girlfiend

I have mastitis. On the holiday weekend. I caught it early and it’s not as bad as it could be but it still sucks that I feel tired and run down and sore. I was hoping for a margarita and all I got was a breast infection. Awesome.

The Fiendling (who has recently added grinding and clicking his teeth to his list of ways to show mom he’s unhappy about his baby brother) is also sick. He has a runny nose, a slight cough and had an unfortunate diaper incident that led to an immediate bath and load of laundry. This morning, after waking up once in the middle of the night, he woke up just before five and couldn’t go back to sleep despite my best efforts. I hope he’s feeling better tomorrow. Though I appreciate how cuddly he is when he’s sick (and his brother isn’t around), I don’t appreciate the excess bodily fluids and the night waking.

Tomorrow is my neighborhood’s sad little Memorial Day parade then we’re going to a barbecue at my in-laws’ house. Hopefully we’ll find time to put the flowers and herbs we bought on Mother’s Day in pots. My garden has been seriously neglected.

I am tired and the baby who is peacefully sleeping beside me smells like spit up and cord stump and desperately needs a bath. I don’t want to wake him, but it’s inevitable.

Caring for a newborn is easy compared to caring for a toddler. The baby is a dream, still all sleepy and hungry, and the Fiendling has been a complete fucking nightmare when it’s just the three of us or four of us, hitting, biting and generally being a shit. Is it wrong to refer to your two-year-old as a shit?

It breaks my heart to see him like that, so unlike himself. He’s usually so sweet and lovable that it kills me to see him so upset. He’s been getting plenty of attention and just about all of our visitors have been thoughtful enough to bring him a big brother gift. I’ve been carefully timing feedings so I can put him to bed and get up with him in the mornings. He’s been getting one on one time with me and with boyfiend and`aside from the obvious addition of a crying, pooping baby in the house his general routine hasn’t changed dramatically.

I know that this kind of adjustment is common and I know the behavior won’t last forever, but god does it suck.

My mom came in on Wednesday to “help” me get ready for Thanksgiving. She said she wanted to do the dirty work so I could concentrate on cooking. I thought it would be best for her to watch the Fiendling while I cooked and Boyfiend helped with the cleaning, simply because he might not be great at cleaning, but at least he’ll do what I ask. She didn’t like that idea and said she wanted to clean and help straighten up the house. I agreed and told her that on Wednesday afternoon I need two things to happen: dusting and vacuuming. Nothing else. Everything else she should only happen after those two major tasks were done.

She asked if I needed the linens on my bed changed. I said no, just vacuuming and dusting. She played with the Fiendling for a while. I overheard her ask Boyfiend if he wanted the linens changed. He said no. I yelled up the stairs, “No mom, stay out of the bedroom.” An hour later I came up to find my bed was made (no linens changed, so at least she listened to that) and the entire room was straightened up. Things were in completely different places. I was pissed and told her that no one was going to be enjoying cocktail hour in my bedroom and to stay out. She asked what she could do to help. Should she should change the linens on the Fiendling’s bed? I told her absolutely not and reminded her that I just needed the house vacuumed and dusted.

She asked again what she could do to help. Should she should polish a silver serving platter? I said no. Vacuum. Dust. That’s it. She rearranged the laundry room. Then she folded some laundry. She asked if I had any Fabuloso, some weird purple cleanser she loves. I told her no, I clean with vinegar and baking soda. She asked if I had ammonia. I told her no, I have vinegar. At this point I realized the vacuuming and dusting would not happen if I didn’t do it myself, especially since it was getting close to Fiendling’s bedtime and I can’t run the vacuum when he’s asleep. I put the cooking on hold and vacuumed and dusted the entire downstairs. Later she asked what I was annoyed about. I ignored her and vacuumed and dusted the upstairs parlor and bathroom.

When Boyfiend was bathing the Fiendling I explained to her that she told me that she came here to help. I only wanted help with two things. She wouldn’t do either of them. Her response was that when she came here she knew what she wanted to do and that was all she planned on doing. I asked her why she didn’t just tell me that to begin with so at least I would have known what to expect and I wouldn’t have been so frustrated. She went on to tell me that obviously I needed help around the house and she was very concerned that my laundry room wasn’t clean enough because a laundry room needs to be spotless. I told her that considering how large our house is that I think I do a pretty good job of keeping it clean. It might look like people live here instead of like a page from House and Garden, but it’s still pretty damn clean. She didn’t say much else and went downstairs to set the table.

