10 Years Later...

Avoiding my work, I decided to clear out the bookmarks in my web browser. I came across this blog and became a little melancholy. Just a little though. It might be the lack of sleep. But I remembered that writing was something I enjoyed at one point. My daugher (now 10 years older) wants to be a writer, and I am constantly talking her out of it. Accounting, engineering, web designing, these are jobs. Writing is a hobby that will never pay the bills. Is my blatant disregard of her dreams ironic? I always get it confused with the Alanis Morisette song that everyone says misuses the word. 

Anyway... still procrastinating, I decided to read my blogs and started a full blown pity party of 1. It has been 10 years, and in that time, I have forgotten these little moments with my daughter. Now these 10 years have been packed full of chaos. Multiple moves, jobs, and life events. The adoption of my youngest daughter, now 9 years old. Yes, I am now a mom of two, which is humorous because we all know I did not quite know how to be a mom of 1. 

It is easy to forget the past when we are so caught up in the present, and sometimes that is for the best. But sometimes, past moments are so sweet (or truly hilarious) that I actually want them carved in my brain. Posterity and all that. 

So I am picking this back up for now. It will be much more difficult this go around because all of my funniest stories would totally embarrass my now teenager. But hopefully, I will have something to share that will be worth reading 10 years from now when I likely pick this up again.   

Extreme Sports

This week, I have become hyper aware of the limitations of the body.  It all started when Wren decided to attempt a somersault off of the picnic tables onto the concrete.  Blood gushing everywhere, other adults had the look of utter shock and panic, while I had to suppress the urge to laugh out loud.  See, this is our life, folks.  Dramatic and utterly ridiculous, each day has presented us with something new.  If this had been the first time, or even the fourth that my daughter had buster her lip, I might be more concerned.  My daughter is truly her father's though, and with that comes defiance of gravity.  My husband jokes that he had so many injuries as a child, that a doctor once called Child Protective Services.  Wren has had more falls than I can remember; our joyous right of passage - i.e.  first trip to the dentist was circumvented by two teeth she had dislocated not long after she learned to walk.  Mind you, that fall took place in the middle of a church auditorium that we were visiting for the first time. 

Sitting at the park, blood dripping down her face, I was not too concerned.  I cleaned her up with some amazing help from friends, and let her go out and play again.  I was really not too worried until someone mentioned the word "concussion."  For the rest of the night, I had these panic attack inducing daymares of something happening to my precious little girl.  Now, of course she turned out fine, otherwise this would probably be a quite different story.  It just goes to show how easy it is as parents to go from one extreme to the other. 

The next morning was a new day, and the fear had melted away with the night.  With new enthusiasm, I had it all planned out.  I would volunteer at a local nursery - my good deed for the week, and then we would spend some time with some old friends.  Except for the common bout of disobedience, Wren seemed fine, and I totally thought she could handle three and a half hours of Sunday School, while I put in my time.  I was even so energized that I invited another couple of friends to come by later that afternoon and evening.  I was SuperWoman.  I could do it all. 

Unfortunately, my daughter was not.  My first instinct should have been when she was overly excited when the first set of friends came by.   She ran around the house in circles, and wanted to call each of them "Cindy," at the top of her lungs.  Now, she is totally a goofball, so this did not strike me as that odd.  What did strike me though, was her total lack of interest in the slice of pie I had set out for her. This is the child that says she only eats "chocolate everything." I have never seen her turn down something sweet. 

My next inkling that something might be wrong was upon the arrival of our sweet friend and her lovely 18 month-old.  Now, Wren is extremely independent, and can often maintain that sovereignty even to her detriment in social settings.  But - at the end of the day, she is caring and compassionate, and looks out for little ones.  These qualities seemed to be lost with our sweet friend.  No, my daughter was stubborn and rude, and even hid behind the recliner so she did not have to play.

At this point, I realized she was probably done for the day.   I did not realize how done, though, until the child, who refused to cuddle even as an infant, passed out on my lap three hours before her regular bed time.   Even still, I figured she must be very ill and I will probably have to take her to the doctor the next day.  I went ahead and had our third guest of the day, and we fixed dinner and caught up.

It was not until the next day that I realized that maybe, just maybe I might have pushed us too hard.  Did this revelation take place when my daughter seemed to return to normal after 13 hours of sleep?  No, my newfound epiphany did not exactly occur until I tried to get out of bed myself, much to the chagrin of the muscles that were holding me upright.  Apparently, at some point during the night, my poor thigh muscles had decided to collapse, resulting in excruciating pain whenever I moved them up or down.  It is likely that my extreme lack of exercise has finally caused my muscles to atrophy.  They were so shocked by the extreme activity of the day before, that they did not quite know how to respond. 

