Sabotage

I had a David Banner moment on Tuesday.

For those of you scratching your heads, David Banner was the fugitive scientist who suffered the curse of transforming into The Incredible Hulk when subjected to extreme emotional stress. After wreaking massive destruction and chaos, Dr. Banner sits in an alley with his head in his hands. He has only a vague recollection of what happened. His clothes are tattered and he is filled with regret.

The day before was filled with activity. We spent the entire Monday at the beach and the entire night at a BBQ. The kids went to bed later than usual on Monday and I stayed up late into the night to make a batch of cupcakes for Liam's birthday, which was to be celebrated the next day at camp.

Despite my lack of sleep the previous night, Tuesday morning was actually going according to plan. I dropped off the kids. I did my five-mile run. I ran some errands. I picked the kids up. I walked in the door. That's where it all fell apart.

Our beach bags, from Monday's day trip, were sitting on the table. Another set of bags, from Monday night's swim and BBQ, were in the kitchen. The kids lunch bags and backpacks from camp were lying on the floor, which seemed to be covered in a thin layer of beach sand. There were dishes in the sink and the countertops were littered with junk mail and papers. And toys, as usual, were everywhere.

The kids were full of energy. Will was following me around the house, wanting help with his Transformers and his racetrack and his Legos. Meanwhile, Liam was following Will around the house, generously "offering" his help with all of these things. From time to time, Liam would get a hold of a track or a robot and all hell would break loose.

It was almost 1 pm. Bill would be home at four. The plan was to leave for on overnight trip to PA shortly thereafter. We were supposed to be packed and ready to head out.

I hadn't eaten since before my run. I was exhausted and I was overwhelmed.

My memory of what happened next is foggy at best.

I briefly distracted the kids and put the baby gate in the kitchen doorway. Alone at last, in what can only be described as Hulk-like behavior, I ate my way through two and a half of the three remaining cupcakes.

I stared down at the plate. All that remained were smooshed cupcake liners, fallen sprinkles and a few drops of icing.

As I started to regain my sanity, I wiped my face with a napkin and made a hot cup of coffee. I hopped the gate, sat in the playroom with the kids and sipped my coffee-- trying to get the thick taste of frosting to dissipate. I played and transformed and built and picked up. I was doing the calorie math-- the bagel from this morning, the run, the cupcakes. I put the boys down for naps and set about cleaning and unpacking and packing. Should I eat lunch on top of the cupcakes or just skip it, I wondered? In the meantime, I found a piece of candy in the pocket of a duffell bag and ate it without thinking. Not incredibly suprising, I know.

As my energy began to fail me, I made another cup of coffee.

Caffeine and sugar. Lack of real food and decent sleep. Too much to do. A recipe for disaster that I know all too well.

As an adult and as a parent of two children, I wonder when will I learn? When will I learn not to over schedule? When will I learn to manage my time so that I can get a decent amount of sleep at night? When will I learn to set aside time to prepare and eat healthy food, rather than reach for whatever is easy and tastes good? When will I learn not to sabotage myself?

Two

We live next door to a nice couple. They are around our age and in a similar stage of their lives. We are friendly neighbors, but not exactly friends. We wave and make small conversations when doing yard work or bringing in the garbage cans. When I hear a car door slam, I curiously look out the window to see what they're up to. I imagine that they do the same.

Five years ago, we were married young couples about to have our first babies. The curb outside of our homes was lined with crushed cardboard boxes that once held cribs and strollers and car seats. Our cars would come and go, as we were often out to dinner or the movies-- taking the advice of our friends and soaking up our last days of freedom.

After what seems like the shortest summer ever, we each brought home our baby boys.

In the months that followed, you could easily tell which room was the nursery in both of our houses by the soft glow of light that seemed to emanate, off and on, all night long. Instead of dinners out, there was a lot of take-out and delivery. Instead of the movie theater, there was television on the couch. On the chance meetings that we’d have upon arriving or leaving our homes, we’d commiserate about the challenges of raising a newborn. The sleep deprivation, the breastfeeding, the diapers, the laundry, the change in our lifestyles.

