Constant Never-Ceasing Vigilance

 Parenting in a pandemic is relentless.  It's always pretty intense when your children are small, but knowing with certainty there will be no support or relief is. . . wearing.  I'm never terribly receptive to older moms who urge me to "cherish these days" because "they go so fast" and "here's the tip that worked perfectly in my clearly erroneous memory."  But now I'm straight up sour about it.  Because no American parent of past yet living generations has raised feral little monsters during a global pandemic.  And it's a different beast.  The trials are often the same, but the difference is you could plan/forsee/hope for moments of actual relief.  There were babysitters.  Preschool.  Nursery.  Playdates. Indoor playgrounds. Running errands wasn't an act of wanton selfish riskiness.

Here's a little peek into my life.  Some relevant context: My medication has wreaked havoc on my already deeply flawed digestive system and I spend quality time with the commode every day.  Also, I like to shower once a day like a monstrously selfish narcissist.  This can take up to ten minutes if we include a quick hair dry and putting on clothing.  Maybe fifteen if the hedonism gets out of control.  I also sometimes change the laundry or answer the doorbell.  Thus there are instants when my children can be quite certain that they are not being closely observed.  Mayhem ensues.

Yesterday a workman asked me to open my garage door so he could deliver a shower door to be installed later.  In my utter carelessness I obliged and this meant at least 60 seconds I wasn't staring at my child. In this time Patrick left the math assignment we'd been laboring through for twenty minutes to found some mischief to entertain himself on his school iPad.  This is constant.  If I am not staring at his screen during school time, it is not on school.  Period.

I starve my children.  I feed them only three robust meals a day, like some kind of sadist who rejoices in watching deprivation.  So every time I go to the bathroom Fred darts to work.  I'll just make a list of some of the crap that has happened this week when my back was briefly turned:

Drawing on the walls, twice

Drawing on the arm chair

Drawing on two couches (different occasions)

Hiding behind the arm chair to eat chocolate

Hiding behind the arm chair to eat Cheetos

Hiding behind the arm chair to eat a loaf of sandwich bread

Hiding behind the arm chair to eat conversation hearts

Hiding behind the arm chair to eat Circus Animal cookies

Fred biting P hard enough to draw blood

Fred scratching P hard enough to draw blood

P constantly punching F

Boys throwing rubbermaid boxes with books in them down the stairs

Peeing on the floor, removing pee soaked clothes and leaving them in the pool and walking away without informing anyone about this

Pulling all the clothes out of the dresser and piling them on the floor

I just spent quality time rearranging the kitchen so all food is locked behind doors and going through the entire house finding and locking away every writing implement.  Naturally he'll find more, but over time as I confiscate these hopefully the art projects will end and I will have stifled his creative spirit.

The Book of WinCo Chapter 5

 Thou shalt not run thy hand along the bottles of vegetable oil, for this will knock them, yea it will knock them upon the firmament and great shall be the wrath of She Who Must Be Obeyed.

Thou shalt not reach behind thee and lift the shampoo to dash it upon the cilantro, for lo, this shall crush the cilantro ere its time.  Yeah, and the shampoo shall also smash the bread, the bread which thou wast commanded not to smash, for it maketh the sandwiches funny shaped all the week long, even unto the Sabbath.

Thou shalt not open and shut every freezer door thou passest, though they have all the handles of Babylon. For such are unclean.

Thou mayest not select unto thyself any candy thou seest in the bulk section.  Nay, thou must decide upon none save it be that which art approved by thy mother, and thou must fast therefrom until thou has payed the uttermost farthing. For lo, such candy is predicated upon thy obedience to the commandments, and if thou transgressest, she shall eat them before thy face, even thy wailing face, and thou shalt not taste any thereof.

Thou mayest not have a new toothbrush save it be in times of dental famine, for thy mother hath provided unto thee a multitude of toothbrushes already, and canst thou ask more of thy mother? Nay, thou weariest her with thy pleadings and they are as seeds upon a stony ground.

If thou pushest upon the button that advanceth the belt, thou shalt be smitten. Yea, thy mother's all-seeing eye hath perceived thy transgression.  She knoweth thy heart and hath seen thine intent as thou movest ever closer to the forbidden button.  Touch thou not, for thou art not ready for power such as this, and great shall be the destruction of the sandwich bread.  Dost thou remember the weird sandwiches of last week? O then, my son, remember, remember, and touch not.

