Erika Mitchell's Blog, page 33

Depraved New World

Wes and I were talking about a series of jokes he'd read on Reddit, making fun of the actress Sarah Jessica Parker by claiming she looks like a horse. I giggled for a second but then I stopped, ashamed.

It felt wrong to laugh at the jokes, even though I've never met SJP and I'm sure I never will. There's just something about laughing at a cruel joke that seems wrong to me.

I don't know about you, but I got bullied a lot when I was growing up. Extremely tall for my age, overweight, with unfortunate glasses and a propensity for using words most kids my age didn't understand, I was an easy target. And oh, how it hurt! Sticks and stones and all that, but other kids are so frigging MEAN and it sucks SO HARD to be on the receiving end of it.

Now, with sites like Reddit and 4Chan thriving with millions of members, it's like bullying has become a free-for-all. Anonymity and the desire to receive attention have given some people license to abandon the decency that prevents most people from actively trying to hurt other people's feelings, and up-votes and assumed guffaws validate it.

And it's not just directed toward celebrities, either. There's an entire set of memes that makes fun of random pictures of strangers, and yes, some of them are funny, but why does no one consider how the people in the those pictures feel? I would be so embarrassed if a picture of me was circulated with gleefully scathing captions, and I have to imagine the people in those photos are no different.

It just scares me that bullying has become so acceptable. I doubt many of the people perpetuating it online wouldn't even consider it bullying at first.

I think of this world my kids are growing up in, a world where mean kids from school can hijack pictures of them off the Internet and then spread them around with unkind captions, and I shudder. Because bullying sucked when it was face to face, but there are just so many more ways to get hurt now.

I guess the only thing we can do is teach Aidan and Little Girl as much decency and compassion as we can and hope their school years are kind. If not, we'll do our best to pray for the people who hurt them and encourage our kids to do the same.

Still, it's scary. Then again, when hasn't raising children been scary?

Marathon Days

There are some days as a stay at home mother that absolutely seem to fly by. You go about your day and before you know it, it's naptime. The converse of those days is what I like to think of as the marathon day.

The marathon day starts early and plods by, hour after hour. You scurry hither and thither but the tasks are endless, as are the hours until you get a break. If you're lucky, you'll get that break during naptime. If you're not so lucky, you'll be scurrying clear through naptime, too.

Aidan's been sick since Tuesday night, turning the last three days into a horrid series of marathon days. The reason? He's the bad kind of sick. The vomiting kind. This is absolutely the WORST kind of sick, because not only do you have a miserable kid who doesn't understand why this is happening to him, you have mountains of foul laundry and unspeakable messes all clamoring to be cleaned up.

He seemed to be doing better yesterday before showering the kitchen floor with his dinner, and he hasn't been able to keep anything down today. Making tings worse is, he's so hungry and so thirsty and doesn't understand why I just keep giving him a few ice chips at a time.

Poor kid. He's miserable and just wants his mama to hold him, but his mama is unfortunately also responsible for making sure he has clean clothes to change into when he inevitable ralphs again. I'm so sick of looking at my washer and dryer I could cry.

It's been a rough few days with no end in sight, and all I can think is that I'm glad half my children are still in my belly and therefore incapable of vomiting on me.

Little victories, no?

I Love Ultrasounds

You know what I love? If you've been reading this blog any length of time you probably know quite a few things I love. Brownies, margaritas, babies, writing, my family, my life.

You wanna know what else I love? I love getting ultrasounds when I'm pregnant, especially when the ultrasound lets me know what flavor of baby I'm having soon. Lucky for me, I had just such an ultrasound this morning.

Tiny Baby was uncooperative at first, keeping those little knees clamped firmly together most of the time, but then…BAM! Tiny Baby moved into position to reveal…GIRL PARTS!

We're having a girl! We're having a girl! We're having a giiiiiiiiiiiirl!!!

Oh, I am so excited I could burst into a million flaming pieces. Now, if you'll excuse me I have some shopping to do…

Heart-Pounding Thrills

Every parent knows what a loud thump from upstairs usually means: A child has plummeted out of bed. If the thump is accompanied by a cry, it's certain: You have a jumper.

I was sitting downstairs working on a blog post yesterday when I heard the tell-tale sound of my toddler free-falling out of his crib, a plunge of maybe four feet. You have never seen a pregnant woman run so fast as I did to get upstairs to make sure he was alright.

To my amazement, he was fine, just a little shaken up. I calmed him down and out him back in bed, hoping he'd be too scared to do it again.

No dice.

Ten minutes later, THUMP. More crying, more soothing. I parked myself in front of the video monitor and fretted. And Googled "toddler falling out of crib". And asked my fellow Internet mamas for advice.

At the conclusion of my research, I concluded that it was time for Aidan to make the big switch to a twin bed. He's almost too tall for his crib mattress anyway, so I figured we might as well move to a larger bed.

Convinced I'd never be able to sleep knowing he was liable to fall out of his crib again, I rushed out the door and went on a whirlwind shopping spree.

Twin bed…check! Thomas the Train sheets and comforter…check! Safety rails for the bed…Check!

