Endless and Unavailing

At some point in my education, I was introduced to the Greek myth about Sisyphus. Here's a quick summary from Wikipedia for those not familiar with this character.

Sisyphus was "a king punished by being compelled to roll an immense boulder up a hill, only to watch it roll back down, and to repeat this throughout eternity.The word "sisyphean" means "endless and unavailing, as labor or a task."

Never have I sympathized more with poor Sisyphus that I do now. Lately, this sums up the state of my house. Endless and unavailing. Everyday, I do dishes, I do laundry, I sweep and swifter the floor, I help the kids pick up their toys...and a few hours later, I have to do it all over again. The boulder is right back at the bottom of the hill.

For a time, Max contended that the state of the house was my fault. I let it get this way. The whole disaster was 100% preventable if I just cleaned as I went, made the kids put away each toy before playing with the next. I tried to explain to him that the water was simply entering the boat faster than I could bail, and trying to fight it was futile.

However, Max refused to believe me and continued to do very little to help me clean the house. I was getting very frustrated and resentful. Several people I knew told me to "just talk to him". Hmm...well, I've tried that several hundred times, got any other ideas? Unfortunately, the whole "communication" thing wasn't really working in this instance. So I decided to escape. When Daniela was a few months old, I took up cycling. I left him alone with all three kids for several hours while I biked and "forgot" to take my cell phone with me.

When I came back from my ride, the house looked like an episode of Hoarders. The boys were still in their pajamas and eating from an open bag of Cheetos, half of which had spilled onto the floor and been ground into the rug. Daniela was still wearing the diaper she had slept in which was so soaked that it was hanging off of her. Her face and hands were covered in chocolate pudding. When Max saw me, he immediately jumped off the couch and headed for the bathroom. Could I believe it? He couldn't even take a shower with these kids. Umm...yeah, I could believe it. Why do you think I cut off all my hair and dress like a bag lady? The kids don't leave you much time for grooming. Or anything really.

So after several bike rides, Max finally caved and admitted that the house being a disaster was not my fault. The minute one mess is cleaned, another appears, no matter what you do. And he started helping...a little.

So, I agree that communication is key. If you want a clean house, all you have to do is communicate this to a cleaning lady and go for a long bike ride. Maybe someday, I will be able to afford that cleaning lady. Until then, well...my boulder awaits.

Family portraits: the good, the bad, the out of control

Lately, I've gotten several holiday cards from family and friends. It got me to thinking about our experiences with family photos. The title of this post pretty much sums it up. In our years of being a family, we've only attempted trying to get all of us in the same photo three times. Here are the stories.

The Bad: Family Portrait of 2007

It was November, Nico was 2 months old and Mateo had just turned 2 years old. I was exhausted and hovering around 235 lbs. I was still "adjusting" to having two kids. In other words, I was barely maintaining my sanity on a day to day basis. I scheduled our photo session for a Sunday morning since the boys were usually the least cranky in the morning. I figured this early time was probably our best bet. The night before, Max went to a party. He called me later to inform me that he was going to stay at his friend's house that night since he had "had a few drinks". Max is really not a drinker, so I figured he was just being responsible and didn't want to drive. I reminded him about our 10 am appointment and hung up. The next day he came home around 8:45am. And he really didn't look good.

"Do I have to be in this photo?" was the first thing he asked me.

"Not if you don't want to, I guess." was the tearful response I gave.

"No, no. Nevermind. I'll go." he said quickly, "Just let me take a shower."

While Max took a shower I changed both boys diapers and tried on seven different shirts, concluding that I looked fat in all of them. Not much of a mood lifter.

Max got out of the shower, and from the depths of his closet pulled out the ugliest shirt I had ever seen and put it on. I opened my mouth to protest, but realized that 1. it was almost 9:30 and 2. Max looked like he was going to throw up. So instead, we all got in the car and started driving to the studio. I glanced over at Max and realized that although he had showered, he hadn't shaved. And despite the cool November air, his face was covered in sweat.

