Blair will be getting a makeover, so stay tuned.

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oh Sleep. Sweet, sweet sleep. Like the smell of fresh violets. A glass of sparkling water when you’re so, so thirsty. A hot shower when you’re cold…Glorious, restorative, sleep.

At 3:45am I hear the annoyed cries of my daughter, requesting her usual gut-bomb and a fresh diaper. Luckily my body knows this routine, so it isn’t as painful as it used to be. I get up, feed her, then its back to A bed. I say “a” bed because I’m a nomad of ZZ’s. I don’t have my own bed anymore. Right now my giant toddler requires the full-sized guest bed. He also requires that I sleep with him in that bed, or I will be awoken even more than I am now. My husband snores. FACT. When you’re getting so little rest, you will take what you can get. I take quiet feet in the ribcage over loud snoring in the ears. So I slip into my son’s bed, on the very edge, as he has claimed the entire middle. I pull my corner of blanket, whatever I can score. He searches for me with his feet, to confirm I’m there. Little toes jab themselves into my ribs and seem to say, “you stay.”

I can hear my daughter cooing in her room. Full belly, perfectly warm, just letting me know she is still awake, letting me know I’m not to fall asleep just yet, she may need a little extra something while she sings herself back to dream-land (sleep training is a miracle. Wish I did it better with my son). The vibrating sounds of my husband coming from the other room, the cooing of my daughter and the gentle breathing of my son are magical sounds. But only for all of a minute. My mind is buzzing with things I need to do, it betrays me. It will not slow down.

As my daughter quiets, I start to feel that wonderful weight on my eyes. The Sandman, recharged from the deserts abroad has come to give me sweet relief. It is now 5:30am. I will have approximately 2 hours of potential sleep. Yes please.

5:35am, my husband gets up to use the bathroom. He is a giant man, our floors are old and creaky. He couldn’t be a ninja if our very lives depended on it. The cooing from the other room restarts. My mind, again, betrays, re-runs through the list of musts.

It is now 6:15am. The Sandman returns, he is MOST welcome. But he is vigorously chased away by the child’s finger that finds its way up my nostril.

“That’s MOMMY’S nose!” says my son, he’s up, practically caffeinated. Followed by the shrill cry from a freshly awoken baby who has undoubtedly taken her morning crap. Goodbye Sandman…

It BEGINS.

1)To solve the issues of isolation, “get out of the house and meet new mom friends or hang out with old friends who also are stay at home moms”.

Well SURE! sounds easy enough, doesn’t it? Only its NOT. Because for one thing, there is no human on earth more paranoid than a mother with her children. You do not approach a mom with her kids and say ” hey, I’m a mom, you’re a mom, let’s be friends.” There is an initiation period, a “make double sure you’re not a threat to our safety” period, a “what do you want from me and am I willing to spend my limited energy on getting to know you,” period. Breaking into a new clique wasnt easy in grade school, it isn’t easy ever after. Say you get that all figured out and actually have someone you already know who can actually afford/wants to be a stay at home mom in the valley, or has passed all the tests and is willing. You have to figure out who naps when, who needs what, who is sick, who’s doctor appointment is when… By the time you actually agree on a time to meet it’s not for weeks and the playdate may be all of an hour. So all that for a solid hour of companionship. Maybe its longer than an hour on a good day, but that’s only if the kids don’t have a meltdown or attack each other and realistically, success is limited. Oh and don’t forget, you’re still watching your kids and it’s still exhausting, you’re just physically near another adult who can relate to you.

2) REST WHEN THE KIDS ARE RESTING. Oh this one makes my blood boil. Rest when the kids are resting. First off, my toddler doesn’t nap. He hasn’t napped for a while. When he does, its unexpected and unpredictable. If they are actually asleep, its my time to do all things I need  to do but can’t when they are awake.Like clean the kitchen without someone reaching into the dishwasher and pulling out the knives. Swapping loads of laundry. Figuring out if you have everything you need to make dinner or if you’ve got to make a run to the grocery store. Or hell, SHOWER yourself. What a concept. or maybe its time to blog and get the angst out or go on facebook ( while standing in the kitchen on your trusty ipad. I dont sit all day, I never sit)and try to feel like you are keeping in touch with the outside world. Or Pinterest and check out ideas on children’s activities or cute clothing that you love but there is no point in buying because there is no place to wear it.

