Humorous Hubris

If it's true what they say-  that opposites attract, then Husband and I are one of the exceptions to that rule. We really aren't all that different from each other.

In the beginning as our long distance friendship budded into a long distance relationship, we spent hours nightly on the phone talking about our similar taste in music, movies, and people in general. We fancied all the same things. More importantly we fancied each other.

 This was it. He was my person. I knew it very early on. He was funny! Better yet, he thought I was funny, which made for a pretty good time. We laughed a LOT. And as I mentioned *here*, when it comes to other people, there are very few characteristics I appreciate more than a ready wit. He was clever and kind and good, and for some reason he wanted me. On top of all of that, he turned out to be possibly my only equal in remembering and appreciating movie quotes. The larger point there, being that he seemed to GET me.

Oh, I loved him almost instantly.  

 

He made grand romantic gestures. He stood outside my bedroom window with a boombox on his shoulder, playing that song- our song. (Thank you John Cusack for the inspiration.)
 After only one month of quickly growing closer despite the miles between us, he packed up his life and moved to Oregon, so we could be close in the geographical sense as well.
 He pursued me. I liked this.  Four months later we were engaged and six months after that we were married.

Clearly we are both amused by something here...although what, I can't be sure.

 Fast forward 10 years and here we are, still in love and still laughing. And now there are two tinies in the mix, which means we are riding that rollercoaster of joy and triumph, heartache and fear, bafflement and wonder. Having children seems to open up chambers of the heart that one never even knew existed.

 

It requires quite a bit of give and take for a marriage to be successful, and in our ten years as Mister and Missus we have become rather familiar with this idea of compromise. In fact, we get along quite well.  But throughout all the years, there seems to be one prevailing theme in our union.

Humorous Hubris.

We both think we are the "funny one" of the couple.
We can agree on where to live, how many children to have, where to eat, what movie to rent, -you name it. But when it comes to our perceived right to the title of "Funniest", neither one of us can seem to acquiesce.

Who cares, you might say? What's the big deal anyway? Can't we both be funny? The answer is yes, of course... just not EQUALLY funny. It completely messes with the natural balance of things! In a world full of chaos, shouldn't we be able to know exactly who we are, at least within our couplings?
I mostly jest, but in all truthfulness, Husband and I both staunchly believe we are slightly funnier than the other.

I often tease him that he's lost his edge. As a financial advisor and investment banker, he spends a good portion of his day sitting across from elderly folk who tend to be very serious when it comes to talk about their money. So it's not his fault, really. It's simply not an atmosphere conducive to an ironic sense of humor.
 Don't get me wrong- he's a big hit with that crowd. They love him. Especially the older gals, who are always telling him what a clever darling he is. (Sorry ladies, he's taken.)
I suppose he could say the same of me- that I've lost my edge, considering my main audience are our 3 and 6 year old children who tend to find my satirical commentary throughout the day...underwhelming to say the least.

The good news is, it keeps us both on our toes. On some level we are still trying to impress each other. We are both people who love to laugh, and who can find the humor in almost any situation, but
I daresay the highest level of satisfaction comes from getting a real and spontaneous laugh out of the other. If I can make HIM laugh, and laugh hard, then that is (insert Andy Samberg's voice impersonating Nicholas Cage) "high praise".

I realize in writing this I risk making us both sound like a couple of big jerks, but I don't think we are?  We may suffer from humorous hubris, or we may just be a good match. Either way, I like him and I'm keeping him.

 



Did I shave my legs for this? Well I did try. I certainly did try.

In my recent post, The Thing With Dinner..., we discussed the mayhem that generally (okay nightly) ensues upon my announcing that dinner is ready.  Maybe this is normal, maybe its not, but its certainly a real thing that happens in our house. Except now Im thinking that there very well may be a THING with the shower too. And phonecalls. Any phonecall. My home could be a perfectly harmonious scene of domestic bliss, but the minute I turn on the shower it flips some imaginary switch in my children's heads. The switch that turns them from Happy to Beastly.

 Its as if kids have a radar for these sort of things, yes? They could be playing/ coloring/ watching a cartoon without a care in the world for where I am or what Im doing, but the second I step into the shower there is, naturally, some kind of dire, desperate "emergency" (as my four year old assures me) that needs my immediate attention. I'll hear a pitter patter of feet and definitive shrieks as they both bolt into the bathroom with some kind of story to tell. "Mommy! Jaxon got pee water out of the toilet and he's putting it in the dog dish!" (Oh yes. You know its true). Or,  "You better hurry- he's coloring on the counter again!" or any number of other ridiculous personal offenses- you know the type- "he's staring at me", "He keeps touching me!", etc etc.  And poor Jax, bless his heart, cant ever seem to get out more than a frustrated "Mommy! No! Bella!" followed by accusatory pointing and  helpless shoulder slumping.