Thou hast touched the button again.  O how oft would I have showered thee with blessings from the bulk candy bin.  Thy mother's hand is ever ready to pour forth small chocolate balls on he who will but hearken and obey, but thou couldst not.  And lo, thou hast lost thy treat and thy pleadings shall avail thee naught.

Behold, the promised land.  If thou endure well the unloading of the groceries thou shalt delight thyself in fatness, for the pizza overfloweth with sauce and cheese, and thy grandmother standeth ready to bestow upon thee the cookies of butterscotch if thou wilt but observe the small and simple things thou has been asked to do.  Yea, remain thou in thy seat and touch not the gum, for that is thy mother's and it is forbidden unto thee.

Open thou not thy mouth to lie unto thy mother, for she seeth thy jaws and smelleth thy breath and thou hast touched that which was unclean.  Yea, thou has gathered a Mento Gum from the floor and hast partaken.  Remember thou not that thy hair was shorn but two days ago for gum therein? Canst thou not feel the chunk that is yet ensnared? But thou couldst not hearken.  Spit thou thy gum into thy mother's hand and tarry not, for great is her wrath.  Remain thou in thy seat and touch not of thy mother's gum, for it is how she copeth.

Thou hast again partaken of the gum.  Thy repentance was false and thy promises vanity.  Thou shalt lose the gum, and shalt likewise lose the pizza and the cookies,  for such are given only unto the righteous and thou hast procrastinated the day of thy repentance until it is everlastingly too late.  Thou shalt live on cereal and of cookies shalt thou have none.

Conceal thyself not in thy room with the box of Cheezits, for thou knowest it is forbidden, and thy all-seeing mother hath not been fooled.  Great is her wrath.

Draw not upon thy walls, for it is forbidden.  Knowest thou not that this is the home of thy Mother and no unclean thing can dwell with Mom? But thou hast defiled thy room, and hast made upon it graven images and befouled her resting place with idolatry. Though she cleanseth the outward appearance, the stain remaineth on thy soul.

Didst thou again draw upon the wall the moment thy mother hath left the room? Hast thou concealed from her a pen, when pens were gathered unto her? Give ye therefore all thy pens into the storehouse and keep thou not unto thyself, for such shall bear but bitter fruit.  Knowest thou not that thy mother shall give unto you pens at the appointed time? Therefore hide not thy pen but walk in openness and defile not thy wall, for thy mother hath had her fill of motherhood.  

And thus it is.

Amen

How to describe yourself professionally

Years ago (though so few are the entries in this blog it scarcely signifies) I presented my dear readers (all two of you) with a quiz, enabling you to discover whether you are living in 1813 or in a Regency Romance novel.  Today I offer you a new opportunity for self reflection.  If modesty has hitherto forbidden any awareness of your unclad form, I invite you now to indulge in the harlotry of an ungarbed shower followed by a sidelong glance into a mirror.  This may help you ascertaining whether you are heroine material for a steamy romance.

What color would best describe your breast skin tone?

a) Creamy   b) like liquid chocolate    c) mottled because it is cold and in real life "creamy" skin shows veins people.

Key: a) possibly a heroine   b) possibly a heroine, but few people have read your book because the library doesn't stock books by or about non-white women, as this constitutes a "niche" interest.  c) human being

The texture of your breasts is:

a) firm, high mounds.  You describe them as mounds in your inner monologue, or at least your swain clearly does as he overtly leers in a dimly lit garden to which he has lured you.

b) Crusty and defeated

c) scarred and wilted

Key: a) possibly a heroine b) real person, see a doctor immediately  c) real person

If I were to describe my nipples' attitude it would be:

a) pert

b) coy

c) eager

d) present

Key: a-c: heroine d: real person

In a chilly garden with your swain wearing naught but a muslin dress your hussy of a stepmother damped to try to allure men your nipples are:

a) cold

b) thrusting

c) eager

d) impatient

Key: a) you're a real person   b-d) you're a heroine but you should still get that situation checked out as it is only a matter of time before they rebel and make a break for it, and not just from your bodice.

You may not be able to lick your own chest, but your upper arm probably tastes about the same.  What does your skin taste like?

a) honey

b) violets, lavender, roses, and a hint of lemon

c) Dove body wash

d) salty and sweaty

Key: a) You're in a novel, but I'd watch out for bees and ants if I were you.  And bears. b) You're in a novel because your suitor, while busy compromising you to force you into a marriage you have hitherto firmly resisted, still has time to mentally parse the ingredients of your perfume. c) present day.  d) difficult to tell.  You may be in the present day.  You may authentically be in 1813.  Or you may be in a romance novel if, in addition to salty, you also taste indescribably feminine, sweet, delicious, and just a little like jasmine.  Romance novel sweat isn't like regular sweat.  It's attractive.