When we entered the studio we were hit with a blast of hot air. Even though it was in the 60s outside and most of the other families there were dressed in Christmas sweaters, the studio thought it was a good idea to crank up the heat. Max held Nico and fanned himself with a nearby magazine while I tried to change Mateo into the holiday outfit I had packed in his diaper bag. Mateo screamed and refused to wear the pants or sweater. We walked into our session with Mateo wearing a beat up pair of red summer shorts. Max looked awful and I didn't look much better. Nico slept through the whole thing. Mateo screamed and squirmed. As the photographer snapped several photos, I looked over at the next family waiting for their turn in the studio. The kids played quietly. The mom was slim with perfect hair and make-up. The dad was clean shaved and smiling. No one seemed exhausted. No one seemed hung over. No one seemed overwhlemed by it all. I tried not to cry until we got to the car.

The Good: Family portrait of 2008

A year later, things were looking up. Nico was 15 months old and Mateo was three years old. I had been religiously doing Weight Watchers for a year and was at a weight I hadn't seen since high school. After last year's bad experience, I had decided to play my cards differently. First off, I pick out all our outfits well in advance to avoid another ugly shirt fiansco. Then, I scheduled our photo session for a weekday evening, for obvious reasons. Max was shaved and showered. I had on makeup. And the kids were marvelously behaved. We got compliments from the photographer. For a few fleeting moments, we were that family! We had it figured out. It was the Halley's comet of family portraits for the Bisbal family. We most likely will never see something like this happen again in our lifetime.

The-out-of-control: Family portrait of 2010

Two years later, Daniela had joined our family, and we had come to accept the chaos we lived in as normal. We attempted this photo session in the summer with the idea that the no one else would be in the studio. We were right, and it was a good thing. Believe me we needed the room. It probably would have been easier to get a bunch of squirrels to perform a synchronized swim routine than get a great shot of the Bisbals. Both Nico and Daniela refused to cooperate. Nico did jumps and somersaults all over the studio, but refused to sit still or even look at the camera. Daniela arched her back and screamed in protest when I tried to sit her in my lap. Max and I expected it, though, since they hadn't been much different on the car ride to the studio. The photographer was not so patient. After a few shots she declared that "this probably isn't going to work". Yeah, it probably wasn't. I could have told her that on the phone when I made the appointment. Most things we attempted that year, like grocery shopping for instance, we knew "proabably weren't going to work" with all three kids. We realized that getting a family portrait that year was like asking the ocean not to move. An impossible task, but we attempted it anyways because you never know. Lightening has been know to strike twice.

After writing this, I found all these photos to post. The 2010 and 2008 photos were on my facebook page, but I had to go looking for the 2007 one. As I took a picture of it with my digital camera, I thought to myself, hey this is actually a really good picture of us.

Bye Bye Bottle

Hello. My name is Jackie and my 2 year old still takes a bottle. What can I say, the recovering Catholic in me feels the need to confess her motherly shortcomings. Believe me, they are numerous, so I'll just stick with this one for today. Daniela turned two last August and, up until a couple days ago, still took a bottle. "Isn't she your third baby?" you must be asking, "Don't you know how to do this by now?" Well, if your asking if I have my act together the answer is still no, but taking the bottles away from the boys was a breeze. Both of my boys were done with bottles shortly after their first birthdays. But there was a big difference. The boys were addicted to pacifiers, know to them as "binkies". The binky was the essential item needed to get them to sleep. I didn't dare take those away. I let them keep those binkies until they were almost three. Daniela, however, made it clear when she was a little baby that she did not share her brothers' love of binkies. So, out of desperation, I have let her keep her bottle so as not to mess with her bedtime routine. She actually goes to sleep at 7:30pm on the dot. No fussing. No waking up at night. Nothing but peaceful sleep.Who in their right mind would mess with that?