 And its never when Im almost done showering. Its always right as Im soaping up my face and cant see, or right as Im attempting to shave my legs. These same shenanigans seem to apply to whenever my phone rings with an important phonecall. A perfectly quiet room can get turned upside down in ten seconds flat.  I've made peace with the fact that until the kids are a tiny bit older, there really is no sacred place left in the house for a mother. Not even the bathroom. Especially not the bathroom.
This morning Bigger One was off to preschool so I let Littler One play around in my bathroom while I showered. One by one, random objects started to appear at my feet. A rubber band. A bracelet. An earring. He'd found a tiny crack at the bottom of the glass door and was quite please with himself for finding things that would fit through that very spot. Clever boy. I had to chuckle.  So what if I consider it a small personal victory to have shaved the front AND backs of my legs before date night. A victory's a victory. And hey, we can't have it ALL together ALL the time, right?...Right?

Well Would'nt You Know...

Hello dear readers! I've missed you. Its been a busy month here at the Maxi Pad (my home) I know. Its a terrible thing to name a home. But like most jokes that stick, its slightly inapropriate and equally catchy. Im not even sure how it got started actually, considering there are an equal number of males and females living in our house. I think it traces back to Ladies Night. Not "going out" like most savvy chicks in their twenties probably do. No, we'd get in our sweats, eat desserts, and watch the Batchelor. Terribly wild of us, isnt it? Anyway, long story short, that's how nicknaming my home "the Maxi Pad" got started and this is where talking about it ends.

So life has been very busy this month, but I cant quite pinpoint why. Just business as usual I suppose. Big One is finishing her first year of preschool (single tear) and getting ready for her first ballet recital- all very grownup things for her little self. Im torn between pride and helplessness as I watch her turn into this independant little person. Little One is turning into quite the livewire and requiring much more of my attention as of late. The minute it gets quiet, is one minute too late to start looking for him. He's all dimples and innocence until he makes up his mind to be naughty. The closer we get to 2, the more I savor the days of sweetness and simplicity with him. I know they are numbered. Husband and I managed to sneak in a mini-break away together last weekend, which was lovely. There's nothing like waking up and realizing that I can shamelessly lie in bed for twenty minutes before getting up because no one needs me! Glorious. We enjoyed peaceful, leisurely meals, staying up late and sleeping in, and hours of bonding time in the car. We've been mulling over some decisions lately, and we were able to make some real progress towards that end. We always seem to get some of our best talking done in the car. Dont know why, something about the open road I guess.

In other news: I FINALLY, lost a few pounds! I recently shared my descent into fatness with you all (because you're the gracious and encouraging type) in my "For Realsies" post. I got myself into a funk and I've spent the past month spinning my wheels. I have been working out, eating clean, and that stupid scale was not budging. It could have something to do with the fact that (TMI alert) I started taking birth control pills again this month. Hopefully that's not an overshare. And if it is...too late! Im pretty sure it's contributed to at least 5 of my "extra" pounds. Blurg. 

So one whole month of these shenanigans and no real progress! So frustrating. Then my dvd player broke so I havent been able to do my P90X videos for a little over a week. Well would'nt you know, one week of not working out and even cheating a little with my diet, and I lost FIVE pounds! In one week! What the what?! I dont get it, but I am just going to be thankful and keep plugging away. Its tempting to test this theory further and see if I can do it again for another week, but something tells me that's not wise. It probably would just end up with me indulging my way back to the number I started from. The number that shall forever remain shrouded in mystery, rather than ever be spoken aloud.
Would'nt you know.

"We've Got a Bleeder!"

Its my ears. Are they bleeding? Is there actual blood dripping out of them yet? The problem is that Husband has been gone for three days and so I've suffered the brunt of it alone. All alone. The mind-numbing barrage of words. The sheer relentlessnes of the rapid-fire questions, one after another after another with hardly a pause for breath, seering into my brain like intruding bullets.

The car is the hardest. Its like you're trapped. Yesterday I was in the car with the kids for about 2 hours altogether. 7 minutes of that time was quiet. I am not exaggerating. I've tried turning on music but that doesnt work. My ipod is no match for her. She just talks over it.

