I NEED to do something

On Wednesday I met an old friend - who has a daughter precisely the same age as Scarlett (two days apart) - for lunch and after we let our little girls claw and poke at one another over a sandwich and pasta she asked me a curious question:

"So, what are you doing with your time; how do you spend your days?"

"Well," I said, pausing,"I... run errands, feed Hudson, cook. I do A LOT of cooking..."

"Oh," she said, and smiled. I detected mocking so I smiled back with a slight sneer (I really like this friend particularly for her subtle commentary).

As we parted ways I started thinking (in general, not a good state for me): I feel very busy, harried and always pressed for time. But really, what the hell AM I doing?

I mentally walked myself through a typical day:

5 a.m. wake up to Scarlett's cute - but not so cute at that time of day - yowling. 

6:15 to 7: 30 a.m. workout (because that is my ONE hour without having a child stuck to me the entire day)

7:45 a.m. nurse Scarlett, change her, change Hudson for school, cook and feed him breakfast

8:30 a.m. pack both kids into the stroller, walk Hudson to school

Get the girl to nap, run errands, eat

4:30 p.m. pick up the boy, feed him dinner, try not to let the TV babysit him too much

6:30 p.m. bathe Scarlett, put her to sleep, 

7:30 p.m. do same with Hudson.

11 p.m. wipe drool from the corner of my mouth and Hudson's pillow, realize I've been sleeping in Hudson's bed since I put him to sleep.

Lather, rinse, repeat

In between those activities I do some other things too, such as:

1) MY KID'S HOMEWORK:
This past week I made a 100 collection! After getting a strange, inexplicable e mail assignment from one of Hudson's nursery school teachers, I set off on a task to make the coolest collection of 100 things ever to celebrate my kids' 100th day of school! Yes. I misunderstood the directions, which were to, like, count out 100 popcorn kernels and stick 'em in a bag. Instead, I made 100 popsicle stick people wearing small white t-shirts. 

2) TEACHING MYSELF AND MY KID USEFUL LIFE SKILLS:

I decided it would be fun for Huds and I to bake cookies. A "cooker" rather than a "baker" I understand how to prepare salty foods, such as sardines, lamb chops, Hoisin noodles, coq au vin, for heaven's sake. I don't know which end of a baking sheet is up. "But what are you DOING with the ingredients mum," Hudson asked after I let him rake patterns in the sugar, which he spilled all over the counter and floor. 

"I'm using them to make the cookies, my love," I said.

"Oh, I see mum," he said.

"Would you like to stir?" I asked.

"No," he said, looking at the yellowish mash in the bowl with suspicion. His weariness grew deeper with each step. He peered into the oven to watch the cookies finally bake and looked at me as if I was doing witchcraft. 

"Look," I finally said, showing him the recipe book (a very cute book that depicts recipes in adorable drawings with only some words), we made the ingredients into cookies! Would you like to eat one?"

"No thanks mum," he said. And he didn't have one. 

3) HAVE MEANINGFUL CONVERSATIONS WITH MY SON:

"Shall we press this big BIG button, mum?" Hudson asked recently, his finger poised to set off the alarm in an elevator. 

"Oh, sweetheart, no," I said. "That button is for emergencies. Like if you get stuck or you can't find mum. Or you feel scared because you are stuck.. or can't find mum."

"Oh, okay mum, I will press it and the big BIG firemen will come!" he said. 

"Yes, NO. Yes and No!" I said, feeling tired. It had been a busy day. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Please don't tell Ted...

Just before Christmas Ted sat me down and we had "the talk."

"You're top up is over, Michele," my husband said with a serious, even stern look on his face, referring to the salary The Star had been paying for the first few months of my leave. "That means you are not making any money right now. So, we are NOT earning a lot of money right now. Please bear that in mind when you spend money."

"Yes," I said, channeling women's libby-type ideas about male and female roles in society, gender stereotypes, how my man doesn't own me, how he sort of owns me, what it means to be an independent woman completely dependent on my man while on mat leave blah blah blah, before adding:

"I'll try my best."

I have been trying my best.

But when I go for a walk I always walk past cute shops with goods that beckon to me from the windows. When grocery shopping I always walk down the fancy olive oil aisle and one of the bottles usually calls out my name. Imagine that! The olive oils know my name!

If I happen to be in a bookstore one book always leaps off the shelf and hits me in the leg. Ow! I say, surprised. But then I feel bad for yelling and take the book home so it won't get upset.

Now, in my attempts NOT to spend any money I almost completely forgo buying anything material for myself - I haven't spent much money on clothing for myself since Scarlett was born (mainly because my post partum body isn't ready yet) and I steer clear of big ticket items, like electronics and furniture, of course. It would just be dumb to spend that kind of money right now.

