No News is No news

I can't believe it's been a year since I wrote in this thing! I honestly admit that I may have forgotten it existed. You've been gone and home more times than I can count in the last year.

But this week is a new chapter- Your new job is sending you to Texas and then the North Sea! Oh, joy. Good thing we have subscriptions to Hulu, Netflix, and Amazon!

You're not even gone yet, and I'm already ready for you to come home!

Your Loving Spouse

How I know you've left town:

Even if I hadn't dropped you off at the airport, I'd know you were going to be gone for a while- because the universe pulled one of its self implosions- everything went to hell and back in the space of 17 minutes.

I bring you to Naptime:

All is quiet and peaceful... except the toddler is up and down- he won't stay in bed. "Go potty." I suggest (Loaded suggestion. Your kid hates the toilet. For some reason I can't fathom, he almost never makes it to the stupid bathroom without pee getting on something. I'm so tired of your son's urine. And the fight it takes to get him to aim it into the appropriate receptacle!). 

Go potty he did. Pee. All over the bathroom floor. Poo. All over the toilet. Not inside it. On it.

 I get him into the tub, but he sees the poo and tries to run away from it- despite the fact that it's covering him- further spreading it all over the bathroom. 

At this point I've got your screaming newborn in a bouncy seat outside the kids' bathroom and I'm armed with bleach and paper towels trying to make sense of the mess. I have no hands left. 

"STAY IN THE TUB!" I scream, desperate, as the doorbell rings.

I smile and sign the slip for some mail at the front door and only just manage to keep the dog from escaping after the neighbors' cat (which is the cat that I think killed three of our chickens, by the way. Should have let Amelia get her!).

Back upstairs, I calm the baby and the phone rings- my daughter has had an allergic reaction at school. "Give her the Benadryl. I'll be there soon." Back to the bathroom.

Get the toddler scrubbed, bathroom bleached and wiped up, and nurse the baby back to calmness.

Got your daughter from school- then everyone took a three hour nap. It's not always hell around here. 

Now I'm waiting for the next episode- I know it's coming. The vomit-to-out-of-town ratio is still 1:1, so there's that to look forward to. 

-Your Loving Spouse

Chicken Chasing -or- We All Fall Down

Okay, so we now have these chickens we've adopted/rescued and recently (a couple of days ago) added to our already existing flock. I forgot to let you know about that, honey. So now you know! 

These chickens are supposedly great- to hear their previous owner talk, they're docile, charming, practically pet quality. Fantastic, I think, already laying, tame, hens for the yard!

What could go wrong? 

Well, for one, I could forget to check if their wings are clipped before tossing the already-caught feathered Houdinis into the coop with my (wing clipped and well-behaved) ladies.

So I realize I have two rogue hens running around the neighborhood, yesterday. Luckily, all of my neighbors are chicken-friendly, in the hopes of some eggs being bestowed upon them in the future. But still. I should recapture the chickens! So I waited until the night fell (genius, right?), hoping they'd roost someplace easy...like in our front yard. And they did! Just prior to my discovery of the rogue roosts, I had clipped the wings of four of the new arrivals...so I was feeling cocky.

I went to grab one of the girls from my flowerbeds, and missed. By the way, you need to weed those when you get home! Cue midnight chicken chasing hilarity. I gave up and went to bed. Then, today, on my way to work, I saw one of the little assholes, smug as you please, strutting in front of my car! Tried luring with food. No dice. I was now late to work, and had nothing but a bruised ego to show for it.

This afternoon, on my way home, who do I see in my driveway? Demon chickens one and two. Exactly. 

I got out of the car, leaving the kids buckled in, and went to try to herd one of the satan-birds back to the yard. I admit, I got a little overzealous when I got really close to snagging one of them and I tripped. And fell. Hard.

My toe caught on my neighbor's gorgeously tended grass and my only thought as I fell was: "Dang, our yard looks like crap, we need to hire gardeners!" And then I realized I was going down. And it hurt. I lay on their soft, cushy grass, grateful I hadn't kneed my burgeoning belly and winded myself in our own dead, weedy yard...would not have been nearly as nice a landing!

