Urban Mummy

Before dinner last night, the boys took out blocks, and after dinner, the blocks were scattered all over the family room.

Linus finished eating first (as usual) and cleaned up about half of the blocks, leaving the rest for Stewie to clean up. After Stewie finished dinner, the following ensued…

“Stewie, it’s time to clean up the blocks.”

“I can’t. I’m sick.”

“You’re not sick, Stewie. You aren’t coughing.”

– a fake, heavy breathing cough emanated from young Stewie’s body. –

“And Stewie, you’re not sick, you’re not sneezing.”

– “choo” – a fake sounding sneezing sound emanated from his little body. –

“You’re not sick, Stewie. [feel his head for dramatic effect] You don’t have a fever.”

“I do have a fever, right here [holds up his pointer finger of his right hand]”

“Stewie, you must clean up your blocks, or I’ll have to take them away, and you don’t want that, do you?”

[starts crying] “Nobody’s helping me put the blocks away…”

I then took his hand, and we put the blocks away together.

Tags: Diva

This has been one of the most stressful weeks I’ve experienced in a very long time.

And when I say a very long time, I might mean ever.

It started out with nervous stress, wherein I had a big long needle stuck in my abdomen. The preliminary results were A-OK, thank goodness, but stress is stress, and that experience caused a lot of it.

Tuesday was Linus’ graduation from Junior Kindergarten and his current school, a lovely ceremony and performance that his father missed, ostensibly because of me.

Wednesday was Stewie’s end of year graduation from his toddler program, which his daddy did get to go to, but it occurred after I stupidly backed into a parked car in my street (that probably should not have been parked where it was, but that’s not the point).

Oh, don’t forget Linus being sick on Sunday and Monday, then Stewie being sick (more so then Linus) and throwing up on Tuesday night, in the middle of the night. So my excuse for the car blunder was sleep deprivation (and baby brain), which, really, doesn’t fly.

Thursday went by without incident, except that it was my first day of school (more about that another time) so there was stress & nerves there. Ended the day Thursday by missing my son’s Senior Kindergarten orientation (for no good reason).

The clincher – today I woke up after a horrible night’s sleep (including 2 hours of being wide awake, between 2:30 and 4:30) with a painful cough and possibly a fever.

This, then, would be a “poor me” post. I’m wallowing. And I just want to feel better, and put this week behind me.

Tags: sickness

Okay, not really the world. But today, I missed about my son’s Senior Kindergarten orientation. At the new school he will be attending in September. Where he gets to see the classrooms, meet the teachers, and meet all the other Senior Kindergarten students.

And I didn’t even miss it for a good reason. I wasn’t off saving the world. He wasn’t off at a playdate or something. Oh now. My boys were playing nicely with the nanny in the basement, and I was resting in my room. Yes, it was the first rest I’ve had in a few days. Yes, I needed it. But that is No Excuse.

I feel so horrible. And of course, it’s got me questioning my ability to organize the life of yet another child, along with my own, and the two children I already have.

Instead of making myself too crazy, though, I think I’ll get the boys to sleep, and then go to sleep myself. Early. The Taxman is working late, so I’m on my own, and it’s been very taxing, if you’ll pardon the term.

Have you ever forgotten something that was important to one of your children? Did they get over it? Was it worse for you then it was for them?

Today is the last day of school for my boys.

The last day of school has always been an interesting day for me. As a student, I loved it, because, well, what student doesn’t! It meant no more homework, time to hang out and do what I want. For a couple of years I even went to camp, and when I was older, I worked. Even so, it was still essentially carefree.

As an older, university student, the last day of school was still great, it meant summer jobs, and, for 2 summers, adventures in other cities.

Fast forward. As a teacher, the last day of school was even better. Yes, I loved my job, I loved the children, I enjoyed the challenge. But, let’s face it…those 2 months (actually just under) of work free time were heavenly. Especially when I was single, without responsibilities (much).

Now, as a parent, the end of school is a bit different. When I was a working mom, it was great, my kids were really little (3 or less) so it meant that I could spend time with them, doing stuff.

Now I am not working as a teacher (more on that another time), and working from home, so my time is more my own. Now I’m just the mom in terms of the last day of school.

I’m ambivalent. I mean, I’m glad that it’s done, for them, and they seem glad (although at 4.5 and 2.5, really, they don’t get it!). It just *feels* different this year, for me. I have to get used to looking at things from the parent perspective, instead of the teacher one. Hard thing to do after so many years as the teacher!

What are your thoughts about the last day of school? Love it or hate it? (or somewhere in between)?

This morning, The Taxman & I piled the children in the car early, and took them to school. I`d arranged for an early drop off, so we could be at the hospital on time for our appointment at 9:15.

By 10:00 I was so nervous that I was pacing. At about 10:05 they took me in. The procedure itself took only a few minutes, although it felt like much longer. The needle was sharp, and yes, it hurt. But it was worth it.

The preliminary results will come back tomorrow, and the definitive results a few weeks after that. But the doctor’s words still echo in my ear…

Baby looks just fine.

New Urban Baby expected sometime in November.

Tags: amnio, anxiety, new baby

It amazes me the assumptions that people make. Because, doncha know, I know what you mean when you say something else, and if you say nothing, I know that you mean it anyway.

Let me make myself very clear.

