The Sassy Uterus

Colic Remedies, Kids Chores and Excuses

First off the remedies:  I have to share that I have the sounds of angels singing in my head because I have found, through trial and error, this website The Colic Shop.  Now, I do not know, for certain, that my babychild has colic.  What I do know is that he is very sensitive and that he certainly acts like he has colic with the leg crunches and the scrunchy "I've got an ow-y" face.  And I also know that a certain few of these colic relievers work, some of the time.  For instance, white noise has been known to work with him but the odds are 50-50.  He seems to (groan...) like classic rock.  Not so big on more modern music.  Holding him facing forward with your arm wrapped around his belly works.  Being swaddled is a big favorite. 

When I viewed the homepage of the site mentioned above, it was like having a life recall of the past three months.  These products have become my life, and there are others there that I haven't tried yet but look like winners to me. 

Now, regarding the chores I mentioned in the topic of this post.  My children didn't really do any chores which was a fact that bothered me.  What bothered me worse?  That I was constantly plagued by a CNN-style broadcast running meter of all chores that somehow, someway, because my children hadn't done them, were suddenly wholly and completely my responsibility.  It doesn't matter that others could help, because in my mind, seeing a messy bathroom instantly equated to my responsibility.  Bad mommy,  there's piss on the toilet.  Bad mommy, there's dirty clothes in the hallway.  You get the picture.

And the thing that really, really got to me is that I knew they had it in them.  I knew they had the attention to detail required to, say, pick up after themselves.  I didn't buy the whiny cry of, "But mooommmyyyy I need someone to help me!"   These cries come from the same children who can pluck a bag of Lucky Charms entirely clean of marshmallows in a half-hour period.  That, my friends, is the ultimate attention to detail.  Every.single.marshmallow.

And from my boys, I also didn't buy the "I-missed-the-toilet-because-I'm-just-a-little-boy-and-I-can't-aim-well" excuse.  Mostly because this was uttered by the same boys who can hit a baseball clear across the street and down the length of three houses when pitched to them.  And they can't get their piss in the freaking toilet that is 1 foot from them?  What-freaking-ever.

So when I read about assigning zones of your house to specific members of your family I thought I'd give it a try.  I was enthusiastic but realistic.  And yet, it has worked.  I am so not shitting any of you.  It really, really worked.

I got them on board Friday night by saying, "Alright boys and daughter, you will have your own zones of this house.  You will be in charge of taking care of your zone."  This appealed to their territorial obsessions. 

Then, I went on to say we would have check lists and they would earn an allowance.  B2 jumped all over this because he is the doer in this group.  The achiever.  The planner.  The planning-doing-achiever.  And he had damn near all of his Saturday chores crossed off by bedtime on Friday. 

For the other family members, the money factor appealed most and is probably the driving force behind the success of this method.

As of right now, all kids have bathed and brushed their teeth today.  All rooms are clean except the daughter's because she needs my help and I've been a wee-bit busy.  And she actually does need my help with the catastrophy that is her room. 

The hallway is clear and the bathroom is decent.  The yards are mowed and the flower beds weeded.  And hubby (whose zones are the kitchen, dining room and garage) has cleaned so well that he'd make Martha proud.  I certainly am.

And I'm far less stressed as well.  Now, I just need to make hubby his requested checklist.

Thank God for tiny daily miracles.

Put me on top of the fridge

Lately I've been organizing when I can, what I can.  And I find little treasures and I think to myself, "Where can I put this so it can remain safe?"   That is, out of my childrens' destructive paws. And the answer to that question is always, "On top of the fridge." 

It seems sort of a crazy response when the subject of the question is a laptop, or a picture, or say, art supplies.  In fact, it might make some sense.  However, we already have the obligatory family medicines and parent alcohol up there.  Not to be combined, of course, unless it has been a really stressful day for Mommy. 

But these objects take up much space, everything from Children's Benadryl to my sister's Wild Turkey Whiskey she left here over the holidays.  Thanks for that, by the way. I was only on mandatory sober duty being pregnant and all.  Merry Christmas...yeah, sure.  Christmas I got, Merry....not-so-much.

So you get the picture...there isn't room enough on top the fridge for everything I'd like to keep safe from the little maniacal people I'm raising.  And there aren't nearly enough high shelves in our furniture arrangements being that Phil and I are pretty short ourselves and would like to be able to reach things without calling in back-up. 