I caught my breath by hissing obscenities at the smug dinosaur waddling away from me, regained composure, and got the car into the garage, the kids inside, and called one of my midwives. She was sympathetic, and to her credit, did not laugh at me. For which I am eternally grateful! So now I'm taking it easy and counting kicks, rubbing my sore back (nursing that bruised ego), and relaxing.

Stupid effing chicken. If I ever catch her, I'm going to make chicken noodle soup.

And don't worry, honey. I'm mostly recovered now. My ego might take a few days to heal up, though. It was a pretty nasty bruise! Baby didn't even notice. Kicking away at my ribs, and punching away at my belly button and bladder in turns. I have never been happier for such painful reassurance! 

Love, your eight (nine) months pregnant wife. Come home soon, or you'll miss all the fun!

Thrivival

The first two weeks are always the hardest when you leave.

During those two wretched weeks, I fall into bed at the end of every day and stare, catatonic, at my laptop willing myself to refrain from posting yet another sniveling status update on facebook. I also spend an inordinate amount of time on facebook. Sad but true. I'm lonely when you're gone.

I barely make it to scheduled appointments and events on time...okay at all. Your kids don't sleep, I don't sleep, the dog doesn't stop barking and convincing me there's a predator outside my upstairs window at 2 in the morning (or that the zombie apocalypse has come at last). We watch a lot more TV, too.

The only saving grace is that the house is spotless. Seriously. I make up for the lack of you (or is it because of the lack of you?) with shiny countertops and clean dishes and crumb-free floors. Don't get me wrong, I don't go crazy. The housekeeper still has plenty to do.

But after two weeks- and it's always two weeks exactly- I notice the cadence of the day shifts from "exhausted chaotic frenzy" to "steady marginal chaos." It's a great shift.  We do normal stuff! We have our routine! We eat three real, healthy, homecooked meals a day! There is more being on time and less sobbing.  I still spend a huge amount of time on facebook, but not as much.

Even after that shift, though- we have some serious oddball roller coaster days. Mother's Day was one of those days:

 I had insomnia all night the night before- being awake from 01:30  onward 'till sunrise; Then giving up, getting up, and moving to the couch downstairs...where I promptly fell asleep for a whole blessed hour before River came to find me and the day began. We had a great morning, too, with some bumps in the road when we changed breakfast plans mid-stream ("You're not cooking breakfast right now? We have to go where? But we're hungry!").

Our early afternoon was fun, too. We had a great time at farmer's market, running into a good friend, making up for your lack of present (I know,  I'm not your mom!) with some plant and hat shopping, and on to the store to get containers for said new plants, potting soil, and some impulse kiddie pools. So great!

Then we get home, still doing well, set up the kiddie pools with a 3 and 5 year old given unbridled use of the two garden hoses, and I set to work planting my new plants. All good, right? Listening for both voices, poking my head from garage to yard from time to time to make sure no one was drowning... Well, I'm sure glad I did that! One minute we're running through the sprinkler-turtle's chilly streams, the next a chicken is drenched on the lawn, unmoving.

Maia looks up at me and says "She's okay, Mom, she's just lying down for a minute." I look down at this sopping wet chicken that is indeed lying down...struggling to breathe. Oh, no! Maia!!!

Cue my calm mom-business demeanor. Everyone onto the porch and dry off. Naptime has arrived. While they did their no-naptime-tantrum dances, I picked up said waterlogged chicken and brought her to a sunny spot on the deck- and attempted to modify chest compressions to my poultry. I put her on her back and thumped her chest a few times, but her breastbone really prevented that from working. Next, I turned her upside down and squeezed her- marginal success! Water streamed out of her mouth and I heard air moving! Good! So I tried a few more squeezes- like she was a bellows and the deck was a stubborn fire...in-out-in-out...  While I'm thinking: "Come on chicken, please don't make my daughter an animal murderer today of all days..."

Success! The chicken sneezed and started breathing on her own! Next I spread her wings out in the sun and held them there, letting the sun bake her dry. Soon after, she started to walk around and shake herself off.

