A short nine months after our daughter was born, I discovered I was pregnant with Baby #2. I would say it was a surprise, but we'd just put our house on the market and my husband specifically said "You better not get pregnant!", which is a clear opportunity for the universe to say, "You're not the boss of me!". Sure enough, two weeks later I had to check the package twice to make sure the two pink lines meant "baby-on-board."
In the early weeks the idea of two kids didn't really phase me, "everyone" has two kids, right? What's the big deal? But as my daughter grew and our daily activities and rituals became more routine, the idea of bringing home a baby created a feeling I didn't expect, a big heaping, helping of guilt.
Being a mom of one is easy to remember compared to trying to remember the early days with my other kids. Early morning wake-ups, followed by snuggling in bed, eating breakfast, holding a napping baby while I worked, breaking for The View for me and a bottle for baby. It was an easy schedule - a little of what I needed, a little of what she needed.
One morning I was balancing a bowl of Corn Pops on my baby belly, my daughter tucked to one side of me, mesmerized by some toy she was holding, when I realized soon it wouldn't be just us taking turns with daylight hours. Pretty soon there'd be a tiny person who needed me "now" and my little girl would have to wait. And it made me feel awful. It made me cry. It made me think "What have I done!" And each sweet moment we had began to feel like the last, and in some ways, they were.
We sold our house just in time. I was 4cm dilated and contracting every hour, but we closed and moved and I lasted a whole week longer until my doctor decided I live too far from a hospital to be so dilated and contracting with a toddler while my husband worked 45 minutes away. The morning I went in to be induced was heart wrenching, I felt this was the day my little girl's world changes forever and it's all my fault. It was hard to be excited for a new baby when I was sure I'd condemned my daughter to a life of "just a minute!", which translates to "I don't have time for you, I'm too busy with this noisy poop machine."
Bringing our new son home didn't really help my feelings. Everyone was fine with our new dynamic but me. My daughter was instantly the "Best Sister Ever". A little mommy if there ever was one. She was 18 months old and ready for independence, so having mommy occupied was a welcome reprieve from singing Old MacDonald for the 200th time.
She found all sorts of fun while I was glued to the couch with my shirt half off feeding her brother. One day she made an indoor sandbox out of her brother's baby rice cereal. (Tip: Don't ever try to vacuum that stuff.)
I held on to the guilt for a few months, I clearly remember the day it went away. It was a really hot day, the baby was in his little chair and I was snapping the day's obligatory new baby photos when my daughter came over, the breeze from the fan blowing her wispy hair back. She smooched her brother as I snapped away. It wasn't until that night, as I was clicking through the pictures that this shot stopped me and I finally understood. As I looked at these tiny people interacting I finally saw what she had, instead of what she lost. She had a brother who, seven years later, is her best friend (most days) and her back-up whenever she needs it. She gained someone to love and be loved by, and she has someone to turn to if she can't turn to Mom and Dad. You would think as someone who has three younger siblings herself that I would have known this from the start (hormone clouded judgement?).
I also realized that trying to be the best mom for one kid is very different than trying to be the best mom for two or more kids. With one kid you are 50% of their everything. With more kids you're only 33%, 25% or less. You still give all the love, but you don't have to be the entertainment, shoulder, snuggler, teacher, playmate all the time... sometimes to your dismay. Siblings are happy to jump into those roles, and others... antagonist, irritater, toy breaker.
I'd like to say I scraped the rest of that side of guilt into the garbage and was done with it, but I managed to store some to reheat with the births of brothers #2 and #3. With the younger brothers it was more of an appetizer than a side dish, easily forgotten once the meal arrived.
Even now I find a crumb or two of guilt laying around, especially when I realize how little one-on-one time I get with the kids. But as I listen to them playing some made up game down the hall I think, maybe that's just me missing it, they are too busy having fun with each other.
Monday, August 4, 2014
Sunday, July 20, 2014
The Sound of Quiet
In my house quiet is hard to come by. With young kids (three quarters of them boys) and a dog, the volume of our house regularly reaches unsafe levels. I often threaten to wear ear plugs, but as most moms know, hearing (or not hearing anything) is part of a mom's anti-danger awareness system which goes on high-alert when your eyes are otherwise occupied, and I can't safely turn that off.
