Bye bye baby, for a little while

For those of you who haven't noticed, I haven't written a blog-post in a long time. What can I say. Life has taken over. Being an angry mother of two, battling the flu, trying to survive to the end of the school-year with all the end of season activity-parties and planning the summer vacation, it's been hectic.

I also haven't had any inspiration to write anything vaguely child or family orientated for a while. Life has just been plodding along, and I have simply been trying to keep up.

Therefor, I am closing the blog down for now. Or, rather. I am leaving it as it is, and towards the end of August I will take start it up again. With a new, fresh outlook on things, and tons of fun rants.

Have a great summer, everyone. Look after your little'uns and yourselves. Make sure to get plenty of ME-time. You all deserve it!!

To brand Motherhood

It's hard not to get cynical about Octomom. I have my hardest not to, but I fail.

Playing housewife is a game for life

I have spoken to two different women in the space of a week, both complaining about the lack of support their getting from their husbands whilst trying to get their businesses of the ground.
One of them, a mother of four, have stayed at home for nearly ten years, taking care of children and home, doing play dates and school-runs, meal plans and soccer practice, the other woman is a other of two. Apart from having been a stay at home for "only" 5 years, her routine has been the same.
Both had the opportunity to pursue great business opportunities within areas that they are interested in (children's apparel, and catering), with great prospects and the possibility of combining their interest and added income with still being able to be there for the kids when they need it.
- Sure, the husbands said. This is your time, this is your turn to rock, baby. I'll be there for you, and the family. We'll do the hard work together.

Three months later, turns out their not so keen on playing hands-on daddy and supportive spouse any more. They start whining and whingeing, like babies.
- Come on, honey, isn't it time for you to stop playing around and start taking care of your responsibilities again. You've had your fun, I need to devote my time to work again. I can't sit around and wait for you, when, let's face it, this isn't gonna turn us in to millionaires any time soon, will it?

So this is what happens when you let go. You let go of that independence, thinking that playing housewife for a few years while the kids are small while he's out making career and good money is not so bad, and no one told you that you actually end up back in the 50's, tied to the stove and popping Valium to survive. It can happen to the best of us. Why didn't anyone tell us before we signed the papers?
No, wait a minute - we didn't actually sign anything. We went in to this willingly and obligingly.

Swine-flu scare is making me mad

The enormous proportions of the swine-flu scare is beginning to annoy me so much. It is so frustrating that the media decides to grab on to anything it can find on order to feed any weakness it can spot in even the most grounded of humans. Because that is what media is doing. Instead of clearly providing us with purse facts, it feeds our weakest spots, it taps in to our deepest fears and nightmares by painting a horrible apocalypse of death and gloom that will turn seemingly rational and realistic people in to irrational and highly volatile beings. And although it is clear that there are cases where this flu, as with all flu's, tragically have led to death, the fact of the matter is that the swine-flu, as all flu's, is mostly a nasty, annoying, energy-draining case of....well, the flu. I have never had respect for the type of journalism that will happily exchange facts for stories, and sadly, there seem to be a lot of exchanging done right now.

So, swine-flu. Shall we lock ourselves up, leave the country? It is a good thing I have a ´n earthquake kit in the garage, because, if you believe the news, or rather, people who read the news, it is high time to stock up on the rice-roni and canned spaghetti hoops, that is what one mother in my playgroup is doing this week. Just in case the government will proclaim nation-wide evacuation, or something...
In my playgroup I also heard comments such as:
- My son's friends all have Mexican nannies/I live in a neighborhood with a very high Mexican population. Do we need to move out/get our flu-shots/stop playing in the park/not leave the house?

It's time for a serious reality check.

Magic fairy-request

I never thought that time would become such a commodity, and that I would be so ready and eager to trade it for almost anything else I own.
The thing is, I need time, and lot's of it. How on earth am I supposed to be able to do all the things I need to do before I get so old that my body will refuse my actions (believe me, at nearly 36, it's already happening)? I am probably not the first one to express a wish of cloning, or a desire to cut myself in half. I really do need to be in several places at the same time. We have playgroups, ballet practice, after-school, play-dates, swimming, my studies, his work, the odd dinner-party, the occasional concert, and a house that would benefit from some TLC.

At night, when the kids have gone to bed, I sit down, take a deep breath, and I start counting out loud all the things I have done, all the things I need to do, and all the things I really should do but don't have the energy for. My husband looks at me and tells me to stop being so hard on myself.
- You shouldn't put yourself under so much pressure. He says. You should take it easy. Take things a bit slowly.

I shoot him an evil look.
- Well, if I don't do them they won't get done, and they have to get done.
His mislaid sympathy annoys me. He means well, but I don't need to hear it. I need a magic fairy who will make it all better. How will give me more time and who will take over a substantial amount of the need-to's. A 'how to be a better, more efficient and yet loving towards my children-person' fairy.
Or a magic godmother. Or a house-gnome. Or whatever, I don't care, just, please, someone, let me get it all done before I crumble.

You can't be angry all the time, some things are not so bad

I know why American women look so incredible so shortly after they give birth. Not only do the keep very healthy during the pregnancy, they also recover very quickly after the birth. And the reason for this?
Daycare facilities at the gym!
The facility at my local gym allow babies as young as 6 weeks old. It is very easy to bring your child to the playroom and go to your yoga class or spin class for an hour. The facilities are great, the staff is lovely. And I get a work out. And a break.
I love the daycare idea.

Exhausted

Sometimes I really feel like packing a suitcase, getting in the car and drive as far away from my family as possible, no looking back, no return. Wow, little people has a knack for sucking the energy out of you.
Leopold, my youngest, is in the prime of his terrible two's, all ripe and fresh. Went from being a very affectionate lovely boy, full of cuddles and sweetness and turned in to a growling monster, angry, frustrated, constantly screaming and throwing tantrums to the point where I refuse to leave the house and be in public with him.
What happened to my sweet boy? Where did he go?

And more importantly, how do I approach it without risking my sanity and his health?

He's forgotten the few words he's picked up in his short life and these days everything is "uhu - uhu - uhu- uhu", in a very repetitive, demanding, sharp pitch.
Everything has turned against him. His monkey, his books, his car, his sister and his parents. We are all evil and out to get him. A friendly kiss on the cheek, a smile, a tickle, it's all designed to hinder him and make him angry. He's walking around in circles, constantly feeling frustrated, never being able to relax long enough to let a good mood catch up with him.

I know that what every I will do, whether it's out of love, giving him a sandwich, reading him a book, taking him to the playground, or out of necessity, telling him not to touch the stove or leave the flower-pots alone, he will eventually combust. This makes our days together very miserable, trust me. We're exhausted and in a bad mood.

I wish I could just pack my bag and leave and never come back. Or maybe come back when it's all over. In five years or so.