As of this morning she was looking none the worse for the wear- and she is quite a bit cleaner than the other gals. Not a bathing style I'd recommend, though. She did not lay us an egg this morning. I don't really blame her! 

After chicken CPR, I went inside to deal with my (still no-nap-tantrum-dancing) naked savages "Where did your swimsuits go?" and realized yes, 4PM is definitely not a good time to start thinking of naps. Whoops. I dressed the kids, and put them to bed- all the while trying to explain what it means to treat our animals with respect and that yes, animal torture is very much against the rules. River went right to sleep- Maia had other plans.

Insert awful nap battle here. Maia's the queen of these. I don't want to relive it. Imagine your kids doing it, but worse. Because I'm competitive like that. 


And then it was time to go! To Marrakesh! The Moroccan restaurant where they serve you in the traditional way- and you eat on poufs at low tables, there's a belly dancer, rose water hand baths, and everything! Phenomenal food, too. My friend comes over (it's her first Mother's Day! Hooray!) and we head to the restaurant after very minor complaining from your savages about getting dressed. Again. Where do their clothes go? Why the nudity, always?

And it was wonderful. So wonderful it made me nearly forget the hellish afternoon hours  of chicken-waterboarding and tantrums, and love our kids again. We all went home full and quite happy. And I slept! All night! And the kids slept in this morning!

So we're back to regularly scheduled programming on the Daddy-in-the-Field setting. Today was fine, except for the part when I stood in front of my Nikki McClure wall calendar, wishing weeks away so that I could see you sooner. Also contemplating just how apropos the imagery for May is:

Almost there. We're halfway just surviving, and halfway thriving. The good days are beginning to outnumber the bad. If we can refrain from any more attempted avicide (poultricide?), we'll be doing wonderfully. Thriviving. 

See you soon. 

-Your loving spouse

Never Wake Your Kids Up for Dance Class

If you wake your kids up for ballet, you will be late.

Once you're late, your son will decide to be impatient and whine until it's his turn to dance- even though his class isn't for another 20 minutes.
When you daughter's class is finally finished, your son will begin to cry at full throttle, because he does not have ballet shoes on. And because you used the bathroom.
When you put ballet shoes on him, and class begins, he will refuse to dance, and throw a tantrum instead.
When you take him out of class, he will apologize for the tantrum and ask sweetly to be taken back to class.
If you take him back into class, he will collapse into a mound of sobbing and yelling about horses.
If you take both kids out to the car to go home, you might lock your keys in your car.
If you call OnStar (a service you pay $24.95 a month for) to unlock your doors, their system might be down.
Since their system is down, and your 2 year old is locked in the car in his 5 point harness, OnStar will call 911 without your knowledge, and leave you alone on the line with dispatch.
If you still think you're talking to the OnStar lady, dispatch will think you're certifiable and may send two squad cars and a fire engine to the scene.
If the police show up, you may apologize profusely while they chuckle and try to break into your car.
During all of this, your husband WILL NOT ANSWER HIS PHONE.
If the police can't jimmy the lock on your car, your two year old will finally decide to begin to potty train, and inform you of his need to poop.
When the police leave, you will stand in 40-degree drizzling rain for another half an hour until your husband arrives with the second key.
After the doors are unlocked, and you are on your way home, you might find yourself pushing the OnStar button and saying things your children will probably repeat in preschool, and you might get a note home about them.

Exhaustion Follies

There are long nights when you're away. Not only do I have trouble sleeping because the ice-maker in the freezer is suddenly Norman Bates stumbling on the stairs, but also because the children get diseases more easily when you're away.

It's scientifically proven (somewhere, I'm sure) that children of traveling fathers vomit thrice as often, and only develop seasonal allergies that include "post-nasal drip," which is a gross official term for hacking up a lung all through the night for weeks on end.

Super fun!

But I'm not complaining; I've dealt with worse and I will again. No, I'm writing to tell you about all the stupid things exhaustion makes me do, so you can laugh after a long day on the water:

1) Pulled a bowl out of the cabinet in the morning. Attempted to pour myself a bowl of coffee.

