Pseudo-Momming

Being a mom is hard work, I think.  On Friday night I stayed overnight with the twins.  My biological clock is now on standstill for about 1,000 years.  Just kidding.  But kids around 30 sounds good.

First off I FAILED to grill a turkey burger.  Not sure what happened or why it chose not to cook right, but the meat sort of stuck to the grate and got goopy.  That seemed crazy-salmonella-like, so I left it to harden a bit before scraping it off the grill.  Oops.  I forgot to close the lid, so it attracted about fifteen wasps.  Secret fear:  Getting stung.  My mom's deathly allergic, so I run away or kill bees/wasps/yellow jackets/anything with a stinger in about -5 seconds out of habit.  And in all my outdoor and traveling adventures, I've managed to avoid a sting.  I figure it's not so much about the painful sting but more about the possibility of being allergic and kicking the bucket after getting stung like the kid on My Girl.  Unpleasant.

She's precious.

SO ANYWAY... I attempted to hit chunks of turkey burger off the grill with the scraper.  The wasps followed the chunks/my hand.  I tried to hit said chunks far away from the grill and throw them into a bag.  The wasps followed me.  Finally I closed the grill and ran away like a brave person.  After 15 minutes I opened the grill and encountered mad wasps.  I almost ran away but had a brilliant epiphany to turn on the burner to kill the wasps.  They didn't actually die; they just got pissed, but the smoke made them fly away.  And I remained unstung.

And he's too cute for words, really.

Why didn't I just ignore it?  Because I wanted the babes to play in the yard, so they would sleep nice.  Eventually all the wasps left, but the whole experience just got obnoxious and dramatic.  Gross.  Afterward the night went smoothly, and the twins fell asleep without complication.  Then I collapsed with some wine and episodes of The Office.  I discovered this was my favorite part of pseudo-momming.

Saturday mornings for mothers.

Don't get me wrong; I liked the Saturday morning cuddles as well. What I did not enjoy as much was the 3:35 AM wake-up call.  Cassidy fell back asleep promptly after uttering a blood-curdling scream, but I stayed wide awake, my heart pounding for a good 30 minutes from being awoken mid dream (which was oddly about Florida and a butler...).  Counting sheep didn't work.  Pretending I lived in a fairy-tale land didn't work.  What did work was exhaustion, and I somehow managed to get back to sleep around 5:30 only to be woke at 6:30 by a playful toddler.

By noon on Saturday, I was exhausted.  And looked awful.  My eyes were too tired to wear my contacts.  It was stellar.  Then I went to the Gap and purchased adult clothes for my internship/graduate school education.  Turns out that when you spend a lot of money to learn how to be a licensed professional, sweats and tie-dyes don't cut it.  Such a grown-up day for me.

To sum it up, I gleaned the following from the overnight:
1.  Moms needs to be thanked more frequently.
2.  Moms are probably some of the most creative people on earth.  Creative in multiple senses of the word.
3.  I bet a mom invented the happy hour.
4.  I bet Spicy Basil-and the many take-out options on Broadway-makes a lot of money on Friday nights... because of tired Moms.
5.  I bet a Mom discovered melatonin's sleepiness affects.

:)

While it might be challenging and hard sometimes, I imagine that being a real mom is a privilege as well.  And a gift.  To love someone no matter what and watch a person become.  Someday, someday, but my heart's (or maybe just my sleep cycle's) glad it's not today.

The Stinkbugs

(Oh to be young, untainted, and full of curious wonder!  And entertained easily by the pigeon strolling on the sidewalk.)

Sometimes their cuteness is overwhelmingly vomit-inducing... which is why being a nanny is the best form of birth-control known to humans.  But I adore them for real, and we're working on getting my name down.  And I couldn't be more thankful for a hilarious boss who says great things like, "I don't care what he's packing in his pants, so long as he's good to everyone," "it's back to the bacon this week!" (in reference to the low-carb diet), and my favorite, "In the therapy world, some people are like onions-smelly but manageable-but some are like garlic-once they're cracked, there's no turning back-and those are the ones to watch out for."

