Bits and bobs...and cookies.

I go through an awful lot of dry spells when it comes to this here blog. I'm in a dry spell right now, matter of fact. It's not necessarily because nothing is happening in my life that is noteworthy; it's mostly because I have no idea what to say about the things that are happening or even if I should say anything at all. The month of April has been pretty nasty, to tell you the truth. There have been bright spots, however. My oldest son turned six this month and had a pretty darn nice birthday. I went to see a play for the first time in years (unless you count MCT's production of "Winnie the Pooh," which I don't).  I'm also still employed at a job that I enjoy with people I enjoy seeing on a daily basis. All of these things provide some warm fuzzies. Beyond listing these bits and pieces of the Sarahverse, I don't know what to write. *looooooooong sigh*

I turn to you, my few and valiant readers. What would you like me to write about? Shall I try a story? A poem? Do you want to know my opinion on condensed vs. home-made soup? What shall I do? Leave a comment and then eat a cookie. I have no cookies to give you but I think everyone has cookie rights and if you don't have cookies in your house then you have my full permission and support to go get some.

Merrily we roll along

I've shamed myself into writing today. Two very good friends of mine have both been productive with their own blogs and it reminded me that my own has been sorely neglected. It basically just sits in a corner of my brain, forlornly nudging it's favorite chew toy and looking at me with big, soulful eyes. I submit. Plus, stuff has happened and this blog is about stuff that happens to me so I should write about that stuff.

What's the stuff? Well, I am a working mom again. Now, I will be the first person to jump down the throat of anyone who accuses stay-at-home moms (or dads) of not "working" but I must make it clear that I am not defending myself and my own experience when I go into attack mode. I am a crappy stay-at-home mom. I am terrible at it. I have no idea what the hell to do with myself and my kids and usually end up doing next to nothing and then wrapping myself up in guilt along with my blankets when I go to bed at night. My righteous indignation bubbles up out of a deep respect for the SAHMs and SAHDs I know who are actually good and enthusiastic about what they do - my idols to whom I beg forgiveness after disappointing my kids yet again. So when I say that I'm working again, you are free to assume that I wasn't doing anything before besides occupying space.

I'm extremely excited to be working at the University of Montana again. My confidence in my abilities to be a productive employee was dealt a very hard blow with my last experience so I entered the workplace with some trepidation. I am now ending my third week and the difference between this time around and the 4-month horror show at the sleep clinic is night and day. The sense of belonging that I had when I last worked for the U has returned even though I'm working for a different department. The people here are warm, friendly, helpful, fun, and blessedly free of psychotic, micromanaging battleaxes. Joy! I am being reminded of what my last job caused me to doubt - that I am a good employee. It's silly that I let that ONE experience overshadow all my other years of employment but I tend to focus squarely on the bad while ignoring the good. And now I will tell myself, for the millionth time, to stop doing that.

Of course, this has been a huge change for our family. I stressed myself out trying to figure out the logistics of daycare, after school care, and (the part that caused me the most stress) how Ben was going to get to school each day if I couldn't take him. I despaired that the Y doesn't offer before school care and fretted over whether or not I could get away with coming in to work later and halving my lunch break. I eventually called upon my awesome neighbors who stepped up to the plate and agreed to walk Ben to school. Through all my scrambling and worrying, it never occurred to me to just get another car seat for my husband's car so that he could take Ben to school. Thankfully, this idea DID occur to my husband and that big, scary Issue is no more and I just feel silly.

So now Ben gets picked up by a bus and taken to his after-school care on days when Clyde is working. Ethan, meanwhile, goes to a full-time daycare in a different building. Ben has had some behavioral issues pop up since I changed our daily routines but he's handling everything much better than I thought he would. Ethan has been a different story altogether. He tends to cry every morning when I get him dressed and we've had two mornings so far in which he seemed to be vying for the coveted "Loudest and Most Violent Hissy-Fit Award.". I'm positive that if such a thing existed, he would have won. My neighbors would probably agree, too, considering how they were all treated to his banshee wails of outrage when I carried him to the car during the first fit. You're welcome, neighbors. Although the second fit was as recent as yesterday, I am confident that things will get better. He's always smiling and playing when I pick him up and the people who work at the daycare seem to really care about him and enjoy having him.

I am keeping my fingers crossed that my job continues to go well and that the kids settle into the newness of it all. They've done it before and I'm sure they can do it again. However, I don't want to keep putting them through so many drastic changes. Hopefully, this go around as a paid worker will stick and what's new will become normal. I have many different items on my self-improvement list and a long road ahead of me but I feel like I'm on pretty steady footing. I'll take a lesson from the British and keep calm and carry on.

