The One Where Mommy Messes Up

My good friend Carol is always blogging about the Bad Parenting Chronicles.

And I usually laugh, because she's one of the best moms mums I know, and her bad parenting is hardly such.

I'd have to say I had my moment in the sun pouring rain this afternoon.

MH and I went to a lovely Gymboree birthday party.

By far, I think the 3rd birthday is the best - the kids get that it's all about them, they all follow directions, and you can see how much fun they have playing together. It's fabulous.

And then, of course, comes the party favor bag.

MH has been known to go to a non-birthday party and ask one of us where her party bag is.

She's been known to carry around an empty favor bag just because she loves it that much.

This party bag was a lovely pink, had a balloon attached to it, and her name written on it.

After the party, we helped our hosts bring their gifts to the car (in the POURING rain), and then headed to our own car.

MH could not wait to open her special bag and inspect its contents.

I must admit, the party loot was fantastic! We oohed and ahhed over the candy, Hello Kitty magnetic picture frame we could put on our fridge, the Super Star stamp, and by far the most exciting of all - the Tinkerbell socks.

What thought my friend put into making MH's favor bag so special. And clearly, she loves Target as much as I do!

MH was very into her gifts, and at the same time trying to find a way to ensure that her balloon wouldn't pop on the way home.

After all the excitement and chatter about how she couldn't wait to put on her socks at home and use her new stamp, I got in the car and put it in drive.

Not two seconds into the ride, I heard what might possibly be the most hysterical wailing I've ever heard in my life.

Not the I'm hurt really badly wail.

Not the Mommy, please don't leave me at school wail (who am I kidding, this NEVER happens!).

This was not a cry I've heard often from the Mad Hatter.

I instantly slammed on the brakes as MH got herself together enough to manage "You forgot to strap me in!!!".

Ummm, could I be a worse mom?

Seriously, could I?

I have never done this in my life. Three and a half years of having a child, and I've never been so irresponsible.

I think I was so caught up in her excitement of the goodies, trying to get her settled in with all of her raingear on, and getting myself in the car before I was completely soaked.

It took me what seemed like forever to calm her down.

I pleaded with her to stop crying.

I begged.

I apologized for making such a horrible mistake.

I praised her for being such a big girl and knowing how important it is to be strapped in.

I thanked her for being such a good girl and letting mommy know that she had messed up big time.

No matter what I said, those tears kept coming fast and furious.

I felt like a total failure as a mom.

Seriously, how could I have driven off, forgetting to have strapped her into her carseat?

And the way she was carrying on, you would have thought she had been seriously hurt.

She told me her tears were going to keep coming and coming over and over again.

I felt my heart break in two.

Finally, I told her again how sorry I was and asked her what I could do to make her better.

Her answer?

I'm going to keep on crying but if I can eat some candy I'll feel better.

Seriously, that easy?

Done!

Smarties to the rescue.

That and my trusty Ahh-Pod (read: iPod).

When I asked MH what she wanted to listen to on the way home, her immediate reply was David Cook (she also knows he's the best American Idol ever).

I happily obliged, and after that we listened to her ultimate fave by Dee-Onis Yewis (read: Leona Lewis). My girl can belt Bleeding Love like nothing you've ever heard (unless, of course, you heard said wailing above). We finished off with the Bah-Dee-Ahh Song (better known to us grown-ups as September), and all was well and good in her world by the time we arrived home.

I, however, am sure my world won't ever be quite the same.

I couldn't have been prouder of her for being so concerned about her safety, and so knowledgeable about something being so wrong, but I can't shake that bad mommy feeling.

I let her down, and she let me know about it. In spades.

And sadly, I know that as a mom, this is just the beginning of many times I will let her down, without in any way meaning to.

It's a pretty scary feeling knowing that as a mom, you hold that kind of fate in your hands.

I think I can say with complete confidence today's mistake will never be repeated.

But that feeling in my heart? Not so sure.

Maybe for now I just need a little more candy, Tinkerbell socks, and good music.

You know it's just gonna be one of those days

When the Mad Hatter is already in time out before 8AM.

When the Mommy did not fall asleep until after 4AM (with the help of a sleeping pill) and woke up before 8AM.

When the Mommy cannot drink coffee because everything is giving her tummy severe pains and she is petrified to drink coffee before going to massage torture therapy.

When the Mommy has a big case of PMS and her back is hurting more than usual.

When Mommy and Daddy have to watch a Cutco Knife presentation to help out a "friend of a friend" tonight.