These are my hours: 6am babies are up and changed and fed. The end of the day is 7:30/8pm when babies go to sleep. Until 12:30 when my daughter is up for food and a change. Then again at 3:45am and again sometimes at 5am. And again and again and again and again. Everyday, including weekends and holidays.

3) Take a break. A break. Gosh, if that was possible. A true break means you go and do things for yourself. You get to exercise or maybe watch a TV show that doesn’t have singing, dancing and lessons about sharing. My mom is very helpful in taking at least one of my kids and maybe even both off my hands. But it’s not every day and I don’t blame her, its not her job. She already raised her kids. Her charitable contributions can only go so far, and instead of taking the time to do things for myself, I will often run errands that are just easier to handle without kids. So by the time everything that needs to be done is done, there is no time left to take JUST for me, which isn’t much of a break at all. Selfishness is not a natural trait for a caring mother. Everyone else is first and even when you wish you could be first, you cant be. The guilt is heavy.

So get a job then. Well, if only it were that easy. First off I have been out of the working world for enough time to feel pretty insecure about my skills and pretty out of the loop in terms of technology. So let’s assume I can even FIND a job that I am qualified for and that is in my field. What then, daycare for my kids? Daycare that is probably the same cost as what I bring home in earnings? So I am paying someone else to raise my kids so that I can work outside of the house. Again, I’m not that selfish, if I am not helping my family financially, there is no point to getting a job. I’ve told my husband before, and I really mean it, if I could get a job that pays enough for him to stay at home I would do it in a heartbeat. I would switch places with him and be the bread-winner. But realistically I would never make the same money he makes. I don’t have the same skills, I am not a man. Men still get paid more for the same work. FACT.

Ahhh, so with all that out, I would still like to say, it’s a blessing to have my angels, and I don’t mean to complain. its more to share the darker/ more challenging side of something that people can easily take for granted. So if you’ve ever thought to yourself, MAN! I really want to stay at home and raise my kids. That is the LIFE. Well, it’s a life alright. But it’s certainly not an easy one. There are no bon-bons on the couch watching soaps, that’s for damn sure.

I just needed to go to the grocery store. I just needed Panko bread crumbs. Because if you’ve had baked chicken with Panko, versus ANY OTHER TYPE OF BREAD CRUMB, you will understand it cannot be substituted. I may have a pile of laundry scattered throughout the house ( thanks son, my bras absolutely DO belong in the oven)….but my family will have properly breaded Panko chicken for dinner, so help me…

Lots of parents bathe their kids at night, and I understand the importance of that ritual, though it never quite stuck for us. My house is a very charming, 1950′s home just at the base of some rolling foothills and a nature preserve. That’s my loving way of saying the house is really fucking old and needs a shit-ton of work to get it to the standards most people are accustomed to enjoying in the first world. That said, we do enjoy hot water, and electricity, usually. When the pipes in the basement aren’t broken…and so long as we don’t run multiple space-heaters at once, which is a lot to ask because we have no central heating. Spring/Summer living is just dandy. But its freezing in the winter, especially when snow is dusting the hills just above us…And we are spoiled and from the Bay Area, CA., not the tundra. I do not hunt seals, nor am I used to boiling whale blubber for fuel. So anything south of 50 degrees outside is pretty damn cold, even if the house is relatively insulated ( thank you nice windows) it’s still a bit uncomfortable to shower and go to bed with wet hair. My Mexican mother has warned me all my life of the IMMINENT DEATH that awaits when you go to bed with wet hair. Add to that a healthy helping of exhaustion and you have yourself a recipe for NO BEDTIME BATHS. This is all relevant to the story regarding my much-needed trip to the store for Panko bread crumbs…which there are no substitutions for….really, very critical for baked, breaded chicken.

