No Brain, No Patience

I am, as my midwives put it, tired and cranky.  ("How are you feeling?"  "Very pregnant."  "Ah.") 

Bug is feeling very Two, i.e. unable to transition from anything to anything, no matter what warning is given or what the circumstances; defiant; moody; generally intolerable.  Also with the hitting, refusing an opportunity to try again, and the time-outs.


I have the attention span of a flea, and about an equivalent amount of patience for other people's horrible children and/or their horrible parenting.  For example: you give your kid three Oreos, he throws a 20-minute screaming, throwing, hitting tantrum because they are all gone: then about 18 minutes ago was when to LEAVE storytime, lady.  (This one's horrible parenting all the way: the kid was two.)

Now I have to go wake up my equally cranky toddler and cook dinner.   Ta.

Less Responsible

We are now on day three of Wrathful Post-Nap Peeing (On Pants).  Since he holds it for ten hours at night and gives up a mighty piddle every morning... it's just a bad case of Two.  With screaming tantrums.  Trust me on this one: it's behavioral, not biological.  Bribery, threats, leaving in room, rational talking, and incarceration in bathroom have all been tried; all have resulted in Wrathful Peeing On Pants.

Excuse me, I have to do another load of laundry now.  Ye gods, how I love this age.

Responsible

I know very little about Montessori philosophy; however, I am lazy. 

Therefore, I have taught my child to handle ceramic and glass, use the refrigerator himself, and draw only on paper.  I figure it's less work in the long run.  Bug is allowed to use tools for their purposes: he helps cook, pour, stir, put away, etc.  He can get his milk out of the fridge, and when he's a little older we'll work on how to open yogurt.  He gets big-people silverware (he always preferred it to kid spoons; I don't care) and real dishes.  One day he'll throw one on the floor and it will break, and then he'll help me clean it up.  The markers and crayons sit on the counter, in boxes; he knows that to use them, he can ask, and I'll give him paper.  He paints in the kitchen, and helps me wipe up the floor afterwards. 

Sometimes, however, I forget to put all the not-toy things away before other children come over.  The lure of a 25-pound bag of rice is, apparently, irresistible, as is the box of screws, the not-really-locked lazy susan cabinet, and the silverware drawer.  Ack. 

Fall

Dr. S: You look concerned.  Is something wrong?
Me: I'm considering apple logistics.
Dr. S: Apple orchards have apple logistics.  Farms have apple logistics.  I'm not sure we should have apple logistics.
Me: ... but I really like apple butter....

(There are some abandoned apple trees around here.  I forage.)

A Right Thing

I got an email a little while ago from my acquaintance who had, very sadly, had a stillbirth.  She said that they were very moved that several people had made donations in memory of their lost babies and she and her spouse were also making a donation.


So I guess it was one of the right things to do, after all.  I'm glad. 

Booooooring

And without even pictures to amuse you, because my camera is giving up the ghost. (I dropped it on a tile floor; strangely, it hasn't been the same since.)

• Dr. S is applying for academic jobs.  Perhaps I should also buy a lottery ticket.
• I have been editing teaching statements, manuscripts, research proposals, and cover letters for him until my eyes are ready to bleed.   (And if I say "Why do we care?" one more time, you may shortly hear about my divorce.)
• I made Bug finger paint today.  It was the best Bug thing ever.  
• I also made a paint smock, nine dryer balls, a Cold-State-weight winter baby hat, another changing pad cover, a car blanket, and two kick-a-ball fabric balls.  Since Sunday.  
• The ice-pick headache has mainly disappeared, with regular applications of narcotics. (Thank you, midwives!)  The sparkly things are worse, but mainly annoying.  I'll take it.
• Tonight I went to a mandatory water-birth class.  Had I not already had a water birth, it would have been more enlightening.  Instead, I was reminded that I want to never watch another birth ever again.  Possibly even if I am giving birth. 
• Dr. S is very amused at my touching faith in people's scientific knowledge.  This manifests as continual disbelief that People Don't Know Things.
• The people at this class (not the instructor, mercifully) were all under the mistaken impression that humans are sterile. (Edit: As in germ-free.)  Like, ever.  After we're born and all.
• Two words: IMMUNE SYSTEMS.
• One more word: SOAP.

Because I Can't Say It To My Spouse

Or, more accurately, because I already said it to my spouse and he found it extremely annoying: I TOLD YOU SO.

(Crazy bosses don't get less crazy, and then was, perhaps, the time to stomp down a foot and say "!@#$ you.")

On the other hand, if someone's consistently screwing me over, I'm likely to take a Colin Powell approach: analyze the risks and benefits, then strike with overwhelming force.  WHAP. (I refer to this as the Flyswatter Doctrine.)

Yet again, we have demonstrated that I am unsuited to academia, and that my spouse is a much nicer person than me. 

Interpretation

Last Friday our synagogue had a service-and-potluck in the park.  (It was lovely.  The people here all like beer and football, and so Dr. S gets along great with them.) 

I was sitting at a picnic table with another family we know and their 4.5-year-old.  The father, who is Israeli, said something to the child in Hebrew. 

"We have that conversation almost every night," I said.  "This is the only dinner you will get!  There are no snacks after dinner!"

He stared at me.  "Your Hebrew must be excellent," he said.

"Oh, no," I said, "it's practically nonexistent.  But that's what it sounded like." 

At Least, I Was Happy

Six happy years! Today, as it has turned suddenly cold, my dear spouse marked the occasion of our anniversary (well, one day late) by celebrating the first of the two seasons here: Road Repair.

I celebrated by baking two apple pies, collapsing in exhaustion, and taking a three-hour nap. 

And he married me anyways!

[Best conversation this week:
Me: I didn't peel the apples.  I hope you don't mind.
Dr. S: You know, when we were first married, I didn't really like apple pies with the peels on.
Me: You could have told me!
Dr. S: I got used to it.  Besides, what would you have done?
Me: Stopped baking you apple pies.
Dr. S: Exactly.]