And Mommy has no desire or need to buy knives, but felt guilty saying no to the poor 17 year old working so hard at his summer job.

And finally tried to fit him in at a time that the Mad Hatter would be asleep so she wouldn't keep interrupting us.

So we could get it over quickly.

At 8:30 tonight.

Yep, it's just gonna be one of those days.

Edited to add: about 2 minutes after hitting publish, I told the MH she could come out of her time out. She walked into my room and in the sweetest voice said "Mom? Thanks for reminding me not to take this off the bed. I'm very sorry." COMPLETELY on her own. She had pulled our king size comforter off the bed, had it spread on the floor, and DH had put her in time out because she was acting out of control and refused to help him put it back on the bed. She cried like crazy, but this is one of those moments seconds where I feel like maybe we might be doing something a little bit right. Maybe today won't be so bad after all.

Panda-moan-ium

I've been having a rough few days, and haven't been getting great sleep, so DH was a dear today and took the Mad Hatter on some errands so I could get some much needed rest.

Around 3:40 this afternoon, I decided that I needed to snap out of my funk and we were going to have some family fun. I quickly hopped on line to check the movie schedule, and declared that we were going to see the 4:35 showing of Kung-Fu Panda. I then managed to get myself showered, dressed, blown dry, and made-up in record time, and off we went.

Let me start off by saying that the Mad Hatter has trouble staying still. I'd like to blame it on the fact that she's 3, but the girl is in Constant. Motion. And has been since she was a baby. However, we've been to a few movies now, and she seemed to be getting better. She loves Panda Bears, has Kung-Fu Panda Eggo waffles, and I figured she'd be pretty engaged by the story. Last time we went to the movies she was quite excited by the great. big. television in front of us.

We bought our tickets, armed ourselves with a ginormous bucket of popcorn (which the MH held and hoovered most of all by herself), big soda, and lots of napkins. We entered the theater as the previews were starting, and found ourselves perfect seats on an aisle. Right behind the Perfects.

The Perfects?

Yes, we all know them. You know, the family you take a look at and instantly feel taken down about 100 notches. Mom was gorgeous. Tall, thin, tan - looked like Catherine Zeta-Jones in a white tube top and mini-skirt. Her legs looked like they went on for miles. There's no way SHE ever got pregnant, got stretch marks, or delivered two children. Dad was a mix of handsome and sexy. Curls peeking out from under his baseball cap. White teeth that glinted in the dim theater. And the kids - 2 gorgeous little boys, I'd guess ages 2 and a half and 4-ish. Dressed alike. One was Perfect Mommy's mini-me and one was Perfect Daddy's. They were all perfectly quiet and perfectly well behaved. Perfect Mommy could of course wear the tube top because her perfect kids would never tug on her shirt and expose her to the world. Yeah, that and the fact that she probably weighed about 100 lbs. Soaking. Wet.

Shortly after the movie started, the youngest of the Perfects curled up in Mommy's lap. The one time they got up (assumingly to go potty), they did so without any noise whatsoever and were back in a flash. They all ate their snacks and drank their drinks quietly and Perfectly.

Then there were the three of us.

MH was good for the first few minutes, while she stuffed her face with popcorn. Her mouthfuls were punctuated with the occasional loud comment about something exciting to her "Look Mommy! It's a turtle!". "Look at the magical stars Daddy! They're MAGICAL!". We were in a full theater, and with every proclamation, I was painfully aware of how loud her voice sounded.

I was also painfully aware of the Perfects sitting right in front of us.

And all the other kids who have clearly been going to movies since the day they were born.

First it was Daddy's turn to take MH to the potty. I'm pretty sure the rows in front of and behind us knew exactly where she was going - she was sure to loudly announce that she had to go. Then it was my turn. Only, for me, she didn't go - but managed, of course, to touch everything I begged her not to touch and get me freaked out because I am sooooo not a fan of public restrooms. Then it was Daddy's turn again. At least she did go for him.

In between trips, we kept reminding her to sit in her chair. We asked her if she wanted to leave (NO!) We told her if she couldn't sit still and enjoy the movie, we would have to leave (NO!). We told her to look at all of the other people sitting and watching the movie. We threatened time out.

She was unfazed.

She played in her seat, climbing on and off. She turned around to look at the projector, exclaiming "Look at THAT Mommy!". She climbed into and out of my lap and into and out of Hubby's.

Finally, we told her that if we had to tell her one more time to sit still, we were going to leave. And we try really hard to never make a threat we're not willing to follow through on.

