Where the hell is Ching in all this? We, actually I, need a change.

Recently, there have been many mornings when I am really perplexed.  There are snack dishes in the sink and (separately) there are kids calling for me to help them with additional breakfast, hair brushing, finding socks, etc.  Where the hell is Ching in all this?  We, actually I, need a change.

With the dishes--it's simple, just bend over, open the dishwasher and put them inside.  Is it really that bad?  Secretly, is he afraid  that there is a little boogieman in there?  

With the morning routine--and this one is more important than the first issue--it needs to change.  In the past, while I made lunches and got stuff together, Ching would get the girls dressed, eating breakfast and settled while I finished getting ready and then he could get ready.  Now, Laurel gets dressed in her room, for privacy, and Rachel screams that "she can do it herself" in regards to dressing and the potty.  Since I put out the outfits and breakfast, Ching just gets up with them, puts Peppa Pig on the TV and then goes to get ready.  By no means are they settled in front of Peppa.  As Ching is leisurely getting just the right knot in his tie, the downstairs is a freakin' circus.

There needs to be a shift and I thought about another way to address this.  Rather than be a bull rounding the corner in that china shop, I asked Ching if there was anything that I could do to help him.  I was trying to be the bigger person here.  I thought this would open some dialogue about sharing responsibility.  I know there are things that I could do a little bit better.  (Nothing is really coming to mind)  But I also know that there may have been things that I didn't want to hear.  I was willing to take that chance.

So I ask the question fully knowing that immediately, Ching was either going to mention having another kid or the activity that would lead to having another kid.  But he doesn't...he looks confused like I am playing a joke on him.  But I let him know that I am being sincere but he walks away, constantly looking behind him for that figurative knife to come crashing down.  But no knife...but now he is confused.

Jesus Christ, first dishwasher confusion and now this.  I guess I need to be the bull in the china shop.

The sane assumption is that you wait...

There is a new morning sport in my suburb that separates the women from the girls.  It takes place on the side streets around 7:30 am. No joke..It's the game of chicken..and the players are serious.

I live in Newton, MA.  There are parts that are very affluent (not my part).  Frequently you will see construction trucks parked on the side of the road.  The construction trucks are there to do a renovation on an 8000 ft home, building a new monstrosity or perhaps installing a moat.  Since the street is narrow, the parked truck is partially in the road so you have to go around it, into the opposite lane.  The sane assumption is that you wait (behind the parked truck) and let the opposite traffic go through first and then you go around the truck and swerve into the the oncoming lane hopefully free of traffic.  Basic principle-- waiting for your turn.

Holy crap, that is not happening!  White knuckled moms, gripping the steering wheel of their fat 2012 Suburbans, are barreling through, narrowly side swiping my cool 2003 Corolla.  Call me a chicken but I got the hell out of their way.  I doubt where they are going is so important that they can't wait but I just got my kids out the door on time. I am already ahead for the day. I am not messing with some crazy who is probably rushing to Starbucks to get her half caff, no whip, sassafrass latte.  I have mentioned before that I get a little agitated during my morning commute.  This puts it to another level and I have the girls in the car so I can't even use my choice non-Mom words.  I mean, I just took a shower..these women are making me pit down to my socks!

I take risks; I'm tough. (I had Rachel sans epidural.) But this is insane..I am not going grill to grill..I will remain a girl on this one.  You'll see my car waiting patiently behind the truck.

Are my pants on?

The thought of childbirth didn't scare me as much as the thought of this task.  While I was pregnant with my Laurel and then Rachel, I had no idea how I was going to do it.   How the hell was I going to get ready for work while getting a child ready for their day at daycare and leave ON TIME?  The anticipation of this task scared the bejesus out of me so much that we hired a nanny during Laurel's first year to avoid the "getting her ready part."  (Oh the nanny issues..that is a juicy subject for later.)

