A Special Kind of Crazy: Stay at Home Mom

When people ask what I do, it's hard to tell them by only using a title. Stay at home mom isn't entirely accurate, because I do work outside of the home too. So I usually break into a long winded description, telling them that I'm a full time SAHM (stay at home mom) and part time crisis counselor, working between 2-3 nights during the week, but not like "night" nights, but, you know, nights. After giving them more information then they cared to have because they were just being polite, I either get one of two looks: a look like I was born with an extra toe (sympathy and pity) or a look like I just slapped their grandma (disgust and possible rage). Then, because they are feeling lots of feelings, I get their opinion on my "job" choice. There's the "Oh, it must be soooooo nice to just sit home all day, watching your own kids and doing whatever you want" or "I wanted to be a SAHM, but I wanted to have a career and do something with my life". When I hear shit like that, I look like this, but the adult version:





 

 I know some people are just natural born assholes that can't control what comes out of their mouths.  But those people should be warned. It takes a special kind of crazy to be a stay at home mom.

Sometimes I think I am very fortunate that I am able to take advantage of this opportunity and be with my girls while they are growing into real people. But then I'm snapped back into reality while getting smacked in the head by "Goodnight Moon" from one girl while the other one is eating a strand of carpet. And I realized pretty quick that my job isn't the stereotypical description that everyone thinks it is. It's not arts and crafts, watching tv, enjoying long afternoon naps. It is to keep these little death seeking minions alive. I bet most of you didn't know that a toddler has 3 objectives: to terrorize, to disarm one with cuteness, and to seek out ways to harm or maim themselves or others. Seriously. I can place the girls in an absolutely empty room that has one square inch of lead paint and they will find it and they will eat it.

You may be thinking, "I can probably do that, that isn't really all that crazy". That's just part of things, my friend. One doesn't just automatically become a SAHM. It's a slow stumble into madness. So I will discuss physical and social/mental aspects. And this is just my experience, not all SAHM's are the same way. I'm sure there's 1 or 2 sane ones out there.

Physical: It all started when I came home from the hospital with the girls. I had brought some cute clothes to wear at the hospital and on my way home. Instead of wearing those, I wore the same busted, stained up maternity pants and shirt I had worn throughout the pregnancy. And some saweet mesh undies. My wardrobe since then has been consistent. Pajama pants and tshirts. My brother-in-law Mike was helping with the girls one day and I saw one of the lady drug dealers that lives across the street walk by wearing PJ's. I made a comment about how trashy she looked and Mike kind of looked at me funny. Of course that day I was wearing my finest Christmas tree jammies.  You know you're a stay at home mom when you have to go out into public quick and you change into your "good" clothes, which is a nice pair of black sweats (because, you know, the grey is just too casual). But I will try and not wear a sweatshirt at the same time, because I don't need to be wearing a sweat tuxedo. Personal hygiene also takes a backseat. I'm not going to tell you how long between bathing I went when the girls were newborns. I would rather sleep for 10 extra minutes in my bed then chance falling asleep in the shower. But falling over and getting knocked out might have been a welcome reprieve. I don't get to get out of the house very often with the girls. I do go out, but it's usually dark by then. So my skin tone is usually one that is reserved for prison inmates. I can go on and on about this, but for your sake, I'll reign it in a bit.

Before kids

 

 

 

 

 

 



After kids

 



Social/Mental: I spend pretty much all day every day with the girls during the week. When I work, I leave a few hours before they go to bed so I'm still with them for a majority of the time. Now before you start feeling too sorry for me, I did have help from my dad the days I had to work, where he would watch the girls while I slept in the afternoon. Those days are sadly gone. But there are days where I would have nothing but Toddler Time on my hands. I can't stand some of the new music that's out there, but I have either the "Bubble Guppies" or "Dinosaur Train" songs set to repeat in my head and that's fine with me I guess. But I've noticed that some of my social skills took a digger in the past 1.5 years. I'd much rather text somebody than talk to them. I feel like I don't have anything else to talk about besides my kids. And sometimes, I speak as though English is not my primary language. Have you ever told a colleague that you "had to go potty", cause I have! I should probably invest in some of that there brain training programs to keeps me smarts. Most days, when I think I'm going nuts, I actually have a voice in my head that laughs maniacally. I don't know where it came from and I'm not sure how I can get rid of it. And of course I know it's not real....

 

But I am, for the most part, happy where I am now. I'm not sure if I'd be able to change it. Because then the big, bad Mom Guilt will come out. So if you are a pregnant mom looking to stay home, don't set up expectations on how you think staying at home will be like. And if you're anyone else, the next SAHM you see, mentally give her a hug. Because uninvited physical contact by someone other than a child may result in a karate chop to the throat.