Regardless,  now I have to work, unable to move to well without waddling.  My office is down a flight of stairs, and I have to make 10+ trips upstairs each day to maintain my paperwork.  As  I hold on to both railings and shimmy up and down, I am reminded of the fragility of the body and inspired to hire a personal trainer.

The End Is Near

Wow.  I am finally on the tail end of this thing, and I hesitate saying it, but I think I may make it afterall.  I am on the verge of starting week six flying solo, with hopefully no more than two weeks to go.  And I am tired.  Exhausted, really.

I must say, though, I am nervous for the transition back to married life and co parenting.  As difficult as it has been, there have definitely been some sweet moments that have kept me going.  Wren has begun saying, "Mommy, I love you very much," multiple times a day, most often around 2:00am. 4:00am, and 5:30am when I let her sleep in my room.  Almost every day she begs me for a playdate, and as a very lonely mom, I readily agree and get to watch her face light up wtih excitement.  With only one adult to feed, it is rare that I am motivated enough to cook, so I get by on take out and healthy snacks.  I also have had the benefit of incredible friends that have generously shared their culinary expertise with us.   

Yes, when Wren's daddy returns, there is a good chance that all three of us will be in for a rude awakening.  It is all worth it, though, if I can just sleep for a day.

Leisure Sickness

Yesterday, I had a long conversation with one of my clients about down time and vacation. I asked her when it became more desirable to sleep than to do anything else. She responds with something profound about entering adulthood and having responsibilities. I smiled and nodded, but did not quite believe her because I know plenty of adults (other than myself, of course) that prefer adult time and activities to sleep.


Sure enough, bed time comes for my daughter, Wren, and I am ready to knock out, too. Never mind it is barely 7:30. Exhausted, I decide to forgo the battle, and allow her to sleep in my room. I go downstairs to lay down in a quiet room until she passed out. 10 minutes later, she comes down talking about her hunger as if I have starved her for the last week. I calmly tell her it is bed time, and there will be no snacks tonight. You can imagine how she takes this news. 30 minutes later, she comes back to tell me she needs to go potty. Of course, I am not going to deny her this necessity. She proceeds to wash her arms and hands until they are so covered in soap, and she is unable to wash it off. She calls for me again, and I head up to wash each arm with two hands and what seems to be a gallon of water. I tuck her back in bed and think I am done for the night. I am wrong.

Around 9:30pm she comes back very pleased with herself because her hands are sticky. I ask her what is all over her hands, and she tells me it is lotion. I ask her where she found the lotion, and she replies, "I'm sorry, mommy." Now I know something is up. I head upstairs to find a sticky bed, sticky carpet, and of course, sticky 3 year-old. I find the culprit. It is KY.

I clean her and the floor up, and we are pushing 11:00pm. I decide that it is probably not that good of an idea to let her sleep in my room, and I banish her to her own. This does not go over well. But, I am exhausted. I think I pass out before she does.
About 2:00am, she comes in crying - I am not even sure she has been asleep. She wants to sleep in my room. I calmly, but crankily deny her request, and try and go back to sleep. I must succeed because the next thing I know it is 6:45 and she is groggily whining for Diego. At some point in the night, she stealthily has snuck in my room and fallen asleep.

We start our day. I realize why I daydream of sleep more than of girls' nights, long walks on the beach, or exciting films.

Waiting

Do you ever feel like you are stuck just waiting for life to happen around you?

Today, I waited all day for a plumber to gouge me for a repair. While waiting on him, I was also waiting in the Texas heat for my client to remember we had an appointment.  I waited for my mail order pie to arrive or the store owner to even return my call.   This pie was ordered almost a month ago.  I waited for my daughter to decide she wanted to get out of the car so that we could eat dinner in peace and I did not have to deal with the tantrum that comes with physically dragging her out.

Many argue that to live is to grab life and hold on.  Make choices, take initiative.  All that jazz.  Me?  I am kind of a control freak.  I like to make things happen and move on.  I call the pie lady again, and actually get to hear another salesman in the background say very irritatedly, "Ugh, that lady is calling again?  I just talked to her."  I call and address the plumbing issue, and learn the dishwasher is broken, too. I yank my daughter out of the car, and eat dinner while wearing headphones.

Life is just too short, right?

