The age old question asks, "Which came first, the chicken or the egg?"
I have been asking that same question today, only more like this: Which came first, my spiraling-out-of-control, wrong-side-of-the-bed-ness, or this Tuesday's determination to beat me over the head.
Maybe that doesn't make sense, but have you ever noticed how good days seldom go bad, but how bad days never get good? That wrong-side-of-the-bed nonsense you thought your parents just tormented you with, is real, and once it's been done it is very difficult to undo.
You see, I'll admit, after having such a productive and fabulous Monday, I was a bit blindsided by Tuesday, but it was really Monday's fault, stupid Monday.
Monday was great. I met a friend for a run at 5:30 in the morning. I was skeptical of how the rest of the day was going to go after that, but I felt great. My dad was right after all. All those years ago he always told me I'd feel better and be more productive if I'd just hit the gym first thing in the morning, and time has proven him wiser than I once thought. I got back from the run around 6:30, and got some breakfast, a shower, and started the laundry and cleaning up the living room before the kids had even woken up. Usually all of that doesn't happen until Sesame Street starts around 10 am.
I continued on with my ambitious, overachieving mommy-ness, pretty certain that if anyone were watching me they would see the perfect Disney Princess Mommy whistling while I worked, dancing with a broom (vacuum), and all those perfectly acceptable things that Disney cartoons do. I even made the kids eggs and toast for breakfast which I don't do because I don't like creating more dishes in a day than I have to, but the sink was cleared the night before, and I was a Disney Princess Mommy, so why not?
I walked the kids to the park, had them down for a nap by 2, had dinner on the table by 5:30 and the dishes all done by 6:30, and was playing "train tracks" with them by 6:45. I was the queen of' Monday.
But somewhere around 9:30 pm, it all began to backfire. I was absolutely exhausted, but I had to go out to the store and pick up some things. I don't get the car often, so I do the grocery shopping whenever I can. By the time I had put all the groceries away it was almost 11, and I was feeling more awake.
Long story short here, I missed my window of exhaustion (you all know what I'm talking about), and wasn't able to fall asleep until nearly 2 am! I was thinking that was no big deal until I woke up abruptly at 5:30 am to constant, dull thumping.
"Cricket farts?" I thought. They were happening so rapidly I thought for sure Elijah had fallen out of bed, and was now throwing himself a sleepy tantrum on the floor. I jumped up and rushed to their bedroom door, only to stand there in silence. I went to the bathroom, and heard some voices, and realized that someone was in the upstairs apartment. I really wish our landlord would give us a heads up when that's going to happen, since the place has been empty for a couple months now. Better yet, I wish that just once we'd live underneath people that don't stomp around their apartment from 5:30 am until 8 am. I put in my ear plugs and got back to sleep sometime around 6:30, thinking I could still get caught up enough to function, but then the kids picked this morning to be the only morning in over two weeks that they would be up before 8:30 am. 7:40 am they were up and raring to go.
I threw a fit, flung the blankets off me in a heap, and stomped out of bed and down the hall. Not my finest moment.
I was instantly greeted by Elijah, whining, "Mommy, I'm huuuuungry!"
I answered, "That's nice, Elijah." He understood that was his cue to remember his manners, and asked, in the same whining voice, "May I have someting to eat, puheeaase!?"
No longer a Disney Princess Mommy, I slammed some cereal into a bowl as they both yelled, "Can we eat with our hands?!" They like to eat dry cereal, so I gave them their bowls, and proceeded to get them some juice, but before I could even get the juice poured, Chastity had spilled half her bowl of cereal on her way to the table, and Selah (our dog) was chowing down on it. I snatched the bowl from Chastity's hands and set it on the table myself, just knowing that was the only way it would make it there. I retrieved the juice, put them down in front of the kids, and collapsed on the couch. I had gone from annoyed that I couldn't sleep, to irritated with our new neighbors, to completely livid that the kids would dare to get up before 8:30. The Cinderella from yesterday was now the wicked stepmother.
I was lying on the couch, naively believing the kids would sit at their table and quietly eat their breakfast and drink their juice. No such luck. They were dancing around, shouting nonsensical words, and Chastity thought it was best to do such things right in my face, and then began prying my eyes open with her fingers. They began climbing all over me. Blast that dry cereal! Had I given them milk and a spoon they would have had to sit down to eat it. I was clearly too tired to think these things through.
I gradually got my act together, and became more productive, but no less grumpy. I got my Earl Gray, and some breakfast, and got the beds stripped down to wash. I got the kids dressed, and got their train tracks set up to play with, and I went to take care of the dishes. Just after getting my hands in the soapy water my phone began to ring. 866 number. Ignore.
As soon as I started the dishes, Chastity and Elijah were both screaming at each other.
"Play nice!" I yelled, and when that didn't work I marched in there and threatened to take the train away. They calmed down, but still weren't any less whiney. I just got the gloves back on when Chastity had to go potty. I stripped her down, and got her on the potty, and watched as the pee shot straight out, not down as one might think, and all over the seat and floor. What the...? This topic deserves it's own blog, but lets just say that everyone warns you about boys peeing on you and everywhere, but no one will tell you that a girl can, and will do the same things...sometimes even worse.
I got her and the mess cleaned up, and went to wash my hands for the umpteenth time, and the burning of the split in my cracked finger became alarmingly painful. And then Mr. 866 was calling again. IGNORE.
I finished up the dishes, and immediately had to begin thinking about lunch, as Elijah, in his stealth like ways, showed up right behind me after I took of my dish washing gloves, whining, "Mommy! I'm huuuuuuungry!" I tried hard not to lash out at this poor child just for wanting a basic need, but my mood at that point was very dependent upon his tone, and he was not striking the proper tone with me.
"That's nice, Elijah," I said as calmly as I could muster, which was probably the tone of a snotty teenage girl.
"May I have someting to eat, puuheeease?"
Now my creative juices were flowing as I realized we didn't have many lunch options, and the kids had been eating cheese sticks with rolled up meat for weeks. They prefer that to sandwiches, but I was bound and determined to make sandwiches this time. Disney Mommy was digging and clawing her way back, as I asked, "Elijah and Chastity, would you like a special lunch?"
"YEAH!" they both yelled.
"How does grilled cheese sound?"
"YEAH!"
I was certain we had American cheese, and I began digging through the refrigerator. I was wrong. The only cheese I found, other than cheese sticks, and swiss which the kids don't like, was muenster. I wasn't sure how that would taste to them alone, and remembered the bologna I had bought, buy one get one free last night. Uhhh, sure, why not?
And I realized at the moment I was making my children grilled bologna and muenster sandwiches, in my Disney Mommy hope of winning them back over, that I had hit an all-time mommy low. I was no princess. I was a muenster.
Just then, as if to taunt me, Mr. 866 began calling again. I answered this time, fully prepared to give someone a really hard time, only to hear him hang up. And as I served my grateful, excited children "grilled bologna muensters," the song Good Life by OneRepublic was playing in my head, and the only part I know is the chorus:
Oh, this has gotta be the good life.
This has gotta be the good life.
This could really be a good life, good life.
Not really knowing the song, instinctively I was annoyed that the same three lines, the only three lines I know, kept replaying in my head. So I looked it up.
My grumpy, spiraling-out-of-control, wrong-side-of-the-bed-ness, grilled bologna muenster didn't hear anything pertaining to me in rest of the song, so I was like, so there, God. Don't be putting secular songs in my head, and making me think you're trying to teach me a lesson.