Last week, my parents, bless their angelic souls, had all four of the kids to their house for a week (a whole week!!). They've had two or three of them in the years past, but this year, the youngest is potty trained and they all got to go. It was the first time in 8.5 years I had no children at home with me. And, it was quiet.
There were no truck noises, no fighting, no "Mom! So-and-so won't let me blah-blah-blah". There was no me yelling for them to be quiet only to hear "What?! We can't hear you! We're being to loud!", followed by sounds of my head banging off the wall. Of course there were none of the good noises either: the giggles, silly sayings and sweet "Mom, I love you"s. But... there was quiet.
I almost forgot it existed during the daylight hours.
When it was quiet, I heard the wind in the trees, the birds chirping away, the laundry thumping in the dryer downstairs, and I heard myself think! I went hours without having to speak. No twenty questions to answer, no over dramatic punishments to threaten - "No dessert for a year!". I didn't have to hold a press conference to announce the evenings menu, so I wasn't asked 5 separate times while I was preparing it:
"Thank you for attending this evening's dinner press conference. The menu tonight will be a Roasted Red Pepper Pasta with Chicken, salad and garlic bread. Any questions? --- Yes, you four in the front row."
In unison: "Are there onions in it?"
"No, there are no onions in it." "Yay!"
"Any more questions? Tall guy, that just walked in."
"Pasta, again?!" "Would you like to rephrase that?".
While I was hearing "quiet", I realized I no longer had to listen. As a parent your eyes and ears and nose never turn off. You could be reading a book and still hear the little feet sneaking into the kitchen, opening the refrigerator and then smell the pickles as they are being stealthily snatched from their jar. Moms can even wake from the deepest slumber when they hear the flick of the bathroom light switch at 4:18 AM.
Being able to power down from Mom-mode was almost like a vacation for my brain, even if I was still at my desk working. Last week was a gift for me more than it was for the kiddos. Sure, I missed them (less than I thought) and I worried (even more less than I thought -- but my parents are pros at managing kids, they had four of their own not that long ago). We all survived, though the grand-angels halos maybe be a tad tarnished, it's hard to be on your best behavior for a full day, let alone a whole week.
They're home now. The noise has returned. All Mom-systems are "GO". I can only hope that for my parents, the memory of the chaos, exhaustion and overwhelming energy of 4 grandkids will fade like the pain of childbirth over the next few months and they will want the kids to come visit again next summer, for, maybe.... two weeks?
Last week, my parents, bless their angelic souls, had all four of the kids to their house for a week (a whole week!!). They've had two or three of them in the years past, but this year, the youngest is potty trained and they all got to go. It was the first time in 8.5 years I had no children at home with me. And, it was quiet.
There were no truck noises, no fighting, no "Mom! So-and-so won't let me blah-blah-blah". There was no me yelling for them to be quiet only to hear "What?! We can't hear you! We're being to loud!", followed by sounds of my head banging off the wall. Of course there were none of the good noises either: the giggles, silly sayings and sweet "Mom, I love you"s. But... there was quiet.
I almost forgot it existed during the daylight hours.
When it was quiet, I heard the wind in the trees, the birds chirping away, the laundry thumping in the dryer downstairs, and I heard myself think! I went hours without having to speak. No twenty questions to answer, no over dramatic punishments to threaten - "No dessert for a year!". I didn't have to hold a press conference to announce the evenings menu, so I wasn't asked 5 separate times while I was preparing it:
"Thank you for attending this evening's dinner press conference. The menu tonight will be a Roasted Red Pepper Pasta with Chicken, salad and garlic bread. Any questions? --- Yes, you four in the front row."
In unison: "Are there onions in it?"
"No, there are no onions in it." "Yay!"
"Any more questions? Tall guy, that just walked in."
"Pasta, again?!" "Would you like to rephrase that?".
While I was hearing "quiet", I realized I no longer had to listen. As a parent your eyes and ears and nose never turn off. You could be reading a book and still hear the little feet sneaking into the kitchen, opening the refrigerator and then smell the pickles as they are being stealthily snatched from their jar. Moms can even wake from the deepest slumber when they hear the flick of the bathroom light switch at 4:18 AM.
Being able to power down from Mom-mode was almost like a vacation for my brain, even if I was still at my desk working. Last week was a gift for me more than it was for the kiddos. Sure, I missed them (less than I thought) and I worried (even more less than I thought -- but my parents are pros at managing kids, they had four of their own not that long ago). We all survived, though the grand-angels halos maybe be a tad tarnished, it's hard to be on your best behavior for a full day, let alone a whole week.