Small Sociopath Causes Mom to Consider Becoming a Hermit

It's been a while since my last blog. I would love to say that I haven't written anything because I've been tremendously busy and productive but it would be a filthy, shameful lie. I've been browsing the web for jobs, spending WAY TOO MUCH TIME on Facebook, rereading my Terry Pratchett books, and blundering through the whole parenting thing (as per usual). We had a nice Christmas with my family, I spent some time with good friends, Clyde and I even attempted a date night which lasted less than two hours because we're old and have no idea what to do with ourselves. We need to work on that, I suspect. We actually decided that the next time we have an opportunity to go "out" without the kids, we need at least one other couple with us to sort of guide us on how to have a Fun Evening. We know how sad that is. But that isn't what prompted me to write. The reason I have decided to write this evening is because I have made a startling discovery. It's a discovery that I'm not sure I should have made, to be honest. However, I feel compelled to share it. I have discovered that my youngest son, my darling boy, my precious little one is a total jerk face. Yep. I said it.

Please understand that I love him tremendously. I think he's adorable and I love to dance with him and cuddle him and I find his chubby cheeks to be irresistibly smoochable. But he's a jerk. I think it's because he recently turned 3 and despite what we've all heard about "the terrible twos" it is actually the "apocalyptic threes" that parents need to worry about. Ethan has always been stubborn and willful but these traits have come to utterly dominate his personality. He has brought me to tears. The stress from dealing with the little goblin can be plainly seen on my face that has broken out worse than it ever did when I was a teenager. He has stopped me in my tracks and sent me searching my pockets for a white flag to wave.

I am sure that I have mentioned that Ethan's scream could make a banshee go into early retirement from shame. The scream, actually no... the Scream - because it deserves the capital S and could make your vision blur and distort like the Edvard Munch painting of the same name - the Scream is being used much more frequently and pretty indiscriminately. Basically, any time I tell Ethan to do something, he busts out the Scream. The other day, I ended up slinging him over my shoulder like a sack of potatoes and carrying him home because he unleashed the Scream when we picked Ben up from school. I told him to hold my hand. That was it. That earned the Scream. Later that same evening, I had to take the boys shopping and Ethan didn't want to sit in the seat in the shopping cart. Patrons of the Safeway on Reserve were introduced to the Scream. I was horrified and embarrassed and at a complete loss. Eventually I went through those feelings and out the other side to hysteria. Some poor woman turned the corner into our aisle and was treated to the Scream with Manic Laughter as accompaniment. Poor Benjamin was terribly confused.

It's not just the screaming that makes Ethan a jerk. He's also violent. Today, we went on a play date with a friend and her son to the train at the mall. Ethan became very possessive of the train and had no problem exerting his dominance over any hapless child silly enough to think that the play area was for everyone. Ethan made a baby cry! This adorable baby girl was just sitting on the train, minding her own business and Ethan clobbered her! A baby! This was after he sent another poor toddler crying to his mother because Ethan yelled at him, "MY TRAIN!" and shoved him. It's heartbreaking that MY kid is that kid. He takes swings at anyone who makes him mad. There have been many times when I've been in the kitchen and suddenly heard the "thud thud thud" of Ethan's running feet followed by a clumsily delivered swat to whatever part of my anatomy that he can reach. Why does he do this? Pick a reason! He's mad that his food isn't ready right now or he's furious that he can't eat nothing but marshmallows all day. Maybe he's mad because I told him we're out of something. Maybe it's a full moon. You know what? Maybe he doesn't need a reason because HE'S A JERK.

I am holding tightly to the belief that this is a phase. Ben was pretty rotten when he was 3 and now he's very sweet and gentle. However, until this phase is over with I kind of don't want to take him with me out in public anymore. He's the honey badger of toddlers lately and the public must be protected. But who is going to protect me? I can't help but ponder the expense of building a padded cell as an addition to our home. I'll let him out when he's 4.

Drama and the Suburban Housewife

Today was weird. There's no more eloquent way to put it. It had started off as a normal if incredibly lazy day. The kids and I were still in our pajamas past noon (don't judge me!!!) until we were summoned outside by one of Ben's friends who lives directly across from us. For anonymity's sake, we shall call this friend "P" because he was dressed as a Pirate. I'm clever. Ben donned his own pirate costume and I attempted to outfit Ethan in his but it turns out that a Halloween costume that says it fits 3- to 4-year old children just cannot contend with the Mighty Ethan. However, we all got outfitted and stepped into the lovely Fall day.