Then the song ended with one last line now stuck in my head forever.
"please tell me what there is to complain about?"
Maybe, just maybe, my wrong-side-of-the-bed-ness can be undone and this muenster can be a princess again. There is still time left to be the queen of Tuesday too.
Tuesday, August 16, 2011
Sunday, August 14, 2011
From the Mouth of Elijah
The other day at dinner, I had a very interesting conversation with Elijah.
"Mommy, I remember when I was a baby. Chastity wasn't a baby yet, but I was, and I was eating...with my fingers, like this." He motioned his hand going back and forth from the table to his mouth. "And I was putting my hands in my mouth, and I was sitting there." He pointed to the high chair.
"Really?" I asked. A thought occurred to me as I remembered an article I once read about how children sometimes can remember small details as far back as birth if you ask them early enough in life, and they can verbalize it. "Elijah, do you remember being born?" I asked, not even certain he would know what I was asking.
"Yes," he answered rather assertively. "It kinda hurt."
He didn't say that last part very clearly, so I wasn't sure of what I heard. "It didn't hurt?"
He looked at me with his sideways, serious face, "No, it DID hurt."
"Well, what did it feel like?"
"It felt kinda like shots."
"Like shots?"
He went on, this time dropping his fork to show me by moving his hand all over his face. "Yeah, the mans came over and shot me like this, and I cried and cried." He imitated a baby crying.
"All over your face?" I asked him, still hung up on his description and still skeptical.
"Yes." He showed me again, and this time I realized that he was doing the motion of the syringe bulb they would have used to suction out his nose and mouth. "And then the girls took me and gave me shots here and here." He motioned to his arms and legs." He must have been talking about the nurses who gave him his shots and poked him multiple times to check his blood sugar.
I was no longer skeptical. I was now convinced that my son does, in fact, remember the day he was born.
"Oh, and I don't want to be Elijah," he added. "I want to be Eli."
"You want us to call you Eli?"
"Yes." Serious face again.
"Why do you want to be called Eli?" I asked him. I began to wonder if he even remembered that...that I had called him Eli when he was a baby, and I was about to be even more impressed.
He thought for moment, "Because E.J. calls me Eli."
And that was the end of that.
He later went on to describe the two different ways Jelani used to hold him to get him to fall asleep when he was just a newbie, once Jelani got home that evening, but I couldn't get Eli to repeat what he'd told me at dinner.
Jelani was disappointed on both fronts, not only has he been asking Elijah if he remembered being born for the past two years with no results, but he hates Eli Manning.
"Mommy, I remember when I was a baby. Chastity wasn't a baby yet, but I was, and I was eating...with my fingers, like this." He motioned his hand going back and forth from the table to his mouth. "And I was putting my hands in my mouth, and I was sitting there." He pointed to the high chair.
"Really?" I asked. A thought occurred to me as I remembered an article I once read about how children sometimes can remember small details as far back as birth if you ask them early enough in life, and they can verbalize it. "Elijah, do you remember being born?" I asked, not even certain he would know what I was asking.
"Yes," he answered rather assertively. "It kinda hurt."
He didn't say that last part very clearly, so I wasn't sure of what I heard. "It didn't hurt?"
He looked at me with his sideways, serious face, "No, it DID hurt."
"Well, what did it feel like?"
"It felt kinda like shots."
"Like shots?"
He went on, this time dropping his fork to show me by moving his hand all over his face. "Yeah, the mans came over and shot me like this, and I cried and cried." He imitated a baby crying.
"All over your face?" I asked him, still hung up on his description and still skeptical.
"Yes." He showed me again, and this time I realized that he was doing the motion of the syringe bulb they would have used to suction out his nose and mouth. "And then the girls took me and gave me shots here and here." He motioned to his arms and legs." He must have been talking about the nurses who gave him his shots and poked him multiple times to check his blood sugar.
I was no longer skeptical. I was now convinced that my son does, in fact, remember the day he was born.
"Oh, and I don't want to be Elijah," he added. "I want to be Eli."
"You want us to call you Eli?"
"Yes." Serious face again.
"Why do you want to be called Eli?" I asked him. I began to wonder if he even remembered that...that I had called him Eli when he was a baby, and I was about to be even more impressed.
He thought for moment, "Because E.J. calls me Eli."
And that was the end of that.
He later went on to describe the two different ways Jelani used to hold him to get him to fall asleep when he was just a newbie, once Jelani got home that evening, but I couldn't get Eli to repeat what he'd told me at dinner.
Jelani was disappointed on both fronts, not only has he been asking Elijah if he remembered being born for the past two years with no results, but he hates Eli Manning.
Tuesday, August 9, 2011
The Invisible Handbook
For a while now I have felt that all children are born with invisible handbooks. Why invisible, you ask? Well, can you see this instruction manual that informs all children on how to behave in certain situations.
For instance, there must be an entire section just about getting attention.
"When in need of parental attention, the most natural way of seeking it is to cry. Keep in mind, however; that as you age, this will become less and less acceptable as well as less effective. You must be creative. Here are a list of options for you to keep things interesting if crying doesn't work.
1. First try the subtle, but never ending tap. Tap them wherever you can reach. If the tap is doing nothing, then move on to the grab, an article of clothing or a limb. Preferably the clothing because it's sure to grab their attention faster if they're worried about flashing someone.
2. Throw something. Try the closest object at first, but if that doesn't work, try something hard that will either make a loud noise or break OR both. That's a win/win.
3. Drag out your largest, loudest toys. These work best while your parent is on the phone or trying to watch TV.
Whatever you do, don't get frustrated and just scream. This is a surefire way to get sent straight to your room. Just remember, there are many different and subtle ways to 'throw a fit.' Be creative."
The section about how to get out of trouble must be extensive, and I believe that my children have read that section thoroughly.
"The instant you begin to get a tone or look from your parent letting you know that you are very close to trouble, you must let the cuteness seep out of your pores. A look which is most helpful is a slight tilt of the head with a half smile. Simultaneously bat your eye lids while opening them as wide as you can. Don't be discouraged. This is a tough cute face to master, but once you get it, your rear end will thank you. However, you must learn the proper times to use such a face. You don't want to come off as smug, so if you've done something serious enough, skip the cute face entirely and go straight for the apologetic cry and hug. Throw your arms around the offended parent immediately, and, if you've learned how, say 'I'm sorry!' do so in the best baby lisp you can muster.
Depending on your age and talent level, you may even be able to use the rare and coveted humor deterrent. Throw them off the scent of trouble with a little laughter. If they so much as crack a smile, then you've got them. Game over."
I learned of that entry the other day when Elijah was in trouble. I had told him repeatedly to leave the dog alone, but he insisted on pointing the squirt gun at her and pretending as though she was some sort of thief in our home. Selah, God bless her, was as patient as she could be. He had her backed right up against the wall, but she sat there merely snarling a warning at him, while I did all the yelling.
"Elijah! I've told you a dozen times already, leave the dog alone! She didn't do anything to you!" I yanked the squirt gun out of his hand, and he marched off toward his room.
I was doing the dishes when I noticed he had gone down the hall. He likes to play the victim and send himself to his room even when we haven't sent him there. Then he acts as though we did. Usually we let him do it. It tends to work to our advantage, but lately it's annoyed me more that he thinks he's manipulating me to feel sorry for him, so I yelled down the hall from the kitchen, "Elijah! What are you doing?"
"I'm not in my room!" he yelled back at me defiantly. He, very cleverly, only marched to his door, and stood there pouting, and he knew exactly what I was getting at.