They're home now. The noise has returned. All Mom-systems are "GO". I can only hope that for my parents, the memory of the chaos, exhaustion and overwhelming energy of 4 grandkids will fade like the pain of childbirth over the next few months and they will want the kids to come visit again next summer, for, maybe.... two weeks?
Monday, June 9, 2014
Give Props to Working Pops
The whole world knows how hard being a mom is. There are thousands (maybe millions?) of mom blogs, facebook posts, magazine articles and even the media to remind us. We hear what the stay-at-home moms should make based on what they do in a day ($115,000 a year according to Forbes). We know working moms have to make tough choices to be able to pay the bills, and that work-at-home moms are probably just crazy to begin with because who would ever try to get work done with the kids around. Even the stay-at-home dads get their 15 minutes of fame every once in a while, but the working dad NEVER gets credit, even when they meet the crazy high expectations of what society thinks a "dad" should be. My kids have an awesome working dad that makes me want to let the world know that working dad's have it hard too (shh...maybe even harder).
Hear me out.
When our children were born, I was prepared. I had a plan. The marsupial instincts kicked in, and with baby strapped to me, life went on as normal - if at a slower pace. I am woman, hear me roar. And roaring never sounds like a cry for help, even if you intend it to be. So Dad is on standby mode as you juggle bottles, diapers, and dinner. We whine about having to do everything, but we don't want anyone to help. Frankly, we're impossible and if Daddy holds, changes or feeds the child we are inches away supervising -- correcting the hold, the angle, the burping. And lord help him if he tries to fill the dishwasher or make dinner. I imagine the constant supervision and direction doesn't quite inspire them to take an overactive role in the child rearing. Mom's just naturally take charge, we pick and schedule doctors, schools, and activities. We are the Boss which leaves Dad the role of assistant. Affectionately abbreviated to Ass.
My hard-working hubby has been the delegated ass in our house for years now. He doesn't mind so much as long as there is beer around. And after a few of those beers, the tough exterior drops just enough for me to learn that how even though he's happy he doesn't have to manage the chaos that is 4 little kids, sometimes he feels he's not even part of it. My husband works 60 hours a week, often nights, occasionally weekends and he misses out on the fun, but also the routine. When he's home, it's the kids' schedule or my plans, my interior design and style of home management (which consists mostly of putting out fires, having a glass of wine and then putting out more fires). He works so hard to provide for us, but barely gets any say or time to enjoy any of it. I'm sure we're not the only family like this.
Ma usually has the house spinning like a merry-go-round, while Pop is just trying to figure out when to jump on. They literally made the in-crowd, but aren't always part of it.
Working dads have it harder.
Dads, just like moms, have unreachable expectations. They feel bad when they miss school functions and t-ball games because of work. And every hunting, fishing, boys weekend trip also becomes a guilt trip when they leave Ma and the kids at home. A dad today is still supposed to be the strong, hardworking, "wait until your dad gets home" disciplinarians, while at the same time a sentimental teddy bear, soapbox car building, fishing partner - and when you're not busy can you please see why the car is making that funny noise - guy. There are only so many hours in the day.
My husband, and all the other working dads out there, need to know they are appreciated and vital. They may not be able to attend every school concert or sports event, but they are setting a great example for their kids. Something moms should make sure the kids notice.
The silver lining is seeing the moments the kids get to spend with their dad, even if it's just helping him with the yard work. It may not seem like much, but I know those quality moments will mean so much more than seeing Dad on the bleachers at their t-ball game when they are older.
The days when Dad is around to connect with the kids and I are so important, maybe, just maybe, I could let him be Boss for a day. Or at the very least, when I see him trying to find the right moment to jump on our merry-go-round life - remember to slow it down a little and reach out my hand to pull him on, because we're always happier when "Daddy's Home!!".
Hear me out.
