The Food Wars

I am currently elbow-deep in a death match with a two year old over dinner, which pretty much means every night between 6 and 7, I have the prospect of hard work and frustration, with no chance of a positive return on my investment.

I'm lovin' them odds.

Tonight, my patience for the IF/THEN game ("If you eat a bite, you'll get a drink of milk!") wore thin quickly. Instead, he's watching Yo, Gabba Gabba on the Kindle in my bed while I catch up on my blogging.

I don't intend to harbor even a second of guilt over this. We're both happy right now and nobody's screaming or crying. Least of all, Mama.

Deal with it.

My Mystique Has Lost Its Mystique

Spoiler Alert: this post is very whiney.

I'm enjoying a rare moment of solitude. The buddy has a cold--one of those slimy, sniffle-y, cough-y, whiney ones--so I can't take him to church. Church ladies frown on bringing carrier monkeys into the nursery, even if they look like cute, little men in their sweater vests. He's sleeping, so I could nap, but I think I'd rather be awake while it's quiet for a change.

I'm an introvert--in the need-to-recharge-by-time-spent-alone kind of way. Every now and again, I like to slip away some place solitary to refuel, but that doesn't happen a lot these days. From the moment my eyes open to the time they close again, I'm on duty. My life is constant interruption, and frankly, I'm not handling it with much grace, lately.

When I was single with no kid, this wasn't a problem. After a long week, or even just a long day, I could disappear any time I needed. Now that I have a toddler and a baby-daddy to love on every day, it's become a tad more complicated. I'm never alone--not to eat, to watch tv, to shower, to pee--unless I'm asleep. My life is on a constant loop of family time + full-time work + chores/errands - solitude - sleep = terminal exhaustion. Lather, rinse, repeat. And the worst part? I miss them when they're gone, so I'm complaining about stuff I really wouldn't change. I hate when I do that.

I guess I just wish I could sneak off for a few hours to plug in somewhere every now and then. What is that reminding me of? A movie where the characters plug into an external power source? Seems like it was an outlet or maybe a glowing orb...doesn't matter; I'm too scatterbrained to focus on it long enough to figure it out. THE MATRIX! Thank God. That was going to drive me nuts.

If I ever get to meet Betty Friedan, I'm gonna give her a stern talking to. She didn't say having it (or doing it) all would be this hard.

Thanks for stopping by. Good talk.

29 miles to E

My Thursday started at 4:30 am. My Wednesday, too.

I'm not complaining; just stating a fact. I have a 9-month-old who has no problem getting up at oh-dark-30 because he can go back to bed an hour after he wakes up. I, however, am awake (for good) the second he makes a peep because I worry that he'll wake the neighbors with his warbling, babbling and screeching. Likely, others don't find his early-morning vocal stylings as adorable as I do, because, let's be honest: he's got me snowed. I'm sleepless, it's his fault and I totally love him for it. Stockholm Syndrome? Unapologetically.

I honestly wouldn't change my mama- status for anything, even a better night's sleep, so I'll shut up about it...in a minute.

I work four days a week, both to save on childcare costs and to have a weekday to catch up on stuff I can only get done on a weekday--banking, doctor's appts, etc. 4-10's mean that my working days are long, both for me and for the buddy. We're often awake before the sun comes up and not home at night until after it's gone down, again. It means that my time with him while he's awake is short and consists of utilitarian things like dinner, diaper changes, bedding changes, bath time, story time, prayer and bed. It means that after he's down for the night, I have to find the energy to do things I can't do while he's awake like laundry, dinner for myself, cleaning, taking the garbage out; and that's just the stuff I can do at home. I haven't mentioned grocery shopping, working out (yeah, right), oil changes or even refueling my car.

Most days, I manage to accomplish all that I want to for him, even clipping his nails, which seem to regenerate on one finger as I move on to the next, they grow so fast. Depending on the day, anything beyond meeting his daily needs feels like a virtual impossibility. I use the dishwasher as storage for clean dishes and just take out what I need for the day. I eat cereal for every meal or don't eat at all. I buy new underwear on my lunch hour because it takes less time than laundry. I shower only on the days that his dad has him, because I know I can be a little late dropping him off in the morning, and sometimes I don't brush my teeth until I get to work. (That might have been too much self-disclosure. Oh, well, I don't have to see any of you on a daily basis and you probably won't be able to tell if I've showered when I do see you. Probably.)

The old me cringes at the things I now let slide. I never used to leave the house without makeup. Now I don't even have time to go buy it when I run out. The old me would never have people over without having vacuumed the rugs. The new me will never vacuum while my kid sleeps and guess what? When we're home these days, it's mostly in observance of nap time (mine and his) so them rugs ain't never vacuumed! Who cares, come on over! My son is currently on the floor, rocking out to "Sweet Child of Mine," the Sleepytime Tunes version, when all that used to play around here was Jimi Hendrix or Fiona Apple, the big-kid versions.

Old me certainly would never have let it get this far:

Beneath the gauge, it said, "29 miles to E." Old me would have panicked and driven immediately to a station to gas up. New me sighed, put on her seatbelt, drove to the sitter to drop off the baby, got to work to start the day, then drove to a gas station later in the day when she had time, all without running out of gas.

This is by far the hardest job I've ever had, thankless, with the longest hours and no time off. Most days, I feel like I'm running just about on empty, careening around with only 29 miles left on this tank and no filling station in sight. In spite of all my fears and shortcomings, it hasn't happened yet, and like I said before, I wouldn't change a thing.

Now I've got to go. The dishwasher could stand to be emptied, but there's some baby Bob Marley on and somebody looks like he's ready to dance.