Missing You

How old will my children be, when the simple fact of my presence will no longer be enough to bring them comfort in the middle of the night?

When will they grow self-conscious about their bodies? When will we lose that blessed innocence that lets me bathe them, change them, “keep them company” while they go potty (Raisin loves that — I can’t say it’s my favorite hobby, but I appreciate the trust)?

When will they stop thinking that I am funny? My humor repertoire consists mainly of zerberts on bellies and knock-knock jokes, but my kids laugh like I’m their pick on Last Comic Standing.

How many more years before my stock of wisdom is insufficient? Already Raisin is unsatisfied with the answers we provide — needing backup from a teacher or a grandparent. How long before she doesn’t even ask us anymore?

How long before my babies aren’t babies anymore? How long do I have?

On Joy

At the end of my last post, I said I was rejoicing over my new job, which I was. The sad truth is, I don’t do enough of that. I am, by nature, a worrier. I fret over things I could be doing better (eating healthier, making more time to play with my kids, keeping a cleaner house), over hypothetical situations I couldn’t prevent anyway (Raisin getting hurt at school, Jellyman losing his job, a family member getting sick), over anything really. Give me a subject and a couple of minutes to think, and I can probably work up a pretty good case of panic over it.

Thanksgiving is as good a time as any — better, perhaps — to take a break from that. We have a warm, safe house in a good neighborhood. We have plenty to eat, and we are both able to work. Our kids are healthy, happy, bright, loving, beautiful. Our extended family takes extraordinary care to make sure we don’t sink under. We have luxuries like Tivo and the ability to eat in a restaurant from time to time.

It’s true that the more you have, the more you worry about losing it. It’s also true, but harder to believe, that the Fruit family could live without most of the stuff with which we’re surrounded. We are rich in all the essential things.

I am making an early New Year’s resolution, which undoubtedly will need to be re-resolved by the time we get to New Year’s Day (hey, let’s be realistic here, eh?). Starting now, every worrisome thought is going to serve as a reminder to me: whatever MIGHT happen is less important than what IS HAPPENING.

I am going to spend Advent rejoicing in God’s gifts. All of them.

What’s New?

Since the last post, I have:

Eaten two Thanksgiving dinners

Broken my little toe (I think — it was bent funny naturally, but now it’s bent funny and also black and blue and painful)

Slept a lot, but still felt tired

Watched the first snowfall of the season

Found a new job

Quit my old one

Rejoiced

I’m Sorry

I keep writing down post ideas, but then I never actually post them. In lieu of actual interesting content, will you accept a list of excuses? I thought not, but here they are anyway.

-I worked 35 hours last week. The next 2 weeks are much better, but they keep scheduling me until 11:30 or midnight. I said less than 30 hours, and no later than 11, but I guess they’re asking everyone to put in more time for the holidays. They appreciate my flexibility. I am looking for something else.

-Apple keeps throwing up in his crib at night. None of our theories thus far has panned out, so I am starting a journal to look for patterns. And living in fear that he will choke on his own vomit, because he doesn’t cry after he throws up, and sometimes we don’t know about it until morning.

-Apple and Raisin have coughs at night too. (Yes, I have considered the possibility that the coughing is related to the throwing-up, but he does not seem to cough to excess right before he throws up, so that is not the whole story.)

-I am not getting much sleep.

-I have developed a caffeine habit, and right now my hands are shaking a teeny bit as I type. That is probably not a good sign.

-My house is a mess, I have masses of vomit-y laundry to do, and I haven’t showered yet today.

Please send tequila. Thank you.

Two More Things

… about my job, and then I’ll shut up about it unless I have something interesting to say.

1) Forgot to mention the discount. The discount is very, very important, since we spend ridiculous amounts of money at Target anyway.

2) If you buy your groceries at a store where an employee bags them for you, please do not assume that the employee will know how you want them bagged. If you need to have all your cold stuff in one bag, for example, SAY THAT. Because I promise you, 5 minutes ago that same employee was chastised by a customer because they weren’t cramming enough stuff into the bags. And before that, there was a customer who didn’t even trust her enough to bag the stuff but wanted to do their own. And before that, there was a guy who actually said, “Oh, my God, you can’t put those two things together!”*

*NB — You can have your groceries bagged however you want. It’s your call. Just please tell me, because I cannot possibly guess. And also, “oh, my God?” Possibly, you are taking the whole bagging thing a little too seriously.

I Don’t HATE My Job

There are definitely things to like: a relatively flexible schedule, which allows us to keep Raisin in the preschool she loves and to keep all three kids out of an expensive daycare situation. Managers, coworkers, and customers who are mostly pretty friendly. The fact that they pay me — that’s good.

But…

In my pre-twin job, I had the opportunity to build relationships with clients and with coworkers. I miss that.

I am so bone-tired. I hope this will get better as I get used to the new normal. Or, I will spend large portions of my new salary on coffee. Either way.

I think I might be a little bit of a job snob. There is nothing wrong with this work, but I feel like I have to explain to people why I, with my college degree and years of experience, am working as a cashier. I don’t like that feeling.

I need to figure out how to avoid coworker R, who evidently thinks he is funny and helpful, but is actually the most insulting, patronizing person I have ever met. Insulting example: I went through his check-out lane to buy some dinner during a break. I dropped a couple of coins while I was digging out my cash, and he called me a slob. Patronizing example: the computers keep track of the speed of each transaction a cashier does, and then spit back a percentage of “good” sales versus sales that are too slow. R said to me, “I can work the system so that I get more “Gs” than “Rs” — you’ll figure it out eventually.” Since the percentages are prominently displayed on each monitor, I could see his. It was the same as mine.

Because, because, because, because, because… Because of the Wonderful Things He Does

Remember when I said I’d be posting here more often? Wasn’t that funny? Yeah, I thought so too.

I do, actually, have several post ideas saved up. Of course, by the time I actually write them, they’ll be old news. Kind of like how I realized the World Series was going on right about the time it ended. How about ‘em Red Sox, huh? Wow.

Why am I so distracted? IF YOU ASK ME “WHY” ONE MORE TIME YOU ARE GOING TO YOUR ROOM.

Did you know 3-year-olds ask a lot of questions? Because when I read about this in child development books, I didn’t really understand what they meant by “a lot.” Like, babies cry “a lot,” but mine rarely cried until I was ready to set fire to my own eyebrows just for a distraction. Or, toddlers say “no” a lot, but I always thought that was sort of cute.

Now I get it. If it were just your average scientific inquiry I could probably still deal. “The moon looks like that because the sun is shining on it.” “The trees lose their leaves when it gets cold outside.” I could spout answers like that all day and only be mildly annoyed.

Unfortunately, Raisin is also going through a phase (please, please, let it just be a phase) of questioning ME. And perhaps I have some kind of self-esteem issue, because it is making me absolutely bonkers. As in, the 3-year-old doesn’t think I’m quite cut out for this job, and I think she might be right!

We have a lot of talks that go something like this:

Me: Are you getting dressed like I asked you to?
Raisin: Yes. Do I need clean underwear?
Me: Yes.
Raisin: Why!? Why do I need clean underwear?

(Please note that a) SHE ASKED ME, b) she DID need clean underwear, and c) if I had answered “no,” the next thing out of her mouth would’ve been “Why DON’T I need clean underwear?”)

It probably goes without saying, at least among parents, that I now fully understand the beauty and simplicity of “Because I said so, and I AM YOUR MOTHER!!!!”