When our children were born, I was prepared. I had a plan. The marsupial instincts kicked in, and with baby strapped to me, life went on as normal - if at a slower pace. I am woman, hear me roar. And roaring never sounds like a cry for help, even if you intend it to be. So Dad is on standby mode as you juggle bottles, diapers, and dinner. We whine about having to do everything, but we don't want anyone to help. Frankly, we're impossible and if Daddy holds, changes or feeds the child we are inches away supervising -- correcting the hold, the angle, the burping. And lord help him if he tries to fill the dishwasher or make dinner. I imagine the constant supervision and direction doesn't quite inspire them to take an overactive role in the child rearing. Mom's just naturally take charge, we pick and schedule doctors, schools, and activities. We are the Boss which leaves Dad the role of assistant. Affectionately abbreviated to Ass.
My hard-working hubby has been the delegated ass in our house for years now. He doesn't mind so much as long as there is beer around. And after a few of those beers, the tough exterior drops just enough for me to learn that how even though he's happy he doesn't have to manage the chaos that is 4 little kids, sometimes he feels he's not even part of it. My husband works 60 hours a week, often nights, occasionally weekends and he misses out on the fun, but also the routine. When he's home, it's the kids' schedule or my plans, my interior design and style of home management (which consists mostly of putting out fires, having a glass of wine and then putting out more fires). He works so hard to provide for us, but barely gets any say or time to enjoy any of it. I'm sure we're not the only family like this.
Ma usually has the house spinning like a merry-go-round, while Pop is just trying to figure out when to jump on. They literally made the in-crowd, but aren't always part of it.
Working dads have it harder.
Dads, just like moms, have unreachable expectations. They feel bad when they miss school functions and t-ball games because of work. And every hunting, fishing, boys weekend trip also becomes a guilt trip when they leave Ma and the kids at home. A dad today is still supposed to be the strong, hardworking, "wait until your dad gets home" disciplinarians, while at the same time a sentimental teddy bear, soapbox car building, fishing partner - and when you're not busy can you please see why the car is making that funny noise - guy. There are only so many hours in the day.
My husband, and all the other working dads out there, need to know they are appreciated and vital. They may not be able to attend every school concert or sports event, but they are setting a great example for their kids. Something moms should make sure the kids notice.
The silver lining is seeing the moments the kids get to spend with their dad, even if it's just helping him with the yard work. It may not seem like much, but I know those quality moments will mean so much more than seeing Dad on the bleachers at their t-ball game when they are older.
The days when Dad is around to connect with the kids and I are so important, maybe, just maybe, I could let him be Boss for a day. Or at the very least, when I see him trying to find the right moment to jump on our merry-go-round life - remember to slow it down a little and reach out my hand to pull him on, because we're always happier when "Daddy's Home!!".
Monday, June 2, 2014
Pride and Panic: Please Pass the Bubble Wrap
Children, I think, are more detrimental to heart health than salt, booze and a sedentary lifestyle combined. Not a day goes by that my heart does not melt, swell, break or stop because of my kiddos.
We've got "Country Kids", and there's nothing they want more than to be like their 4-wheeling, snowmobiling, mechanic daddy. My boys are tough and strong and proudly redneck -- and my husband encourages the ol' growin' up in the country tradition of kids learning how to drive before they can even
write cursive.
When my oldest boy was just 5 years old he could drive our old riding lawnmower (with the blade removed and my husband walking next to him, calm down), in reverse down the driveway with a trailer attached. This is something I don't think I could easily do at any age, and he did like he has been for years.
I remember my husband coming to get me - "come see this!" - and me freaking out appropriately, applying a defibrillator to myself and then lecturing my husband on 5 year old driving anything, while secretly being amazed and proud of how competent my little boy was. I've learned over the last few years that pride and panic usually come as a combo -- the short of breath, anxious feeling you get as your child leaves for the first day of school, their first bike ride without training wheels or performing in the school talent contest... morphing into a burst of pride when they succeed.
As your kids grow, their firsts become more panic inducing -- their first solo step is a big deal, but compared to their first solo drive... I can't even imagine, hopefully in 8 years we'll all be floating on fluffy cushions as a mode of transportation and I'll never have to worry about my kids behind the wheel of a car... on a highway...driving 70MPH. (Pause for deep breath).
As a mom, your desire for your child's success and well being amplifies the emotions of the situation. I'll never forget the tornado of emotions as my first-grade daughter and kindergartner son took the stage to sing God Bless America in front of about 300 people at the school talent show. The pure adorableness, their obvious nervousness, and their bravery to stand in front of that crowd, these two tiny people on stage, huddled together, sharing a mic, singing sweetly out-of-key with determination. Heart stopping. Melting. Swelling. And then not winning. Breaking. I can't believe the stress of that 3 minutes didn't do me in and if I hadn't been distracted by my video camera crapping out I probably would have been a blubbering mess.