• If you say you are going to do 1 errand and coming right home, I expect that you are doing 1 errand, and will be right home.
• If you don’t mention that you have something for me, I don’t know that you have something for me.
• If you let something like, say, a birthday pass without much acknowledgment, I don’t know that you intend to celebrate at another date. Especially if you never mention it to me.
• When I ask you a question, especially a simple one, like, say, how much does that cost, answer me. With an answer that matches my question.

Let’s get this down to the basics. I am not a mind reader. If you want me to know something, you must tell me. If you mean one thing, don’t tell me another. Is this such a difficult concept?

Recently, I hit what I thought was a milestone birthday. The actual number isn’t really that important (*cough*40*cough), but the sentiment is there.

Facebook was good to me – 40 or 50 of my “friends” saw a note that it was my birthday and took a second or two to leave a note. A nice sentiment. From most of those people, I wouldn’t expect anything more, and from some, I wouldn’t have expected even that, so it was a nice surprise.

Some of those friends saw me at school drop off or pick up, and wished me a happy birthday in person. That was nice.

I discovered that I had a birthday in common with one of those people (she’s a couple of years older!), and that was a surprise. That bit of information led to a nice (albeit short) conversation, and has opened up the door to a potential actual friendship. Nice.

There are, however, some people that I would expect more from. I don’t think this is unreasonable. My husband’s mothersister* each posted a greeting on facebook. Okay, nice enough, I suppose. However, that was it. Neither of them picked up a telephone to call and say happy birthday (in the past, they would have called in the morning, and probably even sang – out of tune, of course – and wished me a good day). In their defense (ha!), they did finally call…at 8:30 pm on my mobile phone. When they knew I’d be out for dinner with my husband. On the first evening outing we’ve had without kids in SIX MONTHS or possibly more (did I mention they NEVER babysit?).

There was no call from them in any of the intervening days between Monday (the actual birthday) and Friday, when we were going to their house for dinner (first time since September).

Dinner was okay. They got a cake (which I didn’t even want at that point, but my husband’s grandmother was there, and she’d gotten it, and I didn’t want to hurt her feelings. Besides, SHE left me a message.

The best part of the evening, however, were the gifts. Or, should I say gift. My husband’s grandmother gave me a nice card with a bit of money (that she cannot afford, but the sentiment was lovely).

That was it. Nothing from the mothersister. No card. No gift. Nothing.

I am insignificant.

To be honest, I suppose, that wouldn’t be that bad if I had something good on my side of the family to compensate. To be sure, both of my parents DID call me that morning, and wished me happy birthday.

That was it. No card from them. A phone call 2 days before my birthday from my mother asking what I wanted. A proclamation that, since I couldn’t come up with anything, I was going to get something that they were getting us anyway (granted, it is an expensive something, but that’s not the point).

Would it have killed them to get a card? To deliver it? To go to a mall, wander through some stores and find something that they thought I would like? Something that showed that, to them, this birthday had any meaning at all? My mother GAVE BIRTH TO ME, and I didn’t even get so much as a card. Not worth the effort to find something on her own that I might like.

I am insignificant to them too, apparently.

This was a huge eye opener to me. I cannot IMAGINE treating one of my children this way. I cannot imagine doing whatever I could to make their birthdays special, both now, when they are little, and in the future, when they are all grown up. Because I gave birth to them, and celebrating their birthdays is, in a way, also celebrating a special connection that we have.

Apparently nobody in my family feels the same way.

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*mothersister is what I call my husband’s mother and sister. They live together, and are attached at the hip, rarely doing anything on their own.

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So I’m thinking about returning to this place.  Not, perhaps, in the same capacity as before, but I like this URL, and, well, lots of things are going on.

So, I am going to sort a few things out, and, then, I think, I’ll be back.

‘The time has come,’ the Walrus said,
‘To talk of many things:
Of shoes — and ships — and sealing wax –
Of cabbages — and kings –
And why the sea is boiling hot –
And whether pigs have wings.’

‘But wait a bit,’ the Oysters cried,
‘Before we have our chat;
For some of us are out of breath,
And all of us are fat!’
‘No hurry!’ said the Carpenter.
They thanked him much for that.

Ahh…the nonsense verse.  So lyrical.

It’s time to move on from this place.

I’m not abandoning it completely, but I no longer have the energy to keep it going. I don’t feel like I can talk about the things I need to here. It just doesn’t feel like home anymore.

So I’m packing up and moving on. I’ll be back to visit, but it will not be often. If you’re interested in following me to my new digs, leave a comment, or send me an email (urbanmummy at gmail dot com) and I’ll be happy to send you the address!

Every so often, I see glimpses of the man you’re going to be.  I see your struggles, and your successes still waiting to be fulfilled.  You surprise me daily, and frustrate me almost as much.

I watch you grow, in awe of who you are, and excited to know who you will become.

You love to build forts and have taken to climbing and jumping a lot more then you used to.  You can spend more time on your own these days, playing with  your cars, your roadway, your house and your car park.

I see you struggling on the way to growing up.  Some days you’re so independent, getting yourself dressed and helping around the house, while others you just want to be helped.  You’re learning your way, and that’s okay.

You love to write your name, and work on your “creations” in your office.  You just want to help, and you are helluva persistent!

Happy Birthday, dear Linus.  Today you are 4.  I will remember these days and treasure them closely.