Burn Out
It was the weekend before Thanksgiving and I was ahead of the game. I had one Christmas tree up and had plans to get out the second tree that weekend. I had visions of a relaxing holiday season, complete with cozy nights curled up by the fire with hot chocolate and gazing at the perfectly decorated Christmas tree.
Then, my Dad had to have surgery and everything got turned upside.
My Christmas decorations remained in their boxes until way after I usually get them out. Our schedule got filled up with school activities and church bake sales, Christmas plays and shows, and Home Owner’s get-togethers. Our tree was attacked by a very little destructor child.
Then Lil C decided she was not going to take naps on a regular basis, which resulted in huge headaches for me (literally), and increased whining from Big I. Lil C awake time = time that Big I and Lil C have to get on each other’s nerves = Mommy gets a major headache.
And the shopping. . . the search for the perfect holiday party dress led us on a three mall crusade that lasted for three entire shopping days. And I can almost guarantee that when I put it on, I’ll wish I had stuck with my original choice. This is what happens when you offer a stay-at-home-mom a night out. Everything has to be "perfect," kind of like my visions of a relaxing holiday season.
It is no secret that I can be incredibly grumpy when things aren’t going my way, and that’s putting it mildly. Mr. BBM has been wondering why I’m in such a bad mood lately and here are just a few of the reasons why. . .
First of all, I get up at 7 am or before to try to get a shower first thing in the morning, but it doesn’t ever work because a certain 14-month old decides that she will also get up to keep me company and did I mention that she would like to be held. I try to pull clothing on with one arm or stick Lil C in an exer-saucer where she complains and loudly while I try to get clothes on and brush my teeth. I then wake up Big I and say at least 20 times, "Hurry up, brush your teeth" and "Hurry up, get dressed," before she finally, s-l-o-w-l-y makes her way down the stairs. Then, no matter what she tells me she’d like for breakfast, she complains that I got her the wrong thing even after she just asked for what I got her. Then I say at least 40 times, "Hurry up and eat. We’re going to be late." At 7:55, this constant prodding turns into hysteria as we all struggle to get shoes and socks, coat, gloves, and hats on and make our way to the freezing cold car. On the way to school, everything is fine. Both munchkins are content. But after we drop Big I off, Lil C spends most of the ride SCREAMING her head off because on the way home, the sun is in her eyes.
Once home, I spend the rest of the morning trying to clean up from the morning "festivities" and trying to figure out when I can get a shower already because I really need and want one. Then, other things happen like:
- I vacuum the living room, only to be followed by Lil C shredding an entire box of wipes and distributing them throughout the room from the safety and comfort of her port-a-crib.
- I spend what feels like hours folding laundry, only to have Lil C, in one disastrous moment, traipse through the waiting-to-be-put-away piles and "fold" all the clothes herself.
- Lil C has a snack and it goes something like this: One cracker for Lil C; one for the floor; one cracker for Lil C; two for the floor, and then I step on one (crackers and puffs are like land mines). . . and I end up having to mop the kitchen floor. . . again.
On a good day, only one of those will happen. On truly bad days, multiply that by ten.
Before lunch time, Lil C and I make our way out to the bus stop, which once again involves putting on coats, gloves, scarves, hats, etc. 1-year olds are not particularly happy little beings when being decked out in winter finery. It’s sort of like trying to dress a Disney Store Polly Pocket doll. Thumbs are in the wrong places and you’re feeling lucky if the clothing even stays on.
At the bus stop, Lil C is thrilled to see her sister, but when she is not allowed to get on the bus, the excitement quickly turns to a threatening tantrum and our walk back home is full of screaming, squirming and other "fun."
And that’s just my morning.
Add to that the busy holiday season and all the pressure and stress that comes along with it, and you’ve got one very disgruntled, burnt out, in need of a spa MONTH mama.
Pass the Advil please.
Overheard at the BBM Household
Mr. BBM: (Going from room to room after getting home from work.) Why are all the lights on in every room? Geez, you even have a radio on down here (family room). . . followed by inaudible ranting. . .
Big I: (from upstairs) Daddy? Because we’re noisy, messy, and we forget about stuff.
I couldn’t have said it better myself.
Taking Out Little Gold Karate Guys
There have been lots of discussions about kobudo (weapons) and their usefulness in today’s world. When, for example, will you actually be carrying around a bo staff (6 ft. long piece of rounded wood for the non-karate folk)? How will knowing how to use a bo actually help you in an attack situation?
Well, I am here to tell you that if any three foot high person, built like a karate tournament trophy decides to attack me and my bo is handy. . . well, let’s just say that there may be a decapitation or more. The bo may seem harmless when going through the motions of a kata, but my bo showed the karate dude on top of my instructors trophy what was up the other night. Not only did my bo knock the karate dude completely off the trophy, it also sent him flying across the dojo. Another reason people, even little gold karate guys, should wear seat belts or something.
My instructors all have a wealth of trophies that they’ve earned throughout the years. One of our instructors has had his trophies on the side of the dojo training floor for a while now. They are lined up three or four trophies deep. I’ve knocked them over before, but I never damaged one quite like that.
So, to make up for hurting the little gold karate guy, I bought some super glue and went to town on the trophy after class last night. It seemed to be working just fine. . . until I walked away and he went tumbling down yet again. I added more glue and tried again. Same thing happened. One of my other instructors then offered to assist with the operation and held the little guy in place while I wrapped medical tape around the joint (I used to be a trainer in high school, you know). It’s now quite a site, and I have little optimism that the wrap job will do the trick.
One thing is for sure. I will be practicing my weapons kata’s from the opposite end of the dojo as long as those trophies remain there. I’d rather take out imaginary people than defenseless little karate guys stuck in a side kick.
Copyright
© Copyright 2006-2019 blackbeltmama dot com ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
Follow Me
Blog Designed By
My Creations
Things You Could Care Less About
