Self Pity - Who Needs this Bullshit?

I'm resolving to try to not feel sorry for myself anymore. I do far too much of it, and really, I chose this life. This is the frickin American dream I'm living.

All weekend I kept trying to communicate to Molly how hard things were, mostly so she'd understand why we were being such abysmal hosts. Literally, she had to ask for food several times, and when I did feed her, it was mostly because I was hungry and eating something and I noticed her watching, like a starved dog.

Anyway, I'm sick of it. I'm sick of second guessing and apologizing too. On what planet is that fun?

Fatigue - redux

I'm remembering this kind of fatigue from when Max was a baby. He's watching TV now after having been up from 4 to 5:30 in the night. Eliza was awake for most of that time also, crying. Then she ate, and played until 7. Then I walked the dogs. And now Max is up watching TV before rushing off to camp. I'm in the office, and I can hear him munching on cereal over the Little Bear soundtrack and the white noise of the air conditioner.

Waffler

Max really enjoyed Spanish camp this past week. He still cries when I leave him, but only for a few minutes, and I think he is actually interested and participating in everything else. He knows one other kid's name–-Olivia. Last week, I found myself thinking that I had made a mistake sending him to Rivendell which we can't afford, when he is perfectly happy at Spanish and might have learned the language too boot!

Then, by Thurs-Friday, when I saw with fresh eyes how hard it is to get through a day with no big activity/social interaction planned, I realized that Rivendell will be better. Rick is very frustrated by my lack of confidence in decisions. All along he has said, Max would be fine at Spanish, but happier at Rivendell, and I'm starting to see this is true.

I hope that I don't pass this particular quality of indecision onto Max and Eliza. When did it start? Why do I have it? Molly is visiting and she doesn't seem to overthing and regret her decisions. It's fairly self destructive. And paralyzing.

Speaking of paralysis, there's something about this waffling that is very much connected to writing, and being paralyzed. I've just left a message for a substitue babysitter to take care of Max and Eliza 6 hours a week this week and next, and then maybe some in August in the two weeks between Canada and camping. Hopefully during that interval, I can start getting a handle on what's going on with Slipping, and start sending it out.

Pee Spot

Max has been potty training. We ripped off his diapers unceremoniously and though for the first week he held it in a lot, now he is having almost daily and sometimes many-times-daily accidents. Some of these are very frustrating, such as when he peed in the subway station at Coney Island, and some are very messy, such as when he pooped in the train into his last remaining underpants on the way home from Coney Island––by the time I walked in the door, the poop was primarily still in his underpants, but I had a fat brown smear on my right arm.

Yesterday Max was exhausted at the end of the day. We had breakfast with Theresa, Jacob, Ryan and Kelsey who we'd been partying with since Sunday. We waved goodbye to them, then went to his camp. After a quick lunch break after camp, we went out in the extreme heat to take Eliza up to be weighed at Dr. Curitores (12 lobs 14 oz now, a 1 lb 5 oz gain in a month!) and then we went home via shoe shopping on 7th Ave. Max stepped off the skateboard in front of our building, sat down on the steps, closed his eyes, and began to fall asleep in a sitting position. I carried him upstairs, gave him juice, turned on Sesame Street, and avoided a nap. He peed when I paused the show 5 minutes in, and I thought all was good.

He must have been starving because he had the kind of meltdown when SS was over that ended abruptly as soon as I picked him up in my arms. He kind of melted into me, then ate 5 fishsticks in 10 seconds. After, he was all sunshine and happiness. I had my back to him for a few minutes fixing the french fries, and when I turned he was just climbing back into his chair. It took me a few moments to notice the huge puddle next to him. Why is it always such a surprise when it's pee? Why do I try so hard to think of other things that might be responsible? (Like what, I wonder - a spitting houseplan? Runaway fish?)

"Did you climb out of your chair," I asked, "just to pee next to the table?"
"Yes," said Max.
"So that's pee?"
"Yes."
"Why did you pee there on the floor?"
"I was walking and walking and looking for a spot to pee, and then I got off my chair and I was on the floor and I said, 'This is a good spot.' And then I peed!"

It was hard to feel anything but pride, don't ask me why.

Stroller shot

Yesterday we put the pictures from our trip to Coney Island on the computer. There is one of Eliza smiling at Ryan, though you can't see Ryan in the shot. She looks so alert and excited, and sharp. I wonder if that's going to be part of her personality––there is something sharp about her - she's strong and quick and emphatic in her great curiosity and love for the world. I almost never worry about her, and I don't know if that's because of her age, her position in the family... I find myself agonizing over Max - am I doing things that will make him happy, and make him into a good person. I wonder if I will always feel so clear headed about Eliza.

Somehow, I imagine not.