My First Kidlife Crisis

kidlife crisis n (2009): a period of emotional turmoil that occurs when a parent realizes that his or her once tiny baby is no longer so tiny, and has reached a previously unimaginable age. The parent views this marching of time as unacceptable. Longing for the child's younger days, the parent may spend hours browsing old photographs, watching home movies, and sighing over babies.*

So, I've experienced my first kidlife crisis. It started back in September, when the preparations for Laura's birthday began. I really couldn't believe she was about to be five. Five is old. Five is a big kid, not a baby. Five is the age that other kids are, but not my little girl, no sir. She's a baby and will be staying that way. Not that I think she's an infant, or treat her as such, but when I see a lady out and about with a baby in an infant carrier, sometimes I find myself thinking, "Isn't that nice that we both have babies." Then I realize that my baby is actually off at pre-K and she weighs 35 pounds and just that morning had a discussion with me about our dog's uterus (note: oh yes, we really did have that conversation!) Not such a baby anymore, I suppose.

I imagine I'll have similar crises as she gets older. The Army Man and I always joke about what trouble she's going to be as a teenager, and I don't doubt it. But I truly can't even imagine what that will be like. No more than I could have imagined her as a 5 year old when she was brand new. It's simply unfathomable. I look at her and try to picture her going to elementary school, calling friends on the phone, driving, dating, going to college, getting married, having her own children. But all I see is a little baby, screaming and crying for one reason or another. Or a tiny little girl, laughing that deep, crazy belly laugh that only little kids can manage. It's like "Father Of The Bride", only a million times more so.

And so, as I sat there one night, experiencing my kidlife crisis, I looked through old pictures of Laura and I wrote this piece (or whatever you want to call it). I'm not sure how much sense it makes, but it felt wonderful to write, and I think I'll share it. Be warned: since this post is written by a Mommy about her child, it's going to be a long one.

I’m the brand new mother to a tiny little baby. She’s bald and thin, and she cries all the time. All she ever wants to do is nurse, and she never spits up. Her poop is disgusting and no diaper can hold it in. She must be carried horizontally to the changing table, like an offering, to avoid leakage. She never wants to sleep. Her bouncy seat is what I put her in at 3am to get her back to sleep, to keep her quiet so she doesn’t wake up her grandparents whom we’re living with. Her Daddy is back in Georgia finishing his Army training. He made it in time to see her be born, but had to leave when she was three days old. I’m a disappointed mother. This experience is nothing like what I had imagined: there’s no nursery that I lovingly decorated ahead of time. My husband wasn’t home to run out and buy me ice cream when I was pregnant. I don’t even live in my own house. I’m moving in just a few weeks, across the country, away from my family and friends. I’m sad and scared, but would never tell anyone. I’m a confused mother. I didn’t feel the instant love for my daughter that I thought I should. I don’t feel like a natural. I’m in pain, trying to recover from a childbirth experience that was more traumatic than I ever could have imagined. I feel completely unprepared to be responsible for this tiny, beautiful little girl. I feel young and old all at once. I never knew I could love someone so much.
I’m the exhausted mother of a tiny little girl. She’s one and never sleeps. Eating is a disaster. She’s always choking on her food, and she doesn’t want to use the sippy cup. She’s been walking for almost 3 months now. She hates shoes and always wants to be barefoot. She’s still bald, but she’s gorgeous. Pale white skin and beautiful blue eyes. A tiny little thing, occasionally mistaken for a doll. She is the center of attention everywhere she goes. She waves to strangers and people can’t seem to resist stopping to talk to her. She’s starting to talk, saying “dog” as her very first word. I never knew I could love someone so much.
I’m the exasperated mother of a tiny toddler. She’s two and she’s into everything. She loves to dance. She goes to daycare and is the favorite of her teacher. She gives up the ‘pa-pa’ (pacifier) in exchange for a doodle pad. She gets her tonsils and adenoids removed and can suddenly eat without choking. She’s insanely energetic and always trying to give me a heart attack with her antics-jumping off the couch, playing by the stairs, running away in stores. She starts to grow a little bigger. She learns to use the potty and never has a single nighttime accident. Daytime is an entirely different story. She favors her Daddy yet always calls for me at night. Her smile is so charming and silly, and her pout is just delightful. I never knew I could love someone so much.
I’m the desperate mother of a little minion of the devil. She’s three and has stopped napping. She’s still not sleeping through the night. She’s making me realize the terrible two’s are nothing. She misses her Daddy who’s gone for six months. She cries and screams and whines and makes me contemplate locking myself in my bedroom. She’s getting smarter every day. She knows her last name, she’s dressing herself. She loves princesses. She knows how to use the digital camera and always wants to take pictures. She plays pretend games with me. She tells me hysterical, clever things like, “We have a situation” which make up for all of the grief she gives me. I never knew I could love someone so much.I’m the hopeful mother of a not-so-tiny little girl. She’s four and she’s staring to behave. She’s growing like crazy. She talks all the time. I’m continually amazed by the things that she says. She wants to learn about the human body. She’s sensitive and caring. She loves going to preschool and is friends with all the boys. She loves to sing. She dresses herself and favors her pink tutu and blue boots. She has an imaginary friend named “Little Bug” who is constantly causing trouble. He has to be spanked frequently. She loves playing outside. I never knew I could love someone so much.
I’m the mother of the most beautiful, smartest, funniest five year old girl. She is dramatic. She is outgoing. She is sweet. Something about her personality is magnetic. Her teachers love her. The kids in her class always want to play with her. If we go to a store, the clerks want to give her things (candy seems to be the most popular offering). She prides herself on following the “rules” and loves to discuss other people who don’t. She is very concerned about safety. She’s bossy but not in a forceful way (most of the time). She’s stubborn and wants to get her way, yet continually surprises me with her generous nature. She hates to lose any game we play. She’s extremely sensitive and empathetic, and will cry if someone else is in pain. She hates shots but loves the doctor. Her scream is eardrum piercing. Suddenly she’s interested in babies and loves to hold their hands and help them walk around. I’m shocked that my rough and tumble girl holds their hands so gently and sweetly. She never stops talking. She loves to spell words and will approach me and say in one long drawn out breath, “How to you spell ‘I love you so much and you are my best friend and I want to play with you’?” and expect me to sit there and dictate the entire sentence to her. The excuse “That’s how God made me” is heard frequently from her. She loves drawing and does a better job at it than her mother. She tells me she loves me and it's the best feeling in the world.