But it's things in the kids' stores and ridiculous-items-vendors that have the loudest voices and practically yell "take me home!" whenever they see me. I have a very hard time walking away.

I met a friend on West Queen West last week and we walked into Magic Pony, a cool gallery/store I love to visit. Shockingly, they had an entire set of Barbapapa plates and cups etc, including a small plate (around $15) depicting one of the globular characters holding a telescope. So cute.

"OMG! I love Barbapapa! I had all this stuff when I was a kid," I enthused and the consumer gods winked at one another from their market research meeting in the sky. The plate jumped into my purse! (I paid for it, of course. We're not talking about shoplifting here).

When my friend left I strolled into Kol Kid, my favourite store to peruse (I make up reasons to go there, such as "Hudson NEEDS a hat!" Or, one of their puzzles would make a great birthday present for so and so).

The hairband with wild felt flowers ($13.95) was just chillin' in a basket when suddenly it jumped up as I passed by and bit me on the nose. I could not leave the store without it. I have a girl! I must dress her in things that look like this! I CAN dress her in things that look like this - at least, until she objects.

A few days later I went searching for a nice piece of trout and ended up at a store I really should never walk into again: Advice From A Caterpillar, a beautiful haven of soft woolen baby sweaters, tiny booties in muted tones like eggshell and burnt sienna. The place is studded with baby Panton chairs. They were having a "sale."

I could not stop myself from buying a dress - a striped number that tugged at my nostalgic love of all things orange and blue (?!?!). My mother dressed me fugly as a child.

Since those purchases I've hunkered down and - with great effort - have developed a quasi/somewhat/sorta nap schedule for the girl. She sleeps in her crib for enough time each afternoon that I can't really get that far away... like to the stores I really shouldn't go to.

Siiiiiiick!!

The track just wouldn't fit together the way I wanted, so I paused and looked at the train table, a hand on my hip.

Crash! Hudson flung his cars at the bridge I had just delicately constructed and ruined it. 

"Stop that!" I yelled and stamped my feet. "No!!!! Go away! Mommy is doing this. For you!!! No!!!! I just want to complete one damn task!!!"

Hudson stared at me imploringly, his blue eyes wide. Scarlett, who was whining a foot away from us, started to cry. 

It is day seven of the worst flu Hudson has ever had. I've been cooped up inside our house, alone with the two of them for most of the week and I am just about to lose my mind. 

"Miiiiiine," Hudson yelled at me. His two year-old possessiveness bursting through his sudden shock at my raised voice. 

I gritted my teeth, narrowed my eyes and stepped aside. 

Hudson goes to nursery school for many good reasons. There, he has toys aplenty to play with. He learns things, such as nice songs, how to share with peers etc...  Most importantly, he is not at the mercy of his mother's mood swings (and uncontrollable rage when he refuses to eat - for the fifth time this week - the grilled cheese he asks me to make), inability to share or ineptness at programming his activities.

Spending at least six hours away from me each day ensures that he not only becomes a fully enriched member of society, but it always spares my sanity and probably saves his life.

I love my children. So, so much. But it has been a tiring and frustrating week - to say the least.

Last Friday my small big boy came down with a croupy cough. By Monday he had a fever - it stayed until  7 this morning (Hallelujah! It's gone!), making it impossible for me to do anything, really, especially because his sister sensed something's been up and has not let me put her down. Not once. Not for 10 minutes.

The house is a mess - kitchen's a rockin' disaster and I keep finding presents hidden all over, such as decaying orange slices folded inside a Thomas book, booger-filled kleenexes in my underwear drawer and pointy toy truck parts under my pillow. 

Being so physically close to both my children for so long has made me do and say things I promised I wouldn't.

"if you don't drink your soup I'll have to take you to the hospital and they'll put tubes up your tushy" is what I resorted to several times this week when "drinking soup makes the evil germs go away!" and "orange juice fights the bad bugs" and "hey kid, will you drink coke?" all failed to get him to imbibe enough fluids to produce wet enough diapers.

(In a clever act of defiance last night he did actually drink a full cup of bath water and I let him do it.)

Having so little personal time this week has also made me less capable of filtering what comes out of my mouth:

I walked Hudson and his sister to the library yesterday - to get them to nap and pay a fine. The lady at the desk had a perfectly round pot belly beneath what looked like a pregnancy shirt. It had all sorts of small, tummy-enhancing bows on it.

"When are you due? I asked, instantly regretting that I opened my mouth.

"Me?" she asked. "I'm not pregnant."

"Oh," I said. "Sorry. My son is sick and I've been home with both kids. So, I apparently I have lost all my judgment. Sorry."

Because Hudson was sick this week we can no longer go to the library (I think this logic works, don't you?)...