Tales from a Disheveled Landlord

Have you ever seen the movie, "The Money Pit?"  Its this hilarious 80s film about a young couple that buy their dream house only to discover it is hopelessly dilapidated.  Our house puts theirs to shame, and adding to the incredible misfortune is the fact that we have been renting it out for over two years now.

As everyone is well aware, the housing market has plummeted beyond belief, starting just two weeks after we put our house on the market in order to move closer to jobs we no longer have.  We had the bright idea to just rent it out until it sold, expecting that we were mere months away from this feat.

Now, a couple of years later, we have gone through two sets of tenants and are now on to our third.  It is hard to determine which was the worst tenant experience yet, but at this point we have to find a way to find the humor.  The first set were drug addicts and skipped out mid lease, the second cost us thousands of dollars in damage, and I have had the extreme, er, pleasure, of meeting the third this week.

Have you ever thought to yourself, "Wow, these people seem so hip and fashionable; I hope we could be friends so maybe some of their coolness might rub off on me?"  Come on, I know you have even if your don't want to admit it.  For you, it may be an actor, a musician, or even a new co worker or neighbor.  Well, for me, it was these tenants.  For starters, they work at two of my favorite venues in Austin.  They are in a band that actually tours, and they have the look that just screams, "Yeah, we are hot. So what?"

We all know looks can be deceiving, but it is always such a pleasant surprise when we are reminded of it, right?    My first blip of concern should have occurred when I noticed how many emails and questions were leading up to the signing of the lease.  Or maybe when I learned that they had been by almost every day in the week leading up to the start of their least and were concerned that the house did not look ready enough for them. In their defense, it was not.  Their lease did not begin until the 15th.  No, I did not really start to get nervous until they accidentally cursed out my Realtor on her answering machine thinking they were talking to someone else.

They have been in the house for 24 hours at this point, and I have already received three repair requests, along with a notice that a more detailed request will be coming soon.  This is going to be a long 12 months...

So, if you are thinking of getting in the real estate business on whim or out of convenience, I hope my tale has opened your eyes.  Just one more opportunity for adventure for my daughter and I to grow together in the next few weeks as I await my husband's return.  We have already made three trips out there, and our tenants have had the pleasure of getting to know my extremely active 3 year-old while she runs and screams through the house.  Did I mention that 15 minutes after they moved in she christened their toilet with her own present which she neglected to flush?

Round 2, Day 24

So today my friend told me I should write a blog.  I am sure we have all heard it before, and most of us agree and actually never get around to actually doing it.  I cannot say I have never thought about it.  Daydreamed what it would be like to be one of those bloggers that all of the sudden become rich and famous and have thousands of fans.  But - when it comes time to actually doing it, it is like all of the other great ideas that pass my way - sewing, scrapbooking, reading tons to my child, eating organic, cooking, etc.  At this point, I have developed a more accurate perception of reality, and I simply smile and nod.

And then my three year-old daughter proceeds to go in the house, grab my car keys, and lock herself in my car.  She is old and wise enough to understand that I am asking her to unlock the doors.  She knows how to unlock the doors. But, she just won't do it.  No matter how many times I use my stern mommy voice.  How many times I count to three out loud and with my fingers.  She continues to smile, laugh, and shake her head.

Now, many of you will laugh.  Talk about how smart or funny my little tyke has become.  Now think about the rest of my day.  A child that does something like this is not exactly an angel the rest of the day.  No, this child has to be held down to have her teeth brushed in the morning.  She tricks all of her friends and their parents to give her cookies and ice cream in the afternoon, resulting in disgusting diarrhea.  After her explosion, she decides to destroy the little makeup I have left in the bathroom, and douse herself in perfume. In the early evening, she refuses to eat, and claims she only likes "chocolate everything."

This is the child that has already received consequences, time out, and a spanking today. This is the child who locks herself in my car.  Oddly, this is not the worst day we have had together.

My husband has been gone for 24 days at this point.  He is out of state, on the second film shoot he has had this summer.  Round 1 had him in state, less than 100 miles away.  He worked many 12-18 hour days though, and was only really around on Sundays.  I thought that was tough.  Actually, I thought that I managed okay, and likewise I would do get through the out of state trip with relative ease.  I did not account for the terrible mold, the multiple viruses I have had, the second degree burn I experienced, the fear of the dark that sends her to my room every night, and the daily defiance.  And it is only day 24.

It is funny.  When I sat down to write this, she was screaming and I was using writing as an opportunity to ignore her temper tantrum.  As I have written, she has slowly calmed down, and is now playing calmly with her toys at my feet.  And it is almost bedtime.