I was intently watching Jade fight off the evil leopard (I missed his name because I was too busy worrying about MH and her antics) when DH said "That's it, time to go."

So we gathered our stuff, and out we went. I imagined the Perfects and the people behind us cheering.

And you know what? I was annoyed at my child! Annoyed that we spent $40 on tickets and snacks. Annoyed that she has no understanding of the value of a dollar. Annoyed that she just couldn't sit still like all the other normal kids in the theater. Annoyed that she really didn't seem to care that we were leaving. And annoyed that I didn't get to see the ending!

More than anything, I was annoyed that we were not like the Perfects.

It was dinnertime, and we decided to meet my parents for a quick meal at Bertucci's. Of course, as parents and grandparents, they found the situation quite humorous.

But the most humorous of all? The "kids dough" (aka pizza dough) on the table kept the Mad Hatter entertained for the ENTIRE meal. For once, she didn't interrupt us. She didn't raise her voice. She didn't move all over the place. Her creativity was at a peak as she created bracelets, necklaces, and even "Look Sweetheart, I made a matzah ball!" In fact, she had an absolute blast - the dough was far more entertaining to her than any part of being at the movies was.

Had we known that, we would have saved our money and headed straight for dinner!

As parents of a precocious little 3 year old figuring out her place in this world, DH and I are constantly learning that life can be pretty unpredictable, and you need to be willing to roll with the punches and embrace these times because otherwise, we'll go nuts. Not always so easily accomplished, but we try our best.

And although the Perfects of the world really seem to have it together, I'd like to believe they just put on a REALLY. GOOD. SHOW. Or have some deep, dark secrets.

We'd rather live life as one big adventure and resign ourselves to the fact that we're just imPerfect normal.

Normal people who won't be going to the movies for a long time, unless it's date night.

What a week . . .

So we had the traumatic 4 month post-op visit to the neurosurgeon on Monday. I cried. A LOT.

I didn't fall asleep until 3AM Tuesday morning.
Hubby was great enough to bring MH to Sweetheart's house so I could get some sleep.

I couldn't sleep. I called Sweetheart (Mom) and cried some more.

I finally fell asleep but had to get up for my massage therappy appt at PT.

The massage therapist BEAT. ME. UP. (really, I love her, but I bruise easily and I've got a big one on my butt to prove it).

I drove (WOO HOO!) for the third time in 4 months to this appt, then went to pick up MH from Sweetheart and Poppy's house. She kept asking me why I was driving.

While lying in bed with MH reading her some bedtime stories, I coughed and felt some pretty serious pain shoot through my spine.

I got Daddy to handle the snuggle time portion of bedtime routine and got myself into bed with an ice pack.

I even whipped out the TENS unit my brother gave me so I could try to shock my muscles into calming down.

I adamantly refused pain meds since my neurosurgeon made me fear I'll turn into an addict.

Again, I did not sleep. At 3:30 I took a Sonata. I watched the sun come up (through my blinds).

I finished half of Remember Me by Sophie Kinsella. It's hilarious. And fun.

I finally fell asleep. At 5:30AM For 3 hours. Mom woke me because I had PT. I wanted to cancel but decided going into the 98 degree pool and moving around some would be good for me.

I could barely walk out of PT.

The ride home was worse.

I could barely make it up the stairs in my house.

Screw the neuro, it was time for pain meds. I shouldn't have listened to him anyways because we know there are no issues.

The pain feels so bad within minutes that I am bawling.

Mom is scared. I don't cry about pain. Even when it's really bad. She is amazing. She gets me into bed, onto ice, legs propped up, and will not leave my side until those drugs start working.

She even offers to put her hands under my back like they do at PT. Mom, I LOVE YOU.

MH is the cutest little doll ever. She wipes my tears away. She asks me if Sebastian singing Under the Sea (we bought Daddy a musical FD card that has become hers) will make me feel better. Abso-freakin-lutely, angel - go for it.

MH stands by my bedside rubbing at her little eyes. I ask her if she's ok.

She tells me her eyes are sad because her mommy is sad. I cry some more. I make her climb into bed with me so I can snuggle her as close as humanly possible.

I HATE that this is the life she knows. No 3 year old should be so filled with caring and empathy.

Or maybe I should be proud that she has these characteristics - she learned them somewhere.

Finally, drugs start kicking in. Mom and MH leave so I can rest.

I finally dose off, but don't sleep for long. More drugs, more sleep.

Mom is amazing - MH is going for a sleepover at Sweetheart and Poppy's house!

She couldn't be more excited. I couldn't be more thankful for better parents.

