Sorry for the lack of blog posts lately. It's been nothing but non-stop work/craziness/activity around here.
It's that time of year again - Sage time. The quarterly newsletter that is published through JLLV is both a blessing and a curse. On one hand, I love exercising my brain and stretching my writing muscles. On the other hand, I hate the constant back-and-forth contact/communication I must have with other people in order to get it done. Deadlines need to be met, people need to be informed, and quite frankly, the whole process is exhausting. Add in a few more Comms projects, and I'm on overload. I need a secretary and an assistant and a full-work day just to get it all done. In my tiny home office where I have maybe 2-3 hours to myself per day, I'm not holding my breath.
Scotty also pulled a fast one on me. Monday was not a good day. He decided to just simply not nap that day. This has happened only twice before (w/o illness): on 1/15 (a Sunday, and the same day the Packers lost), and almost on Jan 19th. I had a call that afternoon with a person with a Very Important Title, so I could not get off the call to go upstairs and comfort the boy. Instead, I kept my phone glued to my ear and simply turned the monitor down (and tried not to start crying on the phone. I hate to hear him cry). The call lasted over an hour, and by the time we hung up, Scotty had fallen asleep. Finally. But I was a wreck.
And then this Monday, without warning, he simply just did not nap. My computer crashed three times that day, and our damn printer is still not working (insert multiple expletives here). After 90 minutes of messing around, I marched upstairs with very little patience left, scooped him out of the crib, and demanded he go downstairs and play with his cars. That's what he wanted, right? To keep playing? He looked at me with concern and I simply pointed downstairs and screamed, "GO!"
Not my finest parenting moment.
Once down, I put myself in timeout in the back bedroom. And cried. Scotty was outside the door, playing with his orange dump truck, and I think he sensed Momb was not alright. He was right; I was losing it. Big time.
So I sat on the bed and cried for a solid five minutes. I cried because I felt like I was failing my child. I cried because our stupid computer is a disaster and I lost an entire article I had been working on and I didn't know how to fix it. I cried because I have no IT guy to call or co-worker to vent to. I cried because everyone tells me I should feel so lucky to stay home, and during times like this, I would rather be anyplace but home. I cried because every text/email I received that day was more bad news.
I cried and cried and cried.
I finally opened my eyes when I felt a small tap on my knees. Two giant blues eyes were looking at me with great concern. "Momb sad," Scotty stated solemnly. "Momb crying." I nodded. "Momb is in time-out," I told him.
If this were a movie, he would have patted my hand and told me, "There, there. It's okay," and we would have hugged it out and spent the rest of the afternoon on the couch, watching movies and snuggling.
But life isn't a movie and so what he did instead was grab me by the hands and start screaming, "PLAY CARS! MOMB, UP! PLAY CARS NOW!" at which point I threw myself back on the bed and sighed heavily.
And when I finally did get up, I went to the garage, opened the fridge, and pulled out a Rolling Rock. Yes, it was three in the afternoon. But I was so over Motherhood at that point, short of dying my hair, changing my name and driving to California, beer seemed like a much safer option.
You know what? It worked. Within ten minutes, the rage had subsided and I had a handle on the afternoon. A play date was arranged at our house. Scotty had a friend coming over to keep him company and I had a friend coming over to cry to. Instead of feeling like the next five hours stretched in front of me like an endless desert, I had a grip on life, sanity, and Motherhood again.
Whew.
Because sleep is a much-discussed topic of parents, once I came back to my right mind, I decided to set some boundaries. They are as follows:
1.) The boy will be placed in his crib between 12:30-1pm everyday.
2.) I will not open the door to his room unless I feel he has a.) pooped, b.) climbed out of his crib, or c.) wolverines have breached the nursery walls.
3.) If the boy refuses to sleep, he will remain in the crib until 3pm. He can play quietly, in the dark, with his animals. Or he can sleep. I cannot control what he chooses to do, only provide him with good options.
And with that, I'm very content with my plan. I will not freak out, I will not panic, and I will not continue drinking beer at three in the afternoon (not good for general mental health and/or weight loss and training).
After all, boundaries are good things. I remember when we were designing and picking stuff out for the new kitchen, I was overwhelmed with options. It wasn't until I finally decided on two rules did things finally come together. They were: anything functional (i.e. appliances) = stainless steel and anything decorative = oil-rubbed bronze. Simple rules (kinda dumb, really), but it worked. And now I really like my kitchen.
