motherhood

Melancholy

In spite of everything I believe in, I have had to come to terms with the notion that I am pensively displaced. It’s not really pensively depressed or sad so it’s not exactly melancholy. But I like to say melancholy, except I say it like Megamind, pronounced Mi-lon-kah-lee. (Side note: I should do a post called my life as a cartoon character, since most of my references are from cartoons.) A few weeks ago I decided that I was going to get my hair cut short. This was to force me into having to do my hair, because years of being pregnant, nursing and changing diapers, etc. had turned me into the kind of mother who constantly threw my hair back into this pony tail turned half bun thing. I didn’t want to be this person any more. I wanted to represent myself as someone who could handle it all. A mom who also took the time to pull herself together. Clearly it doesn’t come naturally for me, I’d rather wear yoga pants around the clock and never have to put on a stitch of make-up. Which brings me to my next issue. My face. Oh my goodness, when did all of these age spots show up? Grrr. I always thought I was the kind of person that would “grow old gracefully.” And then you see yourself (or I saw myself) in some impromptu family shots and your like (I’m like) is that what I look like? For goodness sake! The next thing I know I’m headed to the Clinique counter to get that age spot remover- the one where they show that spotted egg that turns into the flawless egg. And I’m talking to the lady at the counter who is explaining to me that I have to use this forever or they will come back. To which I’m thinking forever? Using some product (that she assured me is not bleach) to change my face (or rather bring back my face thank you) goes against everything I believe in already! But apparently I’m vain, so I bought it. (However, I am happy to report that has been returned unopened, not that I would judge anyone who has done otherwise, I get it.)
In other inconsistent news I have colored my gray. I had randomly gotten some in the past without so much alarm, but after my fourth child molting (you know that thing that moms go through a few months after delivery where the body goes through crazy fluxes and has a huge loss of hair?), my new growth started coming in solid gray. It was a little ridiculous. I was getting a complete new growth of baby bangs in solid gray. It was undeniable, and for a second I considered just letting it happen. I thought if I go solid gray now, then I’ll be like Steve Martin or Cooper Anderson and never appear to age. Then my younger sister lovingly explained to me that it’s not the same and I had to agree that I wasn’t ready for that yet. So off I went to the salon, and it did make me feel better. Which brings me full circle to my point. 

By the way my hair is currently in a shorter pony tail.

i want

i want a calgon take me away bath moment. except I don’t want artificial bubbles. and i want it in a porcelain tub with iron clawed feet. i’d like it to be on a carrera marble floor bathroom, the kind i pinterest. i want freshly cut hydrangeas of purple pink and blue around the room and a large picture window overlooking a sand and grass landscape that fades into the ocean. i want to live the instagram life of @helloemilie for a day, maybe three, because it looks like the best beach version of an anthropology catalog. i want david chang to make me noodles for dinner. and then i want a chocolat chaud from le notre in paris. when i come home i want my freshly bathed kids to give me a hug and a kiss before they go to bed on a night that they sleep through ’til morning. when i wake up i want a leprechaun sized barista living in my kitchen cupboard. thank you

Reality

It has been brought to my attention that there may not be enough drama on my blog. Somehow this has equated to being not relate-able. You want a little more reality? Here it is…
My throat hurts, bad; like on fire! I’m pretty sure I was running a fever last night, I know I had the chills. If I had a job that required attendance by employer, I would call in sick. But I’m a mom. I don’t have that option. My arm feels like it’s going to fall off. My infant has a crazy skin rash condition. It makes him want to scratch his face off and remove both of his ears. He has to be under constant surveillance, usually held in restraint. I should have biceps like Angela Bassett.

My two year old is never full. He is constantly asking for snacks. He’s hungry after he eats breakfast. (And I mean a breakfast that would fill you). I make him wait an hour, full of begging mind you, until I let him have a yogurt. And then he’ll ask for a snack. I’m not kidding this is my day. He also poops as much as he eats, which means I ask my four year old daughter to watch the baby (to keep him from removing his cheeks) while I change at least 4-5 poopy diapers, on a child who by most standards should be potty trained. (This doesn’t include his wet ones or any of his brother’s.)

My infant who is now 7 months old, still doesn’t sleep through the night, so neither do I. I’m exhausted! And every time we take him out people stare at him like he’s a freak. Honestly, you should have seen him two months ago! We have taken him to over a dozen doctors, including the University of Michigan, Motts and Children’s Hospital in Detroit. I’ve had my fill of suggestions and unsolicited advice. (Actually if you had a good idea, I’d consider it. Don’t mind me right now.) I’m tired of explaining the situation at the grocery store. And because I’m a mom, I still have guilt, so I rationalize with things like “at least they see the other kids look ok, so I hope they don’t think we are totally neglectful.” He’s drinking goat’s milk now, so I get to carry another bag around to keep it chilled. Awesome.

My third grader learned more about anatomy and life from friends this year than I think I knew in high school. Thank you parents for being so open with your kids! Could you ask them not to share until the other kids parents are ready to talk to their own children? My kids don’t believe in Santa, I’ve asked them not to tell your kids. (I believe I do owe an apology to one family member that comes to mind, very sorry.)

Talking about food on a blog makes me think about food more. I also want to try more food when I’m out for inspiration on new recipes. I can see this wreaking havoc on the waistline. I’m certain that’s why I read so much about fennel greens topped with lemon juice and fitbits. I get it, but I’m not there, yet. That’s not how my family eats. Am I frustrated that my pants are tight? Absolutely. And I’d like to have a doughnut, please.

I don’t like the #hashtag #game. I’d rather #read an #article than all of your score signs. But I suppose that’s how to #getahead in the #blog world? Hey #mommybloggers #nominate @sadiesnest for #keepingitreal

My husband is great in the supporting department. He’s a great dad. Just know while he’s making ‘dude perfect’ videos, I’m making dinner or cleaning it up, or catching up on dishes and laundry, it’s a vicious cycle. But that’s okay, because they come with my husband and kids… and I love my family!

Well I hope you enjoyed my venting session, free of charge. Is this relate-able? The truth is I love my happy blog. I take every picture, write every story and make every recipe (unless credited otherwise), so it’s very real to me… Except it’s a wonderful distraction from my reality.