Autumn is by far my favorite time of year. Because of all the typical reasons. You know, the foliage, the great holidays, the beautiful cool weather, the smell of the first fires of the season, the apples and pumpkins and sudden desire to bake delicious pies and stuffed acorn squash, cook chili, and snuggle up under warm blankets. And something I will never grow tired of: walks in the woods with my buddy(ies). The mosquitoes are finally gone, and it’s not too cold or wet or slippery. It’s just… perfect.
We need these walks to keep us sane right now. It hasn’t been an easy week with Andrew in San Fran teaching another class. One or both bums are often screaming, or pooping, or making some sort of ridiculous mess, or jumping from FOUR steps up onto the basement floor which thank the LORD is carpeted. While Milo was on his mini potty, he decided to get up mid-poop and go get a little baseball he felt he could not live without for the next forty seconds. He came back to finish the deed and then I heard, “Oh, nooooo! Mommy! I dwopped my baseball in da poo-poo!” Well of course you did, because Oliver is screaming inconsolably and the dog is barking at some deer in the backyard and the garbage disposal is leaking disgusting smelly food-water into the cabinet below our sink which is where we keep our dustcloths and some extra undies for Milo and the garbage is overflowing and we’re running out of clean laundry and the floor is sticky because of the apple juice that was spilled there earlier and what’s that? You are pooping on top of the baseball now?
Yes. So what do I do? I can’t just call it a day and flush the baseball down the toilet because God only knows how far down it would make it before clogging the toilet and then I’d really be… what’s that phrase? So I have to fish through butt mud with a plastic bag on my hand, find the precious marble-sized baseball (should I even be letting my two-year-old play with this?!) and give it a thorough cleaning while I throw up in my mouth a little.
Yeah, laugh now, because that day was a close-to-tears one. But I have to laugh. Because how do I want to look back at this time? And how do I want my sons to remember their childhood? And their mother? Is it universal to not want your children to know how enraged, how frustrated, and how lonely you sometimes feel as a parent? How utterly, ridiculously inadequate you sometimes feel? I so want to stay positive, to be fun and lighthearted and patient, patient, patient. And to show no sign of sarcasm or exhaustion in my voice when you tell me “NOOOOOO!” for the 167th time as I attempt to get one bite of food (something, anything!) into your little belly. But some days are so hard!
And then the birds.
Yes, this is all the same day.
And then Andrew comes home for a day before heading to NY and says to Milo as we walk to the playground, “Do you know how to say ‘squirrel’ in Spanish?” and Milo replies,
“Squirrel in Spanish.”
And everything is right with the world.
If Milo was as bright as Reina, he would know it is “la ardilla.”
Lauren, you are an amazing mother! I panic if I have to be alone with Avery while Dave is out of town – can’t imagine doing it with two! I love your blog and how upbeat it always is, even when you’re clearly overwhelmed. Quick question (and I’m reluctant to ask, because you have two children and lots of doctors in your family, but Dave, Garriy, and Jonathan all encouraged me to do so when we discussed it this weekend): does Oliver have reflux, or GER, as it’s often called in infants? Avery did/does and once we figured it out and got her on Zantac, the inconsolable screaming just about stopped. Huge difference. You can e-mail me if you want more info about it, or just want to chat.
We missed Andrew this weekend & really miss you guys! We’ll have to find a way to get together soon – it’s so much more complicated now. 🙂
To answer your question…I think it is universal to not want your child to know how enraged, how frustrated, and how lonely you sometimes feel as a parent. How utterly, ridiculously inadequate you sometimes feel….you want them to be happy even if it means sacrificing your own happiness. (Reading this blog was just the right therapy for me today…can you say Mommy had a meltdown last night…after of course Jackson was in bed) I can only say that I understand 100%. Being a Mommy is HARD WORK! You know that, and I know that…God knows all Mommies know that, but sometimes it is just nice to hear it again! You are awesome Lauren, and an inspiration to me. I think about you guys often and I wish we lived closer!!!!
By the way…the birds really freak me out! That happens to us too. It’s just plain weird and kind of gross! Very Halloweenish!
Patience, what is that? There are times I have definitely misplaced mine. I think I could use some extra patience laying around for times of disaster. Keep smiling.
By the way, you are a natural with your new camera.
It is so nice that you have Rock Creek Park right in your back yard. A bit of the country, right in the city.
Cute pictures of Milo in the woods. I miss autumn. It doesn’t happen in south Texas. You are right, being a mom is the hardest job of all. Being a step-mom is second hardest. You are doing a terrific job. But tell Andrew you need a break to pamper yourself for a few hours.
Oh, if I only had something wonderfully funny like this to read when I was a young mother! This is the next best thing to Maurice Sendak’s books, no kidding. Milo looks SO grown up since his haircut – what a handsome boy – and Oliver, what a beautiful little one! Now, the birds; that is eerie – kind of Edgar Allen Poe-ish. Is he really dead and buried in Baltimore, or is he visiting just up the street from you this time of year? HAPPY HALLOWEEN!!!
Some thoughts in no particular order….very random
Beatings
Dr. John Daniels
Poo….speaking of poo; remember when Andrew grabbed a piece of tupperware and plunged a clogged toilet with his bare hand – a toilet that he didn’t clog, you didn’t clog, but another female friend clogged
Now that we’re talking about poo, I think you passed up a great opportunity to pass on the beatings (this one time) and make Milo clean up his accident. You don’t forget having to reach into a poo filled toilet as a young bum – just ask Andrew and my Mom’s theory on getting pants pooing to stop.
That’s the end of my ramblings