Motherhood Plus Makeup

So.  I'm adding dressing up, experimenting with makeup, and doing crazy hair to the list of things I only liked before I had kids.  Also on the list--wearing a bathing suit in public, low-rise jeans, and the bathtub.  Okay, I still love baths, but these days my tub is always filled with bathtoys and usually tinged some strange color as a result of the bathtime crayons Caleb got in his stocking.  Soaking in slightly-orange-tinted water just isn't as relaxing, and scrubbing the tub beforehand kind of defeats the purpose.  Anyway.  I digress.

The Wichita Theater (that bastion of art and perfection) is putting on Cinderella in three days.  I'm in it.  I am a wicked stepsister.  

And it is great fun.  Don't believe me?  I get to scream and yell, wear this awesome fat bustle-butt contraption, and sing my little heart out.  I might even get a few laughs in the process.  It is such great fun.

What is NOT great fun?  The AWFUL hairdo I have to get my hair teased, sprayed and kinked up into each night.  The eighties have nothing on me, believe me.  Also not fun:  the layers and layers and LAYERS of makeup required to "make me ugly enough."  Apparently it takes alot, so I guess that's a compliment.  But also a headache.

I was looking forward to it!  I really, really was!  In high school, nothing was better than holing up in my bathroom, working for hours on myself and emerging, looking like a completely different person.  (Simon might make observation here that many women do this every morning...but I am speaking of an even MORE different person, honey.)

WHY is all this un-fun?  Here's the difference:  kids.  Oh, and a few others:  I don't enjoy looking at myself in the mirror as much any more.  My alone time is so limited that spending it this way seems ludicrous.  Oh--and the kicker--my current bathroom is nowhere near as big as the one I grew up with, and the counter space is nonexistent.  Not that really care most days.  But for THIS process, it's a problem.

Back to the kids part--picture this.  Me, curlers just recently out, hair springing in every direction, trying to tease it, pin it up and spray it, while I keep Lyla out of the toilet, Caleb out of my makeup box, and dinner from burning on the stove in the kitchen.  In about six square feet of space.

Things I have learned:  

You can't tease your hair while holding a child.  

Cheap liquid eyeliner plus fake eyelash glue is a super-painful combination.  

Tammy Faye may never have had a serious conversation in her life.  Cause who can really talk to you when you look like that?

Things I plan on trying:  NOT showering after I take my hair down--and letting it be even crazier the next night.  This is the kind of thing motherhood drives me to.

Pictures to come...be warned.

Recent Doings

Well.  It's been a while!  Believe me, I have not, definitely not, been lazy!  Thing have been happening one after another and I've been crazy!  However, I have gone to bed a LOT of nights, wishing I had blogged.  I miss it!

So, here's the update, along with a few photos to document our crazy lives around here.

I have been busy baking more fun cakes!

First, I made Simon a Reese's peanut butter cake for his birthday.  His request.  He also requested not to be posted on the internet, so here is the cake, sans birthday man (I wouldn't call it an incredibly gorgeous success, but it tasted good):

It was fluted around the edges, but the hardening chocolate glaze hides that a little. 

Caleb turned THREE (about six weeks ago).  I ended up making two birthday cakes.  Yes, overboard, I know.  But I had an awesome train planned for his birthday party, and then realized that he didn't have anything for his actual birthday...and ended up making him a dinosaur one on the fly.  It turned out pretty cute, especially for a spur-of-the-moment thing: (it's a little messy, I know)

Showing off one of his presents before our birthday dinner. 

He wanted to eat the head.

And then here is the Actual Party Cake, a train.  I have to admit, I had SO much fun making this one, and it turned out amazing...despite being a ridiculously easy thing to do.

On to other, non-baking things.  Simon and I went to Florida for a wedding in October, and had our first time away without kiddos in...a long time!  The kids stayed with Mom and Dad.  Here we are at the wedding

Right after the wedding, Lyla started crawling, standing up (assisted of course) and trying to cruise.  She's getting SO BIG!

For Halloween, we had a cowboy and a little bear.  Caleb was a bear his first Halloween, too:

That's all for now...more to come!

