Tornado Ellie

My father used to have this alarm clock that chirped.  It didn’t buzz when it went off, just chirp chirp chirp.  I used to love that sound, I could hear it down the hall to my room and I just thought it was so cool.  I imagine my mother and father felt less excited about the alarm clock as it was pushing them awake at an hour they didn’t wish to be.  Now that I am an adult and a forced reason to get up in the morning, I have my own alarm clock.  It doesn’t buzz, it doesn’t chirp, it chants. 

It goes off every morning at about 5:30 am on its own.  It starts off as a low whine and pretty incoherent, but as it gets louder and the chanting begins in earnest, the words are clear.  As I try desperately to silence it, the sound takes on what can only be described as incessant and shrill.  It doesn’t run on batteries or electricity, so I can’t power it down.  The only way to get this thing to be quiet is to bring it milk, a yogurt stick or pouch and then free it from its slumber chamber. 

Life before Ellie was pretty quiet.  Gabe was definitely loud, absolutely, but in his own way.  Gabe thankfully always loved his sleep and I could normally get him to stay down until the sun had fully woken itself up, but his sister is another story all together.  She pops awake with full evil intent on hounding not only me and our household, but sadly, our entire building as well.  I am thankful for loud air conditioners as they are invaluable in drowning out the sound.  Run the dishwasher in the morning and I’ve got a buffer to make even the crabbiest neighbor unable to hear anything coming from my apartment. My only other worry is her thunderous footsteps, but thankfully the dear old lady downstairs is essentially deaf (and she started out that way, Ellie had nothing to do with it)

I used to be a morning person.. Before Children, or BC for short, I would bound out of bed, walk downtown Portsmouth to Me & Ollie’s for a treat and back home again before showering and beautifying myself for work (ok, fine.. I showered and threw on fairly unwrinkled clothing).. It was like the opening credits from Grease, I had birds all around, handing me things.. I was relaxed, my hair normally got brushed while I was still in my house and I left with more than enough time to get where I was going without panic.  I was always early (annoying, huh?) and even had time to take the long way to work so I could listen just a few more minutes to the Morning Buzz.

Even with Gabe, things were still slightly on track.. It wasn’t hard to get him and myself out the door.. I sacrificed my morning walks, although there were days that I had time to take him with me for a stroll.  I showered more at night so I could still beautify myself for work (leave me alone, I am not letting this go) and my "long way to work" was via Kindercare rather than casing the streets of Portsmouth.  But it was still pretty laid back. 

With Ellie, everything changed.  She makes herself known.  There is a Facebook cartoon thing going around that makes mention of a toddler being a little cute tornado.  It is almost like someone sat in my house on any given morning and designed this with Ellie in mind. A loud, chanting, incessant tornado. She is an adorable little thing, but holy cow, she is a terror.  My mother and father take great delight in letting me know that she is just like I was with a bit of my sister Gillian thrown in for good measure.. Apparently I was the tornado part of it and Gillian covered the chanting, loud and incessant part. 

 

My mornings now resemble this—

Chanted awake at 5:30; I try in vain to stretch it out to a more reasonable hour of 6am.  I fail as it just makes her louder, more adamant and normally this is the part where she rips off her diaper and informs me that she Pee Pee Pee Pee Peeeeee

I drag myself awake, haul her out of bed and give her something, anything to eat to make it stop.  I close Gabe’s bedroom door in the hopes that he is lucky enough to get just a little more sleep while I handle the beast pacing at my feet. 

I manage to get to the bathroom and almost out before she discovers I am gone and come looking for me (thud thud thud)

Around this time I attempt to make lunches for both children while throwing a few leftovers into a bag for myself. I have no clue what I am packing, but I hope that it’s at least fairly nutritious and somewhat goes with the other items.

Gabe normally comes out around this time and immediately is seen as easy prey by his sister.  She lunged towards him to get his attention as if she has been thoroughly and utterly ignored by me (yah, right)-  Gabe’s not having it and informs me quite emphatically that she is bothering him. 

We have a period of dialogue between the two of them.. It starts out nice and I am happy and smiling and then it turns ugly in an instant.  A toy is touched, food is taken, someone is looking at the other one.. My eye starts to twitch and I can feel the wrinkles creasing themselves into my forehead.  I deliberate how much to ignore and what to kibash.  I look at the clock and depending on how much time we have, I make my decision. 

At this point, I normally herd Gabe into his room to get dressed while having to proctor him the entire time to ensure he is truly understanding what that means.  This is the child that I have watched dress faster than a costume change backstage during a 1 minute set change, yet he is physically unable to do so at home.  While I am staring him down, I have the tornado, or better yet, the Tasmanian Devil (remember how he’d just twirl and spin and wrack havoc? I can still remember that sound effect), creating a wake of toys, babies, food and you name it in my bedroom. 

With Gabe safely dressed, I capture Ellie and try to get her ready.  The best part about this is that she is still little, I can pick her up easily and with the help of my forearm keeping her from springing back up at me like a little jumping spider I get her dressed.  I get them to brush their teeth.. They like this part.. They do fight over who gets to stand on the stool and who gets to stand on the toilet with the seat down.  They switch positions everyday so I let them hash it out until I hear it getting physical. 