"Do I have to take a nap when I get home?" "If I do have to take a nap, can I watch a half of a cartoon first?" "Can you put Jaxon asleep before me?" "Why do I have to take a nap?" "Can I sleep on my princess couch instead of my bed?" "Why not?" "Im hungry, I think I need a snack first" "Can I have a chococlate granola bar?" "Why not?!" "Is it healthy?" "If I dont have a granola bar, what can I have?" "Can I have gum?" "Are coyotes mean?" "Do they bite?" "I think bears and coyotes and lions and sharks and turkeys are all mean and they bite but dogs and cats are nice." (2 seconds to catch breath) "Actually some dogs and cats are not nice?" "We always be careful about dogs and cats that we dont know because they might be mean." "How do you know if they're mean?" "Remember Grannie Annie's cat?" "What was his name?" "I fed him a treat and he was nice." "But Aunt Cyndee's cat was not nice. Rango. No, wait, Ringo."(Incidentally Aunt Cyndee does not have a cat named Ringo or Rango. Im sure someone we know does. Aunt Cyndee has a dog. Named Blue. But that's all besides the point- much like her whole train of thought) "So mommy, how is your day?" "Where are we going?" "I dont think you're going the right way." "Do we need gas?" "Can a car pop if you put too much gas in it?" "What if the guy just kept putting more and more and more gas in and the whole car literry (literally) just popped?" "Has that ever happened to you when you were little mom?" "Was I in your tummy when I was 2?" "Remember when I was a baby and I used to eat baby food?" "Remember that?" (half a second to catch breath) "Do pandas live in China or Africa?" "Do the kids in Africa not even have new toys mommy?" "When you were little did you go to the North Pole?" "Do ocutopus' sting?"
All of that literally takes only about 75 seconds for her to say. I can hardly keep up. While she is just finding her rythm, Im starting to go crosseyed!  I have learned to pick and choose my answers carefully because often one simple answer leads into 79 more questions, about half of which I will have a good answer for.

 *Pause*

...I get it....I am not the first person to ever have a child that talks them into a tailspin. Am I complaining? No, not really. I can appreciate it for what it is and see the cuteness factor in it. I suppose I find it to be equal parts endearing and exasperating. And Im glad I have a daughter with an ever-inquisitive, precocious mind. Really. But SOME DAYS, the dull ache behind my eyes starts even before I've brushed my teeth in the morning. Do I wish she was anything other than who she is? No, of course not. Do I wish I had more patience? More resiliance? More answers? YES! It makes me chuckle, because she's always been this way. She was talking well before she was 1, and talking WELL by the time she was 2. In fact, even in the delivery room and during our whole stay in the hospital there was no peace, no quiet. Spitfire from birth. Ah, I suppose its only fitting. In this very blog (Dont Fight The Funk post) I have said that I, myself, often worry that I've said too much. That Im a blurter.That I will never be one of those peripheral people who quietly take it all in and never let it out. I did say all that, didnt I. Oh dear.

 So it's a fine line I walk every day (and sometimes zigzag back and forth across)- trying to cultivate her little mind, and engage her in coversation, trying to make her feel heard and not disregarded. All the while trying to reign it in and guide it, otherwise, whatever the conversation, she's going to take that bull by the horns and steer it in whatever direction she fancies! Knowing when to really listen and when to shoosh (because lets all be real here, shooshing is fully necessary sometimes)  Its like she's a derailed caboose and we have to keep circling back around and re-attaching her to the train of thought. (pun intended) (And by the way, when is pun ever NOT intended? Whenever people say "no pun intended" there most definitely IS almost always "pun intended")
 We're trying to teach her not to interrupt, or to talk over people. Thats a big one we're working on at the moment. She's figured out that if she just talks louder that she can still get it all out regardless of whomever else might be attempting to get a word in edgewise. Moment of Honesty?: I keep catching myself getting in these climactic conversations with her where she is talking louder, then Im talking louder trying to be heard, then she's a notch higher trying to be heard, and then next thing I know Im practically shrieking "PLEASE TALK QUIETER OR YOU'RE GOING TO WAKE UP THE BABY!"...Right. Oops. I forgot to mention aside from the amount of talking, she has one volume. And its loud.