I never could have imagined what having a child would be like, but it’s fantastic. Loving someone so much is easy when she’s Laura.

*A million kudos and thanks to my friend Angela for coming up with this oh-so-clever name. I think it's a stroke of genius. I do however, give myself credit for writing the definition.

Just Another Day In My Life

Today has been an odd day. A lady at the vet accused me of giving her dog a "weird" look (which I probably did, because it was one of the ugliest dogs I've ever seen) and I was menaced by teenagers driving a golf cart while on my way home from errands. Loose dogs once again chased me on my run, and I didn't even have Moxie with me. The person in front of me in line at the ATM took so long (canceling transaction after transaction) and started yelling at the ATM. Laura freaked out (I mean FREAKED OUT) over the fact that I have a bathroom "stuck" to my bedroom and she doesn't. Later she gave birth to a puppy that died (and then came back to life).

Sometimes my life is just plain weird.

I HATE Hackers

I'm not sure if all of you will be able to see it, but on some browsers, my cute brown background is gone, and now this garbage is showing up:

Click Here To View The Crap

This is so frustrating for me. Not only is there something showing up that I didn't put on my blog, but when I tried to report it to Blogger, their help site takes me around and around in circles, never letting me report it. Argh! On top of all this, my Hotmail email account that I've had since 2003 was hacked a few weeks ago, sending spam to all my dear family and friends. I had to delete all my contacts so they weren't spammed again, which wasn't that big of a deal since I have gmail now. The big deal was that I had to delete all of my old emails-I couldn't stomach the thought of these weirdos in my email, reading things written between me and my family and friends.

And worst of all-all of the sweet emails that the Army Man had sent me over the years, gone. Emails about silly, mundane things, yes, but still, they were our modern form of spousal correspondence. Discussions about what to have for dinner, what movie to watch, or how annoying our jobs were, are all gone. I kept a few from before Laura's birth when he was in Georgia and we were frantically trying to arrange for him to get to California in time for her birth (he made it, but more on that another time). Everything else, (68 pages worth) I deleted. I was, and still am, furious that someone accessed my personal information. It's like someone broke into my house and read all my love letters and old cards. To have it happen twice in such a short time is doubly upsetting.

I suppose I'm lucky that it wasn't my bank account, but honestly, I would have almost preferred that. Inconvenient, yes, but send me some new bank cards, refund the charges, and I'm good to go. Instead, I lost almost 4 years of emails and now have an ugly blog background that doesn't even make any sense. I think I'll go read my new Entertainment Weekly about Harry Potter and try to calm down.

Update: Here's an article with a few details about what happened. Apparently ImageShack, which hosts the images for my blog (whatever that means) was hacked by this Anti-sec movement to try to make their point with their manifesto. I think it's interesting how quickly the internet caught wind of this-people are talking about it like mad on all sorts of websites.