All our life's experiences give us the insight of what can go wrong when we take a risk, and our super-mom persona wants to deflect all that agony. But a life without risk, making an effort, putting ourselves out there, is a life without the satisfaction of success and pride in our own abilities, even if we (and our moms) have to deal with a little defeat along the way.
So we take our pride with a side of panic. We pack our bucket to collect the pieces of a broken heart and try to remember to breath when our hearts stop, just so we can be ready for the swell of pride - and that moment your kid looks up from whatever amazing feat they just accomplished to catch your eye and see your excitement for them. Melt!
We've got "Country Kids", and there's nothing they want more than to be like their 4-wheeling, snowmobiling, mechanic daddy. My boys are tough and strong and proudly redneck -- and my husband encourages the ol' growin' up in the country tradition of kids learning how to drive before they can even
write cursive.
When my oldest boy was just 5 years old he could drive our old riding lawnmower (with the blade removed and my husband walking next to him, calm down), in reverse down the driveway with a trailer attached. This is something I don't think I could easily do at any age, and he did like he has been for years.
I remember my husband coming to get me - "come see this!" - and me freaking out appropriately, applying a defibrillator to myself and then lecturing my husband on 5 year old driving anything, while secretly being amazed and proud of how competent my little boy was. I've learned over the last few years that pride and panic usually come as a combo -- the short of breath, anxious feeling you get as your child leaves for the first day of school, their first bike ride without training wheels or performing in the school talent contest... morphing into a burst of pride when they succeed.
As your kids grow, their firsts become more panic inducing -- their first solo step is a big deal, but compared to their first solo drive... I can't even imagine, hopefully in 8 years we'll all be floating on fluffy cushions as a mode of transportation and I'll never have to worry about my kids behind the wheel of a car... on a highway...driving 70MPH. (Pause for deep breath).
As a mom, your desire for your child's success and well being amplifies the emotions of the situation. I'll never forget the tornado of emotions as my first-grade daughter and kindergartner son took the stage to sing God Bless America in front of about 300 people at the school talent show. The pure adorableness, their obvious nervousness, and their bravery to stand in front of that crowd, these two tiny people on stage, huddled together, sharing a mic, singing sweetly out-of-key with determination. Heart stopping. Melting. Swelling. And then not winning. Breaking. I can't believe the stress of that 3 minutes didn't do me in and if I hadn't been distracted by my video camera crapping out I probably would have been a blubbering mess.
All our life's experiences give us the insight of what can go wrong when we take a risk, and our super-mom persona wants to deflect all that agony. But a life without risk, making an effort, putting ourselves out there, is a life without the satisfaction of success and pride in our own abilities, even if we (and our moms) have to deal with a little defeat along the way.
So we take our pride with a side of panic. We pack our bucket to collect the pieces of a broken heart and try to remember to breath when our hearts stop, just so we can be ready for the swell of pride - and that moment your kid looks up from whatever amazing feat they just accomplished to catch your eye and see your excitement for them. Melt!
Thursday, March 27, 2014
Home Alone
Before you become a mom, you imagine that motherhood is filled with a pretty balanced mix of hugs and cuddles to tantrums and poop up the back diapers. You think you have a good idea of the work involved and you probably think it's life just like the child-free days, but with little stinky noise-makers. But what you probably didn't notice - and no one took the time to tell you - is that you are never alone, ever. Ever.
Sometimes you may look alone -- for example, it's 9PM and my 4 little turds are tucked into their beds, I'm tapping away on my laptop down the hall from their rooms and from the outside looking in, I appear, alone. But I'm not. You're never alone if your children are within shouting distance - even when they are asleep. You're always waiting, listening, and waiting and listening and turning down the volume on the TV and listening harder and tiptoeing down the hall to take a peek because it sounded like someone got up, or coughed or talked or moved. From the moment that first head pops out of your hooha you're on Red Alert.