We begin our day with breakfast and a bath. It wakes us up and we feel clean and smell good to start our day. I have a two-year old and a nine-month-old. There is no such thing as a shower to myself. So we all stuff ourselves into the shower and its tricky and slippery and exhausting and takes a good chunk of time. But once we are all dressed and cute, we are feeling GREAT and the challenges ahead seem minimal. Especially something as simple as getting Panko bread crumbs…for which there is no substitution.

On the way out to the car, my son decides, “why walk when I can totally drag myself across the grass. Oh look, it’s a little muddy. Even better.”

Of course I am powerless to stop it, as I have my hands full with a shockingly heavy baby and the diaper-bag plus keys and my purse. He went from perfectly polished to a little muddy. But onward we march, as there is no turning back. If we go back into the house, we will surely never make it out again. And I really need the Panko bread crumbs….for which no other crumbs compare.

Then he finds some stale Cheerios that he stored somewhere in his car seat, like a little chipmunk. He managed to make those three Cheerios into a paste that he proceeded to spread all over his entire shirt and face. You never knew three, stale Cheerios could cover so much ground. So we have muddy pants and hands, plus cheerio-paste everywhere in a matter of three minutes. But I say to myself, “ah, so it’s a little mud and Cheerios, no huge deal, he’s still somewhat presentable with a quick baby-wipe clean-up.” We get to the store and I realize the baby was playing with the baby wipes on the last car trip and pulled them all out and now they are dry and wont be cleaning anything. Whatever, bigger picture, we are at the store, and we need those bread crumbs( for which no crumbs compare).

Oh I wont bore you with the details of how long this went on…mud, cheerio-paste, blackberries, some kind of sticky, questionable substance (I don’t even know), an unexpected dump and a healthy helping of boogers.

The people in line were starring at me like I should really take more pride in  my child’s appearance. Like he is some kind of feral child. And all I’m feeding him is a half empty container of blackberries and

….two boxes of Panko bread crumbs. For which none compare.

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When I was 5, a midnight trip to the bathroom might as well have been a battle for life or death. The hallway sprint, the olympic leap a few feet from the bed, all needed to be settled and quiet before the sound of the toilet finished its flushing. But hey, I’m sure most little kids do this. But do grown-up, 30-year-old women with children of their own do it? Two thumbs pointing right at me.

A creative mind is NOT without its severe disadvantages. I can memorize the colors of a sunset, mix and recreate the palate and spread it on canvas like magic. But I can also feel the creepy under-the-bed creature’s clammy hands on my ankles as I change my sheets in broad daylight. Being both a creative writer and visually artistic is a double whammy. I can think it with words, and see it with images so clear, you could jab a USB cable into my ear and print it out. The anxiety isn’t limited to myself alone, pretty much everyone I care for is in CONSTANT danger, both real and imagined. The danger isn’t just from terrible humans ( who are very real in this world) but from mythical creatures and even lions, tigers and bears (OH MY!). So what is an imaginative sister to DO?! I’m a work in progress. I’ve been trying to force myself to confront my very random fears. I’ll list the fears, and you can judge for yourself how incredibly irrational they are. This will give you a glimpse into how crazy, albeit creative, I am.

1) Fear of the basement. Ok, so maybe this isn’t too terribly out there. It is dark, gloomy, underground, isolated. There are children’s drawings on the cement walls ( not my children, the children who previously lived here). The “Scotts hiding place” written in a crawl space is particularly bone-chilling. I actually will not take my children into the basement as I believe “Scott” will try to possess or harm them.

2) Fear of Grocery stores. Now this fear, many of my mommy friends will relate to. I believe there are very evil people in this world, and I believe they are after me and my children and their preferred location of choice to take us down is at the grocery store. Nuff said.

3) Paralyzing fear that my husband will be in a car wreck or he will fall off a roof. Yes…A roof.Needs no further explanation.

4) Fear of Zombies walking up my street at night. Did I close and lock all the doors and windows? Have I stored enough canned goods and water to get us through what will be a rather “challenging” time?

