Dec
10
Was I just going on and on about how great it is to be the parent of two small children? Well, that was obviously before this morning’s trip to story hour at our local library, where in a room full of bright-eyed, attentive toddlers my kids were the only ones 1) refusing to sit or pay attention (Riley), 2) rapidly gnawing into a book like a damn beaver then dramatically choking on the paper pulp (Dylan), 3) doing this annoying bent-at-the-waist whining pose where the arms dangle to the ground and the head tilts upward to more effectively release an ear-sawing “ehhhh” sound (Riley), 4) thrashing and howling and fishflopping (Dylan), and 5) refusing to respond to my increasingly irritated hissings of COME HERE, requiring me to deploy the Maternal Eagle Claw of Doom and get everyone the HELL out of Dodge (Riley, Dylan, whatever your name is, I brought you into this world and I’ll take you out).
Plus, as we were leaving, the sweetest elderly man (wearing military pins on his hat, no less) tried to say hello to Riley, who responded with, get this, “NO”. In less indulgent cultures this rude-ass behavior surely would have resulted in a swift public caning, but I had to make do with some apologetic murmurings to the gentleman and a Death Stare at Riley along with some whispered reminders about politeness and manners and a little place called Singapore.
Is there anything quite as maddening as taking kids to something you don’t particularly want to do — I can read my own books, thank you very much, and I totally already knew ice cream was made with milk — and having the entire outing go tits up? It makes me feel like that guy from Clerks: “I wasn’t even supposed to BE here today!”
We came home and both kids instantly dropped the feral-dingo act and sat around being all adorable and playing with a toy rocket together. So my lesson for the day is this: do not expose children to fresh air or wholesome, educational events. Which, fine. I didn’t want to change out of my yoga pants anyway.
In Elsewhere Blogging:
• I have a post up at Lemondrop, where an unseen editor changed “tiramisu” to “tira misu”, removed the phrase “rubs his beard stubble on my naked torso” (in reference to a Clive Owen fantasy), but mysteriously did not balk at “spraying pee all over the place”.
• I have posted some seriously cringeworthy before-and-after weight loss pictures on Bodies in Motivation.
I’m trying to update Bodies in Motivation at least every weekday with new articles, and there’s some cool stuff on there — like Shawna’s story of becoming a fitness instructor, Julia’s advice for stocking your kitchen, Marivic’s weight loss and goals, Kristin’s Fat Skinny blog, and more. I’ll be adding new bloggers soon, and featuring some really inspiring stories, so come by and say hi.
Dec
9
Sometimes I think being the parent of a toddler and an infant is not unlike dealing with a mixture of glycerol and nitric acid, which is to say: DEADLY. Someone is always crying, someone is always pooping, and the combined force of their whining has the power to detonate an adult’s temporal lobe at fifty paces.
Other times I see it from a different angle, and instead of all the wrong notes being struck at once I get this sense of a phenomenally rich chord humming away, pitches and durations that pour into every last corner and crack. The little boy often squirms away from my hugs but the baby accepts them with openmouthed wriggling joy. The baby can’t talk to me but the little boy carries out lengthy conversations and surprises me every day with what he knows. The little boy gets mysterious and has Moods, the baby is a wide-open storm of emotions, no subterfuge yet on his horizon. The baby must be eased carefully into sleep, the little boy wants the light left on so he can page through books while curled in his bed. The little boy leans against my leg and tells me he loves me, the baby claps and squeals and burrows his face into the crook of my neck.
If it sometimes feels as though one and one does not equal two, and that I am flailing under the weight of responsibilities and inconveniences and various pains in my ass, it is also — and more often — true that the joy and amazement brought into our lives by having one child has more than doubled. There are so many good things, so much of the time, and it is multifarious, an impossibly, deliciously-balanced landscape.
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