It took Wes and I the whole evening to get everything washed, assembled, and put together, but by Aidan's bedtime his new room was ready. He was a bit hesitant, but when it came time to sleep he seemed to fall asleep just like any other night.

So…Mission accomplished? We'll see. It's possible the rejection of his new bed will come tonight, or tomorrow, or the day after.

The real question is how long it'll take me to be able to sleep again without waking up every few minutes to check that Aidan's safe and not lying on the floor with a broken arm.

Sigh. Parenthood: Thrill, spills, and a whole lot of not sleeping.

Mischief Mustered

So right about the time I finished writing my sad, sad post yesterday about how I was going to chuck a piece of cold toast at Wes for Valentine's Day and call it good, I started getting really excited about it. My imagination went wild, imagining myself getting up early to make him homemade pain au chocolate or strawberry mascarpone blintzes.

My imagination was writing checks my recovering little body can't cash.

Still, I managed to muster up a bunch of enthusiasm after all. I helped Aidan draw his very first Valentine for his Daddy, I wrote a long, heartfelt card for Wes, and wrapped the sumptuous gifts I bought for him last week.

And then this morning I made his favorite muffins, which we served with eggs and bacon. Wes has a happy belly and a homemade Valentine from his son, and tonight we shall feast on steak and exchange the petit cadeaus we purchased.

It turns out Valentine's isn't toast after all!

A very, very happy Valentine's Day to all of you! I hope you are immersed in chocolate, love, and all of life's best things :)

Valentine's Toast

I was never overly bothered by cold and flu season until I had a child. I caught a cold once a year maybe, and otherwise spent the dreaded time blissfully unaware that there are approximately one point five kajillion different plagues and diseases running rampant during the winter months.

My goodness, it's like my toddler is some kind of pestilence magnet. He spent most of the last two months of last year sick with one cold or another, and then thankfully took January off from being miserable. It's possible he realized that if he didn't stop, his parents would make good on their threat of selling him to the gypsies.

The streak couldn't last. Friday brought with it sore throats for the three of us, and Friday night brought with it…misery.

I spiked a fever right before bed, but am apparently dense because I didn't recognize it for what it was for an hour or so. I just huddled in bed shivering, holding my freezing hands to my scalding face, watching Wes ping pong in and out of bed as he attended to Aidan's demands.

My fever topped out at 100.4 degrees and finally broke at 3:30 am, after which I was finally able to sleep. To say I woke up on Saturday tired, sore, and miserable is an understatement.

Thank goodness my husband is exceptional is almost every way. We limped through that day as best we could, with Wes taking care of Aidan as I alternated between trying to choke down food and make up for lost sleep.

Sunday was a little better but more of the same. And now here we are. It's Monday and I lament the weekend that could have been. A weekend not filled with Kleenex, sneezing, and cough drops.

It's Valentine's Day tomorrow, and I'm having trouble mustering enthusiasm. I'm never more grateful for my husband than after we've been through a battle together, but I'm never more tired than when I'm sick, pregnant, and sleep deprived.

Still, my husband deserves the best. A Valentine's Day bowl of cereal for breakfast just isn't going to cut the mustard.

Maybe a Valentine's Day slice of toast?

Likely Not Worth Reading

I have absolutely nothing to say. Nothing at all. I normally write something about the Super Bowl after the fact, but this year I've got nothing. Probably because I spent most of the game at home with a sleeping toddler.

Also, by the time I actually got to where I could watch the game, it was mostly over and I spent my time chasing my awake toddler so Wes could enjoy the game. As a result? I have nothing to say about either the game or the commercials.

I do, however, know that the Giants won. Woo?

I wish I had more to say. It's not like I never go anywhere or do anything. I just don't know if any of it is interesting enough to write about. The weather's been unseasonably nice lately, so Aidan and I spent a lot of time outside earlier this week. Thrilling, no?

In related news, I've taken two tumbles this week. My center of balance has shifted or something and I am seriously a giant, clumsy mess. Thankfully both falls were on soft surfaces but still, it's no good for a girl's self esteem of she can't seem to keep on her feet.

See? Things are happening over here at Casa de Mitchell, but very little of it is worth blogging about. It's all quite boring. Aren't you glad I wrote a post about how boring I am?

National {fattening food} Days

Last Friday was National Chocolate Cake Day, did you know that? I didn't until I was cruising Twitter Friday afternoon. All it took was two innocent tweets and the damage was done: CRAVING.

Wes, dutiful husband he is, went out to procure both dinner and a box of chocolate cake mix. And wouldn't you know it, that chocolate cake mix cake went SPLENDIDLY with homemade peanut butter buttercream!

Determined to avoid gestational diabeetus, I threw out (most of {ok, fine. Some of}) the leftover cake and made a concerted effort to eat healthier the rest of the week (a very difficult task as Tiny Baby has one HECK of an unrepentant sweet tooth). Then…Twitter happened again.

Today is National Carrot Cake Day! ARG! It should be absolutely no mystery at all what I'd really like to eat right now. No fair! Pregnancy is hard enough without spurring cravings with random national fattening food days!

