Betsy really needs to blog but can't find time to write anything longer than a Facebook status update.
Betsy has traveled back to the U.S. twice in the past month, once for a sad occasion, and once for a happy occasion.
Betsy's house has fallen apart due to all her traveling, and the dustbunnies are starting to boss the kids around.
Betsy underestimated the number of meetings that she would be involved in as Home & School Committee Secretary.
Betsy also underestimated the number of meetings she would end up having to take a four-year-old and a two-year-old to, and therefore she also underestimated the amount of sweating she'd have to endure.
Betsy always knew she was a perfectionist, but she didn't realize she could spend so much time perfecting the school's charity auction ad booklet.
Betsy's plan for the next few days is to exterminate the aforementioned dustbunnies since the husband is out of town working (golfing), and then she will attempt to resume blogging in paragraphs. Once she gets Halloween out of the way.
Sunday, October 31, 2010
Thursday, October 7, 2010
I'm Glad That's Over
You know how the last couple of long blog posts ended on a nostalgic note? Oh, I'm so sad my baby's growing up and needs to be potty trained. Boo hoo. I'm so sad that my little Brandon doesn't need naps anymore. Well, guess what? I am over it. So over it.
I just spent the last week entertaining the demon who took over the body of my two-year-old. The doctor tells me Brandon was suffering from strep throat, but I really don't care what he had. I'm just glad it's over.
It's never fun when your one of your kids is sick, but there are degrees of 'not fun.' Sick babies are sad but manageable. Sick babies sleep and want you to hold them. Whatever. Sick kids are fine, too. Sick kids curl up on the couch under a blanket and watch a SpongeBob marathon. Easy peasy. Sick husbands kind of fall under the category of 'sick kids' because they whine and fuss and ask for you to bring them apple juice boxes and the remote control, but you don't really feel too bad for them. (Your husband does this, too, right? Because the only thing keeping me from kicking Shaun when he's sick is my belief that all men act like babies when they're sick. If I find out different he's getting a nasty surprise the next time he's not feeling well.)
I had forgotten what it's like to have a sick toddler or preschooler. Sick toddlers are complete monsters. I could do nothing to make Brandon happy for about three days straight. He wouldn't eat, but he was hungry and kept begging for snacks. He wouldn't sleep, but he was exhausted. He wouldn't sit still because he was restless. If he dropped a toy he'd wail like the world had just ended. When we'd wake up in the morning he would cry like he'd just been orphaned if Shaun or I forgot to carry him down the stairs--what kind of parents were we to expect him to walk down by himself?
As a result, I didn't sleep for three nights straight, and barely got a chance to sit down for three days. Every conversation with Brandon was like navigating an emotional minefield. I had to use my entire store of fake enthusiastic voices. "Brandon! Doesn't this yogurt look yummy?! Let's try some yogurt!" I was beat after the first day, so you can just imagine my condition after three days. I'm pretty sure I couldn't even form complete sentences by the time Shaun got home from work each evening.
The silver lining to this cloud is that now I am not at all sad that Brandon is growing up. You just keep right on growing up, little man. Because Mommy is not cut out for all-nighters any more. No more inconsolable crying, meals that take three hours or late nights for me. Bring on eleven hours of sleep at at time and kids who play by themselves. I have come to my senses--courtesy of the Strep Throat Monster. (That's our new name for the kid formerly known as The Best Baby Ever.)
I just spent the last week entertaining the demon who took over the body of my two-year-old. The doctor tells me Brandon was suffering from strep throat, but I really don't care what he had. I'm just glad it's over.
It's never fun when your one of your kids is sick, but there are degrees of 'not fun.' Sick babies are sad but manageable. Sick babies sleep and want you to hold them. Whatever. Sick kids are fine, too. Sick kids curl up on the couch under a blanket and watch a SpongeBob marathon. Easy peasy. Sick husbands kind of fall under the category of 'sick kids' because they whine and fuss and ask for you to bring them apple juice boxes and the remote control, but you don't really feel too bad for them. (Your husband does this, too, right? Because the only thing keeping me from kicking Shaun when he's sick is my belief that all men act like babies when they're sick. If I find out different he's getting a nasty surprise the next time he's not feeling well.)
I had forgotten what it's like to have a sick toddler or preschooler. Sick toddlers are complete monsters. I could do nothing to make Brandon happy for about three days straight. He wouldn't eat, but he was hungry and kept begging for snacks. He wouldn't sleep, but he was exhausted. He wouldn't sit still because he was restless. If he dropped a toy he'd wail like the world had just ended. When we'd wake up in the morning he would cry like he'd just been orphaned if Shaun or I forgot to carry him down the stairs--what kind of parents were we to expect him to walk down by himself?
As a result, I didn't sleep for three nights straight, and barely got a chance to sit down for three days. Every conversation with Brandon was like navigating an emotional minefield. I had to use my entire store of fake enthusiastic voices. "Brandon! Doesn't this yogurt look yummy?! Let's try some yogurt!" I was beat after the first day, so you can just imagine my condition after three days. I'm pretty sure I couldn't even form complete sentences by the time Shaun got home from work each evening.
The silver lining to this cloud is that now I am not at all sad that Brandon is growing up. You just keep right on growing up, little man. Because Mommy is not cut out for all-nighters any more. No more inconsolable crying, meals that take three hours or late nights for me. Bring on eleven hours of sleep at at time and kids who play by themselves. I have come to my senses--courtesy of the Strep Throat Monster. (That's our new name for the kid formerly known as The Best Baby Ever.)
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