Recently when my three older kids were at school and my husband was home from work, he took our youngest to town with him because I had a meeting to go to, but they left about an hour and half before I had to. And as I saw his truck bounce down the driveway I realized - I'm home alone! There was no listening, hollering, checking to see who was where or what was happening. It was just me - I was what's happening and man was it was weird and amazing and a bit disorienting. I quickly calculated how much time I had... just over an hour - and then I proceeded to waste about 5 minutes trying to figure out what to do with my time. Then I spent another two minutes complaining to myself about wasting 5 minutes. But I was confused - what should I do? Do I clean, make myself lunch, do I watch trashy TV, where should I sit - all the furniture is available!! I was totally unprepared for being home alone -- and I pretty much squandered the most precious gift of the last 8 years.
I turned on trashy TV, made lunch and did my make up in the living room, but I felt alive! I could hear myself think. I got to eat all my lunch without anyone asking for some. It was amazing, but next time will be better - now I know to prepare. I've started a list in my Google Keep, so the next time I'm unexpectedly home alone I'll have a plan. Each minute will be used to the fullest and it will be mind-blowing.
Our youngest is 3.5 and in a couple years will be in school all day. Soon I'll be "home alone" everyday, which bodes well for my business, the tidiness of our house and my temperament. I asked my youngest what I will do all day when he's at school too - he said I would probably drink coffee, and he's 100% right. I'm sure the novelty of an empty house will wear off then and I'll be waiting at the door for the bus to come and the noise to re-enter the house each day, but for now I'm going to make sure I take advantage of every free second I get.
Sometimes you may look alone -- for example, it's 9PM and my 4 little turds are tucked into their beds, I'm tapping away on my laptop down the hall from their rooms and from the outside looking in, I appear, alone. But I'm not. You're never alone if your children are within shouting distance - even when they are asleep. You're always waiting, listening, and waiting and listening and turning down the volume on the TV and listening harder and tiptoeing down the hall to take a peek because it sounded like someone got up, or coughed or talked or moved. From the moment that first head pops out of your hooha you're on Red Alert.
Recently when my three older kids were at school and my husband was home from work, he took our youngest to town with him because I had a meeting to go to, but they left about an hour and half before I had to. And as I saw his truck bounce down the driveway I realized - I'm home alone! There was no listening, hollering, checking to see who was where or what was happening. It was just me - I was what's happening and man was it was weird and amazing and a bit disorienting. I quickly calculated how much time I had... just over an hour - and then I proceeded to waste about 5 minutes trying to figure out what to do with my time. Then I spent another two minutes complaining to myself about wasting 5 minutes. But I was confused - what should I do? Do I clean, make myself lunch, do I watch trashy TV, where should I sit - all the furniture is available!! I was totally unprepared for being home alone -- and I pretty much squandered the most precious gift of the last 8 years.
I turned on trashy TV, made lunch and did my make up in the living room, but I felt alive! I could hear myself think. I got to eat all my lunch without anyone asking for some. It was amazing, but next time will be better - now I know to prepare. I've started a list in my Google Keep, so the next time I'm unexpectedly home alone I'll have a plan. Each minute will be used to the fullest and it will be mind-blowing.
Our youngest is 3.5 and in a couple years will be in school all day. Soon I'll be "home alone" everyday, which bodes well for my business, the tidiness of our house and my temperament. I asked my youngest what I will do all day when he's at school too - he said I would probably drink coffee, and he's 100% right. I'm sure the novelty of an empty house will wear off then and I'll be waiting at the door for the bus to come and the noise to re-enter the house each day, but for now I'm going to make sure I take advantage of every free second I get.
Thursday, February 27, 2014
Symptoms, Diagnosis and Treatment of Cabin Fever
 |
| Escaping the fever for little bit... |
SYMPTOMS
Cabin Fever is a seasonal disease, like the flu - but even the most celebrated scientists have yet to discover a vaccine to prevent the wide range of effects the fever has on the whole family. The symptoms are easily mistaken for other common diseases - often, moms themselves are left wondering if they are losing their minds or perhaps have gone bat-shit crazy. As anxiety ramps up, the caged animal feeling starts to creep in, women become a bit wild-eyed and snappish. Dinner becomes F'n Dinner and laundry -- F'n laundry. Bedtimes for the offspring get earlier each night and outrageous punishments are threatened for the simplest mistakes.