Invasion of the Body Snatchers (aka Pregnancy)

Errbody pregnant around here (while I do talk like this sometimes, it still pains me to write) these days. What a wonderful, magical time... I'm not sure how I can say that with a straight face because it's meant to be said with heavy, drippy sarcasm. There is a reason why my body produced a hormone that made me forget how awful childbirth was and while not scientifically proven, I think my body produces something that makes me remember how shitty it was. Of course, the end was worth it (or so I think most days) but don't you dare tell that to someone in the midst of this pukey, itchy, crying, hairy 10 MONTHS! Unless you want to be karate chopped. In the throat.

I think everyone should thank their lucky stars that I wasn't aware nor wanting to blog throughout my pregnancy. There was some seriously farked up shit that happened. So while I didn't chronicle my pregnancy, I would like to share some of the "highlights".


Finding out the sex: I had to have about 13 ultrasounds due to complications and the fact it was considered "high risk", so I got to see the babies wiggle and shake quite a bit. But the biggest and best ultrasound was when I was able to find out the sex. Brad's job made it difficult for him to be at all of them, so I had my dad take me to a lot of them. Everytime I went there with him, I made sure to say "Dad" really loud multiple times in order to squash anyone's thought that he was like, my partner or something. It was gross. But that day I asked him to step out so it would only be me who found out what I was having. I was so convinced that one or both were boys. I could just feel it. I told people I knew God wouldn't let me have two girls because I knew I wouldn't be able to handle two mini-mes. So the doctor came in, started looking around and said "Female". BOTH? Surely he said He-Male, meaning they were the manliest little boy fetus' he's ever seen. Nope, they are both female. I immediately regretted every overly dramatic, girly thing I had ever put my parents through, because I was now terrified that it would come back to haunt me, twofold.


Food fight: I really, really love food. If someone said "Well why don't you marry it?" I probably would have moved to Kentucky and considered it. So you can imagine how I began to covet food in my pregnancy. Throughout, I would have to say I was pretty calm and laid back, but it was a whole new ballgame with food, mostly because I couldn't eat food without throwing up or taking medications for the first 5 months. One day, Brad and I went to KFC and I ordered chicken strips through drive through. We get to the first window and wait for 5 minutes. The worker dude comes to the window and says "Oh, well, we are out of strips". "You're out? Really?" He told me, no they weren't really out, but they would have to drop some into the fryer and it would take an additional 8 minutes. He asked me if I wanted some boneless wings instead. Woah, wrong answer. "I DON'T WANT FUCKING BONELESS WINGS. IF I DID I WOULD HAVE ORDER THEEEEEEEEEEEEEEMMM". I didn't say that directly to him because I was in the passenger seat, but he heard me say it to Brad. The worker said to Brad "Oh, would she like me to drop some in the fryer?". Sigh. It took 5 more minutes and they asked us to pull into the parking lot and wait. 10 more minutes go by and a different worker comes out, brings the bag to Brad's side of the car, even though there was no car on my side and there was on Brad's. "Here you go. Sorry it took so long. I threw in a Pudding Bucket". Oh thanks! How about you throw in the last half hour of my life I wasted pissed off over chicken? And they forgot my honey mustard. Bastards.

Unfortunately, that wasn't the only food incident. I had a hankering for a Big Mac and only a Big Mac. So I went over to the "24 hour" McDonalds by my side of town and found out that the stupid sign was just for decoration because it was closed. At 10:30 during the summer. Feeling defeated, I went home and googled it to make sure it actually was 24 hours and I saw that the McD's way across town was open. So I made the 20 drive over there and was very pleased with my persistence. I get to the drive-thru and ordered a Big F'n Mac. I was then told "Uh, sorry ma'am we have a limited menu at night, there are no Big Mac's. Can I interest you in a Quarter Pounder". I shit you not, I literally saw red and that workers' life flash before my eyes. I flipped my shit on that poor soul. "NOOOO, I DON'T WANT A FUCKING QUARTER POUNDER AAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH" and then proceeded to burn out my brand new tires squealing out of there. I went home empty handed. The next day, I got my Big Mac. And then proceeded to throw it up. Thanks karma.