I was relegated to not moving around much, icing as much as possible, and taking my pain meds.

Hubby brought home my favorite cake batter ice cream after his meeting.

It was dinner, and it was delicious.

I chatted with DH about his day, then got ready for bed. And took more pain meds.

I slept. ALL NIGHT. Finally.

And woke up at 12:oo PM.

I'm still tired. I just took more meds and I might just sleep some more.

Sweetheart and MH are having a ball. They called from the playground and MH kissed the phone and said "look at me". She thinks everyone can see through the phone. I love that about her.

My back is actually feeling a lot better, but I know it needs some calm down time.

And I think I do too.

I'll be calling Chris (my beloved PA) early next week and I am less emotional so I can get a real perspective on this whole back thing and some better professional feedback.

I know it takes time and there are ups and downs but I am so so ready for an uphill jaunt, however slow it needs to be.

I'm sad I am missing out on Jessica's Real Life party over at Farm Fresh.

When I feel better, I will post my real life right here. Although in the meantime, this is it.

My eyes are getting sleepy.

I just realized I typed this entire post kind of Wendi-style. I love Wendi's posts.

I also realized today is my 4 month anniversary of a lumbar spinal fusion.

And despite today's post, I'm doing okay. I'm taking life in stride. Just hitting some speedbumps.

And now, I bid you all goodnight (afternoon).

Just When I Feel Like I've Been Slackin'

I feel like I haven't done a real blog entry in a few days - it's been a little rough around here.


Last Wednesday, I accidentally (seriously, who would do this on purpose?) tripped over MH's baby-doll stroller and went flying. Trying to stop myself from falling probably wasn't the best idea because it made my already horrifyingly pain-filled back go from about an 8 to a 22 (I know, I know, the scale is 1-10). My physical therapist said I probably pulled something trying to stop myself from falling - WHICH, I'll have you all know I did. Stop myself from falling, that is. Of course, the result was increased difficulty in walking for a few days, increased dependency on Percocet and muscle relaxants (and therefore, sleep) for a couple of days, and some major work on my back by said amazing physical therapist. Not necessarily in that order.

In addition, The Mad Hatter wasn't at her best yesterday. She was defiant, and mouthy, and made it known who was going to be boss around here for the day. And to think, I thought it was Father's Day! I know, I know EVERY day is 3 year old day! I decided she was in dire need of a nap, to which she willingly agreed - at first. Hubby no sooner left the house for a little "Dad" time, when MH managed to show me who was boss. She kept calling me back into her room. And back again. I retorted with threats of consquences. Which apparently, meant nothing. She showed me who was boss. She carried on with her screaming and crying until she threw up. In her bed. Where luckily, I didn't have to worry about having this instinct. It didn't make for the finest hours in this household, although the end of the day did have a lovely (no sarcasm intended at all) ending (more on this later, or more likely - tomorrow).

Moving on to today. I had my 4 month post-surgical visit with my neurosurgeon. It was supposed to be last week, but they rescheduled me. With my neurosurgeon. How dare they? I love Chris, the sweet, sensitive, and caring physician's assistant who has handled all of my post-op care. The one who I've had a great relationship with since my first surgery in October. The one who is so empathetic he gives me hugs. The one who was so mortified at how his office staff talked to me on the phone one day he gave me his cell phone number and told me to use it any time (like I have the nerve). The one who never makes me feel stupid, always tells me I'm completely normal (ok, maybe he is just doing his job), and the one who never looks at his watch when I'm on his clock. The one who has become my own personal McDreamy. Yes, we're both married. Yes, it's his job to be nice to me. Yes, he've even given Hubby a hug too. But he just has a way of making it all better, even when it's really not. I feel a bond with him. Did I mention that he's absolutely A-DORABLE?

But I digress.

Today, Dr. D. came walking in. Don't get me wrong, he's fabulous. He is the Chief of Neurosurgery at the hospital where he performed my surgery. He has cut me open twice, put me back together nicely (actually, my incision scar is pretty much perfect), and I am still alive to blog about it. But he's a surgeon, and surgeons just aren't known for their bedside manner. That aside, he seems to like me. He always knows me by name when I am in the office. He visited me several times during my hospital stay. He's definitely likeable. Hell, he even kissed me hello today - on the cheek of course - which none of my other doctors do (and incidentally, he isn't too shabby looking himself, if you like yourself a married man who is probably about 20 years older than you and has teenage kids). But kiss and amiability (is that even a word?) aside, it wasn't him I wanted - I was looking over his shoulder to make sure Chris was in tow. Not so much.