I went to put the Fiendling to sleep and asked Boyfiend to finish straightening up the parlor and finish cleaning the kitchen. He went downstairs and told me my mom had the kitchen under control. The Fiendling didn’t want to go to sleep and after an hour I reached my threshold and went to Lawmummy’s house for some adult company, leaving the baby crying at the gate in his room.

When I returned a little more than an hour later the table was mostly set for the next day and the kitchen was sort of clean. The parlor, thanks to Boyfiend’s realization that I was on the verge of killing someone, was spotless.

The following morning, Thanksgiving, after waking up at five and spending three hours trying to get the Fiendling back to bed I went back to sleep and slept too long. I woke up at 9.30 and went downstairs to start the turkey. I took a quick look at the pie recipe and realized the oven temperature was higher than I thought and I’d have to cook the pie first. I frantically looked for my peeler and couldn’t find it anywhere. I grabbed a paring knife and went to work, sadly butchering the apples. I called for Boyfiend to help me find the peeler. Eventually he found the spot where my mother had hidden it put it away. It was still dirty. She put the fucking peeler away dirty. This discovery led to the discovery of several other unwashed items that had been blatantly hidden from me put away.

Finally, after much frustration and cursing, I got the pie into the oven and Boyfiend took the Fiendling out for a few hours. My mother took a shower and took her dog (who was not invited to stay at my house, the stupid biter) for a walk. When she got back she asked what she could could do to help. At this point the pie was close to coming out of the oven and I was working on prepping the turkey. I said, “Mom, what do you want to do? What is your plan for the rest of the morning and afternoon before everyone gets here?” She said she was just going to finish up some last minute items. I said, “Mom, I would love to have your help with two things so I can take a shower, but before I even ask I need to know what’s on your agenda because I don’t want to ask you to do something and be frustrated because it’s not done when I get out of the shower.”

She was obviously furious at my response, but I thought that considering the conversation the previous night where she told me that she knew what she was going to do, and that she wasn’t going to do what I asked anyway, I thought my response was acceptable. She told me I was a spoiled little bitch who appreciated nothing. I told her that I was a spoiled little bitch who didn’t have a live-in babysitter or a housekeeper. She said, I came here last year and cleaned your entire house before Thanksgiving. I told her, no, my sister-in-law came over last year and helped clean while the baby napped then played with him while I finished cleaning. All she did was set the table. She repeated that I was a spoiled little bitch then asked what I wanted her to do.

I’d finished prepping and stuffing the turkey, the pie was out of the oven, and I was washing a few things and cleaning the counters. I told her I just needed the kitchen floor swept and mopped. She told me she’d finish wiping the counters. Boyfiend got home when I was in the shower and asked what we fought about. Before I told him I asked what she was doing downstairs. He said she was getting ready to mop so I told him about our fight. He and the Fiendling left to pick up his dad.

After my shower I went back downstairs to flip the turkey, baste it, and lower the oven temperature. My mother was giving me the cold shoulder which was fine with me. The floor looked like it had been mopped, but it still looked dirty. I looked around a bit and it became quite clear that she had mopped without sweeping. Exasperated, I swept the floor myself. I took a picture just for my own spoiled bitch satisfaction.

I was washing dishes after dinner and she approached me and told me how lovely everything was and how everyone was having a great time. She said she was sorry about our argument and I said, “I’m” and she cut me off and said, “I’m sorry I was such a fucking bitch? I accept your apology.” I didn’t say a word.

My mom rented her apartment in the city to a pilot which means that when she’s in town she either has to stay with me or her sister. Last time she stayed with her sister. Last night she stayed with me and she’s here again tonight. I appreciate that she watches the baby while I go to the gym, but I wish she had a place of her own in the city.

I mean she makes me inexplicably angry. All of her mannerisms, her choice of language and the way she speaks, her negativity and irritating habits all just make me want to shake her. When she uses the phrase “wet my whistle” for wanting a drink, keppy(or would it be ceppy?) for head, soldiers for shoulders or nibbles for nipples I can barely contain my rage. I hate that she insists that toys and characters in books (who already have names) be renamed after the Fiendling and our family. Even more I hate that when the Fiendling calls one of his toys by his cousin’s name after her prodding she has to correct him and tell him, “No, your cousin’s hair is dark. This one is Grandmom. That one is your cousin.”