Chasing my B: I was 8 months pregnant for our 1st anniversary. We decided to go to The Little Farmer, which is a pumpkin patch/apple farm. I've gone every fall since I was a baby and it's fantastic. One thing that sucks are the copious amount of bees. And the fact that Brad believes he may be allergic to said bees. So, we went to pick out our pumpkins and were looking for where to buy them. We couldn't find the stand so I pointed out a stand in the middle of nowhere and said that looks like it could be it (it wasn't). I was trucking along behind Brad when a bee flew by him. And it wouldn't leave him alone. He began to run around, with two pumpkins in his hands, trying to get this Satan bee away from him. And I waddled faster in order to keep up with him. I begin to hear laughing and I look over to see an audience of people watching us, pointing and laughing at Brad. I had to explain to them, but the damage was done. I was so embarrassed I wished the bee would've just stung him so the ambulance could have taken me back to the car.


Come back next week when I continue the theme of pregnancy and discuss what I liked and disliked about that time!

I might have to trade myself in for a newer model.

Clique as it sounds, another birthday has come and gone. When once a birthday was full of excitement and childish delight, it is now taken over by dread and self loathing. I would have curled up into a ball onto the floor and cried myself to sleep but A)the babies can smell weakness, B)napping while your children are awake and on the loose is frowned upon and C)I haven't vacuumed in weeks. I even forgot how old I was going to be until myfitnesspal.douche so kindly reminded me, 3 weeks early I might add. I'm not going to tell you how old I am, because a "lady" never tells, but I am under 30. Now before those of you who are older than me jump all over me and throw a fit, calm down. Old people shouldn't throw tantrums. I'll explain to you why I feel past my prime and why my body hates me.

What brought me to the conclusion that I'm getting old, besides the obvious? Sitting. Yes, that's right, sitting. Tonight at work, I became incredibly sore from just doing that simple activity. The same soreness I get from shoveling or trying to run in front of the lady with two cart fulls of food at the grocery store. I even caught myself thinking, "I thought this was supposed to be an orthopedic chair with lower lumbar support?" Who says that? My dad would say that, not this spring chick. But I got to thinking about all the other parts of me that are going to hell. My entire body creaks and cracks, my parents swear they've seen gray hairs (which I believe are extremely blond hairs) and I think I'm starting to grow a moustache. Nothing a little bleach or hedge-trimmer won't get rid of. Now I'm not going to be a whiny, insecure girl that points out everything wrong with herself in the hopes someone will compliment me. But my biggest concern of this moment, are my boobs. Much like T. Swifts' song, they are never, ever, ever getting back together. Like, ever.

I can only dream about trading myself in for a newer model. It's not ok for Brad to dream about trading me in for a newer model.  Because I would break that newer model's tailpipe off. I don't even know what that means, but I'd do it anyway. At least I can look at my girls and live vicariously through them, much like my mother did with me and hope that one day, saggy and old is the new thin and 20.

I'd like to thank the academy for this award!

A few weeks back, I had a comment on a post from someone that said they were going to nominate me for a Liebster Award. My first thought was "Hmm, I wonder if it's real?". My second thought was,"Oh hell yeah! Praise me!" As I excitedly told Brad, his reaction was "Make sure it's not a scam". *Sigh* I thought to myself "Oh, wish you would have told me before I gave out our bank routing number, my soc number and my bike lock code." Of course I had to research the shit out of this so I didn't get scammed, mocked, hacked or whatever. And it's real.

So what is a Liebster Award? It is given by other bloggers to new and/or "Up and coming" bloggers who have less than 200 followers. The blogger nominated has to then post 11 random facts about themselves, answer 11 questions posed by the person who nominated you, create you own 11 questions and pass the honor to another 11 bloggers. Whew, that's a lot of 11's. Then you go back to the nominators page and tell them about it. And no tag backs. So thank you Chantal of Adventures in Hickey Land!! The last thing I won was a mini fridge in college! (Not entirely true, but it's nice dramatic effect).

My 11 Random Facts

 

1)I used to tell my friends in grade school that I had a secret twin sister and brought in two of the same baby picture of myself to prove it. But I added a marker mole on my twin.

 

2) I am too white to be considered Native American and too Native American to be considered white, in some people's eyes.

 

3) Completely in love with Bill Murray and have been my entire life. When I was three, I told my mom I was going to buy lingerie because Bill would like it. True story.

 

4)Hippies REAAAAALY annoy me.

 

5) When I was a child, a hooker told me I must be smart. I'll tell the full story in another post.

 

6)I've worn my hair in a ponytail since the 5th grade.

 

7) I used to writer some really morbid things when I was a child. My parents once asked "What is the matter with you?". I had an undiagnosed case of awesome, which they didn't understand.

 

8) I am a huge procrastinator.

 

9) I have nightmares that I haven't been to class all semester and the final is tomorrow. Even though I graduated college five years ago.