The truth is that there's no real fun in accurately describing your chest as wizened, hag-like and shriveled by decades of neglect.  But it can also be difficult to properly mine a thesaurus to describe yourself in a sufficiently romantic yet improbable and inscrutable way.  This is where I come in.  Use this helpful guide to create an adequate description of your enbonpoint that you can casually slip into conversation or put on your resume right under your head shot.

Try to make your decision on each category before reading the significance.  I avoided the traditional "birth month" etc. as this is a transparent attempt to steal your identity.

To determine appearance/texture choose from the following: my favorite month is...

January: Succulent

February: Flocculent

March: Buoyant

April: Lustrous

May: Vernal

June: Spry

July: Limpid

August: Heaving

September: Unyielding

October: Conspicuous

November: Mighty

December: Infundibular

To determine attitude choose from the following: My favorite color is

Peach: Impudent

Crimson: Bold

Pink: Impertinent

Mauve: Coy

Orange: Insouciant

Yellow: Languid

Violet: Petulant

Green: Insolent

Aqua: Simpering

Blue: Agile

Purple: Gregarious

Indigo: Audacious

Russet: Impatient

Silver: Assertive

Gold: Intrepid

Bronze: Ambitious

Black : Unrestrained

White: Earnest

To determine flavor select from the following: I love the fashion of the:

1770s (think Hamilton, Marie Antoinette):  You taste like cane sugar and beeswax

1810s (think Pride and Prejudice): You taste like marzipan and horses

1840s (think Jane Eyre): You taste like a rainy day in June

1900s (think A Room With A View): You taste like the salty sand on your tongue after a scandalous plunge into the Aegean sea with your love

1920s (think Great Gatsby): You taste like laughter and plums

1930s (think every breakout of WWII movie): You taste like desire and blackberries

1950s (think young Queen Elizabeth II): You taste like melted butter (unsalted) and daphne blossoms

1960s: You taste like lemon zest and scarcely concealed passion

1980s: You taste like the dewy grass of Sussex, and maple sugar.

There.  That should help you accurately present your décolletage to the world.

Advice to the Youth of Tomorrow

 If I could give one piece of advice to the Youth of Tomorrow it would be this: Find the funniest most well read nerd in your class.  Lock in that friendship now.  Preschool is not too early to start.  The longer you've known this weirdo, the better.  Sell yourself as equally weird and funny and bookish.  It's a two way street.

Now, some might say "okay but the friendships of age 4 aren't likely to last past elementary school." To which I say "fie!"

In high school you will never have a class together.  Stay pals.

One of you will be a theater nerd.  One of you will be a history nerd.  Stay pals.

One of you will go to a private all-women University on the East coast.  One of you will stay at the hometown state school on the west.  Stay pals.

One of you is an atheist who majors in religion.  One of you goes on an LDS mission while being woefully ignorant about the history of Christianity or her own faith.  Stay pals.

One of you marries a hometown boy and stays in the hometown and has kids and a minivan.  One of you is in Cairo for the Arab spring and has a partner with no desire for kids.  Stay pals.

The fruits of this palship, 30 years later, are sweet.  I had a horrible day.  Some lowlights: 

• Fred elbowed me in the eye twice in the space of five minutes.  I was curled in the fetal position on the couch, too depressed to move or parent at the time.  I did not respond graciously and patiently to this.
• I have largely given up on trying to make my child pay attention or participate in online school.  He's ahead of his class in reading and math so honestly who gives a rat's patoot anymore.  Not I.  Unfortunately my lack of oversight enabled my child to send a direct message to his teacher on Zoom that read like an inscrutable but still offensive rap.  My best guess is that he hit the "dictate" button then went back to playing with his brother.  Child 2 says "poopy" pretty much constantly, but the dictation was sure this was offensive so it changed it to "booty."  It also thought it heard "s**t" and so it sent it exactly like that (asterisks) amid all the booty talk.  There was also something about Grandma's bottom and pink jello. There's nothing like your child obscenely harassing his teacher to make you feel like a crappy parent.  I sent an apology and noted that it probably seemed like I'm a lazy parent who doesn't supervise my child but "that's only, like, 70% true."  I keep it real.
• We have workers demolishing a shower.  So in addition to the standard screaming, there's constant pounding. It makes it harder to tell when my children are being destructive.
• I roasted some tomatillos and peppers to make enchilada sauce.  When I took the pan out of the oven the cloud of steam surprised me and it burned the skin all around my eyes.  I collapsed on the floor and cried in pain and ended up calling a nurse line.  I'm fine.  But it hurts.
• I got some oil or something on my fingers from handling serrano peppers and even though I washed very carefully I still managed to get it on my nose and so my nostrils burned and burned no matter what.  Don't touch your face, I know, I know.  Easier said than done.
• I went upstairs to go to the bathroom and when I came back down I slipped and fell down the stairs.  I'm okay, just hurting on my butt and lower back.  I cried some more.  And I peed my pants a little as I fell! How?! I had just peed.  Does my body save just a little bit in case I need to be humiliated right after using the bathroom?