5) Fear of Mountain Lions. I’m PETRIFIED OF BEING EATEN OR ANYONE I KNOW BEING EATEN BY A MOUNTAIN LION. That is in all caps because I cannot express just how scary this is to me. It seems like a very very real possibility. Yes, I live in the suburbs. Yes, it’s a bit far-fetched. Yes, it is goddamn scary.

So there you have it. When my son, who is now a little scared of the dark, points at nothing in the room and cries, I can’t say the hair on my neck wont stand straight up. Is he just seeing something with his innocent toddler eyes that I am not? Are we in danger? Do I need to draw a ring of salt and make everyone sleep in it?

Do I watch scary movies? NO. I would die from the terror. Just the damn 30 second commercials are enough ammunition to royally freak me out. That all being said, I would like to say I wouldn’t ask for anything different. Though the drawbacks are definitely there, being able to conjure up beautiful things is something to be thankful for. I just need to go on a diet of the mind and stop myself before I get carried away. No need to visualize the zombies walking up my street. I will just make sure all my windows and doors are properly locked, and maybe I’ll be sure we’ve got plenty of canned goods. for you know..eating and such.

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Mid-scale restaurant employees, hear me:

I know you see me coming a mile away; hair disheveled, crying child strapped to my chest, mystery dried “goo” on my shoulder (to my credit I didn’t actually know it was there), fidgety toddler in hand, oversized diaper bag filled to the brim with sticky books and toys….I know you see me and say, ” Ahh….shit.”

But you know what, deal with it. Do you think I want to order the chicken fingers when I’d rather have a nice adult salad? I hate chicken fingers. It’s the only damn thing my toddler will likely eat here , so I will be a trooper and share my platter because we all know ordering him his own would be a complete waste of food and money, since we also all know everything that is specifically his, he treats like it’s been poisoned, everything mommy orders is golden and beautiful. So I will choke down the greasy fried fingers in order to get us moving along. I’m also sorry if my standing next to the table interferes with your walk way…I would really rather sit. But my infant daughter finds my sitting offensive. My only method of keeping all of us hearing properly and not ripping fistfuls of hair from our scalps, is to hold and bounce her on my hip. Standing and eating with one hand isn’t as easy as it looks, I’m certainly not doing it for the pleasure.

In general I actually don’t want to be at your restaurant. But I’m here because of simple math. #1, we are hungry, need to eat and I don’t have my own kitchen handy.  #2, I’m actually outside of my home and going to a restaurant is one of those things that seems like, a really good idea at the time, even though it mostly ends horribly and is more stress than it’s worth (yet we are always optimistic that THIS time it’s going to be great).

I know I am being seated in the back, in the “child” section. But I understand, if you’re going to clean piles of food and chewed crayons from the floor you’d rather keep it in one general area. I get it. I also get that most of your servers don’t have children. CLEARLY. Because people with kids would notice the care I have taken to place all the silverware, drink menus, sugar packets, hot sauce and anything that could be thrown or even remotely used as a weapon on the opposite side of the table and yet, servers place hot and/or messy items directly in the danger zone. If I don’t want my kid throwing dull knives at me, you better believe I am not looking forward to a face full of steaming clam chowder.

Please understand that I am painfully aware of the difficulty in bringing small children to an eating establishment. I am painfully aware how annoying children can be with everything, in general. I am also aware that you’re in the business of customer service, and, as much as you may find us repulsive and irritating, we are giving you business and quite possibly a large tip ( especially, to my absolute HORROR, if you mistakenly cleaned the poo off my son’s hand with your napkin thinking it was just food….you know who you are, again, I apologize. It was a difficult stage for us that has thankfully passed).

One day, this will be a non-issue, but for now…restaurant staff…please know that my going there is actually more difficult for me than it is for you. The end.

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I’m not exactly sure why but my son likes to refer to all the important people in his life with a, “THE”.  He even refers to himself as THE Julian. Which is entirely true. He is indeed The Julian.

