Housesitting and My First Legitimate "I Am a Crappy Mother" Moment

Last week, our dear friends Steph and Trey went to Vegas, and they asked us to housesit (house sit?). When they asked, I looked at Steph kind of incredulously, and said, "Are you kidding? 'Would you guys like to spend 5 days and 4 nights in our awesome, clean, quiet house as a single unit family and just CHILL OUT?' UM, YES. Yes, yes, a thousand times yes!"  I think it says a lot about our current state that we were more excited to housesit than we were jealous that we weren't going to Vegas with them.

I have to say, it lived up to our expectations, mostly. Friday night, my husband went to a party (like the party animal that he is), and I stayed home. Why did I stay home, you ask, even though I had a sitter lined up to go to said party with Beau? The party started at 9 PM. I can't roll like that anymore. So. Sophie went to sleep early, and I watched Dark Shadows on Netflix.

We spent the rest of the weekend eating off the cheap groceries I bought Saturday morning and drinking a delightful poor man's sangria recipe and watching Weeds, also on Netflix. My only regret is not taking a bath in their awesome tub. But it needed cleaning, and I could just never muster the strength to do it. All in all, a successful housesitting venture. I need more friends with awesome houses who travel.

Then, there was this morning, and my biggest mommy fail to date.

When I got out of the shower, I heard Sophie in her room, babbling away, so I went in and scooped her up for some quality time before I headed off to work. She rarely wakes up that early, so I wanted to seize the opportunity. I had my clothes already, so I sat her down on the bed to put them on, standing right in front of her so she wouldn't fall. I woke Beau up, so he would have time to wake up fully before I left the house. He got up and started putting clothes on, covering the other side of the bed in case she darted off that way (she's a quick little bugger these days). Then, I dropped  my wedding ring. I was afraid it had fallen in the cats' food bowl, so I bent down to find it quickly before it became kitty breakfast, since Beau was RIGHT THERE, and I was RIGHT THERE. As I was on my hands and knees searching, my poor daughter landed in front of me with a thud. Then, she burst into tears, and so did I.

In the few minutes that ordeal took, I was sure she had a concussion, internal bleeding, that something was certainly broken and that we would need to go to the ER. And even if we didn't I was quitting my job, because I was NEVER LEAVING HER AGAIN. Ever. Beau talked me down, though, and despite my reluctance was shuffled out the front door, in tears. I have only checked on her maybe 10 times today, and have kept myself busy enough not to see what Dr. Google, Harbinger of Doom had to say about it.

They say it happens to everyone at least once. I guess it is so we have the "you were dropped on your head" story to tell when she is older and going batshit crazy about something. I guess I can check that off my list.

I leave you with this. Imagine this face screaming bloody murder at you and tell me you wouldn't have a breakdown.

 

Yeah, that's what I thought.

No Decisions Day

Last weekend, as I was unpacking and cleaning up Sophie's room, I started to feel a longing for a different type of day. Of course I did. No one likes unpacking. Naturally, I went to my go-to perfect day fantasy - a day where I don't have to do anything. I remembered the pre-baby days when I would lay around and do nothing, stay in my PJ's all day, watch girly movies (provided that the husband was not around) or trashy TV, take naps, eat junk food. Surprisingly, this fantasy wasn't doing it for me. There was something more that I am wanting from a fantasy day. I couldn't quite put my finger on it.

I thought about it half the day before I figured out what it is that I REALLY want.

What I really want is a day where I don't have to make a single decision. Not one.

OK, I know I have to make SOME decisions. I will have to decide when to get out of bed, go to the bathroom, stuff like that. But other than that, I want to make 0 decisions. Total. This would require child care, and my husband. He knows me well enough to make all pertinent decisions for the day for me. He can decide what I eat for breakfast, lunch and dinner, along with any snacks. He would also decide what we do that day. If he decides we stay home and watch Weeds all day, that's cool. If he decides that we go to the mall, that's cool, too. Whatever. He would be responsible for planning the whole day. Whether or not he does it at the last minute is not a concern. I just want someone else to decide.

I think that is what it boils down to is that I am sick and tired of making decisions. I think I have had to make so many big decisions lately, that even the small ones are stressing me out. No Decisions Day is probably a lot to ask. No, it definitely is. But it sure would be nice.

Maybe just a no decisions EVENING. Yes. I can ask for that.

A Day in the Life - and - Terrifying TP Teens

I have been kind of MIA. Sorry about that. I have been trying to get back in the groove of blogging, but well, here is my day...