 Then I  have one of those smacking-your-palm-to-your-forehead moments, and remember that I am the boss. This small little person is 4 and I am 29. And granted, she may be a force to be reckoned with, but I do not need to get sucked into a 20 minute volley of words that leaves me in frenzied state! She's good at it too, because its not usually direct defiance, or even ornoriness in general, but more like a subtle sidestepping of the point (my point). She is quite old enough to grasp the concept of being quiet when need be. Of listening to me when I am talking. Of simply doing what I ask of her without voicing and re-voicing multiple opinions about it. Ah, getting tricky now, isnt it? Balancing the requirement  of obedience and respect (WITH a good attitude! minor yet huge clause), while nurturing and guiding, AND teaching? What is the best way to let them be who they are and yet mold them into what they should be?- (civilized and polite human beings) Because really, isnt that basically our whole job as parents?  I do think a kid is allowed to be a kid- and sometimes that means they are loud, and sometimes they cause a ruckus, and sometimes they have lots of questions. And that's okay!
But My Lanta! What's a lady gotta do to get some peace and quiet?

Further Confessions

 5 Things.- Scratch that- 6 Things. Unabridged, self-deprecating things at that. Im not proud, but it is what it is.

- I do not know how to roller skate, ice skate, do a cartwheel (in high school, when I tried out for cheerleading I literally had to do a sommersault with spirit fingers for my 'tumbling'. It was a low point. Miraculously, I still made the team). Nor can I whistle by blowing out. Only in. And it sounds like a cat dying. You can only suck in so much air til you get lightheaded!

- SPOILER ALERT! This one is of a, um, *cough* personal nature. -I cannot hear Robin Thicke on the radio without practically wanting to throw my panties at the stereo. I do not know the actual lyrics to his songs, because all I hear is "sexy sex sex sexy sexiness" in that lovely falsetto.  Same goes for Justin Timberlake singing "Hallelujah". Chills. I get chills. Also among my musical confessions: One of my favorite songs is "The Way I Are" by Timbaland. Haha! What a gangster...

-Im not saying its super powers or anything, but my sister and I have a few random skills. She knows all the lyrics to all songs, ever. Of all time. If you are ever stumped, ask her. She will know all the words. Its mindblowing. I, on the other hand, have a rubberface. I can mimic almost any facial expression. I have one dear freind, who's favorite pastime is to choose facial expressions at random from a magazine or a movie and watch me copy them on command. Im not saying we're making the world a better place, or that we even 'use our powers for good and not evil.' (joking, Im joking! Of course we use them for good) But we might be fun to have around if you are ever bored out of your mind. I also have an... well Im just going to say it-  an impressive repertoire of movie quotes. This sounds like bragging, but I dont think it is.  

-I cannot dance. The shame! I despise this about myself. I think maybe a long time ago I could?  But I lost it. I lost my mojo. My husband is a much better dancer than I am. He loooooves to remind me of this. He knows exactly how many drinks it would take in any given situation to get me on the dance floor. Luckily I rarely drink alcohol or am near a dance floor. When I do, and I am? Stand back. Its not pretty.

-I do not know all the rules to even the most major sports. In high school I was on the bowling and cheerleading teams. I wasnt exactly Sporty Spice. I mean, Im not a complete ninny- I understand the basics of what's going on, but it ends there. For all I know, too much eye contact could be a foul, or a tickle fight could be allowed in the middle of a volleyball match... No?... Akward?

- I am not prone to doing things slowly. Vacuuming, shaving my legs, brushing my teeth, driving, talking... Even worse is when I get to doing these things rather quickly, I tend to overly focus on that one thing while the rest of my limbs start to have a mind of their own. Wierded out? Haha, I guess that one requires an explanation. When I brush my teeth, I do it so quickly and vigorously (sad news for my gums I might add), that while my right hand is hard at work, my left hand gnarls up into this arthritic little ball and suddenly I've got a claw for a left hand. Not cute. Appearantly its just too much for my body to concentrate on and I malfunction. It took me years- literally years, to train myself to shave slowly. My family called me Zorro all through high school because of the many self inflicted gaping wounds from my shaving mishaps. The very worst of which, I did on the morning of a cheearleading competition, a school dance, and a wedding, all of which I was participating in on the same day. I mean this one was a bloody massacre. I had to wear a huge bandage on my shin to all three events. It looked like a crime scene on my right leg! In short, I am a person prone to misadventures...Ah,  Bless my heart.

Bless her heart too. Looks like she inherited a little bit more than my ankles and my penchant for comedy... Her left hand is showing that she's "4". The right hand? Not so sure.