2) Answered the door to the sound of a doorbell on the radio. When the program I was actively listening to was referring to the sound of a doorbell.

3) Put my pants on backward. And went as far as the store.

4) Got back to the store (after turning my pants around), and got to the register before realizing I'd left my purse at home.

5) Went home to get purse. Forgot about stuff waiting at store until the next day.

6) Returned non-library books to the library.

7) Found my cell phone in the dog food. I was the last one to feed the dog.

8) Forgot what I was doing, mid-dishwasher unload. I started adding dirty dishes to the clean ones. I didn't realize I was supposed to be unloading the dishwasher until it was running again.

9) Searched the rabbit hutch for chicken eggs. Did you know we had a Cadbury bunny?

10) Tried to take the kids to preschool with a towel on my head. Was confused when getting into the car was trickier than usual.

Enjoy, Captain!

-The Sea Captain's Wife

Stuff You're Missing: Momedy Gold

The kids say weird stuff all the time. When you're gone, it seems like they come out with the choicest tidbits. I call them Momedy, because they're really only funny to me. And maybe other people that know (and like) my kids.

River (on why he just couldn't eat the mushrooms on his plate at dinner): "No! They have tiny legs. Hundreds and hundreds. I just can't eat the tiny legs, Mom."

Maia: "Mom! Wow! Look at this. They did a great job on the pictures in this book. I like the way they drawed the moon with the cow jumping over it. You really can tell what the story is about."

River: "Maia! Come here! It is story time, and I want stories. Quit messing around and come to bed, Maia!"

Maia (to River): "It's time to play a game. I will trap you in here so you can't escape, and then I'm going to go downstairs."

River: "Fish aren't meat! They swim underwater! They're veggies!"

There are more, I'm sure, but the thing about these funny lines is that they come at inopportune moments to dash to the computer and record them. Pens get pilfered for wall-drawing, and paper gets wet at bath time.

See you when you get back, Captain!

-The Sea Captain's Wife

Part-time Single Parenting: The Beatitudes

Blessed are the ones who nap when the children are napping; For they shall have the energy to see the bottom of the laundry stack.

Blessed are the babysitters who come on short notice, and stay extra hours; They shall inherit the big bucks.

Blessed are the babysitters who deal with potty-training toddlers in swimsuits; They too, shall inherit the big bucks, if also smelly hands.

Blessed are the siblings who fight not when mommy is tired; They shall be rewarded with chocolate after dinner.

Blessed is he who returns early from the field and cleans the house; He shall obtain mercy from his exhausted wife.

Blessed also is the husband who sends flowers and housekeepers while out in the field; He will obtain the hot sex from his grateful wife upon his return.

Woe is the friend who brags about her helpful spouse/nanny/friends; Hers is the quiet phone.

Woe is the husband who forgets to call; His is the lonely couch.

Woe is the babysitter who quits without notice; Hers is the bad reference.

Woe unto you who passes judgement upon the parenting of the single mom; Yours is the world of pain and regret, when it is your head she bites off.


-B

DIY Haircut

Today, the moment I've feared ever since Maia's hair FINALLY started to grow arrived.

She cut her own hair.

She didn't grow a strand until she was three, and it's only now coming in fully, at four. And now...

I admit I've been distracted lately. Lesson learned!

-Your loving spouse

The Vomitorium: Redux

Maia is unwell.

I should know by know to put the kids down with towels as blankets and bowls for pillows when you leave!

Only When You're Gone: With a Little Help From My Friends

Today dawned miserably. I was on edge from the moment I opened my eyes. I had spent all day the previous day switching between loads of foul laundry(including your special surprise, honey), to disinfecting the house in a desperate attempt to avoid a nasty stomach bug, to yelling at Maia for doing crazy things, to...I can't even remember, honestly. I fell into bed that night exhausted to the bone. Half-hoping zombies would attack and eat my brain during the night. It was dire.

This guy. 

So when I woke up and found my brains (and therefore responsibilities) intact, I was less than optimistic.