In the attempts to just get out the door, I throw on whatever clothing item is closest to me, drag my own toothbrush across my teeth and we hit the door going full speed. 

I get us to the car in one piece.  None of us have our hair brushed and so I try my best to beautify all of us before driving away.. I rake the brush through their hair and scrub their darling faces with a baby wipe and off we go.  I attempt to listen to the Morning Buzz and am quickly shot down because they want to listen to their songs.  And I am not allowed to sing to them either, Momma, shush.. Momma, no..

I drive the shortest, most direct route I can to get them to their respected sitters and daycamps and then tear arse to work.. I make it on time with about 10 seconds to spare. I’m proud of myself that I made it on time until I realize that I left my lunch on the counter at home.  Staying positive, I decide that this is a good thing and one less thing that I need to do tomorrow morning.  I dash into my office and sink into my chair, knowing full well that anything I am faced with today at work is NOTHING compared to what I just went through--

And as I sit, I now understand why mothers of 2 more children have this glazed look on their faces every morning.  Their hair is in a rats nest and they have toothpaste on the front of their shirts.  They are lucky if they have two matching shoes on and have learned quickly to make sure their work fridge is always stocked with back up foods in case they forget theirs from home.  They profess to love their jobs and I understand why; it is the only place where they can enjoy a modicum of quiet and control. 

So until tomorrow morning when it starts all over again, I'm going to talk on my phone without being interrupted and I am going to listen to the music I want to listen to.

 I might even sing along with it.

Crazy

It’s official… 

I am crazy and I no longer speak the same language as the younger members of society.  When I talk I sound just like the grown ups on Charlie Brown do.  I have become 100% unintelligible with the exception of a few (very few) choice words.  Wah waaah wah wah wah wah ice cream wah waaah computer wah wha wah candy wah waaah swimming…..  To top that off, I am finding that I am also becoming a cross between Mammy from Gone with the Wind (He'll be comin' to Atlanta when he gets his leave, and you sittin' there waitin' for him, just like a spider), muttering under my breath after the fact and a carnival barker and/or auctioneer; standing high on my soap box trying to get as many words in as quickly as possible before I lose my audience (who, let’s face it, I never actually had grasp of to begin with)

 

I came to this conclusion just recently.  It hit me like a freight train when I realized it.   I have become the clique mother that comedian’s base entire sketches on (think Bill Engvall, he’s a good one for painting this oh so scary and accurate picture).  I have become a crazy person.

The other day I was sitting on the couch enjoying a few moments of peace and quiet. Gabe and Ellie were in Gabe’s room playing “Guys” and actually getting along.  For about 5 whole minutes it was an absolute utopia, I almost had to pinch myself from believing it.   

But then…oh, but then the shrieking and the yelling and the Mom she hit me and stole my guy and the Mumma, him hit Ewwie, him hit Ewwie started and I sprang to action. 

I raced (ok, I took a few steps) into Gabe's bedroom, and there on the battlefield of the rug lay carnage of the bodies.  Yoda, Chewbacca, Batman, Woody, Nameless figure from McDonalds--  All helter skelter in sad sorrowful heaps.   The two adversaries staring one another down.  Ellie holds the item of great angst high up in her little fist (big stone creature that can eat Batman) and Gabe is dancing around her like a prize fighter ready to strike on the big night.  I assert myself in between the two of them (truly not too hard to do seeing that I am actually bigger and somewhat stronger than they are) and proceed to try to get their attention. 

And here is where it dawns on me that they cannot actually understand a word that I am saying.  I might as well be speaking Martian (although with my luck they might actually understand Martian just to spite me). 

They are now staring at me like I have 5 heads and just sprouted a flower from each (think a really scary Daisy Head Mayzie). So, in exasperation,  I launch in to my auctioneer role: I said stop it right now, give your brother back his person and go in the other room and play with babies, no Gabe you stay here you wanted this toy so badly, no you cannot have the computer, clean this mess up this room is a disgrace, Ellie you need a new diaper, come lie down and I will change you….  All of which was lost on them as well (Now think the Charlie Brown grown ups but on speed).  In my final effort, I scoop up Ellie and haul her screaming and kicking into the living room to change her diaper (now comes the Mammy part) mutter mutter mutter: all I wanted was some peace and quiet, is that too much to ask,  mutter mutter mutter..

I release Ellie back to the wild and after the requisite snacks, drinks, naps, etc..this scene may or may not repeat a few more times before Monday morning arrives.  Maybe a different scenario: different toy, room, etc; but the outcome is always predictable.  

And, the best thing about it, besides the fact that I am probably certifiable, is that this is most likely hereditary (I know for a fact that my mother is crazy too, and her mother before her (although we never saw it, but I am sure it was there), and so on and so forth).  Which means that Ellie will be feeling the same way in about 30 years and when she calls me to relay how her children don’t listen to her, I can sit back in my very very very quiet house (where breakable things are on lower shelves, candles once more live free, and dvd’s no longer fear for their souls), and tell her that this too shall pass.