No Cure For The Summertime Blues

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I have always believed that summer is a time for relaxation. A time to relax your stringent rules and schedules and go with the flow. Wear floaty bohemian skirts and pile your hair on top of your head in a messy bun. Barbecue things wrapped in tinfoil. Splash carelessly in the surf with your flip flops in your hand. Embrace your inner hippy.

Then I had children.

I freaking hate summer.



"Why no, I don't have kids...How can you tell?"

Did you know that this is the first chance I have had to write in my blog since the end of July? I used to have a faithful following, now they have probably all forgotten me. I cant blame them. Who wants to re-read old blog posts. I wish I could return to those halcyon days when I actually had a spare hour once in a while to write. Now I'm lucky if I have time to have a shower.

Summertime is a never ending flow of visitors and visiting. We have spent a grand total of five minutes at home this month. Every weekend there is another round of relatives to visit, barbeques and trips to the park/beach/fair. A day at the beach requires planning, packing and all the tactical skills of a military manoeuvre. There are no spur of the moment trips when you have two toddlers. By the time you get the kids dressed and sun screened, the diaper bags packed, snacks made and car seats loaded half the day has passed. We are constantly rushing here and there and sometimes, when the stars are aligned just right, we are lucky enough to get the kids home before bedtime. Routines go out the window and are replaced with tantrums thrown by kids who are overtired and overstimulated. Packing the kids into the car after a day at the beach? Be prepared to have people in the parking lot look at you like you're the worst parent ever. It's a reasonable assumption when they see you wrestling your screaming child into a carseat, especially when darling daughter is screaming "No mommy, please, NOOOO" and you are standing there, red in the face with a vein on your forehead about to pop.

Quick, grab her before she gets away again.

I sometimes envy my single friends...the ones without kids that is. They are out there, making the most of the great weather. They are being spontaneous. There they are, sitting on the beach and BAM! A friend with a boat motors up near them:
"Hey, wanna go for a cruise up the lake?"
" Sure, why not. I don't have any plans."

Here's how that conversation goes when you have two toddlers:
"Hey, wanna go for a cruise up the lake?"
"Sure, let me find Mr. Zinga. I'm sure he'll watch the kids for a little bit. Crap, he's all the way out on the dock. I guess I could take the kids. Do you have any life jackets? Oh right, you don't have kids, why would you have kids life jackets. Tell you what, why don't you come back in half an hour, I might be able to get Mr. Zinga's attention and then I might be able to get him to watch the kids and..."
Friend with boat moves on to next group of friends.
"Hey, wanna go for a cruise up the lake?"

Number 67543 on the list of things they don't tell you about being a parent: Your single friends will suddenly abandon you faster than you can say "Someone needs a diaper change."

Hey, where did everybody go?

There are a lot of things that I hate about summer. The hustle and bustle, the stress and the heat. The tourists, the traffic and the overcrowded beaches. Long line ups at the market and longer line ups at the ice cream stand. The fact that I can never wear a two piece bathing suit again.

First world problems I know.

There are a lot of good things about summer too. I'm not a total hater. I like to garden, I like to barbeque and I am not averse to spending time suntanning in the backyard while my oldest daughter runs through the sprinkler. My family loves the summer and because I love them I put on a brave face and pretend to be enjoying myself. Doesn't stop me from eagerly awaiting the changing leaves of Autumn. I tolerate the heat and humidity, for three very good reasons.



CeeCee Zinga (Left), Parker Zinga (Bottom Right) and Mr. Zinga (Top) 

My crusty faced, sun loving babies and my wonderful (thankfully NOT crusty faced) husband.




All Stock Photos: Free Digital Photos
Bottom Photo : Mr. Zinga Pin It

Happy Mothers Day. When's Dinner?

Pin It Happy belated Mothers Day to all. How was your "big day"?

I don't want to hear that you got breakfast in bed, or hubby left jewelery on your pillow or that your children wrote you a poem.

Hurry, keep frolicking or they are going to make us do some work

Save that shit for your Facebook status.

I'm sure we all got spoiled, for like five minutes. What happened after that. Did you get pampered all day or did you change Pampers all day? Did you get taken out for dinner or did you have to make a big family dinner. In short, did "your" big day end up turning into just another Sunday?

Here's how my Mothers Day went down:

• Got to sleep in with Parker. Nursed her back to sleep and crawled out of bed without waking her. Win.
• Hubby tells me he wants to take his mom out for lunch. I say great, who's going to watch the kids. He says "Oh I guess you want to come too eh?" Fail.
• Spent next half an hour curled up in a ball on the couch. Hubby apologizes and we get back on track. Decide to order takeaway and eat at his mom's house, negating the need for childcare. Win.
• Spent day rushing from his moms house to my moms house, Mom and I cook a massive steak dinner in honor of mothers day. As usual we are the last to eat. Fail.
• Get home later than we expected but with the added bonus of CeeCee having fallen asleep in the car. Put Parker to bed and got her to sleep almost instantly. Win.
• Realize Hubby has also fallen asleep almost instantly. Epic Fail.  

 Words of wisdom

It's all good. I had a great time despite all the ups and downs. Next year I will make sure I remind Hubby just how important Mothers Day is to me. Not that he's likely to forget.



Photo credit from top:
photostock / FreeDigitalPhotos.net
Meme copied from eatliver.com Pin It

Sparks and Flames.