But, I know she's been playing me. Big time. She goes down for a nap, without a bottle, no problem for her babysitter and has done so for months. She is very capable of sleeping without a bottle, but she knows I'll give it to her. So like any smart kid, she takes advantage when she sees an opportunity.

Daniela's speech therapist has been subtly suggesting I get rid of the bottle since he started with her a few months ago. I've been bending the truth a bit and saying that she only takes ONE bottle at night to go to bed. The truth is that if she asks for it, I give it to her. Just doesn't seem worth the fight. But on his most recent visit, Daniela totally outed me.

She signed for milk, so we went to the kitchen and I began to pour some milk into a sippy cup.

"Nooooo!" she protested.

"What's wrong? Do you want your princess cup instead?" I tried, knowing damn well what it was she wanted.

"Uhh-uh." Daniela said shaking her head and giving me a puzzled look. She then ran to the dishwasher, opened it, pulled out a bottle and nipple, and handed it to me.

"You know, you've got a long winter break. It's a great time to work on getting rid of the bottle." her speech therapist said. Busted. Ok, ok...so I still let her have a bottle. And you've been telling me for months to get rid of it. I'm officially a non-compliant parent. I'm not doing my part. I will change. I promise. We will get rid of it. Today. For real.

So after he left. I tried to discuss the bottle with Daniela, well as much as a two year old with a speech delay can discuss such things.

"Daniela, are you a big girl or a baby?" I asked.

"Babeeee!" she said.

"No. You're a big girl." I tried.

"Yeah!" she screamed and started clapping.

OK.

"Big girls don't use bottles, so I'm going to take your bottles and give them to a little baby, ok?"

"Yeah! Babeeee!" Daniela cheered.

Hmm... I wasn't really sure if she understood any of that, but it was time to take the plunge. So I gathered her bottles and put them in the garbage bin outside. No turning back now.

Surprisingly, Daniela has never asked about her bottle since. She has signed for milk and been fine with a sippy cup. However, that 7:30pm bedtime seemed to have gotten thrown out with the bottles as well. Last night, she fell asleep with Max around 10pm and tonight, she finally went down in her own bed at 11pm. Both nights, her slumber was preceeded by several failed attempts that involved screaming fits. Hopefully, she is not forever changed.

Heaven

"Are you going to be an old lady someday?" Mateo asked me.

"Yeah, some day." I replied.

"When you're an old lady, will you be like 200 years old?" he giggled.

"No. No one lives that long." I said without really think about what I just implied. Too late.

"Wait a minute. Are you going to die?" he asked suddenly sounding quite alarmed.

"Well..." I hestiated. "Yes, but not for a really, really long time."

"But I don't want you to die! Wait! Am I going to get old and die too!?!"

There's no getting around this one. I guess I could lie...but

"Yes. But not for a really, really long time." I tried to sound reassuring.

Now Mateo is crying.

"I don't want to die! I don't want you to die! WAIT! What about Bubba!?! (his name for Max).

OK, I had to get this situation under control fast.

"It's ok, Mateo. When we die, we will all go to heaven and live there together forever."

"But I don't want to move to heaven! I like living in Las Vegas!"

Ok, that was funny. But Mateo is still pretty upset, so I force myself not to laugh.

"No, Mateo. When we die, our hearts go up to heaven and live there forever."

"Is there a Wii in heaven?"

Hey, gotta ask about the important stuff right?

"Yes." quickly reply. I mean, why not? Heaven is supposed to be eternal happiness and isn't that the definition of eternal happiness for a six year old boy.

Mateo considered this for a while and went back to watching TV. But a few minutes later, he was crying again.

"I'm still worried about you and Bubba dying." he said a single tear streaming down his face.

I went over to Mateo and hugged him tightly. My own father died when I was about his age. But, Mateo doesn't even know that I had a father, other than my stepdad who is his Grandpa. I haven't told him. Mostly because it is sad and because I'm not quite sure how my father fits into Mateo's life. I decided we've had enough hard truth for today. Thankfully, I could lie about being certain about this next one.

