Stay at home mom... Again.

Somehow I have found myself, not only at home again with no full-time job, but also giving lots of other moms advice.  I'm giving new moms advice about diapers, pacifier use, baby gas, discipline, toys, bedtime routines...  You'd think a really great mom, the tip-top best moms should be giving this type of advice, yet it's just me, giving advice like I know what I'm doing.

I think back to when the twins were just babies and all the techniques I used to deal with all their little baby issues, and because I survived it all, I guess I feel like I do know what I'm doing.  Or I did.

Right now, I'm in epic fail mode in the mom responsibility department.  I'll give credit, where credit is due:  I am out on medical leave, and my allergies/respiratory illness has caused various problems for me, chiefly waking up in the morning.  And guess what my one responsibility is now that I am home in the mornings?  I need to wake up and get the twins to school on time.  Guess how many times I have succeeded in doing this?  Zero.  Sam has brought them to school all these mornings, since late January, when my leave started.  I get up and get them ready, but that requires all my time because I can't wake up early enough to get myself ready for public viewing too.

I did drop them off once when there was a weather delay, but I still got them there almost an hour late.  Fail.

Sam is always very good to me about all of this, (but it's not the best situation for him with work and all),  and this morning, when he was trying to wake me up before he left for work, so I could begin the process of feeding the twins breakfast, making lunches, coordinating outfits, gathering winter gear, packing backpacks, brushing hair, and making sure all forms sent home in their special folders are signed and or removed so we don't look like jackasses for sending the folder back with newsletters, or information sheets still in there, as if we don't even check the special folders, I told him, "I'm going to punch you in the face."  He chose to leave for work and hope for the best, which didn't turn out for the best since I woke up at noon and had no idea what was going on.

I apologized for telling him I was going to punch him in the face, (a threat I don't remember making in the least), and he told me it was okay.  He always tells me it's okay.

So, mom of the century right here is giving lots of mommy advice lately to all my friends with new babies, even though I'm feeling like I am a-big-loser-mommy...

Yet, as I watch my children play with each other, listen to them talk about the world and people, or I see how empathetic and kind and smart they turned out, a little whisper of a voice in the back of my head says, "Hey, Joanna, you are a great mom.  You did a good job."

Of course, I shush her immediately and tell her sleepily, "I'm going to punch you in the face."

Portlandia's: Baby Books

Blog Hiatus: Desk Job.

Hiatus:  A gap or interruption in space, time, or continuity; a break.

I took a hiatus because the only person reading my blog, (well, it was set to private) was my husband.  And he stopped reading it.  See?  But I began again, for myself.  For myself...  There was a break but for a time not interruption of continuity.  Life went on the same...

I asked him to come sit with me.  I looked him in the eyes.  I asked Sam to wake me up.

He said, "I don't know what you mean?"

So therein lies the problem.

"Do you mean metaphorically, or literally, like in the morning?"

"Both."

"Like wake you up with sex, get sexual?"

"No.  What?!  What are you talking about?"

"I don't know, I'm not in the frame of mind to understand things."

"Don't you miss me? Don't you get it?"

"Hey, I want to build this desk..." 

So, I tell him right? I tell him I have been half asleep for at least 13,140 hours--788,400 minutes of being only halfway here? 
No.  
I say, "You should build a desk; I think it would be perfect there.  We need to get more organized."

He's building a desk right now.
I can hear the screw gun.
And what I want to know
Is how I'm going to sleep
With all that noise.

Stop. Just Stop.

In the past few weeks, I've written enough to replace all the pages in an entire set of Encyclopedia Britannica books... to no one.  The words are swirling, floating like a balloon, slipped from a child's hand, and disappearing into the atmosphere... It becomes so very small, then disappears.  How long before it pops?

I'm also sure that most of what I write is hyperbolic, hypocritical nonsense.

See, if you can't even tell the difference between nonsensical, offensive garbage, and meaningful words that truly reach someone, that means it's a good time to stop writing... Stop writing to an invisible audience.  Just stop. 

I think I need a break from myself and my own thoughts?  I think too much.  I can't even just write a blog post about stopping writing without writing a whole lot of words.  I could keep going here...  I just keep typing.  But, I mean it.  I'll shut up. (Do you believe me?)

Oh, I really hate anything that reminds me of that horrible scene from Crime and Punishment... But, you get the point.