As the boys were running about, we saw that we had new neighbors moving in. There was a parade of family members hauling boxes and at one point, a little boy crept out of the condo and became transfixed at the spectacle of my neighbor's and my hooligans playing about like monkeys. His Grandma followed him out in an attempt to urge him back inside but it was a hopeless case. Once my kids and my neighbor's kids took off in their scooters, the new kid was swept up in their wake. Poor Grandma was pretty frazzled and kept trying and trying to get her grandson to go back home with her. I could sympathize because moving is stressful enough but moving AND watching a small child is madness. Grandma, P's mom and I ended up trailing behind the parade of neighborhood boys and chatting when P's mom had to break away to check on her middle child. Shortly after she left, P and Ben found...the thing.

I should mention that I had consumed nothing the entire day up to that point except for coffee. My blood sugar was crashing and I was wired from the caffeine. I was keeping it together for the most part but the thing was sort of the tipping point. P and Ben were about 20 feet ahead of us, intently studying something on the ground and as we got closer I could hear P saying over and over "It's real! Oh my goodness, it's real!" Ben made some noises along the line of "blech" and pointed at the ground excitedly when he saw me. It was at that point that P said that they had found a hand. A hand. I looked where my son was pointing and my already frazzled brain tried to put together the information being sent to it by my optic nerve. It looked like a hand. A skinned, somewhat mutilated, and very definitely severed hand. My first thought was that it was some kind of amazing Halloween prop. I told the boys as much and to illustrate my certainty, I poked it. I really wish I hadn't poked it. I was expecting hard plastic but instead felt something altogether more yielding and a tad slimy. I tried to confer with Grandma but she must have met her tipping point, too. Beyond offering up her son-in-law's medical expertise ("He's medical," she says to me) she couldn't offer anything else and instead told the boys that I was going to get some paper towels and dispose of it.

I should have resisted more to being volunteered to handle the thing but I wasn't entirely in my right mind. I passed P's mom as I headed back to my home and gave her a very brief and terribly vague overview of what was going on. I retrieved the towels and went back to the thing, wrapped it up, and headed to the dumpster. On my way there, I decided to stop by the new neighbor's garage to see if the Medical Son-in-Law could offer any insight. This is the part where I introduced myself to my new neighbors, flushed and shaky and clutching a skinned body part.

"Hi! I'm Sarah. Does this look like a HUMAN HAND to you?"

It turns out that Medical Son-in-Law is not, in fact, medical. However, he and his wife looked at the thing, agreed with me that it was real and definitely not a prop, and urged me to call the police. I probably should have done that before handling the damn thing but better late than never. I left them standing dumbfounded in their garage and made my way back to the spot while on the phone with a 911 dispatcher. I explained what had happened and ensured them that I was putting it back where it was found and I would leave it the hell alone. When I got back to the spot, another of my neighbor friends had joined the party and she took a look at the thing once I put it back on the ground. She's super smart and way more savvy about biology than I am and she thought it looked like it could possibly be a bear paw. Her equally smart and savvy husband came out to join us and seemed to draw the same conclusion. By and by, a police officer showed up. He donned some blue gloves and studied the thing but I didn't get to hang around for the final verdict because the kids scattered once again. I was also really close to collapsing on the sidewalk from hypoglycemia so once I decided that I wasn't going to be interrogated or chastised for being so stupid, I gathered my kids and went home. I met my new neighbors on the way back and told them it was probably a bear paw and might have mumbled something in an attempt to reassure them that finding stray body parts on the lawn isn't the norm for our neighborhood. I'm pretty sure they'll be steering clear of me in the future.

And I still don't know what the hell it was.

Suddenly, Kindergarten!

It's been a while so I thought I should attempt to update this thing, especially considering the new and exciting chapter our family has entered into - Kindergarten! No, not all of us although I do get those anxiety dreams every now and then in which I'm forced to redo some year of school due to a technicality. My oldest child, my little man, my Benjamin has started kindergarten. He has already completed his first week. As you might guess, this milestone has me feeling a whole mess of emotions. I can't help but get a little misty-eyed when I see Ben in his too-big backpack, standing in his class line as they prepare to enter his classroom. He blows me kisses and waves when they start marching in. On the first day, he almost didn't make it into the building with the rest of the kids because he broke away from the line to give Ethan and I another kiss and hug goodbye. How does one NOT tear up in the face of such sweetness?