Found: One Mop

Also Pictured:

One suspect

Giving Myself Plenty of Grief

I. Am. About. To. Kill Someone.  If only the right, expendable person would surface, I would be able to seriously contemplate it.

Taking time out of this, the crazy day before Thanksgiving, to blog, was definitely not on my to-do list.  In fact, my list is a mile long--now longer, as I will explain.  It's almost noon and I have about forty-seven more hours worth of work to do before Hubs gets home.  Yet here I am...too frustrated to continue with the day until I vent a little.

Here's what I did.  I made a lovely little list--of course, overly optimistic, but what's new?--tuned Pandora to my Thanksgiving channel, threw another of the perpetual loads of laundry in, and turned to my kitchen.  Cleaned it quickly, then on to dusting.  But then I paused.  I glanced at the kitchen sink.

My kitchen sink is white, and very, very poorly sealed.  In fact, the term "very poorly done" could apply to just about anything done to this house in preparation to sell it to us.  The guy was either a complete, unbelievable idiot, or the laziest, cheapest jerk ever.  I tend to lean towards both.

Anyway--the sink stains like crazy.  Pour out half an inch of red wine and the last dregs of the coffee, and I've got a lovely, brown-mottled sink that drives me crazy.  So, there it is, and I think to myself--"No, I don't have time to scrub this sink.  I'll just bleach it."  I grab the bleach, give the sink a few glugs in each side, then open the hot water faucet.

And leave the kitchen.

Phone rings, I get on internet for caller.  I respond to email from Hubs.  I check a sale I get an email coupon for.  I talk to Caleb, I declutter the living room.  I grab a load of laundry from the bathroom floor, and bring it into the kitchen to deposit it as the Next Load.

I stare at the sink.  It is gleamingly full of a softly blue water.  And...so is the counter...the stove...THE FLOOR---and the SINK IS STILL ON!!!!!!!!!!

Oh yes.  I have flooded my kitchen.  And that's not the Awesome Part.  There are several more, Awesomer Parts.  First, remember: bleach in the water.  Second--

We painted two bedrooms this weekend.  Moved everything out of them into the kitchen and living room.  And a goodly number of Things haven't been moved back yet.  For instance, a mesh basket of ironing-to-do, a small ficus in a wicker planter, a tent (don't ask) only halfway in its box, and The Bills, which are lying on the floor next to the plastic filing cabinet they should be inside.

Okay, and here's the best part--where I really went over the edge.  NO mop.  None.  Gone.  I scoured that kitchen (wading through two centimeters of warm, bleachy water), then dried my feet and searched the rest of the house.  It. was. gone.  Called husband.  He tells me he has no idea where the mop is, and why am I so upset about a mop?  And exactly how did the kitchen flood?  I may have hung up on him then.

So.  Old towels sufficed, and the kitchen is now bleachily dry.  Except for under the dryer and the stove.  Lord knows what to do about that.  I guess they'll dry.

The Destroyed Things are small in number, and I think the bleach was diluted enough not to hurt most of the things it touched.  But seriously.  How much harder can I make my own life???

Guilt Funk

I have spent the past few days struggling under one of the heaviest burdens a mother can place upon herself.  Guilt.

Isn't it amazing how you can go through the day, feeling, as Simon calls it, "funky," without realizing why?  (Funky, as in, "in a funk," aka throwing little temper tantrums in your head (or out of it) all day long.  Flipping out over nothing, because something bigger is wrong and you haven't faced it or figured it out.)  I am constantly trying to train myself to catch this midstream, address it, and get over it.  It's hard.  Especially when it's a nagging, come-and-go kind of funk.  The kind that sneaks up on you when the quiet of naptime finally descends, or you walk into your kitchen to a sink-and-counter full of dirty dishes, and you suddenly feel like crying and/or screaming.

So, the name of the game lately:  guilt funk.  I'm feeling guilty for...something...and it starts to seep into my whole life, coloring my view of things and overburdening my heart.

Here's why this time.  A couple of weeks ago, I began looking into teaching a couple of home school curriculum programs to Caleb.  Nothing big, just a basic math (as in counting and matching) and phonics program.  Then I started calling friends with lower school backgrounds, getting recommendations, and trying to make the best choice for us.