These days the good, old nine-to-five isn't that bad.  And I believe this more and more, one of our hardest-but most important-tasks in growing up is to stay young.

And My Uterus Goes On Strike.

Earlier this month I blogged about how thankful I am for my job.  I retract my thankfulness; babies are cute but nasty.  And my uterus is on an official strike; we're shutting down business for years (as if it was ever in business...).  Babies are not popping out of that sucker until my late 20s (at least) or early 30s (most likely) if I have any control over it.  Let's make that an affirmative early 30s.  Currently, I don't have much to worry about in this department, but in case the option rises, I am prepared.

One thing that I need explained is how I lived in dorms for the past four years and got sick, which includes everything from a major cold or flu case to seasonal allergies, less than five times.  I had a few days that I felt worn-down, but these could be attributed to lack of sleep, Starbucks opens, terrible cafeteria food, and reading until 2 AM for my lit classes more than a faulty immune system.  Okay, I work with children-the same two children-for seven months, and I've been sick three times.  THREE TIMES!  This week I've held feverish, snotty, diarrhea-ridden children.  Gross.  Also, Cassidy and I were playing, and she crawled right up to my face and sneezed directly into my contact.  That can't be good for the immunity.  And I refuse to get a flu shot, because, well, I'm just that way.

And the teething!  Can someone please save me?!  I'm caring for two, teething infants, and it is a living hell.  The incessant wining and crying.  I know they can't help it, and the poor things are in pain, but 10 hours of straight crying.  And now Finn's trying to bite me to get relief.  Hello, nanny Ash is not an ice-pop.  Beyond the teething the twins are in a jealousy stage and don't like to share me.  This is problematic considering there are always two twins and one Ash.  And then my laptop was pulled off the table by curious fingers after my mug of pomegranate tea.  All things considered, a day with the twins is enough to send me home to my bottle of red.

Men of the world, you'd better head toward another woman if you want to be a dad soon or see that "perpetual glow" on your woman.  I'm not ready for that kind of commitment.  Oh... and I like to have crust-free hair, thanks.

Sincerely,
Ash

P.S. - As a contradictory caveat, I should add that I am thankful for the nap hours, when I get to read, crochet, and stream TV episodes on the clock.  And for the free food.  And that I can go to work in my ratty jeans and a flannel or sweats.  Those things are positives.  But still... I'm not ready.

Firsts

Finn and Cassidy have popped up in several past posts.  In case I've never clarified, I'm a nanny for these two twins.  We spend our weekdays together, and since they recently turned one right before Christmas, I've witnessed many of their first experiences.  Such as:

• Playing in the snow!  You'd think little babies would find this exhilerating, but it was somewhat overwhelming and... cold.
• Eating Boogers!  Yep, today Finn chose a booger as his side with the veggie burger.  Oh, that was the first veggie burger as well.
• Fevers!  Flu!  Diarrhea!  (which we refer to as the "rhea" and requires no further explanation of the firsts...)
• Crawling, Walking, and Words!
• Holding Down Babies During Immunizations!  - never, ever again will I do this if/until I have children of my own.  Terrible.  Traumatic.  Awful.  I felt like an executioner.

... and an infinite amount of other cute things.  After all this witnessing, I conclude that some of the most precious things in this life are also standard.  Maybe it's not the act in and of itself but the simple notion that we can do it.  And this is what makes life meaningful.

All these firsts.
All these tantrums.
All these giggles.
All these cuddling sessions.
All these  monotonous days.
They help me understand grace.

I don't get paid a lot of money.  Every night I come home with crusty jeans and a backache.  The weeks are long.  When I have to disclose "occupation," my lip curls out and my eyebrows raise.  In July I'll be glad for a change.  But because of this new understanding of grace, I am fortunate.  And for the first time since summer, I'm genuinely thankful for my job.