The male head of household is more immune to cabin fever than the others, especially if he works out of the house. He may try his best to avoid the home during the term of the illness as a means of self-preservation and in all honestly a means of protecting his manhood. Typically older males avoid the fever by finding urgent work to do in the garage/basement or at a friends house. If a male contracts cabin fever you may find them doing death defying feats on the roof removing snow or tempting fate with stunts in pick-up trucks or snowmobiles. If they are unable to leave the home though, the prognosis is dire. They typically display the same symptoms as the mom of the house, but with a more annoying tone and actions. They often overstep their bounds by commenting on how things are done in the household, which in turn severely increases the Cabin Fever behaviors of the mother.
The affected children often appear blurry - mostly because they are bouncing around so much it's hard to focus on them. The fever makes it impossible for them to control the volume of their voice and in boys increases the instances of sound effects exponentially. Fast paced movements are common, when at the peak of the fever many children find it hard to just sit or walk. Running, jumping and flailing are commonly seen. Children become territorial and commonly argue with siblings over established space and toys. The longer the children are in a Cabin Fever inducing environment the more likely it is that the mother will threaten to pack them up and send them to a grandparent.
DIAGNOSIS
Diagnosing Cabin Fever is relatively simple and a trip to the clinic is usually not needed. To see if you or your family have the disease do the following:
1. Look out the window, is everything white?
2. Look at the thermometer, is it below 10 degrees?
3. Look at your children, do you feel the urge to run away?
If you answered yes to 2 or more of the above questions it is 100% certain that you are suffering from cabin fever.
TREATMENT
While the only effective treatment for Cabin Fever is time+sun+warmer temps. There are ways that you can cope with the symptoms. Many recommend charming family projects or arts and crafts, fun-ish sounding contests that end up being a mountain of work for a minute of enjoyment before the full force fallout of the child that didn't win and/or get what the other child got. While these ideas sound delightful and the pictures of them in magazines and in pinterest are just too cute to ignore, you need to realize that you are not some adorable 50's housewife that lives and breathes for her child's happiness. When the scissors and glue come out, you don't see potential, priceless treasures about to be made around the kitchen table. You see weapons of mass destruction and no "FE" to go with the "MA" that has to clean it all up. So try these instead:
1. If you can not escape the household, remove the male from the household. Send him off for death defying feats with this friends or describe a strange sound coming from your vehicle, that should keep him busy in the garage for awhile.
2. Buy loads of clearance Christmas and Valentines candy. If the rabid children start getting too close to you throw some toward a far away corner, that should keep them away for a bit. It won't necessarily help them, but at least you won't have to deal with them for a few minutes.
3. DVR all the children's favorite shows, when they start to burn out on candy put their shows on sneak down to the bathroom, quietly close and lock door. Sit on edge of tub hugging yourself and rocking back and forth.
4. Do not calculate the hours until bedtime until after 3PM. After 3PM remind yourself how close you're getting frequently.
5. Start the bedtime routine a few minutes earlier each night to speed up the countdown to bedtime process. If your the kids are old enough to tell time, just speed up the clocks, they probably aren't smart enough to figure that out.
6. Most Important - stay well stocked with wine and chocolate. After the last little turd is tucked in for the night it's go time. Just flop on the couch and breathe.
As far as I know the world is still turning, so eventually it'll warm up and cabin fever will subside for a few months. Until then amuse yourself by making your hair crazy and pretending to claw your way out the windows when the neighbors walk by.
Thursday, February 13, 2014
7 Ways to Ruin Your Child's Dinner
Kids can be picky eaters, as most moms know. Having four kids I've got pretty much the spectrum of eaters -- from my veggie-fied 3rd child who will head to the garden for a snack, to my finicky 2nd born who says he doesn't like anything but pizza and tacos. The other two have their likes and major dislikes and when it comes to dinner it's almost guaranteed I won't be able to make everyone happy. I'm so good at dinner fails I thought I may as well share my sure-fire ways to ruin dinner:
1. Put Onions in it.
No matter how tiny they are chopped, if one tasty little translucent piece of onion is spotted, our table looks like the clocked ended on "Chopped". Everyone with their hands up, backing away from the table. Onions are the #1 dinner ruining ingredient in our house with peppers and tomatoes tied for 2nd.
No matter how tiny they are chopped, if one tasty little translucent piece of onion is spotted, our table looks like the clocked ended on "Chopped". Everyone with their hands up, backing away from the table. Onions are the #1 dinner ruining ingredient in our house with peppers and tomatoes tied for 2nd.