Then I started reading blogs.  Enter guilt.

I am constantly amazed at the level of accomplishment and perfection some women attain!!  I found a blog of one slightly obsessive woman who had made out a daily schedule (on a weekly basis--Mondays, do this, Tuesdays, this, etc).  She had vacuuming, dusting and laundry EVERY DAY.  No joke.  I am super-lucky if I dust once a week.  It's really more like, if I can make a finger-line on my beside table, then I'll put it on the "to-do" list.  And get to it within a few days.

Okay, I am not that bad, really.  I keep things nice and tidy around here.  But I am also not that good.  NO thirty-minute increments here.  And then I find other, home-schooling blogs, with more women, feeling guilty because they only did two hours of school and then a nature walk and then cleaned the house today.  Geez, what a lazybones.

And it creeps in.  The doubt.  "Wait, am I supposed to be doing it that way?  What in the world am I doing wrong, if my day is filled before I even get to the dusting?  My kid can't count to twenty!  He only counts to ten if we're counting jellybeans--cause it's no fun otherwise!  Am I a bad mom, bad wife, lazy jerk?  I do read a little each day.  And, yeah, I'm sometimes worthless until 8:30 or 9:00 am, depending on who slept/didn't sleep the night before.  Am I a failure?"

Then comes the Unrealistic Resolve:  "I must do better.  I will get up at six tomorrow morning.  There will be NO TELEVISION.  I will play with my child ALL DAY, and by the end of the day he will be able to count to twenty, say the alphabet AND know three more catechism questions."

And of course, the guilt.  Because I start out NOT getting up at six, and the rest of the day fails just as miserably.  And then I angrily tell myself that those Crazy Blogging Women are the weirdos, not me.  But I can't quite believe it...and am harangued by doubt and guilt thereafter.

SO.  Let's be real.  My kid is two.  I have every intention of starting a great homeschool program with him.  However, we can't afford it yet.  Saving, yes.  Buying now?  No.  Why do I allow myself to feel guilty for that?  I don't.  Not anymore.

Satan LOVES guilt.  And I think, as a young mother, I am more prone to it than any other time in my life so far.  And when I get into a guilt funk, I start to sin, bigtime.  I get sullen, resentful, defensive and--get this--lazy.  Enter more guilt, perpetuate problem.  And Satan's dancing around laughing at the fact that, just by presenting me with a few women (who I don't even know!!) who do things differently--or, let's face it, better--than me, he can cause complete and total meltdown in my life.  How infuriating!

I know, just know that there are those of you out there doing just the same thing.  And I know--of course!--that I can and should continue to grow, change and better myself and my life around here.  But what I must not do, if I can help it, is allow myself to live under a constant weight of guilt and self-loathing.  Because that doesn't just get me nowhere, it actually makes me worse!

So...be encouraged!  I am not perfect.  I can see a sinkful of dirty dishes from where I am typing!  And, here's another "secret."  I don't post blogs about the stuff I do wrong very often.  Blogging is a controlled way to look fabulous--even in our guilt!  "Oh, I did such a bad job today, only cleaning the house and washing the dog and mowing the yard and teaching my kid Yiddish.  I mean to paint my toenails, too."  Bleh.

Don't be fooled by other women.  We all have our weaknesses.  Be confident that, with grace, we can change!  Be honest that, without it, no schedule or resolve would ever be even slightly effective!  And, when you feel guilty, like we all do, stop.  Acknowledge it.  Confess it.  Speak Truth to yourself--or get your husband to do it.  They're great at that, I find.  And go on.  Ask for grace and go on!

And, sorry for the dust.

Rubber Ducky Cake

I made this for my nephew, Titus' first birthday!  Isn't it cute?  I had such a fun time making it, and it really wasn't that much work!

I found it on this website:

http://www.bettycrocker.com/videos/specialty-cakes-and-desserts/birthday-cake-videos

I intend to make Caleb the train for his birthday, October 1.  I actually intend to become a cake genius, a la Cake Boss.  (If you have never seen Cake Boss, watch it.  It's available instantly on Netflix!  Just don't blame me when your husband decides he must run to the grocery store and buy a cake from the bakery.  I am not exaggerating here, either.)