Two and a half years later, Bill and I were expecting our second baby. “Wow...”, our neighbors said, looking surprised. They were fine with one baby. Relieved that the ‘baby stage’ was over. Happy to have more independence. Confident that they could give their only son plenty of attention. Certain that, with one child, they would always have enough time and money and energy.

It sounded reasonable and I didn’t judge them. I was happy to be adding to our family and giving Will a sibling.

In August of 2008, we brought home our second baby and I was lucky enough to be able to afford an entire year of maternity leave.

Some days were easier than others, but overall I had my hands full. My three-year-old wanted to do elaborate art projects and build Lego models and play hide and seek. My infant wanted to eat and nap for 20 minutes and eat and nap for 20 minutes… and be held constantly. Add to this the ever-present piles of laundry and dishes and scattered piles of toys. Then toss in the fact that I was existing on 3 – 4 solid hours of sleep each night. Liam cried a lot. Will was frustrated with the things we couldn’t do. The house was falling apart. I was exhausted and fat and feeling incompetent.

In the beginning, I remember peering over at my neighbor’s house. In the late evening and early morning hours, the house was completely dark as everyone was getting a full nights sleep. She’d be gardening or sunbathing and her son would be busy playing. Sometimes she’d chase him or they’d be doing some kind of activity together. I’d see them coming and going—with restaurant leftovers or bags from various stores. In particular, she seemed so well-rested and put-together and content.

Over time, the three of us (Liam, Will and I) found a rhythm. Liam started napping more and crying less. Will learned to be a little more independent and patient. I perfected the art of multi-tasking and got used to living with the minor imperfections of a sink full of dishes or an overflowing garbage can. I discovered ways to spend time with each child, complete a little housework and even (on some days) get a shower.

Here we are two years later. It’s a little before 8 am on a Monday and the kids have already been up for almost two hours. At this moment, there is folded laundry on my dining room table and the breakfast dishes are sitting on the countertop. I’ve microwaved my mug of coffee no less than three times and I’m unshowered, wearing yoga pants and an old t-shirt. There are toys everywhere and I’ve already refereed at least twelve disagreements over who gets what chair and what cup and what television show and what action figure. Our plans for today include going absolutely nowhere—art projects on the deck, a swim in the pool and a carpet picnic for lunch.

Here we are two years later and I still have my hands full— but I wouldn’t have it any other way.

August, 2008

Today.

According to Plan

Today was Will and Liam's first day of summer camp.

I know. I know what you're thinking... that I've been complaining about not spending enough time with them all year long and then here I am shipping them off to camp. I know. I do feel a little guilty about it.

They're going on Tuesday and Thursday mornings, from 8:30 am until noon. They'll get to socialize with their friends and participate in some fun activities. Liam will get some continuity with the whole 'daycare situation' (so he won't be freaking out in September) and Will will get to hang out with his buddies for a few more weeks until they all head off to separate schools for kindergarten.

While they're gone, I'll do fun things like lawn mowing and power washing and pool maintaining and bathroom cleaning-- the kinds of things that are nearly impossible to accomplish with an almost-two-year-old underfoot.

One of the very best perks is that the camp is walking distance from our house. Months ago, Will made me promise that I would give him rides (there and back) in his wagon.

Seventy pounds of cuteness = a serious workout.

Speaking of promises, I also promised Will his very own 'office'. When Will turned three, we got him a bedroom set that included a big wooden desk with a great work surface. For months, he's been asking to bring all of his art supplies upstairs. He's been wanting to stock the drawers with crayons, markers, scissors, tape, glue, paper, etc. I had promised him that we would set things up once the summer started.

For the last five years, Will's art supplies have been kept in a safety locked cabinet. I had nightmares of a toddleresque art mural on my dining room wall or giant ink spots on my couch. Artwork was relegated to the kitchen table only and we've never had any major messes. Now that Will is about to turn five, I figured he was ready for a little independence.