"I didn't ask you that. I asked what you're doing."
"Well I'M.....NOT......IN.......MY......ROOOOOOOOM!" This time he poked his scowling head around the corner into the kitchen where I was doing the dishes, and he saw my scowling face back.
"Lose the attitude, Elijah!" I snarled at him.
He pointed down the hall, and yelled, "It's right there!"
And as the smile crept up onto my lips I silently cursed that invisible handbook.
The section on potty training is shorter than you would think. There are thousands of books at a parent's disposal about potty training their child, but the rules in the invisible handbook are short and to the point.
"Potty training? Your parents are under the mistaken impression that such a thing can be trained. You have one and only one instruction here. Use the potty when, and only when you want to. Their threats to you hold very little meaning while they are subjected to cleaning up your pee and your poop."
I really thought that section of the handbook was longer, but after much thought, I've realized that it really needn't say anything more. My children have done everything within their power to prove to me that I have no say in this 'training' what-so-ever.
Last week, Chastity began telling me when she had to go pee. I stupidly thought, "This is it!" After a long (and I do mean LONG) 18 months worth of potty training with Elijah, who is still very much on his own timing, I have been blessed with one of those children everyone talks about...the one who just knows when they're ready and takes it upon themselves to do the deed.
Well, within a week, I'd say Chastity has pretty much figured out (or decided to figure out) the peeing. However, I've noticed the opposite problem with this one than with Elijah, proving to me that it is, in fact, a conspiracy. I was prepared for a battle. Elijah had prepped me with the fights, the kicking and the screaming, and the refusing to step foot in the bathroom, but Chastity wants me to put her on the potty nearly every ten minutes. Do you know how many times a day I have to wash my hands? The skin is one wash away from cracking right off my knuckles. And do you know how many times she actually goes? About 1 in 5 times I take her. Rather than complain, I decided to be happy with it, but I had to set a timer so that she can't just hop on and off 'til her little heart's content. So one of the million times I took her to the potty today, I was in the middle of something. I left her there, set the timer in the kitchen, and went about my chores. But, like a pro, she took a note straight out of the handbook about getting my attention. The timer hadn't gone off, but she wanted down. I refused to go in there...that is, until I heard this:
"Mommy! I neeeeeed you wipe my hands!!"
What on earth?
"MOOOOOMMMMY! I NEEEEEEEED you wipe my hands!!!"
Has she confused her butt with her hands?
I rushed in to find that she knew exactly which was which, and she'd wiped the former with the latter.
Points for creativity, Chastity. Well done.
For instance, there must be an entire section just about getting attention.
"When in need of parental attention, the most natural way of seeking it is to cry. Keep in mind, however; that as you age, this will become less and less acceptable as well as less effective. You must be creative. Here are a list of options for you to keep things interesting if crying doesn't work.
1. First try the subtle, but never ending tap. Tap them wherever you can reach. If the tap is doing nothing, then move on to the grab, an article of clothing or a limb. Preferably the clothing because it's sure to grab their attention faster if they're worried about flashing someone.
2. Throw something. Try the closest object at first, but if that doesn't work, try something hard that will either make a loud noise or break OR both. That's a win/win.
3. Drag out your largest, loudest toys. These work best while your parent is on the phone or trying to watch TV.
Whatever you do, don't get frustrated and just scream. This is a surefire way to get sent straight to your room. Just remember, there are many different and subtle ways to 'throw a fit.' Be creative."
The section about how to get out of trouble must be extensive, and I believe that my children have read that section thoroughly.
"The instant you begin to get a tone or look from your parent letting you know that you are very close to trouble, you must let the cuteness seep out of your pores. A look which is most helpful is a slight tilt of the head with a half smile. Simultaneously bat your eye lids while opening them as wide as you can. Don't be discouraged. This is a tough cute face to master, but once you get it, your rear end will thank you. However, you must learn the proper times to use such a face. You don't want to come off as smug, so if you've done something serious enough, skip the cute face entirely and go straight for the apologetic cry and hug. Throw your arms around the offended parent immediately, and, if you've learned how, say 'I'm sorry!' do so in the best baby lisp you can muster.
Depending on your age and talent level, you may even be able to use the rare and coveted humor deterrent. Throw them off the scent of trouble with a little laughter. If they so much as crack a smile, then you've got them. Game over."
I learned of that entry the other day when Elijah was in trouble. I had told him repeatedly to leave the dog alone, but he insisted on pointing the squirt gun at her and pretending as though she was some sort of thief in our home. Selah, God bless her, was as patient as she could be. He had her backed right up against the wall, but she sat there merely snarling a warning at him, while I did all the yelling.
"Elijah! I've told you a dozen times already, leave the dog alone! She didn't do anything to you!" I yanked the squirt gun out of his hand, and he marched off toward his room.
I was doing the dishes when I noticed he had gone down the hall. He likes to play the victim and send himself to his room even when we haven't sent him there. Then he acts as though we did. Usually we let him do it. It tends to work to our advantage, but lately it's annoyed me more that he thinks he's manipulating me to feel sorry for him, so I yelled down the hall from the kitchen, "Elijah! What are you doing?"
"I'm not in my room!" he yelled back at me defiantly. He, very cleverly, only marched to his door, and stood there pouting, and he knew exactly what I was getting at.
"I didn't ask you that. I asked what you're doing."
"Well I'M.....NOT......IN.......MY......ROOOOOOOOM!" This time he poked his scowling head around the corner into the kitchen where I was doing the dishes, and he saw my scowling face back.
"Lose the attitude, Elijah!" I snarled at him.
He pointed down the hall, and yelled, "It's right there!"
And as the smile crept up onto my lips I silently cursed that invisible handbook.
The section on potty training is shorter than you would think. There are thousands of books at a parent's disposal about potty training their child, but the rules in the invisible handbook are short and to the point.
"Potty training? Your parents are under the mistaken impression that such a thing can be trained. You have one and only one instruction here. Use the potty when, and only when you want to. Their threats to you hold very little meaning while they are subjected to cleaning up your pee and your poop."
I really thought that section of the handbook was longer, but after much thought, I've realized that it really needn't say anything more. My children have done everything within their power to prove to me that I have no say in this 'training' what-so-ever.
Last week, Chastity began telling me when she had to go pee. I stupidly thought, "This is it!" After a long (and I do mean LONG) 18 months worth of potty training with Elijah, who is still very much on his own timing, I have been blessed with one of those children everyone talks about...the one who just knows when they're ready and takes it upon themselves to do the deed.
Well, within a week, I'd say Chastity has pretty much figured out (or decided to figure out) the peeing. However, I've noticed the opposite problem with this one than with Elijah, proving to me that it is, in fact, a conspiracy. I was prepared for a battle. Elijah had prepped me with the fights, the kicking and the screaming, and the refusing to step foot in the bathroom, but Chastity wants me to put her on the potty nearly every ten minutes. Do you know how many times a day I have to wash my hands? The skin is one wash away from cracking right off my knuckles. And do you know how many times she actually goes? About 1 in 5 times I take her. Rather than complain, I decided to be happy with it, but I had to set a timer so that she can't just hop on and off 'til her little heart's content. So one of the million times I took her to the potty today, I was in the middle of something. I left her there, set the timer in the kitchen, and went about my chores. But, like a pro, she took a note straight out of the handbook about getting my attention. The timer hadn't gone off, but she wanted down. I refused to go in there...that is, until I heard this:
"Mommy! I neeeeeed you wipe my hands!!"
