. I would like to say we are both hockey fans but the truth is that I haven't watched a hockey game in years because if I ever have a spare minute, I sleep. He grew up in Pittsburgh so his favorite team is obviously the Penguins who happen to be playing the playoffs right now.

I can sense his stress level rise around 6PM and can feel him trying to push the kids towards an early bedtime and when I see that little orange DVR light on, I know it is because there is a game on. He doesn't complain, he quietly tapes it and watches the games by himself after the house has gone dark and the children and the wife are fast asleep.

This works out for him most of the time.

Except for nights like last week, when it is Game 7 of what he assures me has been a crazy exciting series and we get the crazy idea to take the kids for a walk to the park around game-time. We turn the corner to head up the street and Mark, one of our very nice neighbors, actually shouts down the street "Pens up 2 to 0, huh? Awesome."

You could just see my husband's heart sink. It was almost like someone had kicked him in the stomach or taken away his birthday surprise. He didn't say much, just "Oh is that right? Cool."

And when we got inside he went into a rant that never ended wondering if there are really people out there that don't understand the concept of the DVR/Tivo. Do you have one? Do you watch any sort of TV in real-time?

Also: GO PENGUINS!!!!

it took sixty-six days to go insane

I became a mother of two sixty-six days ago. It feels like an entire lifetime. I've had countless people ask me how it is going and I can't help but wonder when they ask if they want the truth. Or if they want the dumbed down, made-for-TV version. Would they rather I sugar coat it or would they rather I tell it like it is? Because if they ask and I tell them that I want to drive my car off the bridge, they don't usually ask again. And they generally quit calling. And the alienation of a mother on the verge of her sanity becomes more prevalent.

So tell me: If you asked, would you want the truth? Or would you want me to say that things are going swimmingly and that going from one kid to two kids isn't hard at all?

I'm a tell it like it is person. When things suck, I say it. I can totally identify with dooce calling her book about becoming a first-time mom 'It Sucked and Then I Cried: How I Had a Baby, a Breakdown, and a Much Needed Margarita.' Because if I were to write a book about the last sixty-six days I think I would probably call it something like 'I Simultaneously Fell In Love and Lost My Mind: How I Went From One Kid to Two.'

If I could go back to that fateful night that Cameron became more than a bunch of cells and change the outcome, would I? Absolutely not.

But the last sixty-six days have been anything but easy. And yes, I think the post-partum depression or whatever you want to call it that I had after Renee was born is back with a vengeance. It isn't easy for me to admit that. I have considered medication. I have considered counseling. I have considered the winter, the holidays, two weeks of the flu and the cold virus that is currently making it's way through my family. I have considered that my baby can't go more than an hour without me going into his room to assure him that I'm still there and that I'm running on very, very little sleep. I have considered my lack of nutrition and the fact that I'm certain I am chronically dehydrated because I don't generally have a spare hand to take a sip of water or make something healthy to eat. I have considered the breastfeeding and the (still) bleeding nipples. I have considered that we live in a town where we know hardly anyone and when I'm having a day where all I want is to get out of this fucking house for fifteen minutes, there really is no one to call and the people that I could call are at work or I haven't talked to them in months.

There are a lot of variables contributing to my sadness. A lot of variables that are different than your situation. Or your sister's situation. So maybe it has been harder on me than it might have been on you. Or maybe I'm just a bigger sissy. Or maybe you have a lot of people in your life that can lend you a helping hand. Your second baby will probably be totally different than mine so if you ask me how it's going, don't use what I say as a marker for how it will go for you. Every situation and every baby are different.

In two and a half weeks I'll be going back to work and we will start all over. I'm totally dreading it and looking forward to it at the same time. I'm hoping that getting away, being forced to take a step back will help my spirits. I'm hoping that my children will thrive with their caregiver and that I can quit feeling guilty for watching one of them cry in order for me to tend to the other one. Because I'm a perfectionist and I have a seriously hard time accepting the fact that I can't do it all. When she hasn't eaten for fifteen days in a row and is losing enough weight so that even the pediatrician is getting concerned, I can't help but feel like I'm doing something wrong. Or that it is somehow my fault that Cameron hasn't learned how to sleep even though I have followed every rule to the letter. Being a perfectionist and a mother don't mix. Unfortunately for me the problem is compounded when I'm trapped alone in this house with two sick kids in the middle of winter.

I'm hoping that a month from now, after we have made yet another huge adjustment and I'm back to having an adult conversation once a day, that I'll feel differently. Or that springtime and warmer days and being able to take a walk will lighten my spirits. And if I don't feel better, I'll try to find the time to see a counselor. Although if I can get out of here for an hour even once a month, I think the best therapy would be for me to spend some time alone in silence. But I'll do the counselor if that's what they want. If the counselor doesn't work, I'll quit nursing and get some drugs. Even though it takes an act of God for me to take any kind of drugs, I'll do it if it will make me a better mom and a better wife. And if the drugs don't help or if time hasn't gotten rid of the stupid hormones once and for all, well, I guess there's always that bridge. I'll keep you posted.

we've been quarantined

I feel the need to complain to someone about how bad this week sucked. I need to tell someone about my troubles in hopes that they care or maybe to remind myself in a few years when I'm thinking having another baby sounds like a good idea.