I got to our weekly, co-op homeschooling group an hour late, but ready for the recycled material toy building project we'd been looking forward to for a month. Maia and I had been meticulously selecting, washing, and saving recyclables that looked promising. We had three big bags of them. I'd been tripping over them in the mudroom for the better part of a month, and the day had finally arrived!

My poor friend suffered my poorly contained wrath when she politely suggested there were already plenty of materials for the craft. I think I said something like: "If we don't use my recyclables, I will cut a bitch." If you know me... that's not my typical...repertoire...

Anyhow, suffice it to say I was on edge. Really. I was shifty-eyed and weird, this morning.

On top of that- I made the decision to give up my office space, after being outbid by my former family therapist. Ugggh!

And then my friend (who I had unkindly threatened to cut if she didn't take my garbage) offered to watch my kids so I could run some errands. Yes, yes, YES! What?! Yes!

And she did. And I ran errands. I finally mailed off some Christmas presents. (You're welcome, everyone! Happy Marchmas!) I went to Michael's and bought the picture frames I'd been dying for. At 40% off! The sun was shining (in my mind. Outside it was drizzling a little). All was right with the world.

Nothing like a little retail therapy!

After briefly considering escaping with my passport and some cash to Hawaii[EDIT: I know Hawaii is in the US. Japan isn't though, nor is Fiji. Jumping-off point, people!] I returned to collect my children; And found them delightedly well-cared-for. And THEN my friend invited me to stay for dinner. To eat German food!

Let me recap: My friend gets blasted by me, then I accidentally insulted her by mistaking her age, and then she offers to babysit both my children so I can get some peace and sanity. Then she cooks me dinner. And not just any dinner, either. I was raised on German food. It is my version of soul food.

Suffice it to say this woman single-handedly turned my day from dust to diamonds with stunning alacrity.

I am so unbelievably honored to have such a skillful, amazing, gorgeous, and loving friend!

The bar has been set, honey. See you when you get back!

-Your Loving Spouse

Only When You're Gone: It's a Girl!

I knew this day was coming. I have waited for a while now...

It shall live in the halls of my mind, forever. A story to be told and retold at family events. Hell, this one is being saved for the wedding file. I will always remember March 1, 2011 as:

The day our daughter ate an entire box of Girl Scout Cookies.

I was putting the baby down for a nap, and to do that, I need to lie down with him for a while. I might have dozed off. Maybe.

While that was happening, our daughter was keeping herself entertained by making beds for her stuffed animals all over the front room floor. Then she got bored. I imagine she went looking for something to eat (as she does when she gets bored) and discovered my poorly-hidden stash of Thin Mints in the freezer. She must have helped herself to one of the boxes. I put this together based on the evidence trail left behind.

What tipped me off?

She came upstairs to the bedroom and was acting sort of...odd. 20 minutes before, she'd been happily playing on her own. Now she was acting like this:

I knew something was amiss. Her mouth was ringed in some sort of dark brown substance.

"What have you been eating?" As she said "Nothing" (of course) her breath washed over me. I smelled guilt, debauchery, and Girl Scouts.
"Did you eat Mommy's cookies? Those have corn in them!"
"No! I ate a mini chocolate cake, corn-free, I found in the freezer."
"No, you didn't. There are no mini chocolate corn-free cakes in the freezer."
"Yes! I did find it! It was a dessert cake...."
"Maia!"
"...noiatethegirlscoutcookies..."
"What did you say?"
"I ate the Girl Scout cookies."
"How many?"
"Just three! I swear! I PROMISE that's the truth..."
"Hm."

So I put her in her room, and went downstairs to discover an empty green box. No cookies. Nothing. I had to search a while to discover where the individual cookie-stack wrappers had gone, just to be sure she hadn't eaten those, too.

You see, Maia has a corn allergy. When she eats corn she turns into a creature than can only be described as the most unfortunate offspring between Gollum and Linda Blair. With a crack addiction. The only thing that can be done (besides a healthy dose of the pink stuff) is to wait the reaction out.