What on earth?
"MOOOOOMMMMY! I NEEEEEEEED you wipe my hands!!!"
Has she confused her butt with her hands?
I rushed in to find that she knew exactly which was which, and she'd wiped the former with the latter.
Points for creativity, Chastity. Well done.
Saturday, August 6, 2011
Cher-ing Names
Over the years many people have asked us about how we decided on our children's names. Elijah was easy. Despite giving Elijah the initials EGG, which was a concern of mine, it came to us pretty easily. When we were dating we had both shared a love for the name, Elijah because of the Bible, and the faithful prophet of the Lord. George is Jelani's father's name, and we wanted Elijah to have two names of noble, faithful, honorable men. And so, was born, Elijah George Greene.
Chastity was much more difficult. During both pregnancies we never had problems coming up with boy names that we both liked, but the girl names just weren't happening for us. We wanted something biblical, but most of the girl names in the Bible, while nice names, are far too commonly used, and we wanted something more original. The biblical names for girls that were original were names such as...well...Dorcas and Gomer. There were others that sounded pretty, but when we'd look up the meaning, they'd mean things like "sickly" or "weak," and we took great care with the meanings of names. We wanted to speak blessings, not curses on our precious children.
Right up until week 20 of my pregnancy with Chastity, we were certain that we were having another boy, and we were set with a name. I had given girl names some thought just in case, but had never come up with one that Jelani liked.
We waited patiently during the ultrasound for the news.
"Looks like you'll be having a little girl!" the ultrasound technician said. Jelani smiled but stared blankly ahead until after the tech left the room. He looked quickly at me, and said, "I'm going to need to take up hunting."
He didn't say much of anything else for a while. We were escorted into an office for the rest of the appointment, and while we were waiting, Jelani was still in shock. He sat in a chair in the corner, clearly lost in thoughts of young men knocking on his door...young men he would have to escort into a room full of weapons and tell "I ain't afraid to go back to jail." A parenting magazine caught his eye with a little light skinned girl who had long curly hair with natural golden highlights.
He smiled. "She could look like that, ya know." He softened a bit, but I could still see thoughts of how he would hide a body of a forward young man if need be running through his head.
"Let's name her Chastity Belt," he suggested, more seriously than you would think.
I laughed, "Well...Chastity can be used as a name, but I don't think Belt is an appropriate middle name."
We went home and did some research. We landed on Faith for a middle name, speaking of how we want her to have a pure and child-like faith in God. And I found that the only famous Chastity was Chastity Bono, the daughter of Sonny and Cher, and I thought, "Well, not many people will remember that. She hasn't been in the news in years."
Jokes on me. Exactly two weeks after Chastity was born, I was doing some grocery shopping and while waiting at the check out I noticed the headline on the cover of that week's People Magazine, "Chastity's Choice: A Sex change for Cher's Daughter." Awesome. Perfect timing. Thanks for that.
Thankfully no one said too much, but it did come up when someone in my family suggested that we nickname our little Chastity, Chaz. That would have been super cute had we not all just heard that it would be Cher's new son's name. Nothing against her...or him, but she...or he kind of stole our thunder, so I was irritated.
I got over it, laughed at the whole thing, and had moved on. One day while taking the kids to the park last year, we spoke briefly to an older gentleman who was there with his son and grandchildren. He was asking the kids' names, and when we told him, he flashed a big smile and quickly said, "Ah, a prophet and a virtue! Wonderful names!" I smiled, and was happy. Here was a guy who got it. He understood the thought we'd put into these names, and he appreciated them.
Only a few weeks later, I was getting my hair cut. Making small talk, Chastity's names came up, and I was explaining how we landed on it. I told her the story about People Magazine, now thinking it was all quite funny. Michelle laughed, and while she continued to cut she said, "It's funny how Chastity [Bono] is the only one that's been in the limelight. Cher has a son too, by one of the Allman Brothers...Gregg Allman. Her son's name is Elijah, but you never hear anything about him."
SUPER.
So depending on the crowd, when people hear of the names of our children, they might say, "Ah, a prophet and a virtue!" or they might just say, "Big Cher fans, huh?"
Now I'm on a mission to have more children to purposely avoid copying Cher any longer.
*Disclaimer: I was going to type a disclaimer, but if I need a disclaimer, then you clearly don't get the point of this blog or my sense of humor, so nope...no disclaimer.
Chastity was much more difficult. During both pregnancies we never had problems coming up with boy names that we both liked, but the girl names just weren't happening for us. We wanted something biblical, but most of the girl names in the Bible, while nice names, are far too commonly used, and we wanted something more original. The biblical names for girls that were original were names such as...well...Dorcas and Gomer. There were others that sounded pretty, but when we'd look up the meaning, they'd mean things like "sickly" or "weak," and we took great care with the meanings of names. We wanted to speak blessings, not curses on our precious children.
Right up until week 20 of my pregnancy with Chastity, we were certain that we were having another boy, and we were set with a name. I had given girl names some thought just in case, but had never come up with one that Jelani liked.
We waited patiently during the ultrasound for the news.
"Looks like you'll be having a little girl!" the ultrasound technician said. Jelani smiled but stared blankly ahead until after the tech left the room. He looked quickly at me, and said, "I'm going to need to take up hunting."
He didn't say much of anything else for a while. We were escorted into an office for the rest of the appointment, and while we were waiting, Jelani was still in shock. He sat in a chair in the corner, clearly lost in thoughts of young men knocking on his door...young men he would have to escort into a room full of weapons and tell "I ain't afraid to go back to jail." A parenting magazine caught his eye with a little light skinned girl who had long curly hair with natural golden highlights.
He smiled. "She could look like that, ya know." He softened a bit, but I could still see thoughts of how he would hide a body of a forward young man if need be running through his head.
"Let's name her Chastity Belt," he suggested, more seriously than you would think.
I laughed, "Well...Chastity can be used as a name, but I don't think Belt is an appropriate middle name."
We went home and did some research. We landed on Faith for a middle name, speaking of how we want her to have a pure and child-like faith in God. And I found that the only famous Chastity was Chastity Bono, the daughter of Sonny and Cher, and I thought, "Well, not many people will remember that. She hasn't been in the news in years."
Jokes on me. Exactly two weeks after Chastity was born, I was doing some grocery shopping and while waiting at the check out I noticed the headline on the cover of that week's People Magazine, "Chastity's Choice: A Sex change for Cher's Daughter." Awesome. Perfect timing. Thanks for that.
Thankfully no one said too much, but it did come up when someone in my family suggested that we nickname our little Chastity, Chaz. That would have been super cute had we not all just heard that it would be Cher's new son's name. Nothing against her...or him, but she...or he kind of stole our thunder, so I was irritated.
I got over it, laughed at the whole thing, and had moved on. One day while taking the kids to the park last year, we spoke briefly to an older gentleman who was there with his son and grandchildren. He was asking the kids' names, and when we told him, he flashed a big smile and quickly said, "Ah, a prophet and a virtue! Wonderful names!" I smiled, and was happy. Here was a guy who got it. He understood the thought we'd put into these names, and he appreciated them.
Only a few weeks later, I was getting my hair cut. Making small talk, Chastity's names came up, and I was explaining how we landed on it. I told her the story about People Magazine, now thinking it was all quite funny. Michelle laughed, and while she continued to cut she said, "It's funny how Chastity [Bono] is the only one that's been in the limelight. Cher has a son too, by one of the Allman Brothers...Gregg Allman. Her son's name is Elijah, but you never hear anything about him."