Ski came down with a stomach bug on Friday in the middle of the night and spent all of the night and the consecutive 48 hours in the bathroom. I'm not exaggerating. He was a trooper and did as much for the kids as he could but I ended up handling both of them in the middle of holiday travel. Then emptying the car by myself. Then grocery shopping with the infant. Poor me, I know.

It gets worse. Much worse.

Renee woke up in the middle of the night on Sunday night throwing up and since then, including today, she's been puking or pooping every half an hour. Count the days: FIVE DAYS OF THIS. She's skinny and tired and I feel terrible for her.

I was home alone on Wednesday with the kids and around 2PM I threw up and started feeling feverish. Then I spent the next two hours in the bathroom listening to my baby screaming and my daughter standing at the baby gate saying MAMA POOP. By the time Ski got home I was weeping, cleaning my twenty-first poopy diaper of the day (I know because they were so stinky that I had to put them in baggies to be taken out to the trash immediately). TWENTY-ONE diapers, most of which where the smelliest things you've ever come across in your life. Just thinking about the stench that is coming out of that girl makes me gag.  

Cameron didn't get the stomach bug (currently knocking on wood) but he has a cold and can't breathe very well. And he had a belly ache for two days in which he threw a hot fuss about not being able to poop. One kid was pooping every seven seconds and one kid crying because he couldn't poop. THE FRICKING IRONY.

I went to bed at 8PM on New Year's eve, freezing to death from a fever not having eaten in 12 hours. I took a drink of water before bed and spent the next hour throwing it up. I woke up today, in 2009, not having talked to a single person, not having been wished or wished another single person a Happy New Year and I spent the day moping. This is the first year that New Year's Day hasn't felt like a new beginning...like a do over. I know I'll get to see my babies grow and that makes me happy and sad at the same time. Because I'm not certain I can ever do this again. And coming to grips with that isn't easy. How can I never feel what it's like to be pregnant again? Or how can I wish away a single moment of holding my snuggly newborn baby knowing that I may well never rock another of mine to sleep again?

I do have a couple of resolutions though. A couple of things that I have been thinking about doing but haven't acted on.
1. Waste less. Waste less food, less water, less paper towels, less everything.
2. Be a better mom and wife. Figure out the meaning of the word patience.
3. It wouldn't be a New Year's if I didn't vow to lose some pounds. This year I'm hoping for 15. Better to start big, I figure.

What are your resolutions or don't you believe in them? Or tell me about a time when you were up to eyelids in puke/poop because I'm having one of those days where I feel like my situation sucks worse than anyone else's ever has and I know that somewhere someone has it worse.

welcome to the most random blog on the planet

I am apparently no longer capable of putting together a post that contains any sort of transitions or coherent thoughts. I am currently averaging 2 hours of sleep per week so get off my case. Go pick on someone else. 

First and foremost, go over to Kim's blog and tell her awesome she is for coming over to take newborn pictures of Cameron. She is the Baby Whisperer, I swear to God. I had taken his clothes off trying to get pics at least five times in the three weeks he has been around and he has screamed every time. She walks in with her magic bag of tricks and look how sweet he looks.

Also, how cute is he? Fricking cute. And I don't even have to upload my own picture. How awesome is that? AWESOME. But here is one anyways so I can prove how much better she is at taking/processing pictures than I am. I need to take a class. I'll get right on that...in all of my spare time.

Cameron is fun to have around except for the fact that he prefers the daytime for sleeping. And when it is winter in MN and it is night time for more of the day than it is day time, that SUCKS BIG TIME. Dear Cameron, get your days and nights figured out already. The pediatrician told me it would take two weeks. She LIED. I hate her.

Speaking of [the lack of] sleeping, I curse the fact that the damn teething waited for this time when we have a three week old baby to rear its ugly head with Renee. She's not sleeping either. SWEET. NONE of us are sleeping. I take one, Ski takes one and we both look at each other in silence over breakfast with looks that say WHAT IN THE HELL WERE WE THINKING? Inevitably I say something like, "So, you want to have some more kids?" Then she throws her cup on the floor for the seventeenth time and my head explodes. And then I cry because we are only on number SEVEN OUT OF TWENTY TEETH in the next 18 months.

Then there's this. My mother-in-law has been here for the last few days helping and CAN SHE STAY FOREVER? PLEASE? Or can someone please come and live with us forever? The extra set of hands is SO FRICKING NICE. My mom is coming for a few days next week and then I'm on my own. Like as in I have to take care of two kids all day every day BY MYSELF. Please send chocolate chip cookies. I need a steady drip of chocolate chip cookies.

And finally, my girl is a ham. And I love her. She's STARTING to love me back again, the little brat.
 

Now I need to go take a nap. They are both sleeping and I'm blogging. PRIORITIES, I tell you.