2. Serve it on the Wrong Color Plate.
Sometimes dinner is ruined before any food is eaten, simply because it's served on the wrong color plate, with a fork that doesn't have enough stripes or because the child is not sitting in his desired spot at the table. Thank goodness for paper plates, finger foods and seating arrangements.
Sometimes dinner is ruined before any food is eaten, simply because it's served on the wrong color plate, with a fork that doesn't have enough stripes or because the child is not sitting in his desired spot at the table. Thank goodness for paper plates, finger foods and seating arrangements.
3. Fake the Refried Beans:
Sometimes I come up with a brilliant idea for dinner (I know! Tacos! Everyone loves those!) and I set about making them only to discover I have no refried beans, a M-U-S-T on taco night in our house. So I do what I have to do -- you dig a can of black beans out of the back of the cupboard and smash them into a purple mush, Hmpf... I add some cheddar to try and "brown" it up and realize... I'm not fooling anyone.
4. Taco Night Ruined Take 2.
Even if you have refried beans in stock - there are other ways to ruin taco night, for example you could brown your beef and while seasoning, mistake cayenne for chili powder and dump a good tablespoon of it in the meat. The end result is some really hot tacos, a two year old chanting "too spicy! too spicy!" after every bite and half a gallon of milk gone in one sitting.
Even if you have refried beans in stock - there are other ways to ruin taco night, for example you could brown your beef and while seasoning, mistake cayenne for chili powder and dump a good tablespoon of it in the meat. The end result is some really hot tacos, a two year old chanting "too spicy! too spicy!" after every bite and half a gallon of milk gone in one sitting.
5. To Cook or Not to Cook that is the question.
Our pickiest eater believes he is allergic to vegetables - but occasionally he will eat them if they are prepared right, the problem -- sometimes the preferred method is cold and sometimes he likes them cooked. Unfortunately I'm not that great a cooking veggies, so they usually end up somewhere in between, hot - but not quite cooked enough. This one is impossible to win!
6. Ingredient Limit: 1
The whole concept of cooking is to combine ingredients and flavors to create something delicious - but for some reason the kids prefer each ingredient in it's own glory. How many melt downs could I have avoided if I'd just remembered to put the meat sauce on the side instead of on the noodles. How much time have I wasted picking the chicken out of enchiladas or the separating the rice from the meat and veggies in an MN staple hotdish. And every kid knows you can put the hotdog or hamburger in the bun, but you still need to take them apart to eat them, right?
The whole concept of cooking is to combine ingredients and flavors to create something delicious - but for some reason the kids prefer each ingredient in it's own glory. How many melt downs could I have avoided if I'd just remembered to put the meat sauce on the side instead of on the noodles. How much time have I wasted picking the chicken out of enchiladas or the separating the rice from the meat and veggies in an MN staple hotdish. And every kid knows you can put the hotdog or hamburger in the bun, but you still need to take them apart to eat them, right?
7. Over Promise and Under Deliver
This one doesn't happen often, but when it does it's catastrophic. Picture this -- the kids are on edge from Dad being away on a business trip and to keep their spirits up I promise dinner out on Taco Tuesday at the little Bar & Grille in our small town. (It is literally the only place to eat here, we're a one bar, 3 church town). I pick them up from school and head to the restaurant, the parking lot is empty and it looks pretty dark inside. I pull up to the door and there's a new sign. New hours for the slow season. (Sept - March... when we all hibernate in Minnesota). They are 100% closed on Mondays (this I knew) but also Taco Tuesdays! I start to panic knowing the fallout from this could require FEMA, I tell the kids - oops they are closed! And get a resounding wail from the 4 little people in the back. Cries of "NO!!" and just plain, loud, ear-piercing crying were the soundtrack to the ride home (luckily, only a few miles). I actually had all the taco ingredients on hand - but having them at home just isn't the same. Dinner ruined again.
Luckily with the few meals that do go off without a hitch and all the goodness that is packed in to Flintstones vitamins, my kids are still thriving. Now that I'm not a dinner ruining beginner, finding new ways to make "the worst dinner ever, Mom!!!" is kind of a thrill. Bon Appetit!
Luckily with the few meals that do go off without a hitch and all the goodness that is packed in to Flintstones vitamins, my kids are still thriving. Now that I'm not a dinner ruining beginner, finding new ways to make "the worst dinner ever, Mom!!!" is kind of a thrill. Bon Appetit!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)