SUPER.
So depending on the crowd, when people hear of the names of our children, they might say, "Ah, a prophet and a virtue!" or they might just say, "Big Cher fans, huh?"
Now I'm on a mission to have more children to purposely avoid copying Cher any longer.
*Disclaimer: I was going to type a disclaimer, but if I need a disclaimer, then you clearly don't get the point of this blog or my sense of humor, so nope...no disclaimer.
Tuesday, August 2, 2011
If You Don't Listen...You'll Get Swallowed by a Whale
Every now and then we have a day where the children seem to be having difficulty listening hard of hearing.
down right defiant.
It's one of those days when you're not sure why, but you are certain that your children have set their goal for the day and they are bound and determined to get whooped at any cost.
When we have those days around here, we always return to a familiar Bible story in the children's Bible about Jonah and the whale. To recap, God told Jonah to deliver a message for Him. Jonah didn't like this assignment, thought he would run from God (silly, silly boy), and hopped on a boat with some guys heading in the other direction. God became angry, and caused a storm to be so rough that the men threw Jonah overboard, certain that he was the cause of their bad sea fortune. In His grace and mercy, God allowed Jonah to be swallowed by a whale rather than drown, and once Jonah asked for forgiveness and agreed to do what God had asked, the whale spit him out onto dry land.
Obviously, the moral here, is to listen to what God tells you to do. You can dive deeper into it as well, stating that while being swallowed by a whale seems a horrible thing, it was merely a temporary discomfort Jonah had to go through rather than drowning. So sometimes, when we think we're going through a hot mess, God is really protecting us even though we didn't listen to Him in the first place.
All of that being said, what this story has come down to in the Greene household is this, "Listen to Mommy and Daddy, or you will be swallowed by a whale!" This sounds like horrible Christian parenting at it's finest, I know. And it didn't begin this way. However, over the course of time, and struggles with difficult days, we just landed on that story in moments of weakness and frustration (but in a pinch I can turn any Bible story into a story about listening).
Yesterday afternoon was a particularly rough day for Elijah. I think he had grown tired of the attention Chastity was getting because of her injured arm, and he was behaving outlandishly to get his own, however negative, attention. Bedtime came, and we settled on the floor for Bible time. Daddy grabbed the children's Bible, looked at Elijah and asked, "What story do you think we're going to talk about today, Elijah?"
"Jonah and the Whale. Megan's favorite!"
Megan couldn't help but laugh. She is our friend who has visited many times, and witnessed our Bible time lessons.
"Very good! Why do you think we're going to talk about Jonah and the Whale today?"
"Because I didn't listen?"
"Yes, and what happens when you don't listen?"
"You get swallowed by a whale."
Of course we shared the real story with him, and of course we explained the real meaning. When it was all said and done Daddy asked Elijah to recap the story for us. He did his best, but it still came down to "Jonah didn't listen to God, so he got swallowed by a whale."
Daddy asked, "So who are you going to listen to?"
Elijah answered with big smiles, "Mommy!"
"Who else?"
"Daddy!"
"And?"
"God!!"
"Exactly!"
And just so no one was left out, Elijah added, "And Megan!"
An added quirk, is that over the past few months Elijah has randomly mentioned to me how he's scared of whales, doesn't like whales, etc. I just now, in this moment, while writing this story, connected those dots. So the next time your children are acting up and refusing to listen to a word you say, remind them of poor Jonah, and tell them they'd better watch out for those whales.
Friday, July 29, 2011
A Dentist, a Doctor, and a Clown
Wednesday, for me, was a lot like a baseball game. Quick sudden bursts of action crammed into short amounts of time paired with a lot of waiting around.
As most of you know, I was running in the Ronald McDonald 5K Wednesday evening. For many, a 5K is a walk in the park, but I have to mentally and physically prepare for such a venture with all of my being, and I am much better off if my day leading up to a 5K is relatively uneventful. Wednesday was not such a day.
The kids had their first ever dentist appointments Wednesday morning at 9:30 am. Yes, yes I know...this is something that should have been done a long time ago, but we've moved an average of once a year since Elijah was born, and changed insurance more times than I can count, so yeah, I was a little lazy about finding a dentist to take care of teeth that wouldn't be around much longer. Let's move on.
The dentist appointment was scheduled a week in advance, so it's not as though I didn't know about it. I was fully prepared, and understood that I should get my rest, since it wasn't going to be such a typical day. I went to bed at 9:30 Tuesday night. I had the most wonderful night of sleep...no cricket farts to be had (read previous blog), and awoke all on my own at 7:45 am. Plenty of time to be ready and early to the dentist!
After showering, and eating, and readying myself like a champ, I gave myself a pat on the back for being ready before the kids were even up. I sat down to play around on the computer just knowing that the kids would be up any second. After all, they're up on any normal day around 8:15 to 8:45.
But like I said, this was no typical day. Of COURSE this would be the day they sleep, and sleep...and sleep! I had to go wake them up just after 9, which, as you know, did not leave us nearly enough time to get out the door and to the dentist on time. I ran two confused toddlers around to get dressed, find shoes, and brush their teeth all while rubbing their eyes at me, but this did somehow build up the excitement of going to the dentist, and by the time we pulled up they were shouting, "we're going to take care of our teeeeeeth!"
The children came through with flying colors. Of course there was the hand holding, and the singing, and the "Yay! Your teeth are getting a bubble bath!" In fact, there was so much of that, that I couldn't fill any of the paperwork out until they were both all done. But the fact that they let the dentists there touch them without screaming so loudly the whole building heard, was a miracle in itself. And I learned that by calling them dentists, not doctors, the children were much more responsive and eager to please. So I was pleased.
I hurried them home because they had yet to eat anything and it was now after 11. I sat them down with special bowls of Lucky Charms (which they totally earned and deserved), and then started my morning chores around the house. This usually begins in their room, because, while it's neat otherwise, they mess their beds up so badly while they sleep that it looks like a tornado slept there. It was only about a minute after I heard them yell, "I ate all my food, Mommy!" that I heard a small thud, and Chastity's scream immediately followed.
Now you have to understand, that happens nearly every day. She is either tumbling on the floor, off the couch, or spinning until she can no longer walk. It is endless entertainment, but also the constant cause of minor injury.
My first reaction: "You're OK!" as I continued to make her bed. Elijah then came in to let me know that Chastity hurt herself. The screaming didn't stop, and Chastity came to find me. Upon lifting her I noticed she wouldn't move her right arm, and the screaming got louder. I rushed her to the couch and stripped off her shirt like a band-aid to exam her. The way she was holding her arm made it look like she'd dislocated her shoulder, but she screamed no matter where I touched it.
It was now 11:45 am. I was hoping to avoid the ER, so I called her pediatrician. That conversation went well.
"Hi, this is Erin Greene. My daughter, Chastity has an appointment with you tomorrow, but she just hurt her arm badly, and I'm wondering if I can bring her in...um...now."
(Chastity screaming in the background)
Receptionist: Ummm...You want to combine it with her well visit...with her shots and stuff?
(Yes, yes, that is exactly what I'd like to do...she's not screaming hard enough, so give her some violent shots to her legs as well, please.)
"No, no. I just want someone to look at her arm...if at all possible. If they then recommend that I take her to the ER, I will, but I'd like someone to check."
(Chastity continues to scream)
Receptionist: Oh, ok, because we can't combine it with her well visit. We wouldn't have enough time to do both.