Anyway, she annoys me. And she always manages to fuck something up. I don’t know how or why or even remember if it was always this bad or if it just keeps getting worse, but it’s always something.  This time her stupid dog freaked out.

The last time he was here he growled at the Fiendling then ran away the next day. After Boyfiend found him and my mom retrieved him my mother decided that even though he was a skittish rescue dog who had run away twice and growled at her grandson he was fine and didn’t need any further training. Why did she make the decision not to hire a dog trainer? The dog started to follow her around the house, she no longer had to carry him from room to room. The dog is still terrified of everyone but her. He won’t even eat or drink like an animal, she has to hold the bowl for him while he sits on the sofa.  So crazy.

Last night when she arrived the dog growled at the Fiendling again. Later in the evening he growled at him some more. Today my mom went to the dentist while I took the Fiendling out for a nap. When I got back the dog was just sitting on the sofa. I sat with him for a while until the Fiendling woke up. When I brought the still sleepy, cuddly Fiendling inside the dog growled again. The Fiendling waved at him from across the room. The dog snapped at him. I decided the dog shouldn’t be in the room with all of the toys so I went to move him off of the couch. The stupid dog bit me (he didn’t break the skin). He growled each time I approached him so I just ignored him and kept the Fiendling away. Boyfiend got home not too long after. I explained the predicament. Boyfiend made a move to remove the dog from the couch and the dog snapped even more angrily than before and ran out of the room.

I like dogs, but I don’t like this one. I didn’t like him the first time he growled at my kid and I like him even less now. My mother (and her sister and my cousin) all have this bad habit of dragging their dogs everywhere they go. Uninvited. After she leaves tomorrow my mother’s dog is not allowed in my house.  If she’s staying here she’ll have to find another place for her dog to stay.

The Fiendling still sucks at going to sleep. For naps I have to either drive him around  or walk him in the stroller until he passes out. Once he’s asleep he’ll nap for a good hour or two, but getting him to sleep is a pain in the ass. Nighttime is only slightly better. He’ll fall asleep in the house but it takes a great deal of rocking, singing, soothing, crying and coaxing. Boyfiend puts him down most nights because he seems to have better luck, but he’s getting sick of the trauma so I’ve been stepping in.

Last weekend we were at my mom’s place at the shore. My dad joined us, his first ever visit to my mom’s house. We went out for Chinese food and after dinner it fell to me to put the baby toddler down.  He wanted nothing to do with me. As soon as I turned down the lights he started shaking his head no. He called for dada repeatedly and started to wail when dada, who was watching the Phillies game, did not materialize. After several minutes of me getting nowhere with putting the kid to bed I said to him, “If you don’t stop crying I’m going to put you in your crib. You can either stop crying and stay with me, or cry in your crib.” He pushed me and said, “Dada!”  I put him in his crib. I asked, “Are you sure you want me to go?” He shook his head and said, “Dadadadadada.” So I left.

I went downstairs and my mom and Boyfiend were both in the kitchen. Boyfiend asked how it went and I told him the Fiendling was crying for him. My mother said, “Good. I’m glad you left him there to cry. He should go to sleep on his own.” Boyfiend and I went into the other room and he said he’d go up in a few minutes if he was still crying.

Maybe ten minutes later, during the third inning my mom came in and announced, “He’s stopped crying.” She settled in at her computer trying to track down the identity and address of someone who ripped her off on ebay. While trying to get her money back she was all over the internet putting her personal information into “reputable” websites like some internet fraud site that’s probably run by the same Nigerian  who’s going to transfer $1,000,000 into my bank account as soon as I give him the account number, my mother’s maiden name and my social security number.

The Phils were well into the sixth inning when my mother who hadn’t left the room asked, “Aren’t you going to go up and check on him?”

“Why would we check on him, you told us he was asleep and had stopped crying?”

“Well he started again. He’s been crying for a while.”

Thanks. Once again my mother proved herself useless.

I feel that I should mention that my mother, who alternately insists that a. it’s good to let a baby cry himself to sleep and b. she never let em cry, has revealed that when she brought me home from the hospital she had a live-in nurse for months. She also had a full time babysitter. And as though that wasn’t enough help she also had a house cleaner come twice a week.

Last night Boyfiend gave the weekend a 10 (minus our irritating, frustration fueled spat about putting the Fiendling to bed) and I agreed.