Over time, we acclimated but still, as soon as the alarm goes off, my reaction is "oh shit."  My reaction is not about getting up but rather what I may face during the next two hours.  Currently my timeline, which starts at 5:30,  is pee, shower, (maybe wash my hair) brush teeth, do hair, make up, dress, fly downstairs to make lunches and get everyone's stuff together.  All of this must get done by 6:40--while 70 minutes is a long time, it does take some time to look as good as I do.  At 6:40, the girls get up, Ching dresses Rachel.  (After this task, he disappears and gets himself ready.  The morning is really my gig.)  I get Laurel up and prompt her to pee, get dressed, breakfast, hair, teeth, sneakers, jacket, out the door.  I also try to coax Rachel to eat something..quickly wash her face, sneakers, jacket, out the door. Sounds simple but when I have to start using phrases like "let's hustle", "chop chop" or just a simple "Come on!", it's not good.

There are the unexpected obstacles that pop up:  Laurel is cranky; Rachel is cranky; Laurel doesn't want to get dressed; Rachel doesn't want to let go of Ching; Laurel is having a bad hair day (really? At 5 years old? Girl, you don't even know yet); Rachel needs to be changed for a second time and while changing her, her ass explodes all over my suit (true story);  Laurel is rummaging in her room for a headband; Rachel is trying to go up the stairs by herself; Laurel doesn't want to go to school;  Rachel doesn't want to get in her car seat and Laurel is
hungry again.  (In almost six years since having Laurel, there has only been one morning, when I said, "the hell with it" and stayed home.)

But 95% of the time, we get out of the house on time.  Granted there are several mornings when I have to tell myself to look down and actually check to see if I have remembered my own pants.  (I am definitely staying home if I ever forget.)

I wasn't naughty but not exactly nice...

Dear Santa,
I haven't been naughty this year but perhaps there were instances of not being that nice.  But I'm still hoping that you could help me out with few Christmas wishes:
1.  Laurel's palette needs to expand.  I don't know if I can take another year of rotating angel hair pasta, macaroni and cheese, chicken nuggets and the occasional grilled cheese at dinnertime.
2.  Serenity during my morning drive/commute would be nice.  I need to stop gauging my day by how many times I use my horn in the morning (less horn, better day) and letting people know they are #1.
3.  Could Rachel stop looking at me with such disgust?  I expected this look at 16, not 16 months.  I swear when her verbal skills advance she is going to refer to me as her ol' lady instead of mommy.
4.  Laurel needs to start sleeping later on the weekends.  Really, 6:30?
5.  Rachel needs some hair.  If one more idiot refers to her as little fella (while she is dressed in pink), I will call them a dumbass and the eyeroll will be blatent.  (Not my normal style of behind their back).

(PS--I would suggest updating your look.  The red is nice but the beard?  You sure about that? When I was a kid, beards scared the shit out of me. Perhaps that is why some many kids cry in your lap?  Anyway, just a
thought.)

Happy Holidays!

Ma'am, your seat is in the back...

I have become a second class citizen in my own home.  When the hell
did that happen?  On any given workday, I get up first to make the
girls' lunches, shower, then dress in the dark so no one is disturbed.
(Actually, most days I wear trouser socks and I am glad no one can see
me socks, sans pants.  Trouser socks have got to be one of the most
unsexy items of clothing.  They would make a runway model look like a
hag..anyway..)  I,then, skulk around the house like a God damned burgler 
trying to be as quiet as possible until the rest of the family is up. 
Once Laurel and Rachel are up, I do the majority of getting them ready.

In the evening, I eat last regardless if the meal is takeout that Ching
has picked up, or a meal that I have prepared.  This happens because
Rachel who is 16 months tends to get fussy at dinnertime.  One
of us will take her and the other will eat.  After Ching has eaten, I
will eat.  While my diatribe sounds like I am becoming a martyr, it
was never my intention.  It just happened.

Growing up I would watch my mother eat last, take the chipped plate or
give up the last "anything" because we were one short and that is what
she did.  She will still take this role when there is a large family dinner.
The phrase "my fork is in" is commonly used.  In my family, you wait
until your hostess is seated with their fork in their meal prior to
starting your own meal.  (After 12 years, Ching still needs to be
reminded of this...)  But my mom says "my fork is in"
just to get people started regardless is she is actually seated
(never) or grabbing something out of the kitchen (always).

Visions of Alice from the Brady Bunch come to mind.  Those road trip 
episodes when the whole gang was in the station wagon and poor Alice
was stuck in the back..well, at least I can say I am not sitting in the back...
I absolutely draw the line at that..