She's still in her room. Even after the Benadryl, she is on a corn-high/sugar-high that has to be seen to be believed. It's the safest place, for now. I just wish I had a hidden camera in there! Currently, she's running laps around her room, singing "Somewhere over the Rainbow" at lightning speed.

She's a girl. We females have no control over the little bitches in green. Those evil little cookies...it was only a matter of time.
Somehow, though, I always imagined she'd do it when she got her first period. You know? A rite of passage. Menarche and a box of thin mints. They go together like...what would be the male equivalent? A Maxim and a sock?

-Your loving spouse.

Only When You're Gone: The Vomitorium

So our friends came to stay last night, and their baby got sick, and vomited all through the
night. Poor baby!

While washing the laundry that is the inevitable result of a sick child, I came across sheets and blankets from when our own child got sick in bed, nearly two weeks ago.
I remember distinctly you saying: "I got it!" when that happened...and thinking how lucky I was that you were home to help me! What a guy to wash the vomit-laundry at 2 am!

Hm.

I can't decide if you're lucky that I was already elbows-deep in vomit-laundry when I made this discovery, or if we're not speaking. I haven't unwrapped the surprise, yet. If there's mold... you're in the doghouse.

-Your loving spouse.

Only When You're Gone: The Money Hits the Fan

Why are you the primary on all the accounts when I'm the financial maven?

That makes no sense.

Especially when I need to fix something or change something and you're completely unreachable.

Only when you're gone, of course!

Only When You're Gone: Vomtastic

The baby threw up in the car seat on the way to school this morning. I shoved the four year old into the schoolhouse, and spent the next 45 minutes cleaning out the car with baby wipes in the BiMart parking lot. I think I've discovered the polar opposite of lying on the beach in Hawaii. But It could be worse, I could have gotten into a car accident! Oh, wait, that was Monday.

Only When You're Gone: Bathroom Chemistry

The 4 year old snuck the bottle of food-grade sanitizer from your home brewing kit (thanks, by the way for leaving it out) and poured it into her play cups with toothpaste, hand soap, and water (Luckily the NyQuil she also pilfered is child-proofed). The PB&J and yogurt I was cleaning off the dog while this happened was discovered to be a red-herring mess; Keeping Mom busy while getting into the real stuff. Like 50% phosphoric acid, 15% Dodecylbenzene Sulfonic Acid, and 10% Isopropyl Alcohol.
She mixed all the components of her "really cool experiment" together with the 18 month-old's toothbrush, then handed it to him. Luckily, he did not drink it.
Poison control finds our family hilarious, by the way.

Only When You're Gone: Marching Band Conflagration

We drove home, with a friend (who is without kids) in the car. The 4 year old sees a smoking car and emergency road crews attending, and I explain that the car is on fire. She says: "Oh, I know why! There was a marching band shooting fire balls at the car. One landed on it and it caught on fire. They also shoot fire balls up in the air, but when they land on you, they don't burn your hair." Cue awkward silence from friend. Thanks, kid.
On a side note, that is some marching band!

Only When You're Gone: Petit Four Theft

The 4 year old snuck out the side gate while in the backyard, and stole a cookie from the neighbors' house. Then she gave our shocked neighbor big hug, said: "I LOVE You!" and that's when I (frantic) found her. Please come home!

Only When You're Gone: Peter, Peter, Pectin Eater

The 4 year old has been trying to sneak around behind my back all day. First she tried to sneak the honey. When she got caught, red-handed, she simpered: "I LOVE you Mommy!" Next, I caught her with a box of liquid fruit pectin. When I asked her what she planned on doing with it she adopted an expression that was a mix between doe-eyed and deer-in-headlights, and said: "I was just looking at the picture! TRUST Me!" Yeah, right!

Only When You're Gone: Vagina Papayas

We live on a quiet street, and occasionally the local police like to park on our street to do paperwork. It just so happens that, on this occasion, my daughter (4) decides to climb to the top of the play structure and shout: "Vagina papayas for sale!" I can only imagine what that officer thinks we're teaching our children.