Anyway.  By the end of the day I was in no mood to have the family Valentine's party I had planned and prepared.  Just let me curl up and stare at the wall.  But we did have our party.  And it was wonderfully lovely.  I had saved all my mail for the last week or two hoping that the envelopes had Valentines, and they did.  Chris got me the latest illustrated Harry Potter book.  It's gorgeous.  And I opened a mystery package from my friend.  The friend I wisely locked down back in the late 1980s.  The friend I text almost daily with offensive quotes from the tacky romance novels I read.  The friend who just invited me to join her romance novel book club and the book of the month is BDSM misogyny angsty yuck.  So we hate read and text each other.

And amid my awful day (which is coming on the heels of a severe depressive downturn that has left me bedridden for hours) I got this wonderful, one of a kind, surprising gift:

My favorite gif, one that never fails to make me laugh, is Oprah giving her audience a swarm of bees.  And now I have it on my wall, to make me laugh every single day.  A true labor of love, and the only of it's kind I'm sure -- neither of us like to use existing patterns for things.  Make your own or bust.

And so I repeat my advice:  Befriend the funniest weirdo in your class.  Cool rich kids are all well and good, and I imagine they have rewarding friendships too.  But the weirdos are the ones who offer literary critique of trashy novels and send you hand stitched gifs to make you laugh when the entire world feels like a moldy armpit.

Love you, friend.

Depressed Mom

The last month has been really hard.  It's hard because the weather is lousy, and I've bitten off more than I can chew at work.  C works long hours and comes home exhausted.  And the kids are really, really hard.  Mostly P.  He has to test every boundary, every time.  It's age-appropriate and typical, but exhausting.  They say "pick your battles" but everything is a battle -- using the toilet a few times a day, not spitting and hitting, not sweeping everything off a shelf onto the floor just because you want to.

To top it all off, my depression is worse than usual.  I wake up wanting to cry.  All I want to do is stay in my bed where I feel safe, but I can't do that.  I've spent more time than I should in bed while the kids nap, and as a result have fallen further behind on my work.  I feel like I'm drowning.  I'm irritable and get frustrated and tired of trying to parent.  I've pretty well given up on housework.  Every now and then I'll get up the gumption to clean a room, but it gets trashed immediately so my motivation to do it suffers.  Laundry now functions on a "dirty pile/clean pile" basis.

Here are some things that do not help.  I've tried googling articles on parenting with depression.  They all are about studies that show depressed parents, especially mothers, have a negative effect on everyone else in the family.  That kids with depressed parents are more likely to act out and get hurt and struggle in school.  Great! Now I feel cheered up!  That was so helpful!

At church last week our lesson devolved in to our quarterly discussion of how knowing you're a daughter of God should just make you happy, and if you have gratitude for your blessings then you will be happy, and how incomprehensible it is to be unhappy if you have the blessings of the Gospel. I imagine if your brain works normally those things are valid.  But if you're me, you quietly excuse yourself and go hide in the kitchen and cry because nobody goes in there during church.  So now I'm unhappy, and guilty that I'm unhappy because if I were more righteous then I wouldn't have this problem.  Verrrry helpful.  I'm giving serious thought to setting aside the second hour of church to finding a place to hide in the building and just thinking my own thoughts, or maybe writing in my journal.  It sounds less spiritually damaging than class attendance.

I hate February, and I hate March.  I've been promising myself to just hold out through the end of Winter Term and it'll get better, but the work explosion has convinced me that my overburdenedness will carry right through until next term.  And now I'll go grade, which is what I should have been doing all this time anyway.