(Thank you for that. Good to know)
"Ok, well can I bring her in right now?" (Now 11:47am)
Receptionist: Sure, how's 1 o'clock sound? Does that work for you?
(Really? Does that sound like NOW? Do you hear the words coming out of my mouth?)
"Ummm...no, right now?"
Receptionist: Sorry, we take lunch from noon to 1, so we can't see her before 1.
"Ok then. I'll take her to the ER. Thank you very much (for nothing).
I got Chastity to the ER quickly, constantly checking my mirrors, just daring a cop to pull over this mom on a mission.
I never did put her shirt back on. It would have been too painful. So I carried my half naked little girl into the ER, and gave them her name. Hoping to rush them through their computer system, I opened with "Chastity Greene, she's been here before," and gave them her birth date. Because she had a minor injury to her left arm about 6 weeks ago when she pulled hard from holding my hand while crossing the street.
In hindsight, that may not have been the best introduction, since the cop sitting right behind the receptionist didn't stop watching me the rest of the time we were in the waiting area. However, they did get us in quickly. That's about the only thing they did quickly. After about a half hour someone came in to examine her. This was quite the difficult task, because it didn't matter where the doctor touched her, she screamed simply because a stranger was touching her. They decided to go ahead and x-ray the whole arm, shoulder to wrist, since the exam was so inconclusive. It was another hour before anyone came to take her in for her x-ray. After the x-ray, we sat in there, alone for nearly 3 hours before someone finally came to tell us that they determined she had a closed fracture of the elbow, and would need a soft cast. At this time, it was after 4, I hadn't had any food or water since around 11am, and my 5K was at 6:30!
Let's recap: my children hadn't seen a dentist before Wednesday, I fed them Lucky Charms immediately after the dentist appointments, I yelled to Chastity "You're OK!" after she took a tumble that landed her in a cast, and yes, I'm still going to run a 5K after bringing home a tired, hurting little girl from the hospital. I know, I know...I should be nominated for Mother of the Year.
It all sounds bad, but I promise you she was in good spirits by the time we left the hospital, and Jelani is quite capable, contrary to what you may have heard.
We were home by 5, Jelani started dinner for the kids, and I ate some quick bread and butter (the pregame meal of champions), and headed out the door to the Ronald McDonald House 5K. I couldn't let my supporters down, and, let's face it, a good run after a day like that should be very therapeutic.
Only it wasn't. It was nice to get out in the fresh air, but bread and butter is so not the pregame meal of champions. I was tired, and dehydrated, and just plain malnourished, and after only about half a mile, my legs felt like they were going to collapse beneath me. But, if playing basketball at the Division 1 level taught me anything, it was how to push through pain and get out of my comfort zone, so I continued on, and was surprised to find that my 1st mile time was 8:53. I smiled to myself just knowing that I could run this all in less than 28 minutes even on collapsible legs.
By the third mile I started to see men as old as or older than my dad (no offense Dad) passing me. Unacceptable. I kicked it up a notch...or so I thought, only to find a nice long hill at the very end of the race. I...uhhh..."sprinted" to the finish, but, alas, my efforts produced only a time of 28:41. At the time, I thought that was alright, but later realized that my last 5K was finished in 28:25.
So I took a few steps backwards. I can live with that. And my excellent mommy instincts told me I shouldn't stay and participate in the after party, but rather get home to my aching little girl.
Thank you to my supporters for helping make my run possible and support the Ronald McDonald House. I don't have a picture from this race because, sadly, I ran this one alone, and though I didn't see Ronald, I'd like to believe he was there, as he should be, supporting the cause which holds his name.
I went home, hugged my babies, and ate a fudge brownie sundae. What a day!
As most of you know, I was running in the Ronald McDonald 5K Wednesday evening. For many, a 5K is a walk in the park, but I have to mentally and physically prepare for such a venture with all of my being, and I am much better off if my day leading up to a 5K is relatively uneventful. Wednesday was not such a day.
The kids had their first ever dentist appointments Wednesday morning at 9:30 am. Yes, yes I know...this is something that should have been done a long time ago, but we've moved an average of once a year since Elijah was born, and changed insurance more times than I can count, so yeah, I was a little lazy about finding a dentist to take care of teeth that wouldn't be around much longer. Let's move on.
The dentist appointment was scheduled a week in advance, so it's not as though I didn't know about it. I was fully prepared, and understood that I should get my rest, since it wasn't going to be such a typical day. I went to bed at 9:30 Tuesday night. I had the most wonderful night of sleep...no cricket farts to be had (read previous blog), and awoke all on my own at 7:45 am. Plenty of time to be ready and early to the dentist!
After showering, and eating, and readying myself like a champ, I gave myself a pat on the back for being ready before the kids were even up. I sat down to play around on the computer just knowing that the kids would be up any second. After all, they're up on any normal day around 8:15 to 8:45.
But like I said, this was no typical day. Of COURSE this would be the day they sleep, and sleep...and sleep! I had to go wake them up just after 9, which, as you know, did not leave us nearly enough time to get out the door and to the dentist on time. I ran two confused toddlers around to get dressed, find shoes, and brush their teeth all while rubbing their eyes at me, but this did somehow build up the excitement of going to the dentist, and by the time we pulled up they were shouting, "we're going to take care of our teeeeeeth!"
The children came through with flying colors. Of course there was the hand holding, and the singing, and the "Yay! Your teeth are getting a bubble bath!" In fact, there was so much of that, that I couldn't fill any of the paperwork out until they were both all done. But the fact that they let the dentists there touch them without screaming so loudly the whole building heard, was a miracle in itself. And I learned that by calling them dentists, not doctors, the children were much more responsive and eager to please. So I was pleased.
I hurried them home because they had yet to eat anything and it was now after 11. I sat them down with special bowls of Lucky Charms (which they totally earned and deserved), and then started my morning chores around the house. This usually begins in their room, because, while it's neat otherwise, they mess their beds up so badly while they sleep that it looks like a tornado slept there. It was only about a minute after I heard them yell, "I ate all my food, Mommy!" that I heard a small thud, and Chastity's scream immediately followed.
Now you have to understand, that happens nearly every day. She is either tumbling on the floor, off the couch, or spinning until she can no longer walk. It is endless entertainment, but also the constant cause of minor injury.
My first reaction: "You're OK!" as I continued to make her bed. Elijah then came in to let me know that Chastity hurt herself. The screaming didn't stop, and Chastity came to find me. Upon lifting her I noticed she wouldn't move her right arm, and the screaming got louder. I rushed her to the couch and stripped off her shirt like a band-aid to exam her. The way she was holding her arm made it look like she'd dislocated her shoulder, but she screamed no matter where I touched it.
It was now 11:45 am. I was hoping to avoid the ER, so I called her pediatrician. That conversation went well.
"Hi, this is Erin Greene. My daughter, Chastity has an appointment with you tomorrow, but she just hurt her arm badly, and I'm wondering if I can bring her in...um...now."
(Chastity screaming in the background)
Receptionist: Ummm...You want to combine it with her well visit...with her shots and stuff?
(Yes, yes, that is exactly what I'd like to do...she's not screaming hard enough, so give her some violent shots to her legs as well, please.)
"No, no. I just want someone to look at her arm...if at all possible. If they then recommend that I take her to the ER, I will, but I'd like someone to check."
(Chastity continues to scream)
Receptionist: Oh, ok, because we can't combine it with her well visit. We wouldn't have enough time to do both.