Sigh.

Happy National Carrot Cake Day, everyone! I hope your pancreas is as forgiving as mine seems to be…

Having It All

One of Liz Lemon's running in-jokes on the show 30 Rock is that she's trying to have it all: Career, personal fulfillment, a family. That she rarely achieves even 2/3 of her goals is the source of much of the show's humor, but it's also an interesting examination of the plight of the post-feminist woman.

I've had plenty of time to think of this, especially during the first year of my time as a stay at home mother. I loved my job. When Aidan was small and the challenges of new motherhood seemed so much bigger than I was capable of handling, I wondered if I wasn't a little crazy to give up my much-beloved career.

After all, what did it say about me that I was willing to trade in an engaging career for a never ending river of spit-up?

Don't get me wrong, staying at home with Aidan has been and will always be the right move. It's in line with my goals and priorities as a parent, it fulfills me in ways no career ever could, and I can see the benefits of it every time Aidan decides to behave himself.

The writing certainly helps. I have a stimulating hobby that manages to not only give me a creative outlet but also makes me feel like I'm still doing something tangibly worthwhile with my time. It helps. And it's fun.

Now that I'm pregnant and have let my writing simmer on the back burner, that old post-feminist pestering is back. My ambitious nature goads me daily, telling me I should be working, not napping. That I'm willingly letting my dreams get hijacked by two little people who don't even realize it.

Someone I follow on Twitter recently asked whether it was always necessary to choose between kids and goals, and why that was. I notice a lot of my peers struggling with this same frustration. They have goals, dreams, and ambitions and feel stymied by the limitations incumbent to a mother with young children.

I struggle with this myself. I hesitated to get pregnant again because I had so much I wanted to do first. Finish another book, get another book published and out there, maybe attend another writer's conference.

Instead, I got pregnant again because it was important to us that our children be close enough in age to be able to relate and enjoy a relationship with each other.

All that to say, what ultimately made the decision for me was having a hard discussion with myself about my priorities. My kids are my most important priority. Everything else comes second. Not because I think my darling precious angels are the be-all end-all of my existence, but because they deserve to be my focus right now. I am half responsible for bringing them into the world so I darn well owe them the best I can possibly offer.

If that means my writing will have to wait until they're both in school to really get going, I'm cool with that.

There. Struggle over.

The disservice I think post-feminism does women my age is it makes us feel like choosing our children is weakness of character. Like if we settle for anything less than running ourselves ragged trying to raise great kids and have ambitious careers all while wearing the jeans we wore in high school, we're doing it wrong. Settling for less.

And what I think it's producing is a lot of guilty women who are at war with their circumstances. If you only have a set number of hours in the day and trying to fit everything in is making you crabby and miserable, prioritize and let things go.

That's my take on it, anyway. Maybe I'm just a big ol' quitter. If so, at least I'm a big ol' quitter who's happy. I'll take happy over stressed out and miserable any day of the week.

My goals and ambitions will still be there waiting for me when I have time for them again. My little kids, however, who need love and attention and guidance? Won't be.

Pseudo-Pundits

Election years are tough for me. In addition to the decency-deprived, insulting ads taking over the television, suddenly people everywhere start opening their mouths and sharing their opinions about politics. Their feelings. Their theories.

In general, even if I agree with a person's viewpoint, I would strongly prefer that person to keep it chained behind their teeth unless I explicitly ask for it. Why?

I don't know, exactly. Maybe I just think it's rude to talk about politics unless asked. Maybe it's because very few people are informed enough for me to consider them credible. But I think mostly it's because strong opinions make a lot of people sound nuts, and that can be upsetting.

I checked in with my Twitter feed yesterday while the GOP debates were going on and read wave after wave of irritation, outrage, and incredulity. It annoyed me so I closed Twitter and moved on with my evening. Sharing these opinions didn't do anything but turn me away from reading more.

And that, I think, is the crux of the problem. In this day and age of self-published thoughts available at all hours of the day, people have gotten the horrible misapprehension that every single thought they have is worth publicizing.

This is a lie. No one cares that you are eating pizza, or that you think such-and-such a candidate is crazy. Unless you are a political pundit whose job it is to analyze and synthesize data in an effort to distill it into an expert opinion when asked, chances are excellent that no one will listen to you anyway.

This being said, it would be my strong preference for people to realize this and just hush already. If I could, I would ban political ads as well but even I'm not naive enough to think that'll ever happen.

I guess I could unfollow and unfriend anyone on Facebook or Twitter who says stuff that annoys me, but I'd lose an awful lot of friends who, other than during election years, make me think, smile, and laugh.

The election is important. So important. But I think we really ought to focus more on being well-researched, informed voters than on sharing our opinions as loudly as we can. Unless, of course, it is your job to have opinions on this sort of stuff.

There are a lot of social customs and manners from earlier last century that are antiquated, but I think not discussing politics in public is one that is still apropos. I could be wrong, though.

What about you? Do you find the political opinions of your friends and family edifying? Do they actually influence your voting in any way?