 

10) Weird, honeycomb shaped things scare the living daylights out of me. Like the inside of a sunflower or housework.

 

11) Hardcore hiphop is my favorite. Luda would be either proud or terrified.

 

 

Questions for me from Chantal at Adventures in Hickey Land:

 

Who was the very first blogger you started reading regularly?

I have to admit, I didn't really read blogs before I started my own. So no one I guess.

Last great book you read?

"The Hunger Games" trilogy. Peeta's so dreamy.

What magazines (if any) do you just have to read every month?

Gossip magazines! I used to buy 4 every week for a long time. But then I got real cheap and starting going and reading them for free at Barnes and Noble.

Best parenting or marriage advice you've ever received?

"You should elope". Courtesy of half of my family. Do you think I listened? Of course not. Now I loved my wedding, but I should've taken the money and ran. An extra $25,000 (ish) in the bank would've been awfully nice to contribute to a house down payment or my inevitable tummy tuck.

Are you a couponer? If so, extreme or newbie?

Hell no. I got super excited when it first became a big deal and I tried it.  I must suck at it, because I never really saved all that much money.

If you could pick any other place in the world to move to, where would it be?

The 50 yard line of Lambeau Field. I would literally live in a pup tent there. For those of you who don't know what that is, it's the stadium where the Green Bay Packers play. And if you didn't know that, please stop reading this and firmly pull my foot from out of your ass.

Who was your first follower on your blog (if you know!)?

I believe it was a super lovely lady I work with named Wiener.

What is your favorite color combination?

Green and gold. I know, it's redundant. "She loves the Packers, we know this." Oh, do you? I don't think anyone understands the magnitude of my love for them. It even scares some people. 

Which of your Pinterest boards (if you have one) has to most pins?

I'll Get Healthy...Tomorrow

All time favorite DIY project you've seen on Pinterest (or elsewhere)?

I'm not really what you would call a "Do it yourself" person. I'm more of a "GSTDIFY" or "Get someone to do it for you" kind of gal.

Where is your "happy place"?

I'm not going to do, what you all think I'm going to do and say Lambeau Field. Ok, I will say it. I bet your happy place doesn't smell like brats and stale beer. My other happy place is your mom's house. Ohhh, sorry, my inner teenage boy just came out.

 

11 Questions for my nominees:

 

When did you realize you were a grown up?

What is the one thing you would be glad to get rid of?

Favorite movie as a child?

Worst or most annoying habit?

What is something you look forward to every day?

Name one thing about you that no one really knows.

What is the average time you get up in the morning?

If you could be one famous person for a week, who would it be and why?

What is your biggest pet peeve?

What is the most common word you misspell?

Do you think asking two part questions above will suffice in me not asking a final question?

 

 

And there you have it! Now the only super bad part on my, is that I don't have any blogs at this moment that I could nominate. Why? Because I suck. I promise I will nose around other people's blogs so I can see who I want to nominate and will report back as soon as I can!

 



 



Sweet, sweet fantasy baby

While I was pregnant, I probably heard "Your life will never be the same after these kids" about 125,000 times. After they were born, literally every milestone was met with "After (insert here) happens, your life will never be the same". Well thank you for that incredible insight. I would have been completely unaware had you not shared that.

 Now of course, it's true, but I didn't need anyone to tell me that. I watched "Teen Mom", I knew what was going to happen. But every aspect of your life will change, including your dreams and fantasies. What I dreamed and fantasized about five years ago is ten shades different now.  Now my fantasies aren't exotic, complicated or nasty because I have some mental block where I am unable to think about or visualize anyone having sex. It's a gift really, saving me from people talking about my parents or my parents talking about my parents. Regardless, I still have dreams and fantasies.

THEN: Dreaming about having a career where I made tons of money, made a difference in peoples lives, had 2.5 children and lived in a Barbie dreamhouse. Maybe not the Barbie house, because she's a disproportionate bitch and I hate the color pink. But dreaming about living the dream: LTD, if I may.

NOW: I dream about sleep. Well, I guess that's incorrect, because in order to do that kind of dreaming, that implies that you get sleep. So I fantasize about sleep. Hard, sweaty, all night long sleep. But that doesn't happen often. One of the reasons is because the girls are sleep snipers. They know the exact moment my head hits the pillow. I don't know how. I don't know why. But they think it's the perfect moment to scream like a jagged tooth clown stole their schnuks (nuks). THEY.KNOW.