(Thank you for that. Good to know)
"Ok, well can I bring her in right now?" (Now 11:47am)
Receptionist: Sure, how's 1 o'clock sound? Does that work for you?
(Really? Does that sound like NOW? Do you hear the words coming out of my mouth?)
"Ummm...no, right now?"
Receptionist: Sorry, we take lunch from noon to 1, so we can't see her before 1.
"Ok then. I'll take her to the ER. Thank you very much (for nothing).
I got Chastity to the ER quickly, constantly checking my mirrors, just daring a cop to pull over this mom on a mission.
I never did put her shirt back on. It would have been too painful. So I carried my half naked little girl into the ER, and gave them her name. Hoping to rush them through their computer system, I opened with "Chastity Greene, she's been here before," and gave them her birth date. Because she had a minor injury to her left arm about 6 weeks ago when she pulled hard from holding my hand while crossing the street.
In hindsight, that may not have been the best introduction, since the cop sitting right behind the receptionist didn't stop watching me the rest of the time we were in the waiting area. However, they did get us in quickly. That's about the only thing they did quickly. After about a half hour someone came in to examine her. This was quite the difficult task, because it didn't matter where the doctor touched her, she screamed simply because a stranger was touching her. They decided to go ahead and x-ray the whole arm, shoulder to wrist, since the exam was so inconclusive. It was another hour before anyone came to take her in for her x-ray. After the x-ray, we sat in there, alone for nearly 3 hours before someone finally came to tell us that they determined she had a closed fracture of the elbow, and would need a soft cast. At this time, it was after 4, I hadn't had any food or water since around 11am, and my 5K was at 6:30!
Let's recap: my children hadn't seen a dentist before Wednesday, I fed them Lucky Charms immediately after the dentist appointments, I yelled to Chastity "You're OK!" after she took a tumble that landed her in a cast, and yes, I'm still going to run a 5K after bringing home a tired, hurting little girl from the hospital. I know, I know...I should be nominated for Mother of the Year.
It all sounds bad, but I promise you she was in good spirits by the time we left the hospital, and Jelani is quite capable, contrary to what you may have heard.
We were home by 5, Jelani started dinner for the kids, and I ate some quick bread and butter (the pregame meal of champions), and headed out the door to the Ronald McDonald House 5K. I couldn't let my supporters down, and, let's face it, a good run after a day like that should be very therapeutic.
Only it wasn't. It was nice to get out in the fresh air, but bread and butter is so not the pregame meal of champions. I was tired, and dehydrated, and just plain malnourished, and after only about half a mile, my legs felt like they were going to collapse beneath me. But, if playing basketball at the Division 1 level taught me anything, it was how to push through pain and get out of my comfort zone, so I continued on, and was surprised to find that my 1st mile time was 8:53. I smiled to myself just knowing that I could run this all in less than 28 minutes even on collapsible legs.
By the third mile I started to see men as old as or older than my dad (no offense Dad) passing me. Unacceptable. I kicked it up a notch...or so I thought, only to find a nice long hill at the very end of the race. I...uhhh..."sprinted" to the finish, but, alas, my efforts produced only a time of 28:41. At the time, I thought that was alright, but later realized that my last 5K was finished in 28:25.
So I took a few steps backwards. I can live with that. And my excellent mommy instincts told me I shouldn't stay and participate in the after party, but rather get home to my aching little girl.
Thank you to my supporters for helping make my run possible and support the Ronald McDonald House. I don't have a picture from this race because, sadly, I ran this one alone, and though I didn't see Ronald, I'd like to believe he was there, as he should be, supporting the cause which holds his name.
I went home, hugged my babies, and ate a fudge brownie sundae. What a day!
Monday, July 18, 2011
The Case of the Mysterious...Cricket Farts?
I might tell you that I am a light sleeper. Jelani would tell you that this is an understatement and that I "wake up to a cricket fart."
I can't even tell you the last time I slept all the way through the night, and my children are perfectly good sleepers! Most recently our dog, Selah, has decided she is going to be a barking dog. So I'm no longer waking up to cricket farts, I'm waking up to Selah barking at cricket farts.
When we first rescued Selah, I went several months thinking that she couldn't or didn't know how to bark. Her only form of communication was growling at us very much like Chewbacca to get us to do what she wanted us to do. At the time we lived in an apartment on the bottom of three stories of apartments, in a college community where parties went on around us late into the wee hours of the morning, and the couple above us often participated in some very loud...uhhh...calorie burning activities anywhere from 2 to 5 in the morning. Selah never barked. Our next move was to a house placed only about 200 feet in front of train tracks where the train passed by around every 30 to 45 minutes. Still, Selah rarely barked.
Jelani would tell you I am wrong about that, but trust me...he'd be wrong. If Selah barked at that train constantly during a time that I had a new baby, I would have kicked her out of the house so fast...
But I digress. From there we moved back to Pennsylvania. Selah barked more often there, but not every night. The silence of small, backwoods PA confused here, so the cricket farts were a lot easier to hear I guess.
After only a few months there we moved, yet again, to Elmira. With no air conditioning we had the windows open constantly. We had a house about 5 feet from us on either side, and were on a street where traffic moved constantly. And still, Selah's barking was at a minimum. The barking that did ensue there, we later discovered, was the result of chasing a mouse or two around the apartment in the middle of the night. Those were some fun nights in Elmira.
Our next move was to a very small apartment in Buffalo. It was inside a building with three other apartments, all filled with college students. Our apartment, of course, was the first one inside the door, so we heard everyone coming and going, and the couple living above us had a dog that barked nonstop while they were gone. I am sure they just thought she was the best, quietest dog ever. She never made a peep when they were home, but when they were gone, and I was trying to get the kids to nap, I had to pray the wind didn't blow a single branch and that no one walked past, or that dog would (and did) bark all day. Yet, somehow, through all of that, Selah still remained calm, cool, and collected, only barking occasionally...like a normal dog.
Lastly, we moved to the apartment we are in now. We're near UB's South Campus, on a busy street, so we see and hear college students walk by often. However we don't live near many students...at least not the wild ones, because we rarely ever hear parties. We do hear the drunk college kids walking down the street after leaving the bars occasionally though. But we have lived here over a year now, and just this summer has that become an issue. It's hotter than a sauna in here (no joke our thermostat currently reads 89 degrees) with windows in the living room caulked shut, we have fans running everywhere, and every other window we can possibly open is open. The dog happens to sleep right next to one of those open windows, and just within the last month has decided to bark every night anywhere between 1 and 4 in the morning.
At first I was concerned that something was really wrong. I was all like, "What is it girl? Is someone bad trying to get into our home? Is there a fire?" I would eventually discover that it was nothing, send her back to bed and calm her with a nice pat on the head, as if to let her know how much I appreciate her trying to protect us. Now, when I find myself suddenly awake to her insistent barking, I throw the covers off, stomp out of bed and down the hall mumbling like a lunatic, "What is it? Did one of hundreds of cars drive by? Did the wind blow a leaf by the window? DID A CRICKET FART?!" And I send her back to bed with a slap on the rear.