Within 24-hours of setting up his 'office', as he calls it, I found this in the toy closet.

And for a closer look...

The underlining and circle-dotted i... nice touch, right?

"How do you know I did it?", he asked. Good one, honey.

The office is closed until further notice.

So, in addition to putting the Crayolas on lockdown, I spent the day spreading the six bags of mulch that have been lying in my driveway for the last few months. I also packed away our double stroller and tried, in vain, to get the pool filter working. (Bill, of course, fixed it within two minutes of arriving home.)

When I walked over to pick up the boys, I was armed with two blue Fla-Vor-Ices for the ride home. (Totally a mother-of-the-year move.)

Mmmm... Fla-Vor-Ice....

Well, it turns out that Fla-Vor-Ice can be a pretty tricky thing when you're not quite two. Liam kept forgetting which side was open and which was closed... sending precious blue ice and juice to the bottom of the dirty wagon.

Will's take on the situation: "Man, he is NOT smart."

This is an actual quote, people.

A little dirt wouldn't stand in Liam's way. He'd just fish the pieces of ice from the bottom of the wagon and scream in protest when I tried to intercept them.

Will just found the situation completely hilarious. He even helped his little brother by kicking the pieces of ice so that they'd be within his reach. And me? I thought that I remained pretty calm. Afterall, this is only day two of summer vacation and there are plenty of 'not according to plan' moments ahead.

Surveying the Damage

Friday marked the end of my tenth year of teaching. (It would have actually been the eleventh, but I took a year of maternity leave with Liam.)

As I cleaned out my room, I was reminded of what a rough year this was. Handouts and worksheets going all the way back to September sat in tall, completely unorganized piles. Student papers, which had been collected with the intent of grading, sat alongside in their own messy stacks-- ungraded. The notices on my bulletin boards were outdated and the supply caddy on my filing cabinet had been emptied long ago except for a few paper clips and some nonfunctional pens.

As I arrived home on Friday, I began surveying the related damage at home. There are months of fingerprints accumulated on every possible surface and small mountains of laundry in the basement. The refrigerator, the stove, the bathrooms... just about every room needs an overhaul. Cabinets are stuffed with kids art projects and receipts and mystery phone numbers and dates scrawled on random envelopes. The kids' dressers are full of winter clothes that need to be packed away and the front closet is packed with shoes that will no longer fit. There are bags of mulch in the driveway and an inch of pollen and dirt on the trampoline. As a matter of fact, just about everything in my backyard is begging for a power wash.

Thankfully the summer is my time to regroup. Time to spend with my husband and kids. Time to organize and put my house back together. Time to plan for next school year.

There's only one problem. Eight weeks doesn't seem like nearly enough time.

TGIF

Balancing two children and a full-time teaching job is pretty rough stuff.

I never feel fully prepared for my job. Papers sit ungraded for weeks and lessons are planned at the very last minute. Keys are left at home, passwords are forgotten and deadlines are missed. I'm late for morning help, behind in my curriculum and I can never seem to find a pencil.

At the same time, I never feel fully engaged as a parent. My kids spend nearly nine hours at daycare/preschool. NINE. The morning is a delicate fusion of mad rush and gentle coaxing. Getting the kids out of their nice, warm beds and comfy pajamas in order to be at their respective schools by the ungodly hour of 7:30 am. Prying toys out of their little hands and shoving waffles down their throats as we stuff their arms into jackets and strap them into car seats. We drop them off, give them kisses and hugs and don't see them again until around four o'clock that afternoon.

Some weeks are better than others. Some weeks we almost seem to make it all work. This was not one of those weeks.

The brief time we spent as a family was earsplitting. Liam was crying. Will wasn't listening. Liam was screaming. Will was acting crazy. They were fighting over toys and snacks and sippy cups. Liam demanded to play with staplers and scissors and kitchen utensils; preferring to just dump his eleventy billion toys all over the floor and throw them against the wall rather than actually play with them. Will was running in circles, refusing to share or clean up and talking shouting like a baby, giving us his best "Max" impression.

