Tag Archives: crazy

Sometimes the wisdom comes from unexpected places

My kids were, in a word, challenging tonight.  Lane was defiant and oblivious to all adult vocalizations, and I hit my breaking point when she fibbed about the whereabouts of the contents of an entire bottle of bubbles she’d been playing with earlier.   Jake is normally my easy-going, happy guy, but tonight was full of evidence that the terrible twos are a-comin’.  In a span of ten minutes he managed to find crayons and write all over the tile floor in the kitchen, and then while Lane and I were cleaning that up (her one redeeming point of the evening when she offered to help and actually helped) he got into the junk drawer in the kitchen, fished out a Sharpie, and wrote all over his left hand and a bit on the carpet in the hallway.  And there was other stuff, but the point of this post isn’t to bitch about my kids.

Mark spent at least a moment or two telling me how he just can’t imagine how I do it…. how these children can be so insanity-rousing, and yet I can, in the next moment, find the energy to be affectionate.  Or more simply, how I don’t go off the deep end and sell them to Gypsies.  Of course he gets the whole loving-them-with-a-fierceness-you-can’t-fathom-until-you’re-there phenomenon, but still.  And I had a hard time expressing it.  I just shrugged and said something like, “You just deal, and then something good happens.”

And then I was reading an article at CNN.com about some meeting that GWB had with some anti-drug people about anti-drug stuff, and the article quoted him talking about the power of prayer in his life, and he ended his thought by saying, “Some days are happy. Some days are not so happy. But every day is joyous.”  Now I’m not into prayer and all that sort of thing, but what he said pretty well sums up being a parent.  I never thought I would quote Bush 43 in an inspiring way, but it truly has been one of those days.

Complicit with nature

I have to say, my body and nature get along well.

As in, my body tends to just be generally healthy and predictable and well.  I have regular periods, when I have them.  When I try to get pregnant, I get pregnant.   I try to breastfeed my kids, and they breastfeed.  And breastfeed and breastfeed.

And so it goes with my postpartum period as well, it seems.  Right now, as nature surely intends, such that I can continue focusing my parenting energy on my youngest nursling, I have not yet experienced the return of my period.

Chalk that up as another benefit of breastfeeding — the cheapest birth control imaginable.

However, what comes with that is a libido to match.  That being, none.   Chalk that up as one of the breastfeeding minuses.

Granted, neither of these are automatics with breastfeeding.  Some women see their periods return after a few months no matter how much they are breastfeeding, and I’m sure some also are veritable hornballs through their time lactating.  However… not me.

After Lane was born, I had an IUD inserted six weeks postpartum.  Seems now that that was a rather redundant action.  At least it bought me peace of mind.  This time, I skipped such formalities with the inclination that they wouldn’t really be necessary.

This is not a bad thing.  Even if we wanted to conceive again, I don’t see how we’d manage.  Sure, we could slip in the occasional lovemaking, but really, I’m just looking at our current reality and laughing at the idea.  Right now, Lane and Jake are running circles around the ottoman in our living room.  Jake is giggling, and Lane is singing “Please Bring Honor To Us All” from Mulan, only it seems she doesn’t know any of the actual lyrics and is thus substituting gibberish.  Frank is looking feverishly for the remote that I managed to misplace during the day.  I know I used it… but I don’t know where it went after that.  Unfortunately our two crazy, mobile, mischievous children present the possibility that neither of us adults could know where it ended up.  If I were due to ovulate and this was the prime time for conception, I just don’t see how we’d make that window without giving the kids sedatives.

But that is totally OK, because I really have no inclination in the world to add another body to the mayhem at present.  I have friends getting pregnant (a big shout-out and congrats to Amanda and Dave, Amanda of BFF notoriety, who will be greeting a baby around Labor Day… so apropos.  Oh and if you ever get the chance, ask Amanda how to pronounce “apropos”.) and having babies (congrats Kim!) and trying to have babies and I honestly and absolutely have no desire whatsoever to join their ranks again right now.

Anyway, I should go help Frank find the remote.  I think he’s getting D.T.s from missing the hockey game I know he wants to watch.

Breaking out the crazy

We were supposed to see a house this morning at 9:30.  The owner is apparently particular about when people can see this house, so will only let people book morning appointments.  No sweat, Frank could go too.  (I’ve been previewing some houses just on my own to cull the lot of ones that Frank might go back to see, too.)

We get there, and our realtor – my MIL’s best friend and a lovely woman and someone who is perpetually early for everything – isn’t there yet.  This is odd, so I immediately check my cell phone for messages.  I discover the phone was set to silent (oops) and there are four messages.

Message 1 (8:30 a.m.):  Our realtor.  The people have canceled the appointment, and she doesn’t want us to go out unnecessarily with the kids.  OK.

After hearing this message, I tell Frank the appointment was canceled and he gets back into his car and heads off to work.  I get back into my car, where the kids are still in their car seats, and continue to go through the messages.

Message 2 (9:09 a.m.):  Realtor again, trying to reach us.  She also tried emailing me.  If I get this message, please call her.

Message 3 (9:14):  My mother in-law.  The realtor has called HER because she can’t reach us.  Um, why, I wonder?  MIL wonders why I’m not answering the phone and please call them and the realtor.

Message 4 (9:27):  My father in-law.  Why aren’t you answering your phone, Lisa?  The appointment is canceled!


I start driving away, and notice a familiar Lexus in my rear-view mirror, honking and flashing its lights at me.  The in-laws have driven to where the appointment was (I’d told them the evening before the street the house was on that we were supposed to see today).  They have come to notify us that the appointment was canceled.  Oh, and scold me for being unreachable by cell phone for a whole hour.

Oh, my goodness.  OH MY GOODNESS!  Can I say it enough!?!  OH. MY. GOODNESS!!!!!

I’m not sure if the inclination to make a mountain out of a mole hill is particular to my in-laws, or if it’s a Czech thing in general (my in-laws are Czech, they came to the U.S. in the late 60s).  Why on earth is it necessary to turn this minor non-event into a crisis?  If they weren’t so normal and nice and reasonable most of the time, I might think they were lunatics.