"Listen. Mommy and Bubba are not going to die for a long, long time." I finally reply.

"But I'll be all alone when you do die." he said.

"No. You'll have Nico and Daniela. And you'll probably be all grown up and have your own family." I add because hopefully it's the truth. The odds are very, very good that next week I will turn 32, an age my father never lived to see, and that I will live to annoy and embarass Mateo throughout his entire childhood and well into adulthood.

"And, remember, when we do die, that you will see us again in heaven, ok?"

"OK." Mateo said seeming satisfied.

A few minutes later, Mateo called, "Hey, Mommy, am I going to be married?"

"Maybe someday...but not for a long time." I replied with a smile.

The Naughty List

The great thing about Santa is that you can make him do whatever you want. The possiblitities are only as endless as your creativity really. According to tradition, one has to communicate with Santa by writing a letter and sending it through postal mail to the North Pole. But who does that anymore? I've decided that Santa is now able to recieve phone calls, emails, and more importantly, text messages. So, I've been telling the kids that I've been texting Santa. Mateo, smart as he is, has been calling me out on this.

"So what's Santa's phone number?" he demanded last week on the car ride to school.

" 555-1234" I answered back, "but it won't work if you call it. Santa's phone only works for adults."

So that brings us to today's story, our most recent communication with Santa. After a recent trip to Toys R Us with Grandma Mookie, Nico's two greatest loves have come together: Monster Trucks and the Wii. To say that he is obsessed with this game is an understatement. He wants to play it ever minute of every day with the desperation that a crack addict has for another hit. Due to the hysteria the Wii ensures for both boys, we have long ago limited the Wii to weekends only. However, since getting the Monster Truck game, Nico has started fighting me about this rule like never before by following me around the house and whining non-stop, "Can I play it now? now? NOW!?! ahhh! This is taking a long time! Why isn't it the weekend yet" (A question many of us ask ourselves repeatedly during the week for other reasons).

The thing that gets me is that Nico & Mateo play so well together when video games are not part of the equation. They play outside. They play very imaginative games with their cars and action figures. They color pictures and do play dough. All this without a problem. But if the Wii is an option, then that's all they want to do all day, and it's always a fight to turn it off, especially with Nico. Nico and Mateo get into very heated arguments about the Monster Truck game because 1. Nico must always win and 2. Nico refuses to let Maeto play anything other than Monster Trucks which Mateo is getting pretty sick of.

Today, the plan was that Max would go to his friend's house and take both boys. After being informed that he would have to stop playing Monster Trucks and leave the house, Nico totally lost it. At that point, I'd had enough. And seeing as I was going to be with the kids 24 hours a day for the next 2 weeks, I decided to put a stop to it for everyone's sake.

I pulled out my phone and texted a friend about tomorrow's bike ride. He texted me back a few seconds later.

"That was Santa." I declared. "He knows Nico is being bad and he is coming to take the Wii."

"Nooooo!!!!!" screamed Nico. "My Wii!!!! My Monster Trucks!!!!"

I walked over to the TV and disconnect the Wii. I carry it into the garage and lock the door. I quickly hid the Wii and opened the door. A tearful Nico was waiting on the other side.

"Santa just left." I said calmly, "He was very sad. He thinks you might be on the naughty list now, so he took your Wii to the North Pole. He told me he might bring it back on Christmas if he sees you are being good this week."

"OH, NO! OH NO! MY Wiiiii!!!!!" Nico sobbed as he collapsed to the floor.

"Yep, you're not going to get to play it for a long time." said a grinning Mateo who had been quietly watching this scene unfold.

"Mateo, Santa said he was sorry you had to lose the Wii because of Nico." I told him.

"It's ok," replied Mateo, "I still have my Nintendo DS"

I glanced at Max who was trying his best not to laugh.