Here are a few more angles of Ducky:

And he was very sweetly and happily enjoyed by the birthday boy:

And this was what he ended up looking like:

I think he liked it!

Ulta with a Kiddo

This fall's ' it-color.'  Which will not impress your kid.

Oh man...I did a stupid, stupid thing today!  I went to Ulta with my children.

I know, this was a bad idea.  Kids, especially three-year-olds, do not belong in a huge store, full of expensive, fragile makeup.  Duh.

But I thought, "My kid is a good kid.  I've taught him how to handle himself.  This will take fifteen minutes, tops.  How bad could it be?"  What I did not say to myself that I should have:  "It is already past his afternoon naptime.  He is tired, therefore unlikely to be overly cooperative.  Also, you have another child with you.  You are 50% more encumbered than you used to be."

So, in we went.  All was well, as we grabbed mascara, a pencil sharpener, and the two shades of Essie nail polish I really wanted.  Not so much anymore.  Two nail polishes were so not worth the following.

We got up to the front desk, and Caleb, who was allowed to take one small, yellow tractor into the store with him, starts driving it (with realistic noises, but at a fairly unrealistic noise level) along the big, white checkout counter.  The lady in front of us gives us one of those looks.  You know the kind.  It signals to you that this woman either never was a mother or hated her children until they were adults.  I calmly and sweetly tell Caleb to drive his tractor back towards me, which he does not do.

Pause.  I am, at this moment, carrying Lyla in her carseat.  I also have a huge diaper bag hanging off the other shoulder.  In my hands are mascara, two slippery nail polish bottles and a pencil sharpener that I have already dropped and popped open once.  Unpause.

When Caleb ignores me, the woman in front of us tips her head in a that-was-just-what-I-expected-him-to-do kind of gesture, and inches forward.  I blush, and start forward toward him, repeating myself.  As he pulls away, I realize how almost immobile I am at this point; how powerless I am, since I have Lyla, etc.

The world freezes as I lock eyes with Caleb.  He seems to read my mind.

And he's off.

Like a flash, running and giggling.  Out of sight in two seconds flat.

And what do you do at this point?  Let me say, the temptation to become that screaming mother you've seen in the grocery store line was incredibly strong.  Luckily, as I turned, I caught the gaze of the woman in line behind me, who is pregnant, and gives me a sweet, understanding smile--with no pity in it, bless her!--and I snap into gear.  I handed my products to the salesclerk, and said, "I am so sorry, but I am gonna give you these and have to go grab my kiddo."  I completely ignorned the Horrible Woman as I scooted past her, and luckily, she left the store after that.

Then Caleb and I engaged in the game of standing on either end of the aisles, with him running ahead a few, giggling furiously, then stopping to wait for me to haul myself and Lyla far enough to catch sight of him, say, "Come here, Caleb," and then he screeches and takes off again.  There is never fewer than a good thirty feet between the two of us.

And I am seeing red, red, red by this time, and have become a spectacle to boot.  I am starting to realize that this horrible game is going to go on as long as he wants it to--cause what am I gonna do, put Lyla down in the middle of the store so I can be fast enough to make it down the aisle before he disappears again?  Can't do that.  After maybe 30 seconds, he finally comes down towards me into one of the aisles as I get to it.  There were three girls in this row, of course.  I pulled together every ounce of dignity and command I had left and said, in my firmest, most un-disregardable voice, "Caleb, come here right NOW."  I may have gotten just a tad loud on the last word, but, well, I was doing good not screaming at the top of my very lungs.


Thank goodness for the three (very entertained) girls in that aisle, cause Caleb looked up at them and suddenly became Obedient Caleb, and meekly walked up to me, and put out his hand to mine. We returned to the checkout counter (believe me, it took what little self control I had left to actually go buy the stupid nail polish; never in my life have I wanted to buy something less), and out the door.  


Caleb, of course, has been summarily dealt with by now, and is quite clear on the ins and outs of running away from Mom in stores.  Not that he'll be in another one anytime soon.