I've come to the realization that I'm a Nazi Mom. I’m not proud of it, but I am. I want to have control over everything pertaining to that little bald-headed bundle of boy. And I mean EVERYTHING. Yesterday, when Ryan wrote Mason's stats (name, date, contents) on his bottles for daycare in china marker, I caught myself wanting to go behind him and re-write it because it was messy. Uh-huh. It was messy. And since neat penmanship is a direct correlation to how good of a mother I am, you can see my point, right? Yeah, right.
It’s neuroses like these that are probably the biggest reason I’m such a hot mess in the morning. Because I obssess about the details so much that I can’t focus on getting the important things like getting dressed and out of the house on time accomplished. Ryan is the opposite. Sure things may look like a tornado blew through, but by God, that man can get that baby fed, dressed and out the door. So what if there are still stalks on the green beans and the peapods are a little burnt, at least he made dinner. No, I wouldn’t say he’s big on details, but he is big on thought. Where as I might insist Mason’s socks match his outfit, if he’s got mittens on his feet, Ryan feels, hey, they’re covered, so it’s all good. Opposites do, indeed, attract.
However, after one too many grumpy mornings because of el fuhrer number one, Ryan put the smack down. He got a little Napoleon himself and “suggested” that from now on he get the sugar booger ready in the morning AND take him to daycare so I could focus on rummaging through the piles of NOTHING FITS in peace. Of course, he was met with resistance. I mean, I am a dictator, people, and no good dictator can allow such insubordination. But, after mulling around the idea, discovering the potential and then declaring it as my own, I finally gave in. For two days in a row now, I’ve let Ryan get Mason to daycare without totally breathing down his neck.
Okay, I did go in there and ask, “What the hell are you doing to him?” after twenty straight minutes of crying, but you try listening to twenty straight minutes of crying and not flip just a little. See, Mason likes to eat first and then get his diaper changed. Apparently, Ryan still has not caught on to that fact, which is why, in my defense, it seems like I’m always telling him what to do. I notice these things and he doesn’t. It’s the attention to detail thing. If only humans came with an “Attention to Detail” knob. I could dial mine down, turn Ryan's up and then we’d be all set.
So, this morning? This morning, even though it’s only the second morning under the new regime, was rich with many silence-filled moments to myself. I even had time to pick up the house. And as I wiped the last toothpaste spot off the mirror, I asked the reflection smiling back at me why it took so long.
December 13, 2007
Pink eye can't believe it isn't over. // Swiss Baby. // Goodbye Grandma Champine. // Family Portrait. // Check 'em out. // Postponed. // Not long now. // Tuckered out. // Boo boo. // New news. // Oh, hello. // Here we go again. // Something New! // Surrender. // Update. // Third day on the job. // Our second official illness. // Our first official illness. // Usually, I like being in control. // Daycare. // Awww... // Motherhood. // Our little adventure. // That time of year again. // Mini-Me. // Two weeks and two days. // His very own website. // Super star. // Mason Alexander Keberly. // Taking his sweet time. // Locked and loaded. // Request. // Hi Dad. // Two and a half weeks left. // Just checking in. // Welcome to my crib. // I cain't see! // Check this out. // It's official. I'm huge. // Today. Tonight. Tomorrow. // Experiencing technical difficulties. // Venting. // Rocky Road ice cream anyone? // Dad, how do you do it? // Nursery. // Mason Alexander Keberly. // Place your bets. // The Keblet. // Double whammy. // The Keblet. // *Barf* // Can't sleep. // *Waves* // Dad. // Lala. // Happy anniversary, mom and dad! // Operation: New bathroom. // Happy Birf-day, dear husband of mine... // Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you... // My best Rick James impersonation. // Good bye. // More randomness. // Random thoughts. // Careful. I bite. // Grumpy smurf. // Fruits of our Labor Day. // Ridiculous. // Human barometer. // Welcome home, dad. // There's no place like home. // Flatulence. // Hungry, apparently. // Jobs. // Teefs. // Cavities. // Bad mood. // Finally. // Weddings. // Dad. // Mom. // Mean. // Oh no. // Move along. Nothing to see here. // Stuff. // Tuesday. The day after Monday. // Bored. Or is it boring? // Two things. // Feeling Green. // Accepted. // Good day. // Sis. Boom. Bah. // Monday. // Weekend. // Gone. // Closed. //