I've Lost My Appetite

Dear Chain Restaurant Manager,

BELIEVE ME when I say I took no more pleasure in delivering the message than you did in hearing it when I had to tell you my son threw up under our table. I was mortified and worried and a bit fearful and concerned about those around us and the fact that we most likely ruined more meals than just our own. 

I assure you I had already done my best to clean up the mess before I approached you because unless it's a true emergency, I don't think someone else should have to clean up my kid's puke. 

Let me just encourage you that the next time you make a tearful mother wait while you finish your conversation and her husband RUNS their retching boy to the car in bitter cold, you might want to reconsider saying, "What do you want ME to do about it?" 

Do whatever you want, but I'm not the restaurant manager with vomit in my dining room. 

VERY sincerely,

A Former Customer

p.s. I could hear you talking about me. 

Not Fit For Human Consumption

I had a baby seven and a half weeks ago. 

Leaving the house since then has been very tricky. When I'm not in the middle of a panic attack (for real--screaming, shaking, crying...it's delightful), I just can't leave to go anywhere because it's -30F degrees outside ('F' is not for Fahrenheit) and impossible to take an infant outside anyway. 

So, on the random occasions that I have left the house, I've been pretty weird. If you complement the baby, I inevitably will say something VERY weird. Or like when someone asked me how many kids we have and I answered, "Two. Oh, wait. I forgot about her." You can't say stuff like that to a stranger. They expect you to be happy. Content. Glowing. Basking in the joy of the new life you're lugging around Walmart in a 20-pound car seat, desperately trying to find the bread. (Why can I never find the bread? It seems like they're always moving the bread.)

So...should I really be surprised at myself when I FLIPPED MY LID at the Post Office because the kiosk took my $6 and and gave me no postage? Nah. I started to cry and looked around for something to vandalize. I'm not kidding. If I had had matches, I would have started a fire. To make matters worse, I could hear employees behind the (closed) desk laughing and talking. Not one of them came out to offer me assistance. Yes, I know they were closed. But doesn't it seem like common courtesy to come and help a girl out when she's banging on the door crying, and shouting about postage?

Wise to avoid that girl, yes. Courteous? No. 

So… If you see me out and about, give me some extra grace. I'm pretty weird these days. For that matter, if you see any mama with a tiny baby, maybe give her extra grace. Maybe don't talk to her. Let her get in line in front of you at the grocery store. She needs to get home.

Angry Birds: SAHM Survival

My almost-four-year-old son is ob.sessed. with Angry Birds. He has it loaded on his* iPad, and would play it all day long if I didn't set a timer and insist that he participate in human life from time to time. I don't mind him playing video games or using the iPad. I try to manage his "screen time" responsibly, but the reality is that this is the world we live in. 

Here's the thing: Angry Birds are making. me. crazy. The music is annoying, the game is exhausting and frustrating, yeah, yeah...but my son TALKS about Angry Birds all the live long day. My days are filled with an endless monologue about Angry Birds. I wouldn't be so frustrated if I could understand what he was saying. He narrates each game and video as he plays...with no inflection whatsoever, while staring down at the screen. So what he's doing is contributing to the ::NOISE:: bouncing around in my brain, and expecting a response to something I can't understand even when I try. And when he's not playing Angry Birds, he's talking about Angry Birds. Or asking to play Angry Birds. Or whining about Angry Birds. 

The noise. 

The noise adds a LOT of mental stress to my day. 

Here he is doing his thing. In his undies. (It's six degrees in Wisconsin.)

After rereading this post, it kinda seems like I'm letting the boy run the show, doesn't it? ...Seems like I am the mom and I could do a better job of imposing some boundaries here, but we are happy. His feet are little ice cubes and he typically spends more time on electronic devices than he should...but SURVIVAL. Survival is the name of the game some days. Weeks. Months.

Survival. 

*Yes, we have a kid iPad and a grown up iPad. We are a 21st century first world family. Stop judging.