This goes back to my ADD-tendency that if it is out of sight, it's out of mind.  I could store precious objects in a chest or filing cabinet that locks, but I'll lose the key, or a kid will eat it, and I will never open it again.  Or I'll simply forget to open it.  Thus, effectively keeping said "treasured" objects safe from myself.

But then I got to thinking....what, if anything, should I really put on top of that fridge, to keep out of the reach of kids?  Well...duh, that's a no-brainer. 

Forget the expensive electronics or even the adored photos.  Find another place for sentimental notes and family heirlooms.  I'm placing my ownself up on that fridge. 

Finally...my very own space in this house and I have to say, the neighbors up here are quite nice. 

To sum up, let me end with a quote that tickled me to no end when I first read it a year or so ago:

"ADVICE FOR THE DAY: If you have a headache, do what is says on the bottle: Take two and KEEP OUT OF REACH OF CHILDREN."

Crazy Busy...solace

I am currently reading Crazy Busy-Overstretched, Overbooked, and About to Snap-Strategies for Handling Your Fast-Paced Life by Edward Hallowell, M.D. and it is pretty soothing.  It's nice to know that it's not all me, the world has gone partially mad and that I'm not the only one who feels like a hamster on an out-of-control wheel.  It may be more extreme now because of the new, little one in our lives but it wasn't like it was calm and serene before.

Realizing this makes me feel....calmer.  Which, in and of itself, is worth the price of the book.

I had begun to think I had Adult ADD.  The symptoms all matched up (we're talking pre-baby): Inability to focus for extended periods of time, easily distracted, forgetful, hard time understanding when listening to instructions, leaves lots of projects undone, easily loses things, on occassion becomes hyper-focused and unable to switch tracks, as well as talkative, high energy and trouble sitting still for too long.  Yup, that was me. 

And even more so, as I read the hints and tips for parents who have ADD on how to manage home and children I felt like I had finally found some answers.  I went so far as to buy an organizing book for adult ADD sufferers (which is a very good book as well, I'll try to remember to share about it later).

Reading Dr. Hallowell's book made me realize that it's not just me, it's the whole darn world...or at least Western Society.  In chapter 2, Dr. Hallowell writes,

          "People with untreated ADD rush around a lot, feel impatient wherever they are, love speed, get frustrated easily, lose focus in the middle of a task or a conversation because some other thought catches their attention, bubble with energy but struggle to pay attention to one issue for more than a few seconds, talk fast or feel at a loss for words, often forget where they're going or what they're going to get, have bright ideas but can't implement them, fail to complete what they're doing, have many projects going simultaneously but chronically postpone completing them, make decisions impulsively because their circuitry is overloaded, feel they could do a lot more if they could just get it together, get angry easily when interrupted, feel powerless over the piles of stuff that surround them, resolve each day to do better tomorrow, and in general feel busy beyond belief but not all that productive.

      Many people who do not have true ADD do have many of those symptoms these days.  You might say they suffer from a severe case of modern life."

[Hallowell, Edward M., M.D., Crazy Busy, Overstretched, Overbooked, and About to Snap!  Strategies for Handling Your Fast-Paced Life, Ballantine Books, New York, pg. 9]

So, besides nearly describing me to a "T," I find this to be awfully true for a lot of people.

After last night's semi-breakdown, I'm realizing the need for slow.  The need for speed slammed me into the guardrail.  Thank God for the guardrail.  Now it's time for:

-One thing at a time

-65 to maybe 70 mph down the highway (instead of 75 to 80 mph..what?  I was in a hurry).

-Breathing deeply.

Ironically, what made me rush was the fear of forgetting or losing track of time.  Strangely, slowing down helps me to remember things at a human pace and also plan with enough time.

It's a new thing for me...because as anyone who knows me knows of my love for coffee (Listen, I drink so much coffee, I don't pee, I percolate!) and for going a mile a minute....but the speed of this type of life has me strung out.  No more.  Well...maybe *one* more cup of coffee.

How I do it? Somehow, someway, and with caffeine.

People, upon finding out that I have five children often ask how I do it.  I just stare at them blankly.  I have no response.  I simply don't know, nor am I sure that I even do "it."  I remember running through my days, frazzled, trying so hard not to forget something that will have dire consequences.  I am fatigued.  I show up, I do what I've got to do, I go to bed.  If I'm lucky, I find time to eat.  I try to be everything to everybody while caring for a 2-month-old fussy baby when I'm not at work.