If this were the one and only issue in the night I might be a little more sane (or a little less insane, depending on how you see it), but I constantly find myself just about to drift off to sleep when I hear a loud THUD, or maybe several quieter thuds in a row. Sometimes I can feel them before I'm awake enough to hear them. If any of you parents out there have children relatively new to twin or toddler beds, you probably recognize the sound of a child falling to the floor. Only here, with all the fans on full blast, everything is a little muffled, and I never knew if it was just the neighbors moving around upstairs, or if it was one of my children, until I began to hear the startled-awake screams which followed. Then, last month, our upstairs neighbors moved out, leaving me wondering what the heck was going on in the middle of the night in my kids' bedroom! It became a mystery to me. The thuds never stopped, and Jelani's theory was that I was hearing things...creating something out of nothing in my paranoid, 24/7 mommy brain, because of course he sleeps through everything.
I was beginning to think that maybe he was right...until last night. One would think that after going to bed at 9:45 last night, I would be well rested today. One would be wrong, and here is why:
11:30 pm - Selah barking
1:23 am - Selah barking
1:35 am - dang it, now that I've been up, I have to pee
1:56 am - THUD thudthudthud.............thud
2:01 am - one more little thud, and I'm up standing at the kids' door, waiting to hear that darn cricket
2:05 am - heard nothing at door. got back in bed
2:28 am - Selah barking
2:50 am - THUD THUUUUUUUUD I thought for sure something happened that time
2:56 am - heard nothing at door and got back in bed
3:31 am - Selah barking (made Jelani go kick her)
3:42 am - THUD......THUDscreamTHUDthudthudthudscreamTHUDthudthudSCREEEEEAAAAM
3:44 am - Jelani returns after putting Elijah back in bed, and noticing that the night light (which shuts off after 45 minutes) had been turned back on, and Chastity was very much pretending to be asleep with her eyes squinted tightly shut
AhHA! The cricket has been located. I am not crazy, and I do not make up noises in my head. It would appear, through a series of events and deductive reasoning, that Chastity is the cricket..."farting" around in the night when she is supposed to be sleeping. This explains my sleepless nights. This explains most of the light thudding. And this explains her more recent, unusual grumpy behavior in the mornings.
And maybe...just maybe if I can get the cricket to stop farting, then the dog will stop barking, because clearly, poor Selah has been just as confused as I have!
I can't even tell you the last time I slept all the way through the night, and my children are perfectly good sleepers! Most recently our dog, Selah, has decided she is going to be a barking dog. So I'm no longer waking up to cricket farts, I'm waking up to Selah barking at cricket farts.
When we first rescued Selah, I went several months thinking that she couldn't or didn't know how to bark. Her only form of communication was growling at us very much like Chewbacca to get us to do what she wanted us to do. At the time we lived in an apartment on the bottom of three stories of apartments, in a college community where parties went on around us late into the wee hours of the morning, and the couple above us often participated in some very loud...uhhh...calorie burning activities anywhere from 2 to 5 in the morning. Selah never barked. Our next move was to a house placed only about 200 feet in front of train tracks where the train passed by around every 30 to 45 minutes. Still, Selah rarely barked.
Jelani would tell you I am wrong about that, but trust me...he'd be wrong. If Selah barked at that train constantly during a time that I had a new baby, I would have kicked her out of the house so fast...
But I digress. From there we moved back to Pennsylvania. Selah barked more often there, but not every night. The silence of small, backwoods PA confused here, so the cricket farts were a lot easier to hear I guess.
After only a few months there we moved, yet again, to Elmira. With no air conditioning we had the windows open constantly. We had a house about 5 feet from us on either side, and were on a street where traffic moved constantly. And still, Selah's barking was at a minimum. The barking that did ensue there, we later discovered, was the result of chasing a mouse or two around the apartment in the middle of the night. Those were some fun nights in Elmira.
Our next move was to a very small apartment in Buffalo. It was inside a building with three other apartments, all filled with college students. Our apartment, of course, was the first one inside the door, so we heard everyone coming and going, and the couple living above us had a dog that barked nonstop while they were gone. I am sure they just thought she was the best, quietest dog ever. She never made a peep when they were home, but when they were gone, and I was trying to get the kids to nap, I had to pray the wind didn't blow a single branch and that no one walked past, or that dog would (and did) bark all day. Yet, somehow, through all of that, Selah still remained calm, cool, and collected, only barking occasionally...like a normal dog.
Lastly, we moved to the apartment we are in now. We're near UB's South Campus, on a busy street, so we see and hear college students walk by often. However we don't live near many students...at least not the wild ones, because we rarely ever hear parties. We do hear the drunk college kids walking down the street after leaving the bars occasionally though. But we have lived here over a year now, and just this summer has that become an issue. It's hotter than a sauna in here (no joke our thermostat currently reads 89 degrees) with windows in the living room caulked shut, we have fans running everywhere, and every other window we can possibly open is open. The dog happens to sleep right next to one of those open windows, and just within the last month has decided to bark every night anywhere between 1 and 4 in the morning.
At first I was concerned that something was really wrong. I was all like, "What is it girl? Is someone bad trying to get into our home? Is there a fire?" I would eventually discover that it was nothing, send her back to bed and calm her with a nice pat on the head, as if to let her know how much I appreciate her trying to protect us. Now, when I find myself suddenly awake to her insistent barking, I throw the covers off, stomp out of bed and down the hall mumbling like a lunatic, "What is it? Did one of hundreds of cars drive by? Did the wind blow a leaf by the window? DID A CRICKET FART?!" And I send her back to bed with a slap on the rear.
If this were the one and only issue in the night I might be a little more sane (or a little less insane, depending on how you see it), but I constantly find myself just about to drift off to sleep when I hear a loud THUD, or maybe several quieter thuds in a row. Sometimes I can feel them before I'm awake enough to hear them. If any of you parents out there have children relatively new to twin or toddler beds, you probably recognize the sound of a child falling to the floor. Only here, with all the fans on full blast, everything is a little muffled, and I never knew if it was just the neighbors moving around upstairs, or if it was one of my children, until I began to hear the startled-awake screams which followed. Then, last month, our upstairs neighbors moved out, leaving me wondering what the heck was going on in the middle of the night in my kids' bedroom! It became a mystery to me. The thuds never stopped, and Jelani's theory was that I was hearing things...creating something out of nothing in my paranoid, 24/7 mommy brain, because of course he sleeps through everything.
I was beginning to think that maybe he was right...until last night. One would think that after going to bed at 9:45 last night, I would be well rested today. One would be wrong, and here is why:
11:30 pm - Selah barking
1:23 am - Selah barking
1:35 am - dang it, now that I've been up, I have to pee
1:56 am - THUD thudthudthud.............thud
2:01 am - one more little thud, and I'm up standing at the kids' door, waiting to hear that darn cricket
2:05 am - heard nothing at door. got back in bed
2:28 am - Selah barking
2:50 am - THUD THUUUUUUUUD I thought for sure something happened that time
2:56 am - heard nothing at door and got back in bed
3:31 am - Selah barking (made Jelani go kick her)
3:42 am - THUD......THUDscreamTHUDthudthudthudscreamTHUDthudthudSCREEEEEAAAAM
3:44 am - Jelani returns after putting Elijah back in bed, and noticing that the night light (which shuts off after 45 minutes) had been turned back on, and Chastity was very much pretending to be asleep with her eyes squinted tightly shut
AhHA! The cricket has been located. I am not crazy, and I do not make up noises in my head. It would appear, through a series of events and deductive reasoning, that Chastity is the cricket..."farting" around in the night when she is supposed to be sleeping. This explains my sleepless nights. This explains most of the light thudding. And this explains her more recent, unusual grumpy behavior in the mornings.
And maybe...just maybe if I can get the cricket to stop farting, then the dog will stop barking, because clearly, poor Selah has been just as confused as I have!
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