Friday afternoon we walked up to the farmer’s market. I was devastated to learn they’d sold out of corn though they did offer to give me two nasty worm-eaten ears. I would have taken them until the Amish woman shuddered with disgust when she took a closer look. Armed with carrots instead, we went to visit the pig around the corner and the Fiendling fed him all of the carrot tops. I found feeding carrot top to the pigs quite satisfying. When we arrived home we accidentally got a bit drunk way too early, ate too much cheese, crackers and hummus and had pizza for dinner with Mix when he came over later. We considered buying Jesus pizza but there’s nothing Christian about their $2.50 delivery charge so we went with a new place we had a coupon for instead. I’m not sure if they were drunk, high, or stupid, but our pizza was cut so poorly my 18-month-old could have done a better job. It wasn’t even cut through the middle. Some slices were cut in perfect Fiendling size while Boyfiend’s slice was easily a quarter of the pie.

I started writing this hours ago and lost interest so here’s the abbreviated version of the rest of the weekend
Saturday we went to the Community Day Festival at the park and it was a blast. Lots of kids and families and a giant, inflatable slide. The Fiendling LOVED the slide. I did too. The best part about having a toddler is that you get to accompany them down the slide for free because they’re too little to climb to the top themselves.
Yesterday we went to my sister-in-law’s parent’s house in the country and went fishing. I caught my first fish and I had no interest in removing it from the hook myself.  But I caught one. Boyfiend was very proud. He’s been dying to take me fishing for years.

Last night’s dinner was awesome.

Brisket

Honey Mustard Chicken

Green beans

Roasted Cauliflower

Corn, Tomato and Basil Salad

Braised Carrots and Onions

Challah

I also made Baba Ganoush and fresh tomato bruschetta for appetizers with crackers and bread and served pesto I’d made and froze last summer.
For dessert my aunt brought chocolate cake and key lime pie from Trader Joe’s, Mix brought schnecken and rugalach, and my mom brought chocolate covered strawberries

We dipped apples in honey for sweet year, drank lots of wine and Manhattans, and there were as many Catholics as Jews (if not more, I haven’t officially done a count) in attendance. I love when holidays are good and not surrounded by insanity.

Even though I worked all day while my mother babysat things worked out well. I did almost all of the cooking the day before so I only had to reheat. Mix came over to help me set up so I wouldn’t have to deal with my mother solo. Boyfiend made it home from work early so he could help keep me and my mother separate. It’s not that I don’t love her. It’s just that she’s crazy. Really, really crazy.
I overheard bits of a conversation from upstairs where Mix said he bought an alarm system for a new house. My mom said it was stupid. Mix told her he got an insurance discount. She told Boyfiend we should get an alarm system for our house.

My aunt told me how amazing it was that I worked all day, cooked enough food for 15 people, set up the house and had a wonderful little boy. She said she didn’t know how I did it. My mother responded that I couldn’t have done it without her. I didn’t reply that my mother wiped down all of the dishes with a dirty, greasy rag and Boyfiend and I had to clean them all over again. I also didn’t mention that when my mom told me she’d vacuum what she really meant was that she’d sprinkle baking soda on the rug so I could vacuum when I got home from work.

More crazy, you ask? After the second time I came home and saw him drinking an entire bottle of undiluted juice I asked her not to give the Fiendling juice at all. He’s underweight and needs to drink water or drinks that at least contain fat and calcium like the yogurt drinks I specifically bought. She bought him juice boxes and HID THEM FROM ME!  Way to drive me fucking crazy.

Enough about my mother. It was a great night.

Happy 5768. May you be inscribed and sealed for a good year.

I haven’t been writing much because there’s not a whole lot going on. We’ve been back to my mom’s house a couple of times and she’s still crazy but she hasn’t been making me crazy enough to warrant a long, ranting post.

Things that bother me but not enough to make my head spin include

• Smoking in the house because she doesn’t want me to know she hasn’t actually given up smoking
• Dressing the Fiendling in plaid overalls then spending an hour telling him how handsome he looks because she dressed him and his mom never dresses him well
• Giving the Fiendling shrimp and saying, “What a coup! He’s eating shrimp. Can you believe he’s eating something so exotic? See I told you he’d like what I gave him.” Then he promptly scraped the chewed shrimp out of his mouth and handed it to me.
• After me saying, “He doesn’t want it.” she cut a single wedge out of an uncut melon, handed it to the Fiendling who didn’t want it, and said, “Will you clean that up for me?”
• She gave the Fiendling a whole, uncut grape and let him walk around with it. Hello, choking hazard.
• When watching the baby she often lets him wander into other rooms unattended.
• To get my attention from halfway down the block she’ll yell, “Girl? Girlfiend? Girlfiend? Girl? Girlfiend? Girlfiendina? Girl? I ignore here and she eventually mutters “nevermind.”
• To get my attention from halfway down the block after deciding she has something she wants to do she yell, “Mom? Mommy? Mom? Mom? Mommy? Mommy? Mom?” at which point Boyfiend will usually respond.