Rottweiler+Moxie=Bad News

Something happened this afternoon that the Army Man and I have been nervously anticipating for a few weeks. While the Army Man was running with Moxie, the neighborhood Rottweiler managed to pull free of his backyard tether, and attempted to attack Moxie. Don't worry, everyone is fine, but I'll be blunt: I'm pissed off.

Let me start what will be a lengthy post by saying that I had a Rottweiler growing up. Sheba was a sweet, fuzzy, bear of a dog, and had the advantage (some would say disadvantage, but not I) of being a long-haired Rottweiler. The general public usually didn't discern that she was a Rottweiler since she didn't have the traditional look, and therefore people usually weren't scared of her. Which was good, because she was sweet. So I don't mind Rottweilers. I think that if they are well-trained, properly socialized and exercised, they can be great dogs. That's true of any dog really, big or small. If you don't give your dog attention, affection, and playtime, it will quickly become bored, destructive, disobedient, and even aggressive.

Now that I've started running in our neighborhood, I'm pretty cognizant of which dogs look like they could give me trouble. Top on my list is the house with what appears to be 5 or 6 large dogs, all "contained" behind a 3 or 4 foot fence. When I used to run by with Moxie the barking and growling was deafening. So I don't go that way anymore. The other house is up the street, and about six months ago the Army Man reported that that house was now in the possession of the most adorable Rottweiler puppy. When it was a cute little puppy, the family walked it all the time and it was usually kept inside.

We watched that puppy turn into a big Rottweiler. We were sad when we realized the family stopped walking it as much. And we started to get worried when we saw that they were now tethering it in their unfenced backyard for the entire day, and well into the evening, even when they were home. The bigger it got, the more ferocious it got, the more it would pull at the end of it's tether to bark and lunge at people who walked by. We took a short family walk last night, and saw the dog react in that way to another family walking by. We opted to not walk down that street, and the Army Man and I discussed and worried what would happen if it broke free.

So yep, that's what happened today. Moxie and the Army Man went for a run, and passing by the house, the Rottweiler pulled the tether out of the ground, and charged Moxie. From what the Army Man says, it sounds like her giant mane of fur protected her from a full-on bite, but there was definite yelping on her part. The Army Man managed to get a hold of the tether and had the dogs separated, but really had no good solution to how to get rid of the Rottweiler and get Moxie safely home. Luckily for him, a very nice young man came along who knew the Rottweiler, and took it from the Army Man.

Once he got Moxie safely home, he went back to the house, only to be greeted by a teenage boy who seemed completely clueless. He left his number, and we did get a call a bit ago, from the mother. She really didn't seem to care that much. Apparently she did her part by tethering her dog. The Army Man telling her that we often run that way with our young daughter didn't seem to matter to her. He advised her of the new law going into effect on August 1st (not a moment too soon) that will bar people from tethering their dogs when there is no human present. She never really apologized either, which blows my mind. Her only words of comfort were that it would "never happen again".

I called the after-hours Animal Control number to report the incident. I may be a sweet, nice person who doesn't like to cause trouble, but this was unacceptable to me. What if it had been me, Laura, and Moxie? I would have essentially had to sacrifice Moxie to protect Laura. What if the dog thought Laura was even more appealing to attack than Moxie? I really am trying not to think about how bad it could have been. I am feeling so lucky that it was the Army Man, and that both he and Moxie are okay. It turns out that the Sheriff's office is the after hours Animal Control, and a nice young officer (so young, like maybe 12) came to our house. There isn't much he can do so I have to call again tomorrow to make sure Animal Control is aware and can make a record. The bad part is that when the Sheriff was here, the teenage boy owner of the Rottweiler walked by, taking the poor dog for a much needed walk. So now they know where we live AND that the Sheriff was called. I just hope it doesn't turn into a bigger mess.

The Sheriff advised the Army Man that if this ever happens again, he is completely within his rights to defend himself however he sees fit. I would hate for it ever to come to that, but I will protect what's mine, whether it is Laura or Moxie, and I know the Army Man will do the same. I suppose some sort of protective device is now in my running future.

If you made it through that entire post, I commend you. I was extremely riled up when I sat down to write, and it was very calming to share all that information with my readers. I think the situation had pretty much the best outcome possible, and I'm grateful for that. Everyone is fine, and Moxie had a huge, delicious dinner tonight. Probably a great night, in her book.

Getting Mail At 8pm Would Be Preferable

Note to self: when your mailman misdelievers mail to you so many times that you just can’t take it anymore, do not punish him by leaving him a nasty note, because someday he may punish you by stealing your mail. I suppose that sounds more dramatic than what actually happened, but when it comes to my package of fabric that has gone missing, it feels really dramatic.