Feeding a toddler

The key to feeding a toddler, or at least my toddler, is to not look like you're TRYING to feed him.  This is fatal.  I put out a bowl of his favorite cereal dotted with blueberries.  He picked out the blueberries and gladly ate them.  After all, they are not in season and cost something exorbitant, so it makes sense that they're on his short list of approved breakfast foods.  The cereal he rejected and instead elected to come over a and scream at me while I ate.  I offered him a single blueberry.  He screamed at me and ran off, sobbing.  I finished my breakfast.

After having eaten, I tried a few other tactics to feed the little guy.  I tried pouring dry cereal directly on the table, as he was happy to eat a very stale piece of bread on the floor earlier.  Nothing doing.  More screams.  I held up an orange and looked inquisitive.  He made a gesture (from his supine position of mourning on the floor) that clearly indicated that, if that orange came anywhere near him, he would bat it away with all his force.  I held up a banana.  More wailing, but with a slight hesitation.  I peeled the banana and set it on the table, and sat him down.  Screams as he writhed away from it in despair.

So I gave up.  I left the banana on the table and went and fooled around on my phone on a chair.  Soon a snot encrusted one year old appeared, clutching mushy banana and eating.
"Go to the table Freddy."
"NOH!"
"Sit at the table buddy."
"NOH!"
"Go to the table"
"Grrrrrrrrrr"
I picked him up and placed him in his chair.
More wailing.

Meanwhile, the preschooler is adamantly refusing to get out of bed or leave his room.  I don't really mind this, except I fully intend to shut him in there for several hours this afternoon for quiet time, and so I feel slightly guilty that he is choosing to spend his morning there.

What do SAHMs do all day? Fight pointless battles for the good of the children while they strive to harm themselves.  It's exhausting.

Tips for a guest-ready home

I just read an article about all the things about my home that are grossing out my guests. It included things like dirty bathrooms, hand towels, kitchen cabinets etc. Looking around my actual home, I see some low-hanging fruit that this clearly judgmental author missed in the "disgusting home" category. Shall we take a little tour?

1) DON'T lean your Christmas tree, ugly undecorated side out, against the wall. It makes it look like you can't figure out how to make it straight or decorate properly, like some kind of tribe of slobs!

My rationale: I have done my best to fix it. I have redecorated that monster several times every day. I'm really close to just chucking it on the porch, fully decorated, and reinstalling it on Christmas Eve. If someone in YOUR house were constantly pulling it over and yanking off ornaments, you'd lose your will pretty quickly too.

2) DON'T have a desiccated dead slug on the bathroom floor.

My rationale: I want to wait a respectful amount of time for its slug brethren to claim the body. I never invited that slug in the house to begin with. You can't tell its a slug unless you're really staring at it for awhile, in which case bless you and your digestive troubles.

3) DON'T leave piles of dirty diapers in the middle of the living room floor.

My rationale: Sometimes the screaming demands are too pressing and realistically another filthy diaper will join it soon enough, then I can efficiently take them to the diaper pail on the porch.

4) DON'T have a bucket full of dirty diapers encrusted with feces immediately outside your front door.

My rationale: What, like I'm going to walk out to the bin ten times a day? Not a chance.

5) DON'T have cheerios glued permanently to your dining table with dried milk and a pile of food bits and garbage all over the dining surface.

My rationale: Look. If you want a clean surface to eat off of, sweep your eating area yourself. Or just eat the food on your plate, which IS clean. I cannot keep ahead of the entropy. It gets wiped down once a day and that is that.

6) DON'T have piles of clothes that are designated "clean" or "dirty" rather than being put tidily in drawers.

My rationale: Drawers. Sounds like a neat idea. I do that about once a week. In between we have the "clean and dirty" hamper system. It's efficient, and I don't have to climb the stairs to get children dressed.

7) DON'T have a fence keeping people out of your kitchen so they have to raise their foot to hip level just to go get a drink.

My rationale: I like my home not burned down and my children with all ten fingers. So, the fence. If your hips aren't flexible enough to do the get-to-the-fridge hurdle then I guess that says something about your exercise regimen, but does not reflect on my housekeeping.

Yeah. My house is completely disgusting and sometimes I break down in tears about it. I have found a much better solution to the "I don't want to gross out my guests" quandary. Just don't invite people into your home! If you don't want food poisoning, don't eat here or get a stronger gut. If you don't want to stick to the floor, spray your feet with PAM before coming, or better yet stay home! I can't wait for House Beautiful to come do the photoshoot here.