Mewwiage...

Is what brought us together a year ago today. I never thought it would happen. I never thought I would want it to happen. But it happened, and I wanted it, and I have been glad ever since!

Last night, when I saw it was midnight, I ran to pesimst and told him, "Happy Anniversary!" He swooped me up in his arms, swung me around and squeezed the stuffing out of me.

I asked, "Did you ever think we'd be celebrating and saying 'Yea! It's out anniversary! We're so happy we got married!?'"

And we are. We both are. I love him like mad, which is an abnormal state for me. There are days he makes me so mad, I could thump him with a shovel. And an hour later I am so excited that he's coming home from work that I am actually giddy and giggling. I carry on a running conversation with him in my head. I filter so many things through his eyes. I'll see something bright and pretty and feminine that I like and I'll picture the look of horror on his face at anything "girly" and laugh and laugh. I know he does the same, since he calls throughout the day to talk for about 45 seconds, just to report something he saw, heard or thought of. And I adore him for it.

My love, my darling, my pesimst, thank you for the last year. Thank you for holding me during the birth of our son. Thank you for backing me up with the difficult bits involving the school. Thank you for sometimes seeing things my way and sometimes sticking to your guns. Thank you for laughing with me lots, fighting with me a little and loving me every minute. May every anniversary see us celebrating a year that, no matter how hard on each of us individually, was so wonderful for us together.

I (still) do.

I'm not supposed to write this post

Quite obviously, since the baby has woken up every single time I've sat down to write it today. Of course, he also didn't nap this afternoon, which is why I'm trying to write this now, when I'm supposed to be at my sister's theatrical-type function (sorry, that's all the detail I can give you. Yes, I know the rest of the details, but you only know if you know who my sister is). He hasn't napped today. He took a beautiful nap this morning before his daddy left. You know, when I still had help and had someone I could have given him to for the time it would take to fold that last load of freakin' laundry or maybe eat a sandwich. Since then, he's fallen asleep for about 5 minutes at a time, just long enough for me to be CERTAIN he's asleep so I can wander off to prepare food (I put it in the microwave for 2 minutes. It sat for about an hour before I remembered it). My face is literally bleeding from where he's clawed at me in his frustration. My eardrum hurts from having him scream in it for an hour.

I got him to nap at 5 (only two hours later than he usually does), and I decided to dye my hair very quickly so I'd be ready to leave here by 6:45 to make it into the city by 7:30. He woke up the moment I put the first swipe of dye on my hair. And screamed. The whole eight minutes it took me to coat my hair. Then I set him on the floor in front of my chair and patted him with my foot (hey, give me a break, I didn't want to hold him by the dye). I put him in his swing while I went to rinse the color. And he screamed the whole time. Again. But I wasn't left much of a choice.

When I picked him up after that, he just twisted and clawed at me for some time, until I got irritated and had to put him down. I offered him some banana (which he spent more time squishing into his fat rolls than eating) just to make him not scream. I tried about three different foods, wondering if he was hungry for something other than milk (and my supply is down thanks to hormones). No. He was not. Just ask my carpet.

I'm so tired right now just from having to wrestle him all night long that I could honestly lie down on the floor and go to sleep, even with the idiot dog climbing over me, the baby pulling my hair and the possibility of being peed on by a cat. Hey, the baby isn't screaming. He's not sleeping, but at least he's standing on his bed and not screaming. Oh. Wait. He's trying to eat the stuffing out of my comforter. Guess I should put a stop to that. So maybe you'll get the heartfelt, tender, loving post I was getting ready to write a little later on...

A Love Letter

Dear Van, DC and Tyrannosaurus,

Do you know how proud I am of you? Do you know how amazing I find it that you're all growing into the people you are? There's not a dud in the bunch, and you are my very favorite people.

Van, you're learning how to work so hard, so hard on your school work. I'm proud of you for learning how to get your homework together and get it all home. It's hard to break sloppy work habits, and you're trying very hard. I just know you're going to have great successes in these last nine weeks. Just look at how far you've come on reading. I am dazzled by the way you have caught up and surpassed everything you were expected to do. You can do it!!!

DC, you're becoming quite the little lady. You're room looks just lovely, and that's thanks to you. You have really learned what it means to be clean and organized in your belongings. You're reading so well, and your writing is really starting to look better. When you take the time to watch what you're doing, you make beautiful letters and numbers. Good job!

Tyrannosaurus, you are one cool baby. You know so many words, and learning how to argue is quite a skill for one so little. I hope I never forget the "Bite?" "No bite!" conversation. How precious you are! These days with you by my side or at my breast are rare and wonderful and gone much too quickly.

Kids, I love you. I love all so much more than I ever thought I could love ONE person, let alone three! You fill my life and my heart and make everything I do special. I hope I can be the kind of mother that encourages you, builds you up, gives you a safe place to come when life gets rough, and the kind of mother who helps you go at the world with gusto. There's so much out there I want you to see and know. I promise to try to give you the foundation you need to achieve any goal, reach any prize and know how to try again should you fail.

Wherever you go, whatever you do, I will always be your
Mother

The Guilt Trips

I am suffering from a big old helping of Mother Guilt. First and foremost, I am feeling very down that I can't spend a week cleaning out the garage, another week preparing for a birthday party and ANOTHER week painting the Birthday Girl's bedroom (Can you believe it? DC turned SIX last Thursday!) and STILL KEEP THE HOUSE CLEAN. I mean, let's be reasonable, Pix. You've worked your butt off and you're moping over a pile of laundry and a few dirty dishes? Really?

Yes. Really.

Somehow, I feel like I'm supposed to be Superwoman (thanks, Mom. She really DID believe I was supposed to be Superwoman. I was once grounded for leaving a penny on the coffee table... after having cleaned the whole damn house). No one around here helps much with housework. pesimst really sucks at housework, so, even when he tries to help, he's not. The kids are... well, the kids DO keep their rooms pretty well. That's how DC's room is getting it's fresh coats of bubblegum pink and grapalicious purple, plus pretty princesses and a castle on the wall.

Both kids had a deal with me to keep their rooms clean for a set amount of time, and then, because they had obviously learned to care about their rooms' appearance, I would paint them. The rooms, I mean. Not paint the children. Van didn't quite make it after three months, so he was given five months to work on it. Right now, as he has very few toys for screwing around so much with school work, you'd think it'd be pretty easy for his room to stay perfect. Not so much. He's on strike two, and he has until May...

The rest of my guilt comes from being a stay at home mom. "Momming" is all I accomplish in a day. I would like to get my business up and running, but I don't have time. I have thought about when I'd like to go back to school, but that's so far off that I can't see that far right now.

Sometimes I feel like I'm selling myself, and therefore my kids, short by not working. The main reason I stayed home in the beginning was that I couldn't afford to work. With no college degree and no decent work experience, I couldn't make enough to pay for childcare. So I stayed home. I'm glad I did: I do believe in staying home with babies, if it's at all possible. But now my last baby is nearly a year old, and I just don't know how I feel about working.

I want to be one of those women who has it all, but right now, I feel like a woman who only has all the laundry.

Where's the magazine for women like me?