My visit felt rushed, my list of questions felt silly, and I left the office in tears. TIME, he tells me. Repeatedly. I've heard that one. A LOT. We all heal at different speeds, he tells me. Yep, let's get on with the good stuff. He had nothin'. Try to be patient, let's up your nerve meds. What's that? You're still taking pain meds? It's 4 months post-surgery - we Must.Get.You.Off.Narcotics. I tell him I only take my Percocet in the morning when I get up, to help me get moving because I'm in a lot of pain. This must appease him, because after a brief lecture on how I don't want to be addicted to narcotics (Chris and I have had this convo a zillion times with ME being the concerned one, and we both know that I'm nowhere near being addicted to pain meds. I just have the tolerance of an elephant when it comes to any and all meds and can pretty much take enough to put most people into a coma while I'm still dancing around them in profuse pain) he writes me a new scrip. Does this mean we'll work on getting off the drugs 3 months from now at my next visit?


Anyways, it was just frustrating, and sad because I don't want to hear about how much time it could take. I want to know what I could be doing RIGHT NOW to get better. I want to know what I could be working harder at. I want to know what I should be laying off of (besides the drugs). I'm barely driving because I don't feel safe considering my range of motion leaves something to be desired and he says I should try to work through the pain and "work on that". But lift my little girl? Absolutely NOT, in my condition. I just felt like the whole visit (which lasted 10 minutes, if you include the call he stepped out to take on his cell phone) was one big contradiction. I should clarify that for the most part, Chris would have given me the same kinds of answers to my questions, but somehow I know I would have felt a little better about all of it. I would have had better advice. That's why he's the PA who does patient aftercare and Dr. D. is the brilliant neurosurgeon. He's not a bad guy, in fact he's great. He's just much better with a scalpel than with boosting morale.

The point of all this rambling is, I had a rough few days topped off by a really sad day. I cried a lot and MH kept yelling at me to stop, that my crying was making her sad. (Note to self: stop telling MH that her crying and carrying on during a tantrum makes Mommy sad, apparently 3 year olds have a hard time differentiating between necessary crying and you're going to put Mommy in a rubber room crying). I really just want to feel better already, and I'll do anything to get to even half of the me I was a year and a half ago. And it's frustrating not to see a light at the end of the tunnel, because as good 'ol Dr. D. says, I just need to keep doing what I'm doing. It takes TIME.

And then I click on bloglines. I couldn't resist one last peek before bed. And McMommy had posted this fabulous post (when aren't her posts fabulous). Actually, it wasn't just a post - it was an awards ceremony. With a red carpet and everything. And guess who was the recipient of an award from McMommy?

(drumroll please . . . . . . . .)

ME!

And McMommy seriously made my day. Her posts always do. But today especially. You see, McMommy is the reason I decided to take the plunge and finally start a blog. And thanks to her, people have started visiting my blog. And leaving comments (which you all know makes me do the happy dance). McMommy is way more than a gorgeous mom with a hottie husband and two beautiful little boys. She is hilarious, SO very loved in the blogosphere, and genuinely one of the nicest people I've ever "met". In corresponding with her, I've become quite sure that we would be very good friends in real life. She makes it a point to spread her good cheer and kindness to others on a regular basis (I can't tell you how many blogs she must visit on a daily basis, and yet she almost ALWAYS leaves a comment on mine), and the good she brings to others' lives is evidenced only more by the fact that every award she passed out at her ceremony is one she received from another blogger. I could go on and on, but if you check out her blog you know I don't need to say another word. She just ROCKS.


So, I proudly present my award from McMommy: The Arte y Pico Award




Apparently, this award has some qualifications: (From McMommy's post) Choose 5 blogs that you consider deserving of this award for their creativity, design, interesting material, and also contribute to the blogging community

So McMommy, thanks for thinking so much of me and my little 'ol blog, and for brightening my day - as you always do, but even more-so today. I will be going to sleep with a little smile on my face tonight, and believe me, it's one of the first of the day (although I did see McDreamy in the hall after my appointment, and we hugged, and I told him how sad I was that I didn't get to see him today, and he told me to call him and we'd catch up, he knew the deal - that did make me smile too, but it still falls a close 2nd to my McMommy smile).

I'm going to borrow one of the awards you bestowed upon another well-deserving blogger and send it right back to you:

I promise to do my best at continuing to uphold the standards that brought me the honor of your award! Thanks for choosing me out of your 5. You really are THE BEST!