I don’t know. Despite the fact that her supervision is lax on occasion the Fiendling has suffered no injury around her and clearly adores her as much as she adores him. It’s nice that this summer she’s able to spend time with him and give me a bit of a break. Because I appreciate her babysitting I didn’t mention that I knew she was smoking in the house. Instead I stole her matches and threw out her cigarettes when she wasn’t looking.

We arrived Friday evening and made it through until late Sunday morning without any major fights. Saturday my mom watched the Fiendling who can’t go to the beach until the cast is off while Boyfiend and I enjoyed a few relaxing hours by the ocean. She was still incredibly annoying. Boyfiend says she’s crazy and until I truly accept she’s crazy she’ll continue to annoy me. Here are some of the exchanges that infuriated amused me over the weekend.

After learning the Fiendling isn’t much of a meat eater my mother said, “What do you mean he doesn’t like meat? If you don’t start making him eat meat he’s going to be a lazy chewer.”

Upon being offered a delicious coconut cupcake she responded, “I don’t like coconut.”
“But Mom, you drink pina coladas and eat Mounds bars.”
“That’s different though. It’s processed coconut.”

My mother told Boyfiend, “I’ve given up soda. It was very hard for me.” I did not tell her that I’d seen two cans of Pepsi beside her bed nor did I look under the bed to see if that was where she stashed the case of soda.

My mom asked, “Why did you bring all of those coconut cupcakes anyway?” I said, “I wouldn’t have brought them if I knew you stopped eating coconut.” She said, “It’s not that I don’t like coconut, I just don’t eat crap anymore.” “Mom, you ate a croissant for breakfast that contains more than 40 ingredients, at least 7 of those ingredients were various kinds of sugars and hydrogenated oils and your breakfast sausage contains nitrates and MSG. When we’re not here you eat Fiddle Faddle for breakfast, lunch and dinner.  Just try the damn cupcake.”

After telling three different people about how I was marinating vegetables for a grilled vegetable salad made with spinach from my garden and goat cheese (mmmm. goat cheese) my mother refused to try any. “I don’t like roasted vegetables.” “You have a half empty container of roasted peppers in your refrigerator.” “That’s different.” But the salad is made with red and orange pepper. “It’s still different. I like roasted red peppers. I don’t like vegetables.”

Boyfiend says that once I truly accept she’s crazy I’ll be able to ignore her inane statements because you just don’t reason with a crazy person. He may be right.

The chapstick stained clothes sat on top of the dryer for more than a month. After getting sick of seeing them there I washed them in hot water four or five times then gave up. Now I just wear them, grease stains and all.

My mom and her sister are back to being BFF. We all (except for my girl cousin who’s still on the outs with her mom and brother) got together for Passover and everything was fine. The day after the seder my aunt invited my mom over for a gefilte fish (gag) lunch.

Home cooked vegetarianism is still going strong. I just read the Omnivore’s Dilemma and if you have any interest in where your food comes from I highly recommend it. If you generally subsist on diet coke, supermarket meat, or organic freezer foods from Whole Foods that you think are somehow better than the Hungry Man special or Lean Cuisine meal in the regular supermarket you should probably skip reading this one. I’m thrilled I signed up for the farm share this spring.

Right now I’m reading The Friday Night Knitting Club which is truly terrible. The characters are like stereotypes of stereotypes. There’s the owner of the shop, a tough single mom with a half-black daughter whose absentee father, the successful, black architect returns from France after twelve years and wants to be a part of their lives again, the lonely Asian academic, the socialite with a distant, philandering husband, a Jewish widow in her seventies who’s afraid to date and others I won’t bore you with. I’m waiting for a Mexican landscaper to pop in for a knitting lesson with the veiled Muslim woman who everyone assumes is a terrorist. Really, it’s terrible. So of course they’re making a film version.

The Fiendling’s still only napping on the go. Here is he passed out on the porch, blurry because I took the picture through the window.