I hate putting something up on this blog that could be a rant.  But in the interest of being real and truthful, I am going to do it.  It is now 12:47 a.m. my time and I just finished this journal entry:

"It's a crappy way to start the day...since it is 12:12 a.m. but I feel so bewildered, fatigued, resentful and mentally worn out.  I am positively overloaded.  I am trying so hard to be Supermom.  My lack of attention to any of them seems to affect them so profoundly.  But I am running myself thin.  Literally.

Take the day before what is now yesterday (6/10).  I started the morning early by attending the appt. for one of my children's psychologist.   That took for nearly ever.  The I came home in enough time to grab my bags and head to work.  While I had been at the appt. my parents began to give the baby one of the two 8 oz. bags of frozen milk I had for him.  I asked that before they go into the second 8 oz. bag that they consider giving him a small amount of formula as the last 8 oz. bag is all we had left.  Then I rushed off to get fast food and head to work.

While at work, my left breast became engorged.  I pumped both breasts for a grand total of 7 oz.  Usually I get four ounces from each side but the left side, despite it's engorgement only gave out 2 oz.  So, when the workday was over I pumped before I left work, on the left side, and I got another 3.5 oz. and the engorgment subsided.  This all gave me a grand total of 10.5 oz. 

During the workday I received a call from the husband who was testing the waters about possibly going out that night to his friend's house to help him build his new bed.  Erg.  The resentment was building.

My own night agenda, on the other hand, was to come home, take care of kids and baby, churn out a paper for school and somehow pump whatever milk I could. 

Upon coming home I found out that both of the 8 oz. bags of milk had been used and I felt a dread that is fast becoming familiar--that my baby's demand is exceeding my supply.

My husband didn't end up going out due to his profoundly bitchy wife.  Later in the evening I was able to pump another four oz or whatever.

Yesterday, which I still want to refer to as "today" I went to work and my parents gave my baby the 7 oz. I had pumped the day before.  Big sigh of relief, as he didn't polish off the whole milk supply storage.  While at work, I pumped another 5 oz. which gives us a grand total of 12.5 oz for him when I go to work later today. 

In the evening time, the husband was irritable.  I can't say that I blame him.  I also can't seem to comfort him either.

And..now...going into today, B3 has his kindergarten graduation at 10 a.m. that I need to get to before I head to work.  B1's sixth-grade graduation is at 6 p.m. and I am going to try to get there in time coming home from work. 

Meanwhile the pet dog's neuter voucher came in the mail today and I need to find time to call and make his appt. as the voucher expires 8/15/08. 

Luckily I got my school paper written and turned in earlier in the night. 

As for eating, the only true meal I got was dinner.  Earlier I subsisted on coffee, more coffee and a few bites of yogurt and a couple hunks of banana chocolate chip bread that a co-worker gave me that she didn't want to eat.

The house, of course, looks like shit and smells like piss.  The husband is stressed because the baby doesn't give him a break in the hours between the time he comes home and the time I come home.  And family members are getting their feelings hurt because the baby cries relentlessly while in their care. 

No pressure little guy.  He is only 2-months-old and dealing with the fact that his main source of comfort leaves him for 7 to 8 hours a day.

All of this...all of it, is on my shoulders.  My husband helps with the manual stuff, like making dinner and doing laundry.  He also shares in the baby-holding duties.  On top of working full-time.

But the mental, "Remember this, call this person, make this appointment, don't fail school, nurse baby, pump food for baby, keep on everyone's asses to do their job"--yeah, that's all mine.

And because I don't want the baby to feel everyone's pissy vibes, I feel like I have to protect him when I am with him.  I choose to hold him so Daddy can get a break and he (the baby) can get some time in with me.

Meanwhile, no one is doing what I would otherwise be doing, namely, cleaning nor are they, in the case of my children, doing their part, that is, clearing the table, cleaning their rooms, getting rid of linens they may have wet on the night before.

I am alternately forgetting things and obsessively remembering to other things---Pay this bill, check the checking accoutn, buy this.  But I forget what and when at the time when I am finally where I need to do it.

It's all too much and I can't keep up.  Me, who loves to be busy, is overloaded and ready to break.  I find myself impatient, frustrated, irritable and finally, depressed. 

So...people ask how I do it.  Do what?  Run around, frazzled, ready to have a nervous breakdown?  Well I guess that just takes talent and a lot of stress.  The other stuff is managed with a lot of caffeine.  Honestly...I don't know how I do it.  That's why I have no answer.