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This is Mr. Zinga and myself a few months before we had CeeCee.

We're pretty cute, eh? It's been almost seven blissful years. This is by far the longest, happiest and healthiest relationship of my life.

We have the kind of love that Nicholas Sparks writes novels about, that 80's hair metal bands sing power ballads about. He writes me sonnets and leaves them on my pillow. We have lingering bubble baths, with candles and rose petals...*facepalm...I can't do it...I can't keep typing this crap with a straight face.

We don't do hearts and flowers. We're too busy being parents.

I'm not complaining. At all. I will take flannel jammies and a cup of tea with him over chocolate covered strawberries and champagne with anyone else, hands down. It's not a lack of passion, we have a different kind of passion. It's healthier. I really have it all. A lover, a partner, a friend and a family. I never had that with any of the so called "great loves" of my life. When I think of a person being madly or head over heels in love I picture them completely losing themselves in someone else. Everything revolves around the object of their affection...Every. Damn. Thing. Their heart skips a beat every time the phone rings just in case it's..gasp...HIM. They can't concentrate on work. Their friends can't stand to talk to them because they are sick of listening to the never ending saga, the ups and downs of the relationship. More often than not it burns white hot, like a holiday sparkler, and like a sparkler it burns out all to quickly.

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Sound like fun? Not to me.

Don't get me wrong, we had that, for like ten minutes at the beginning. Doesn't everyone? Nobody would ever hook up in the first place if it wasn't exciting. What was REALLY special was realizing, after that first year or so when the novelty had worn off, that I still wanted to be with him. I wasn't trying to change him and he wasn't trying to change me (well, except maybe to get me to quit smoking but I can't blame him, it IS a filthy habit). Our relationship kept growing and evolving. We moved in together, got a dog, had kids, became a family. I eat the mushrooms that he picks off his pizza. He finishes my drinks so they don't pile up around the house (to this day I have yet to finish an entire can, glass or bottle of anything). He makes me laugh...a lot. We make mistakes...a lot. We raise our kids together. Life is good. We have been together long enough to cut through the crap and get down to the serious business of building a life together.

That's my idea of fun.

It isn't always easy, I'd be lying if I said it was. We fight. We're good at it. With two kids under two we have elevated bickering to a whole new level. Besides, anyone who says they never fight with their spouse is either lying or heavily medicated. No, we work at it. Some days it's more work than others. It's always worth it though. It isn't as flashy as a sparkler. It's more like a fireplace. Sturdy, useful and it keeps us warm at night. We keep it burning and it lights our home and our lives.

 

photo credit

Show me a sparkler that can do all that.



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Begin at the beginning

Pin It Where to begin?

I could open with a joke but my sense of humor is slightly askew and definitely off color...perhaps that's best saved for later, when you know me better.

No, I think it would be best to begin at the beginning...the beginning of my life as a mother to a spirited toddler and a peaceful infant.

Flashback to November 2009. It was an average Thursday night in the Zinga house. Hubby was contentedly playing video games in the living room while I flaked out in the bedroom with a good book, a good dog and a movie in the background, Gone With the Wind for perhaps the thousandth time (book AND movie in tandem, I know...I'm a weirdo).

I hadn't been feeling well and was trying to catch up on some rest. I had abandoned the book in favor of the movie and had just gotten to the scene where Scarlett tells Rhett she is expecting their second child when it hit me.

(The following is a fairly accurate transcript of what went through my head at the time)

...Naw, I can't be. He has a chronic illness. His swimmers must be fried from decades of medication. 
...Plus we always use birth control...well, pull and pray but still, that's got to count for something. 
...No, I must be imagining the symptoms. 
...My boobs probably hurt because my bra is too tight. Wait a sec, why is my bra so tight?
...I just started a new job, no way I'm pregnant, we did celebrate pretty hard when I GOT the new job though.
...How long ago was that? Five weeks? Six? See, I can't be pregnant I had my period on...when was my last period?
...Faaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaack!!!

I raced to the bathroom, praying that I still had a test left over from that time I convinced myself I was pregnant, only to find out it was gas. There it was in the medicine cabinet, hiding innocently behind the Pepto Bismol. My nerves were flayed raw by the time I managed, with shaking hands, to remove the wrapper and pee on that ridiculous stick. Two minutes felt like an eternity as I watched my entire life flash before my eyes. I cut my eyes to the side, unable to look at the thing full on. I felt relief wash over me as I realized that there was no plus sign in the window, just one faint pink line in each window. Surely that meant I was not pregnant. I allowed myself a minute of desperate hopefulness before digging the instructions out of the box. Relief was slowly replaced by numbness as I realized I was about to become a mother.

I stumbled out into the living room to confront Hubby with the news:
   Me: "Jeff, I'm pregnant."
   Jeff: "Are you sure?" (his eyes never leave the game)
   Me: "Yes I'm sure, I just pee'd on a stick and it came up positive."
   Jeff: "Go pee on another one."

He wasn't trying to be a dick, he just wanted to be sure. I of course, being incredibly hormonal and frightened out of my wits took it to mean that he was pissed. I started envisioning my life as a single mother.  The next morning I called my doctor and he was able to get us in right away. He confirmed that we were, in fact, pregnant. I glanced over at Hubby. I saw a look of joy mingled with fear in his eyes and I knew then and there that no matter what happened we were in this together. Pin It