The Thing with Dinner...

Moms out there: What IS IT with dinner?
Breakfast is smooth. I make the food, they eat the food. Easy, done. Lunch is pleasant. What is it about dinner in particular that something always seems to go awry? It's like the witching hour! Does this happen to you guys out there?

I enjoy cooking and maybe I even take it a bit ...well, personally. I put my heart into cooking for my family. (Okay, fine, not every SINGLE night. But most nights) Im not playing the martyr here, like I slave over the stove for hours a day at a thankless, drudgery-filled job. That's not my plight. My husband almost always says thank you after eating dinner and I actually cook because I enjoy it. Its just that after I've spent a considerable amount of time and effort in the kitchen making a meal, I have high hopes and possibly misplaced expections of the dinner hour itself. Its not actually even an hour, it takes anywhere for 30-60 minutes to make the food, but the actual eating takes only about 15 or 20 minutes. And while visions fill my head of my smiling family scooting up to the table, eating and enjoying the food, meanwhile engaging in pleasant, harmonious conversation- the breakdown of what really happens during that 15 or 20 minutes is a far cry. A far cry, people! Something is lost in translation from my ideals and my reality.

Every single night at dinner at least 3 of these 5 things will happen:
1) I will announce dinner is ready and proceed to call everyone to the table...about 5 times. This, I will confess is a total pet peeve. So much lollygagging! Does no one want the food to still be hot?
2) By the time we get both kids' food cut up, any hidden tomatos, onions, or other suspicious looking veg removed and sit down to eat ourselves, my 1 year old son has already finished everything on his tray, is now bored, and proceeds to either smash or throw any remnants of food anywhere he can reach. This is usually accompanied by lots of yelling and grunting.
3) And this one is always a guarantee- my 4 year old daughter is devastated by whatever happens to land on her plate that night. She simply cannot be bothered by food. She would survive on air and saliva if I allowed it. So this of course necessitates a whole lot of coaxing, enforcing, disciplining, etc. Shute, I'd do cartwheels across the table if it would get her to eat of her own free will.
4) All conversations, trains of thought, and unfinshed sentences are abandoned somewhere around mid-meal. Its either eat your own food while its still somewhat warm, or try and remember "what was it we were saying again?"
5) The 1 year old in the highchair has long been done, bored, and pacified beyond what he is in the mood for, and is now trying to make his great escape by jumping out of his highchair. Thank God he's never been successful in this yet, but it almost gives me a heart attack every time he tries.
By the time all is said and done, messes cleaned, dishes cleared, and the dust settles, Im pooped! It feels like a 3 ring circus some nights! Now I will say this: there are lots of great moments too. Bella usually says something offbeat and funny at least once. It may be less than peaceful at times, but we are all still seated together at the table having a family dinner, and that's a good thing. Jaxon is a rowdy little guy, but he is easily pleased and will eat anything I put in front of him. This thrills me.
I know it has much to do with the ages my kids are at, and it wont always feel like so much work. I was pondering this tonight as we ran (literally ran) Jaxon straight from the highchair to the bathtub. I was watching the two of them play and squeal while I soaped up their hair and their rosy cherub cheeks and pot bellies.  I dont want to wish these stages away. It can be a lot more work when they're this little, but its still simple. They need me (and I need them). They are still eager to please and to snuggle and they dont have a care in the world. They infuse my life with laughter and joy. The purest kind of joy. Like when my daughter touches my cheek and tells me Im the best mommy and she loves me "all the way to the moon and back down to the dirt and the flowers". Or when my son laughs his raspy little belly laugh. You just cant beat that. One day they'll be moody teenagers and granted, they'll be a tad more civilized at the dinner table, but it'll be a whole new ballgame by then.
I have learned a few helpful tricks along the way for in the meantime. Such as, BE PREPARED! As long as I have little pieces of food to keep shoveling onto his tray, my son is happy. This also goes for restaraunts.  A little snack, a little coloring book, a game of "I Spy"- they go a long way. And a timer has worked wonders in our household in getting my daughter to eat. If she really isnt eating at all, we put a timer on for 15 minutes. She is so mortified by the mere idea of the timer, that she instantly starts to eat. Victory!
Someday maybe we'll reach that holy grail of all eating while our food is still hot, with no battles, while bonding over a bowl of pasta. Until then, I'll just be happy that we're still bonding. So what if there's spaghetti on the ceiling.