From experience in my work, I've learned that when a lesson goes badly, the students are rarely to blame. It's usually the structure of the lesson or the decisions made by the instructor that are responsible. I have a similar attitude towards parenting.

Bill and I were tired this week-- mentally and physically. We didn't get down on the floor and play. We didn't pull up a chair and color. We cooked and cleaned. We gave baths and changed diapers. We dolled out snacks and brought down baskets of toys from shelves too high to reach. We warned and yelled and gave time-outs, but ultimately, we weren't in the trenches as usual. We were counting down the hours until bed time, wishing away the few precious hours that should be most important.

So I'm renewing a promise that I often make and occasionally forget. Dishes and laundry can wait and dinner can be grilled cheese or pancakes and eggs. Mental baggage from work can be checked at the door. When patience has been depleted at the end of a school day, it must be renewed. When energy is exhausted, it must be restored.

Next week will be better.

And in the meantime... thank God it's Friday.

Kitchen Counter, 2 AM

The other night, at about 2 am, I found myself face down in a pile of drool on my couch. I've been falling asleep on the couch lately. I'm not proud of it. As a grown adult, I should know about the importance of a good night's sleep.

But the house is so quiet when everyone else is sleeping. There's no crying or whining. No fighting over firetrucks or sofa spots or chocolate milk. I can read or relax or watch television without any interruptions. There's no Transformers to transform or diapers to change. No noses to wipe and no legos to fish from a mischievous toddler's mouth.

So I attempt to fight off sleep... conk out on the sofa well before midnight... and collapse into bed in the wee hours of the morning. I am, therefore, cursing myself roughly four hours later when the kids are ready to rise and shine.

I snapped this photo the other night, in one of my drowsy stupors. I like how it captures some of the things going on in my present day life.

First, in the foreground, we have Bill's watch and keys along with the mail he was reading that evening. We actually have a place for all of these things, but why bother when it's just so easy to toss them on the counter. Ahem.

Next we have the big, red, frat party plastic cup. After years of listening to me nag about our carbon footprint, my husband still insists on buying and using these hideous things. Although they are technically disposable, he never actually throws them out.

In a sweet attempt at romance, there's the glass of wine that Bill had poured for me. Sadly, you can't drink wine when you're sound asleep. You also can't fulfill all your 'wifely duties' and you will be reminded of this repeatedly the next day.

There is a container of cookies, leftover from an earlier playdate. I will need to either hide these, toss these or bring these to another playdate in order to avoid eating them.

Nearby are the paper towel roll and baby wipes. Nothing soothes a cranky toddler like a paper towel roll. It's like magic. And with two messy kids, we have baby wipes in EVERY room of the house.

On to the sink full of dishes. When your kids are up by 6 am, there's plenty of time to do the dishes. Enough said.

Then we have the dreaded sippy cups. They have this 'no-spill' technology which translates as 'pain-in-the-ass-to-clean'. Generally, I put off cleaning them so often that I am frequently rinsing out rancid milk and regretting my careless ways.

In the background is my water bottle, which I carry around all day, telling myself, "You're not hungry, you're thirsty. You're not hungry, you're thirsty. You're not hungry, you're thirsty." Then, at some point, I am inevitably shoveling M&M's in my pie hole.

Note the fresh pineapple in the background. I love fresh pineapple. It's sweet and it's juicy and it's a real time-suck to cut up. I buy it, I stare at it, I promise that I'm going to make the time to prepare it and then I wish that I had just bought apples instead.

There's my Keurig and a full container of Cheerios which are must haves with a sink full of dishes and a 20-month old who is up at the crack of dawn.

Lastly, there's a garbage bag in the bottom corner of the photo. Due to kitchen-size constraints, we have a tiny garbage can under the sink that is forever overflowing. It seems as if we're always taking out the garbage leaving it on the floor to be dealt with tomorrow.

Someday, when my house is quiet and my kitchen is clean, I think that I'll look back on this photo and smile. Life is exhausting and messy, but I wouldn't have it any other way.