"Santa sees you crying." Max told Nico. "If you keep crying like this, he'll probably keep the Wii."

Nico's sobs subsided into a soft whimper. Poor Nico...hope he redeems himself and gets back on the nice list by the 25th.

Priorities

Conversation with third graders about homework

"Mrs. Bisbal, what if you like don't have time to do you're homework?" asks one of my more challenging students.

"Well then you should talk to me about it. Every once in a while an emergency situations happen. You just need to let me know." I answer half distracted as I turn on the overhead projector to start reviewing the daily problems.

"No. I mean like everyday." he persists, "What if you like don't have time to do your homework everyday?"

I glance at the clock. We've got to get started. I quickly remind some students to move along and get ready to review the daily problems.

"Hmmm...sounds like you have too many things going on. Maybe we should call your mom and tell her you need to stop playing football after school." I finally answer figuring that might stop this unproductive conversation.

"No, no, no...I'm not talking about me." he quickly answers defensively, "I just mean what IF someone never had time to do their homework."

Ah, yes. Another great philosophical conversation.

"Well, I guess that person wouldn't learn as much." I suggest. I should just leave it at that. We've got to get moving with the lesson. But I can't. I have to add, "Boys and girls, homework and school work needs to be your top priority."

"What's a top priority?" asks another student. Ugh. I opened that can of worms, didn't I? Now this is a full blown conversation. So much for staying on schedule.

"If something is a top priority, it is your most important thing. Getting your work done needs to be your most important thing." I say.

"Yeah. That's the whole reason we're in school. To learn." adds one of my more dilligent students.

"No. Mrs. Bisbal. Your family should be your most important thing." immediately chimes in another boy.

"That's true. Family is important." Can't argue with that, I guess.

"No, Mrs. Bisbal, the most important thing is God." says another boy with a very grave look on his face, "God needs to be your priority." Oh, man. Did we really have to pull the Jesus card? Ok, enough. We need to get started.

"Thank you for sharing that opinion. That may be true for some people." I take a sip of my coffee and continue, "Boys and girls, your family and God and everyone else on Earth and in heaven wants you to make doing well in school your priority. Can we all argee it is important, and we need to find time for it?"

"Yes"

Finally we start the daily problems. We read the first one aloud and a hand immediately shoots up. Good. Time to get rolling.

"Mrs. Bisbal? You forgot to do the burrito count." Ah, priorities...

Rise and Shine

Saturday 5:23am

"MaaaMaaaa!!!"

"MaaaMaaaa!!!"

Daniela is up. But, unlike an alarm clock, I can't hit snooze.

"MaaaMaaaa!!!

A brief pause.

"Buuubaaa!!!"

This is her name for Max. She's given up on me, and is now hoping that he father will open her door. Unfortunately, Max is at work. So I haul myself out of bed and open her door. Daniela dashes out the slaps the living room TV.

"On!"

So I turn on the TV.

"Nooo!!!"

Apparently the episode of Diners and Dives that is on is not what Daniela had in mind. What did people do before DVRs? As Daniela see the openning to Yo Gabba Gabba she begins to jump and cheer wildly, "Yes! Yes! Yes!"

Being that she is my third child, I should know that going back to bed is not an option. Technically, I can go back to bed. But doing so will have consequences. It's not a wise choice, but I'm tired...and she is watching TV right?

Saturday 6:05am

"MaaaMaaaa!!!"

I open my eyes and see Daniela running towards me.

"Here! Here!"

She's holding something, but without my glasses I have no idea what it is. It looks like a small ball. Daniela throws it into the middle of my bed. As I roll towards it, I immediately feel the wetness seeping into the sleeve of my shirt.

I put on my glasses. It is cracked egg. The egg white continues to leak out of the shell onto my newly changed sheets. Daniela starts to jump and cheer again as I get out of bed with the oozing egg in hand.

"Eat!" she sings out.

"Let me guess," I say, "Do you want an egg?"

"Yes! Yes! Yes!"