Yesterday was an amazing day for me. I think it was a major turning point for me as mother and CEO of the house. It ran like a well-oiled machine. Everything that needed to happen happened, did the kids still cry and throw fits and make messes? You bet your ass they did. Was I able to efficiently take care of the problems and make progress in other areas? You better believe it. I even had a dinner party (6 adults) that went on without much aggravation, irritation or inconvenience.  I even ENJOYED MYSELF. It was just a miracle day. Do I think every day here on out will be the same? One can only hope, but I am not so delusional as to think it’s humanly possible. That being said I still feel it has been a real turning point. Sleep is still a bit of a dream, but now that Julian has passed 2, it seems like the world has changed for us all.

Something has clicked. That is the best way I am able to describe it. I went from saying at least once a day, “Christ, how in the F&%# am I supposed to get through the rest of today,” to chasing Julian down the hall, Siena on my hip, all of us giggling like fools and “dancing till the world ends,” in the kitchen (thank you very much Britney Spears). I wish I knew exactly what caused this new enthusiasm and energy and, dare I say it, hope for a bright future and semblance of organization. I wish I knew because I would immediately share it with my mommy friends and there would be great sighs of relief all around the world from mothers who can barely comb their hair and scrape the oatmeal off the ceiling. But I don’t know. Perhaps its a combination of my son understanding my direction, and communicating so much better, or Siena finally on a schedule and becoming less and less helpless/needy with each day. The laundry doesn’t seem QUITE as daunting, though I still have a solid 5 loads in the basement. The work hasn’t really decreased, maybe it’s just shifted and for some reason seems more doable to me right now. I was just putting my kids to bed and I managed to get through a scream-fest without so much as a, ” Oh my god I am going to bash my face into that wall,” thought in my mind. It’s amazing!!! I’m going to just keep taking these omega 3 vitamin supplements because even though I have no idea if that has anything to do with anything, I dare not break the cycle that sparked a chain of events leading to this fantastic progress. Taking a deep breath….no longer waiting to exhale.

Dear Pre-Teen Me,

The super thick, ’1/2 our total hair’ bangs that mom cut will actually grow out, though I know it seems pretty impossible to imagine right now. The horrible braces will come off by the end of 8th grade too, though the perk of changing up those colored rubber bands was pretty sweet, even if we did have to explain to people a billion times that it was not actually GUM stuck in our teeth. You’re really small and shy right now, like a little mouse, and you’re tired of people calling you rich bitch because mom drives a Mercedes and buys your clothes from the Gap and Express(which isn’t cool now but in a few years it will be and you will be shockingly ahead of the curve without knowing it). I know you really just want to hide and blend in enough to disappear. I promise, high school wont be AS ghetto, so you wont be singled out for a bunch of the stupid stuff anymore and as much as the boys ignore you now, they will freaking adore the hell out of you later ( though you are a bit oblivious to it).

As I type this I am wearing a fancy little thing called a tiara, which you get when you are PROM QUEEN. Yeah. I’ve got a box with 5 crowns in it. So all the slutty, overly made-up girls who are smoking and drinking can kiss your ass, because believe it or not, popularity doesn’t mean you have to be cheap, easy, mean and intoxicated. Being natural, being honest, being happy will always be a path that will lead you to greatness in every aspect of your life. You’ve stood your ground so far, keep it up and you will see. A joint or cigarette has still never touched these lips. You’ve never felt a strong desire to follow, so you trudge your own path (in everything) and that is something “grown-up you” is SO so proud of.

As hard is it may be…try to ignore the pathetic people who say stupid things like, ” white bitches can’t call themselves Mexican.” Those idiots don’t speak a word of the language and wouldn’t have an understanding of the culture if it ran them over with a goddamn lowrider truck. They are sad, uneducated, and you should feel sorry for them, more than insulted by them. Cuban and Mexican people come in all shades. Period. Keep up your cultural pride. It remains a big part of who you are now.

Here is a big one. There are a lot of people who don’t think your artwork is special, or they say mermaids are lame. Well, they can suck it too because guess who sells her paintings for THOUSANDS OF DOLLARS.