THEN: My husband and his brother were moving our new couch into our new house about three years ago. They were trying to get it through the front door. So I watched while they grunted and shoved a big thing into a small space. Now I don't fantasize nor dream about that, but it was still nice to look at. My husband looking all big and bad and Polish.

NOW: I fantasize that my husband will surprise me by coming home early with an array of burgers from Five Guys, tacos from Chipotle and some cannoli. All of which are fat-free, gluten-free and burns calories by just looking at them. Then he will tell me that I have to leave for a three hour massage. And being worked on by strangers makes me thirsty, so there would be a bottle of wine and/or vodka waiting for me. That's what I call a happy ending.

Other current dreams/fantasies: 3 (or more) consecutive Super Bowl wins for the Green Bay Packers. Everything half off at Target. The twins going 15 minutes without pushing, biting or picking each others' noses. Not hearing the old lady describe what "Fifty Shades of Gray" is about to her equally as old husband tonight. Teenagers shutting the fuck up in the movie theater after I spent $20 to see "The Hunger Games". Being able to putty my stretch marks shut. And many, many more.

Let me know what some of your new dreams are now that you are a parent or since the real world slapped your dreams in the face.

Shameless Plug

To go along with this blog, I also have a Facebook page, Tarable's Two. There are more updates on the twins and their shenanigans, as well as links for this blog. Feel free to look us up and like us. It really strokes my fragile ego.

People Judging: End of Days Edition

It is now a new year, one that many nutcases speculated wouldn't occur, so I would like to look back over the past few weeks and recount people that I had judged. And I judged them pretty hard, considering a tiny part of me is a nutcase and thought the apocalypse could happen, mostly because of these asshats that I've encountered.

I was able to get out more than usual over the past month to do my last minute Christmas shopping, my usual grocery shopping and getting some time to myself. While most of these days blur together in a haze of diapers changes, tantrums and teething, these are some occurrences that stand out.

Before the girls were born, in order to save money, I would go to Barnes and Noble weekly to read the magazines for free, because I'm a cheap bastard. AB (after birth of babies, which is not the same as nasty, fluidy afterbirth), I am still able to go to the bookstore, but it is maybe once a  month. I read somewhere that bookstores are the number one place for serial killers to search for prey. Excellent. I believe that, because one time, I had been reading my gossips magazines and a white, male, mid 30's sat next to me and started making small talk about the magazine I was reading. He was probably just being friendly, but I'm pretty sure he was sizing me up because he wanted to wear my skin as a suit. Anywho, back to the present. There were a few idiots there, as usual. A pair of girls in their late teens were walking around a display of teen books, annoyingly recapping all of the ones they had read, including endings, which were not happy. A nerdy, Peter Jackson looking mofo talking about "The Hobbit", naturally. And a very angry man, who I am fairly certain was organizing a hit on his wife/girlfriend. I didn't listen too carefully, because he was scary and my freaky possible serial killer friend wasn't there to protect my beautiful hide. Nothing there really indicated possible End of Days type stuff, but annoying none the less.

Then there is Christmas shopping. Day(s) before Christmas shopping to be exact. My plan for some of my relatives was to make homemade ornaments of the girls hand prints. I had pleeeeenty of time to do this. December 23rd rolled around and, shit, I didn't do them. So I went to the Dollar Store. Am I cheap? I believe I answered this question a paragraph ago. Am I not thoughtful? No, I'm lazy but thoughtful none the less. The same cannot be said for the dozens of people at the Dollar Store. There was a family of four who was buying for literally their entire extended family. A preteen boy asking his grandmother where the cameras were, because he wanted to install one in his sisters' room. And a grandmother clearing the store of Pringles for her grandkids. Merry Christmas, enjoy some compressed potato flakes. This was more indicative of End of Days because it shows we procrastinate and don't take things seriously. Do you think Doomsday Preppers waited until Dec. 23 to buy Christmas presents? Doubtful.

This brings me the encounter that I had that led me to believe the apocalypse could have been a possibility. I was at a department store when a girl comes rushing up to a sales rack wearing a white, strapless, short cotton prom looking dress. With a brown tank top underneath. Wearing fur boots. And I don't mean like boots with the fur. I mean furry boots. To understand where I'm coming from google "Furry boots from Dumb and Dumber". The worst part is she didn't have a jacket and it was a winter storm outside. The worst of the worst? This was AFTER the supposed Dec. 21 apocalypse, leading me to believe there is some big bad apocalypse waiting to spring up at us at any moment. And if there isn't a real one, there sure is a fashion apocalypse in the making.

So congrats everyone on surviving their 3rd (or 4th) potential End of Days in the past few years. My husband told me there should be another one within the next 20 years. This time with computers!