Ben and I are also feeling some anxiety. For Ben, he's learning that he needs to complete things in a set amount of time; something that is causing him some frustration according to his teacher. He's always been a slow eater and he hates leaving a project before he's decided he's finished. As of Friday, however, he's shown a lot of improvement in this area. He's also feeling anxious regarding the social aspect of school which also happens to be the part that's causing ME the most anxiety as well. Ben is a very sweet kid. He's very affectionate and he loves to play with other kids. He also tends not to realize when he's being picked on. I've witnessed this on several occasions, the most recent of which happened at the play area at McDonald's. A rather large family came in and the kids in that family immediately started picking on Benjamin. The youngest of the brood (a little girl about Ben's age) even took to hitting and slapping him. Ben was upset but he still wanted to play with them. It was heart-breaking and I ended up "rescuing" Ben and going home. I worry how he'll be treated at school. I worry because I remember vividly how much I hated those first school years because of the maliciousness of my classmates and I hope with all my heart that Ben has a better time of it. I also worry just as much and possibly more that Ben's sweetness will dissipate and he'll become one of the mean kids. Actually, that definitely worries me more. I can't stand the thought of either of my kids as bullies. There's a strength to be gained from overcoming the taunts of others but I have no idea what, if anything, a bully gains in life.

Because Ben is in school now, it means that Ethan and I get one on one time. It didn't occur to me until the first day I dropped Ben off that Ethan and I never had that kind of time since he's the second child and all. As much as I miss having Ben around, I'm looking forward to this time with Ethan. As long as I'm still unemployed (boooooo!) we'll get to pal around just the two of us (yay!).

I've already experienced the profound miracle that is shopping with only one child in tow. The difference was amazing. I felt like I was cheating the system or something, it was so easy. It'll be great to go to a park without feeling like I need iguana eyes to keep track of two kids who never seem to want to go in the same direction.

This should be a pretty exciting time and even though I occasionally have episodes of "oh my god my baby is in school"-induced madness, I'm looking forward to what comes.

Ideas requested in a manner that may resemble begging.

I have a camera now and I want to vlog and create funny/interesting videos with it. What I want to know is what YOU would find interesting. Please keep in mind that I'm a noob and I have no editing skills so it's all going to be baby steps. Also, volunteers are more than welcome to assist in any way. Please help me! I'm lost and confused and adrift in a sea of...confusion!

Life lessons suck most of the time.

Remember that time I was a stay at home mom but it just wasn't working out so I got a job? Well, that time is really closely related to this other time when I spent 40 hours a week in a soul-crushing environment with awful people who treated me like an idiot all the time. And THAT time is really really closely linked to the time when I met my breaking point and quit and walked the hell out. That last time I'm talking about was this morning. It marks the second time in my life that I have quit a job on the spot, never to return. Although, I guess I do have to walk back in there to get my last paycheck. I bet that'll be neat!

This experience has taught me some things;

- I don't like being patronized. I know, right? Who'da thunk...

- It's super difficult for me to complete a task when I'm getting conflicting information as to how to complete it.

- Sometimes when your supervisor says she's got your back, she means that she's preparing to stab a knife into it repeatedly.

- When a future employer tells you "we're like a family here", get him/her to elaborate on whether or not that family is a dysfunctional, reality-show kind of family. That's important.

- If I throw up at work and have to seriously wonder if it's because I'm sick or if I just hate the place that much, that's a clear indication that it's time to move on.

- It might be appropriate to inquire at job interviews if any of the employees are bat shit crazy people who should have retired years ago.

Okay, I won't actually ask at interviews if I'd be working with crazy people. Still, though, these last few months have been nearly ulcer-inducing. I kind of felt like I was getting slowly squeezed like a tube of toothpaste and my soul was the paste and my nutjob coworkers were brushing their teeth with my soul. Or something. It was bad. Now that I've gotten through the residual feelings of rage and frustration, I'm feeling liberated. My friend Meagan said that sometimes the best way to stand up for yourself is to leave and I agree with her. I tried talking about it, I tried sticking it out, I tried everything I could think of but it came down to either leaving or punching someone right in the face. Neither of the potential recipients for that punch to the face would be worth the assault charge, though. I should have left a long time ago but there was a stubborn part of me that refused to admit defeat. Thankfully, it occurred to me that I was already being defeated on a daily basis and getting the eff out of there could only be a victory. Yay!

SO....anyone hiring?