I'm hoping these nap boundaries = no more time-outs for Momb.
It's that time of year again - Sage time. The quarterly newsletter that is published through JLLV is both a blessing and a curse. On one hand, I love exercising my brain and stretching my writing muscles. On the other hand, I hate the constant back-and-forth contact/communication I must have with other people in order to get it done. Deadlines need to be met, people need to be informed, and quite frankly, the whole process is exhausting. Add in a few more Comms projects, and I'm on overload. I need a secretary and an assistant and a full-work day just to get it all done. In my tiny home office where I have maybe 2-3 hours to myself per day, I'm not holding my breath.
Scotty also pulled a fast one on me. Monday was not a good day. He decided to just simply not nap that day. This has happened only twice before (w/o illness): on 1/15 (a Sunday, and the same day the Packers lost), and almost on Jan 19th. I had a call that afternoon with a person with a Very Important Title, so I could not get off the call to go upstairs and comfort the boy. Instead, I kept my phone glued to my ear and simply turned the monitor down (and tried not to start crying on the phone. I hate to hear him cry). The call lasted over an hour, and by the time we hung up, Scotty had fallen asleep. Finally. But I was a wreck.
And then this Monday, without warning, he simply just did not nap. My computer crashed three times that day, and our damn printer is still not working (insert multiple expletives here). After 90 minutes of messing around, I marched upstairs with very little patience left, scooped him out of the crib, and demanded he go downstairs and play with his cars. That's what he wanted, right? To keep playing? He looked at me with concern and I simply pointed downstairs and screamed, "GO!"
Not my finest parenting moment.
Once down, I put myself in timeout in the back bedroom. And cried. Scotty was outside the door, playing with his orange dump truck, and I think he sensed Momb was not alright. He was right; I was losing it. Big time.
So I sat on the bed and cried for a solid five minutes. I cried because I felt like I was failing my child. I cried because our stupid computer is a disaster and I lost an entire article I had been working on and I didn't know how to fix it. I cried because I have no IT guy to call or co-worker to vent to. I cried because everyone tells me I should feel so lucky to stay home, and during times like this, I would rather be anyplace but home. I cried because every text/email I received that day was more bad news.
I cried and cried and cried.
I finally opened my eyes when I felt a small tap on my knees. Two giant blues eyes were looking at me with great concern. "Momb sad," Scotty stated solemnly. "Momb crying." I nodded. "Momb is in time-out," I told him.
If this were a movie, he would have patted my hand and told me, "There, there. It's okay," and we would have hugged it out and spent the rest of the afternoon on the couch, watching movies and snuggling.
But life isn't a movie and so what he did instead was grab me by the hands and start screaming, "PLAY CARS! MOMB, UP! PLAY CARS NOW!" at which point I threw myself back on the bed and sighed heavily.
And when I finally did get up, I went to the garage, opened the fridge, and pulled out a Rolling Rock. Yes, it was three in the afternoon. But I was so over Motherhood at that point, short of dying my hair, changing my name and driving to California, beer seemed like a much safer option.
You know what? It worked. Within ten minutes, the rage had subsided and I had a handle on the afternoon. A play date was arranged at our house. Scotty had a friend coming over to keep him company and I had a friend coming over to cry to. Instead of feeling like the next five hours stretched in front of me like an endless desert, I had a grip on life, sanity, and Motherhood again.
Whew.
Because sleep is a much-discussed topic of parents, once I came back to my right mind, I decided to set some boundaries. They are as follows:
1.) The boy will be placed in his crib between 12:30-1pm everyday.
2.) I will not open the door to his room unless I feel he has a.) pooped, b.) climbed out of his crib, or c.) wolverines have breached the nursery walls.
3.) If the boy refuses to sleep, he will remain in the crib until 3pm. He can play quietly, in the dark, with his animals. Or he can sleep. I cannot control what he chooses to do, only provide him with good options.
And with that, I'm very content with my plan. I will not freak out, I will not panic, and I will not continue drinking beer at three in the afternoon (not good for general mental health and/or weight loss and training).
After all, boundaries are good things. I remember when we were designing and picking stuff out for the new kitchen, I was overwhelmed with options. It wasn't until I finally decided on two rules did things finally come together. They were: anything functional (i.e. appliances) = stainless steel and anything decorative = oil-rubbed bronze. Simple rules (kinda dumb, really), but it worked. And now I really like my kitchen.
I'm hoping these nap boundaries = no more time-outs for Momb.
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