Nothing Is Sacred

Becky's Take on Life, Love, Motherhood and Other Random Stuff

Give me a moment, please?!? July 20, 2009

Filed under: Uncategorized — Becky @ 9:34 pm
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I love being with my kids. They are funny and cute, serious and wise– and yes, sometimes annoying. Nothing sets my teeth on edge faster than the shrill screams of , “he’s touching me,” or “she scratched me.” (There is no justice for the little brother whose big sister has fingernails.) All in all they are good kids, even when Z9 gets a little yakkity-yak. I figure he’s just making up for the first 4 years of his life when he kept silent and let Z11 do all his talking for him.

Still, I long for a trip to the bathroom that does not feature someone screaming my name and tracking me down, then knocking on the door and asking, “what are you doing in there?” I’m in the bathroom with the door closed. What do they think I am doing in there– underwater basket weaving in the tub?

Usually in the evenings I retire to my boudoir where I work on the laptop, maybe watch a little TV, or read a book. Do I do this alone? God forbid! They troop in behind me carrying their hobbies, Nintendos, books or whatever else they can find (which is also why my bedroom looks like a receptacle for abandoned toys) and we spend “quality” time together. This often consists of them either fighting over what they are going to watch on TV or telling me they don’t like what I’m watching. It has apparently completely escaped their notice that there are two other, fully-functional, cable televisions less than 100 feet from this room.

Generally,  the quality time is fine. I don’t watch much TV, so they are free to spend the evening with “Phineas & Ferb” if they like, and we can visit with each other throughout the evening. However, just let me try to watch something on TV I really want to see and all hell breaks loose. Suddenly Z9 has a mosquito bite that needs treatment. “Can you fix it at the next commercial, mom?” “Son, I’m watching PBS, there are no commercials. Just come here and I will take care of it.” He then feels compelled to tell me the names, ages, birthdates and character traits of every person in the computer game he is playing. Z11 is wanting help navigating through something else on a different computer. My mother calls– twice.

At this point, all I want to  know is “whodunit?” It wouldn’t be so bad if I hadn’t already seen the crime committed, but no, they let me get interested in it before they try to drag me away from it. “Okay guys, just let me see the end of this and find out who did it.” “It’s Miss Marple, mom, you already said you’ve read all the books.” Oh thank you 11-year-old fount of wisdom. But this is a film production I’ve never seen before and it’s been 14 years since I read the books. I’ve given birth since then, and God help me, I’ve left brain cells scattered all over southwest Oklahoma and north Texas.

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9 Years March 13, 2009

Filed under: Uncategorized — Becky @ 10:44 pm
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9 years ago at this time I was going into labor– 2 weeks early. As I like to remind my son, it was a long labor, in which he resisted making his entrance into the world, so it culminated in having him surgically removed from my belly.

He was coming out whether he wanted to or not.

And never in my life have I been so glad to see a woman coming at my spine with a huge needle.

At about 1:30 that next afternoon the nurse stuck her head back through the OR door to inform us all that “Bubba weighed 11 lbs 3 oz.”

He’s been affectionately called Bubba ever since. And he’s remained as stubborn as he was that first day when he decided he liked the comforts of the womb, and he didn’t want to leave after all.

Since my children are close in age, I’m not sure I had the perspective on parenting that I thought I did after having had my first one around for only 21 months, but the last 9 years have taught me much.

9 years have shown me that I can do (and have done) things that would take down some very rock solid men. Witness me *not* turning my head away when they started stitching my one year old’s forehead shut, although I was tempted. The little dude who was crying and strapped to a papoose board needed me more than I needed to not have that image in my mind forever.

9 years have taught me that I can function on 3 hours of sleep, and I may nod off at inopportune moments, but usually not while driving.

9 years have allowed my ears and brain to know the difference between blood-curdling, “mommy, I’m hurt” screams, and blood-curdling, “I hate my sibling and am going to kill him/her” screams. One requires my immediate attention, while the other requires me to pray that some time in the future they will like each other.

9 years let me know that some of the most basic character traits must be genetic, but I still have no idea where that hard-headed gene comes from. *looks around the room innocently*

The last 9 year have been a learning experience, and yes, there are days when I know why some mothers eat their young, but there are other days that make it a completely worthwhile experience.

I’m sure the next 9 years will be equally filled with learning opportunities, and by the time I deal with all of the teen angst and social ills, I will be longing for the days of diaper rash, baby-proofing, and midnight feedings.

Happy Birthday ZJG! You’ll always be my Baby Bubba 🙂