A small package of fabric and a pattern was supposedly delivered to me on Friday at 5:29pm. I know this because there was Delivery Confirmation on my package, and the post office confirms this delivery. All it really means though is that the mailman delivered it to SOMEONE on that day and time, and it sure as heck wasn’t me. How do I know, you ask? I was stalking my mailman that day, waiting for him to come, because I had an outgoing package I wanted him to take. When he arrived, I ran so quickly out of the house that I slipped on the kitchen floor (Angela can attest to this). I handed him my box, and he didn’t give me one in return.

Once I realized that I was supposedly in possession of my package when I actually was not, I started making some calls. Eventually I got to talk to the Post Master of our local branch. She was very helpful at first, and said she would check into it and call me back. She called back today and said she spoke to my carrier who claims he put it on my porch. Huh? You mean when I was standing right there? I think not! The post master said she “did her part” and that now I should contact the police to report a missing package.

Well, that was when I stopped being nice. I proceeded to tell her about all of the problems we have had with this carrier. The W-2 that was missing for 2 weeks and finally showed up with “not at this address” written on it. The official looking mail for our local grocery store that I got a few weeks ago. The package for my next door neighbor that was in my mailbox. The days upon days of getting the mail for the lady next door, and then it finally stopping, only for her to start getting ours. The missing magazines. The jury duty notice that was delivered not once, not twice, but three times to the original owner of this house who hasn’t lived here for over 3 years. That was the letter that got the nasty note, since he apparently was unable to read “Return To Sender” on it the first two times.

Once I spewed all this out to the Post Master, she confessed that today is her 6th day at this branch, that she is brand new, and that she will be making some changes. She did not elaborate, but I sincerely hope that those changes involve slapping our mailman around a little bit until he figures things out.

Where Were YOU Last Night Around Midnight?

I guess I never really need to worry about running out of material for this blog, because my life always seems to provide something. Today my material comes from a call I placed to the Sheriff's office. Sometime overnight some absolute idiot thought it would be great fun to drive through our neighborhood and drive into every single stop sign and street sign, knocking them to the ground. We live in a pretty good sized neighborhood with at least 200 houses, so it's not like it only took this person 2 minutes to do all these misdeeds. And the direction the stop signs are knocked over at show that he (I'm just assuming here, although for all I know it was a woman who just couldn't take her 4 year old barking like a puppy for one more minute) had to turn around a few times to make sure he got everything. If you happened to live near a stop sign, your mailbox was taken down too. Perhaps your house was for sale? Then he drove into your yard and ran over the for sale sign. Clearly, this person was on something.

So anyway, being the socially responsible person I was raised to be, I called the non-emergency number for our Sheriff's department. After much confusion over who I should talk to, I got a lady on the line and told her that I wanted to report some knocked over stop signs in my neighborhood so they could be repaired right away. Over the next 10 minutes, she proceeded to ask me all sort of questions-about me. I'm not one to give a uniformed officer any attitude, so I dutifully told her everything she wanted to know-full name, address, DOB, sex, etc. Finally when she asked me what race I was, I asked her why she needed to know all this. She informed me they are required to get all of this information from every caller. Fine, whatever. I will comply.

Finally she got to the last question and asked what property of mine was damaged. My frustration level rising, I told her (again!) that none of MY property was damaged, I was just calling to make sure that the appropriate people were informed of the incident so everything could be repaired. I seemed to stun her with that news. "So you're not calling to report your property damaged?" she said. I replied once again that no, nothing of mine was damaged. "Then why did you call to file a police report?" she asked. I told her that I didn't want to file a police report (which it turns out is what I had been unknowingly doing the entire time), I just wanted to let someone know. She was quite incredulous that I would call in this information as I did not have property damaged. Finally, once she collected her wits, she informed me that several homeowners had already filed reports about their damaged property and that it was being taken care of. Why couldn't she have told me that when I first called?

It was a frustrating call, but I was happy to see when I pulled back into the neighborhood just 2 hours later that all the stop signs were already put back up (although most of them looked a little worse for the wear). The bad part is that unless someone sees someone driving in the neighborhood with a smashed in front bumper with paint all over it, the perpetrator will probably never be found. Luckily both the Army Man and I have alibis.

It Would Be A Lot Cheaper If I Could Just Sing For My Supper

This won't be a funny post today, so if you don't want to be bummed out, please stop reading. But then again, don't become all depressed before you even read the post. It's not that bad! Today is mostly Claire complaining about the sad state of the world.