Don’t worry about not wanting a boyfriend, its a-okay, you are not ready and you shouldn’t be. When you finally have a real relationship, its with your soul mate, who has humor as dry as the Mojave, brains like a mega-nerd and a super rocking bod ( oh yeah, and he’s PROM KING too). He will make you happy and you will marry him and never look back. When you think of your life as a mom with a perfect son and a perfect daughter, know this: They may be dreams, but you get what you aim for in life. I just kissed your perfectly beautiful son, and your perfectly beautiful daughter. Keep up the laughing, keep up the dreaming, keep up the Sandy, baby. Your life is as beautiful as you make it.

oh yeah…..and tell dad to buy a bunch of stock in a little company called GOOGLE…

larger than life street art

T-R-U-S-T me.

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Once upon a time I gave my dad a sign that says, “I’d like to understand where you’re coming from, but I can’t get my head that far up my ass.” A truly genius and existential concept.

Blogging is pretty fantastic because it’s a simple way for me to allow my internal narrator to actually be heard. Some people find my thoughts funny ( you get me, I get you, we are ONE), other people find my thoughts disturbing ( to whom I say FAAACK off), but for me, gosh, its kinda liberating. It helps me grow as a human being, because I am able to admit things to myself, like not being patient, having a cruel sense of humor, accepting that I am not the world’s best mother, wife, daughter, sister, friend…but hey, I’m by no means the worst either. And its OKAY. I’m okay with it. I like to explore ideas of how my parenting techniques will affect my children, and honestly, I hope I do a good job. I hope they are happy. “Success is when your kids grow up, they still want to hang out with you.”- Founder of Kinkos ( remember Kinkos? before they were bought out by FedEx? wow, that seems so long ago!) I digress. Back to the topic….

I find myself wondering just how much of me is going into my children’s personalities and how much is just all them. My internal narrator, whom we will refer to as “Rita,” likes to think of my children as super heroes. Their challenges for the day are all so daunting and intense no matter how simple it seems to me. Rita regularly fills in the captions for my son’s thoughts if he were a super hero in a comic book.

” He tastes the air, testing the wind for the perfect opportunity to swoop in and capture the Mandarin Orange gem from atop Counter Mountain. He must move quickly, as evil dark Lord MOMMY approaches. Should he be seized and trapped, he’ll fight to the death rather than face the perils of the crib and the dreaded torture known only as naptime…”

Actually, if he were a super hero, he would be The Great Manipulator. Again, wondering who he’s picking these skills up from, and is it a good thing he has super powers of manipulation as a two-year-old? Will he dial-in the skill as he ages? Am I going to buy him a flashy sports car when he’s 16 and not even realize I’ve been totally conned? Here is what I’m talking about. He’ll say something ( mind you his vocab isn’t extensive, he’s two for christ’s sake) such as, “drive the car.” But I can’t quite make out what he’s saying. He keeps mumbling it, and I keep guessing until he says it just clear enough, and I repeat it, “oh, drive the car!” and he says crystal clear and with unrefined enthusiasm, ” OKAY!” Like I was totally the one who suggested the activity in the first damn place.

Of course, the enthusiasm of an excited and painfully-cute toddler is impossible crush, so what do I do, I take him to the car to pretend drive and I hit my head against the window because any sane person who isn’t high as a fucking kite and has any amount of grey matter in their skull will be bored sitting with a little kid in a car for hours as he turns on and off the radio, blasts your ears out, opens the windows, shuts the windows, turns on the blinker…again…and again…and again. Have I thoroughly painted a picture for you? So as much as I didn’t have it in the days plan to take him to the car for two hours, he totally manipulated me into doing it by working his magic. It’s really an amazing spectacle to behold.

My daughter, well, her super powers would be making her DEMANDS known. God knows, she gets what she wants. Rita thinks her captions would be this (and we really have no need to mix it up for the forseeable future): “Hello, can you not hear me over here? Have I not explicitly told you time and time again I am to be fed at exactly 5 past the hour, not a second more? Umm, diaper? Hello?! There is one drop of piss in it and I can’t be bothered with it. Change it immediately and cuddle with me. Oh! and I like it when you do the silly faces. Make more of those. Chop chop or so help me, I will scream until I’m purple and you will RUE THE DAY. RUE…THE….DAY.”

haha. god, I love ‘em.