5:30 AM: Alarm goes off. I hit snooze and snuggle Sophie.
5:40 AM: Alarm goes off. I hit snooze again and unsnuggle for 10 more minutes of actual rest (which doesn't usually happen, because I am waiting for...
5:53 AM: Eyes snap open and I grab my phone, suspecting (correctly) that my phone didn't feel like snoozing and just flat didn't go off. Grr. Go get Beau (who is sleeping on the couch, because Sophie's room has caught all the boxes and moving madness and stuff, so it's impossible to get to her crib, thus she is sleeping in our room with me) and tell him to go in the bedroom and get in the bed with the baby so the cats don't wake her up.
5:55 AM - 6:40 AM: Shower and get ready for work, leave.
6:42 AM Begin grueling commute from Ft. Worth to Dallas.
7:25ish: Arrive at the first of several exits I can take to get to work, depending on where I stop for breakfast. Think, "Ooohhh, I may have time to blog this morning!" Drive around looking for various forms of breakfast sandwich.
7:50ish: Arrive at work, remember my previous thought about blogging, and mutter profanity.
8 AM: Start work.
8:01 to 10:59 AM: Hope for it to get super slow so I can blog. Sometimes, I even open up Blogger, just to have the visual reminder.
11 AM: Lunch! As soon as I get back with something and eat, I am going to be a blogging fool!
11:25 AM: Get back with food, dick around online while I eat.
12 PM: Welp. That went fast.
12:01 - 4:30 PM: Hope for it to get super slow so I can blog. Sometimes, it actually does, but I end up dicking around on the internet again and accomplish nothing.
4:35 PM: Hit the road for the looooong commute home.
6 PM: Arrive home. Seriously. It took that long.
6:01 PM: Snuggle Sophie. Watch as she invariably does something AMAZING that she couldn't do yesterday. Die a little inside. Change clothes and settle down to hold her for a bit until she starts squirming and fussing to get back on the floor and play.
6:45ish: Eat dinner.
7: Prime time TV. This will be the death of my blog, I swear to all that is good and holy. On any given night, we watch So You Think You Can Dance or America's Got Talent! or some random movie.
8ish: Time to feed Sophie and get her to bed. That usually takes a bit these days. She fights sleep like a champ.
10 PM: What? How is it 10 o'clock! Maybe I could write a little something before....zzzzzz.

So, there's that. Carving out a moment to update on the state of the TP is challenging, but here's a story about skanky teenage girls and why I am terrified of them!

Last weekend, we took the baby to the pool. When we first got there, we were the only ones there, but after a few minutes, a car pulled up blasting loud music. When I looked over, I saw 5 kids get out. There were 3 teenage girls, and two little kids, who I figured out were the driver's younger brother and sister. One of the little kids got in the baby pool, and one of them played in the shallow end of the big pool. These three teenage girls couldn't be bothered with them. They got in the pool, and just stood in a circle in the middle and talked. As I played with my sweet, innocent baby girl, I overheard these girls talk, in quite colorful language, about all their escapades. The one driving, who was obviously the ringleader, went on and on about all the people she had made out with. She seriously named no less than 15 people. She was very proud of her high number. I took Sophie over to the baby pool when I thought the conversation was taking a sharp turn toward more sexual talk.

Not long after this, they decided to leave and go to the store. The girl who drove the car over gathered her siblings and told them they had to come with her, that they were going to the store. Then, she told them that they "can't tell Mommy." There is no way that girl had her license. If I had to guess (without the car) I would have said she was 14ish. I guess it is possible that she is 15 and has a learner's permit, which would explain why her parents allowed her to drive to the pool, but not to leave the park, but they were young. I assume the store they were going to is Albertson's, which isn't too far down the street. However, the turn out of the TP is a left and there is construction all up and down the road, limiting visibility and causing people to drive like idiots. If I had known where those girls lived, I would have been all up at their front door telling their parents they needed to go hunt them down. But alas.

In my pre-parent life, those girls would have been annoying to me, but they wouldn't flat out scare me. Now, I am terrified of them. I am terrified that Sophie will have friends like them one day, or that (perish the thought) she will be just like them one day. I know there is nothing much I can do about it. All I can do is raise her as best I can, encourage open communication between us, all the while walking the fine line between that and being the BFF parent. And not let her drive a car alone before she has a license. I also know that no matter how good a parent I am, she will be a teenager someday. And she will likely have a hellion stage. And it will be torture.

OK, well, I am going to have to be on my way. I need to start drawing up plans for an elaborate bubble to put my daughter in. Kthxbye.