After dropping Laura off at preschool this morning I headed to Walmart. That in itself is an injustice, because I do not like shopping there. I do not approve of their business practices, I hate how crowded it is, I can't stand the long lines and the fact that the cashiers are practically robots who have forgotten how to speak (seriously, even a little 'hello' would make me happy).

This shopping trip was one of those short, hold you over until the big trip in a week, just getting milk, bread, and air filters type trip. I had about 10 things on my list, and about 10 more in my mind. That's all I bought. I did not deviate from the list, nothing caught my fancy that I just had to have (except the "tattoo" type bandaids that I bought for Laura instead of regular bandaids, but they were too cool to pass up). My cart was not that full. I waited in line and read about Jessica Simpson supposedly being fat at 135 pounds (give me a break!) while the cashier had some sort of predicament with the lady in front of me. Finally, it was my turn. My purchases were rung up, no words were spoken to me, and then my total appeared on the little computer screen.

$117.

I almost started crying there in lane 14 of Walmart. $117 for a few things that will likely last my family less than a week. I cannot even begin to comprehend how much money I am currently spending on groceries. We are a tiny family of 3. This is supposed to be one of the advantages of not having more kids, right? And to top it off, Laura is 4. She doesn't eat that much. If this is how much it costs now, what will it be like when she is older? And along the same lines, how in the world did my parents afford buying food for 4 kids (three of whom were teenagers around the same time)? It's a miracle they didn't have to sell their kidneys to pay for groceries.

I know part of the problem is that food prices are going up. I've seen it happening over the last few years. I pay attention to how much I usually spend on certain items, so I can tell when milk or cheese or pop is higher than normal. So part of it isn't my fault. And I know part of it is some of the things I buy-I do buy organic milk for Laura and the milk boxes I send in her lunch ($2.96 for a pack of 3) are ridiculously expensive. But some of the items I buy aren't all that expensive, so I think it evens out. I try to buy store brand where I can (cheese, yogurt, etc). I always meal plan so I know what I need to shop for when I'm at the store.

I'd like to think there is something to be done about how much I spend at the grocery store. Like if I really worked at it and carefully planned my meals and my purchases, that I could still prepare healthy, yummy food for my family without spending too much money. But I'm starting to think that it's really not possible. I'm starting to think that $117 will soon be my norm for a little shopping trip. That $250 is going to be my regular trip. That I may never buy new clothes again since all I am buying is food. That I'm going to have to train Moxie and Laura to do some sort of little circus act and tour them around the city earning money for dinner.

Kids These Days

The Army Man was playing with Laura a few days ago when he made a surprising discovery-graffiti on our fence. Graffiti is not unheard of in our neighborhood (we’re right by a middle school and a high school), and this graffiti seemed pretty tame compared to some stuff we’ve seen. What was weird about this was that the graffiti was done from inside our backyard. You read that correctly. Graffiti in my own backyard. Now that’s weird.

We have a decent sized fence around our backyard, and we padlock the back gate and one of the side gates. The other side gate we keep closed but unlocked since that is our way in and out of the backyard, and it gets opened several times a week. So a kid must have opened that gate, snuck into our backyard, and wrote on one board of our fence. I was a bit freaked out at the thought of some huge teenager in our backyard until the Army Man pointed out that it appeared the graffiti was done in crayon and it seems like they just wrote random letters. Still not cool, but not as intimidating.

When we first moved in, we didn’t lock any of the gates and kids would cut through our backyard as a short cut on their way to school, so we’ve definitely had kids in the backyard before. I still can’t believe that kids these days would feel brave enough to walk through someone’s fenced in backyard. I also can’t believe that I just wrote “kids these days”. I suppose I’m getting old. Soon enough I’ll be sitting on my porch shaking my fist at the kids and telling them to get off my grass. In the meantime, our plan to get a dog is starting to sound smarter and smarter.

Momentary Relief

Can you believe what you are seeing here? Gas for $1.88??? It is such a relief to be able to fill up my car and not pay over $50. Now keep in mind that I drive a mid-size sedan, not an SUV or anything. This entire summer it just boggled my mind that it would cost around $55 just to fill up my car! But before you get too jealous of these low prices, keep in mind that those of us here in the Southeast had to deal with a lot this summer: high prices due to Hurricane Ike, long lines at gas stations, gas shortages, and even outages. Unleaded gas abandoned us for about 5 days. Some of us even got yelled at by crazy people at the gas station. Gas was well over $4 for quite a while, going as high as $5.49 at one station (although they later received a fine for price gouging). So this momentary relief is much appreciated. Photo Credit: The Army Man (who I forced to take this picture)