Alright. Now I feel at least a little better (though apparently blogging about aggravation does little to ease the physical manifestations thereof; my shoulder is pinched so tight at this moment that I can hardly turn my head). On to bigger and better things.
Well, Daddy returned from his trip. Obvious revelry ensued. (Mostly because now I have another set of hands around the house into which to shove a child and bark, "TAKE THIS OUTSIDE.") Sushi greeted him with her usual tactless "What did you bring me?", but when she followed it up with, "I was sooo good while you were away!", I could not help but break out into maniacal laughter. (My favorite episode during his absence: Sushi was throwing a colossal fit. The baby was asleep. I dumped the writhing, screeching Sushi in her room and, after about 7 unsuccessful attempts to get her to stay put so that I could get poor Screamer into bed, I locked Sushi's door from the outside [a curious feature of the middle eastern architecture that is near-impossible to resist at desperate moments like these] and said I would be back in five minutes if she would JUST. STOP. CRYING. Always the resourceful one [read: manipulative liar], Sushi opened her second-story bedroom window, leaned OUT of it, and screamed down to Z-Man's ground floor bedroom, "HELP! I need HELP! I accidentally locked myself in my room! Please come up here! QUICK!" Which of course sent him tearing up the stairs in a sweaty panic, only to be stopped firmly in his tracks at the top of the staircase by the death rays shooting out of my eyes. Good times.)
What else. Well, I went on a tour of the American school where Sushi was accepted (Screamer's application would not even be considered there, due to the birthdate issue), JUST to be sure that the international school for both of them was the way to go. And I have to say, I was momentarily comforted by the apple pie names punctuating the artwork in *this* hallway: "Ethan," "Madison," "Jeanne," and "Taylor," to name a few. That said, the tour guide told me that even the American schools teach Arabic (the Ministry of Education apparently *requires* that both Arabic and "Islamic culture" be taught to all students over a certain age), and I reminded myself that my kids will have plenty of time to hang with white kids whenever we return to the US. Thus, barring some upset regarding the baby's nursery school prospects (there's a chance that in the fall she could *squeeze* off the waitlist at the conveniently located nursery where Screamer and Sushi presently attend, but only if Screamer stays there another year and maintains Baby's "sibling priority"), I'm thinking that we're heading into an "international" school experience. (Go on, tell me what a big person I am!) (No, really, tell me, so I don't chicken out.)
Other things. Today we had a "trial day" with a second housemaid candidate, whom I will refer to as "Lucille." She was far from an unknown quantity, as we usually have to contend with during these interviews; rather, Lucille works at the house right across the street from us, but her employer guy just lost his job and is taking his family home to Japan. Lucille wants to stay in this neighborhood and so has been lobbying us aggressively for the second maid position. My problems with Lucille, now confirmed after having spent the day with her, are these: (1) She is bossy; (2) She is old (love me, love my ageism); (3) She is insensitive (when Baby took a faceplant while sitting on the carpet amongst her toys, Lucille reluctantly picked her up and mumbled, "She'll just have to learn"); and (4) She is too alpha female to play second fiddle to Alice, who was here first and should be allowed, I believe, to remain the dominant housemaid. (ahaha who ever could have guessed I'd find myself in a position where I would have to oversee the delicate interpersonal dynamics of a "primary" housemaid and "secondary" housemaid.) This means, of course, that it's back to the drawing board (or bulletin board, as the classified ad case may be) for me. (CONFIDENTIAL NOTE TO THE UNIVERSE: PLEASE SEND ME A SUITABLE SECOND HOUSEMAID SOON. IF I HAVE TO TAKE THESE KIDS TO THE SAME BORING SANDBOX PARK ONE MORE TIME, I MAY RESORT TO EATING A BUCKET OF SAND JUST TO BREAK UP THE MONOTONY.)
Ok, well, I can't think of anything else of interest, and I should probably get some sleep while it's still quiet around here (heaven only knows how long this precarious truce between the children and me will last). So I wish you good evening, and hope that, wherever you are in the world, *your* little rugrats aren't also giving you The Treatment. Sweet dreams...
4 comments:
We actually got thru a day finally without the little one having one of those fits. God they can scream. The first day last week that really got her going was typical kid stuff, Bri and I trying to get everyone fed. Abbey was being a royal pain in the ass, you know wouldn't stay on her seat, singing and dancing and otherwise being a clown around the kitchen. Now she's 7, so you'd figure after the 70th time she was told to cut it out and the 7th time she was given her final chance to avoid punishment that the smoke coming out of Bti and my ears would have been enough of a clue to Miss Abigail to cut it the hell out. But no, this kid is all me, stubborn as hell with a need to push as far as she possibly can. Finally I looked at her and in my best mommy voice told her I had had it and to go to her room. Cue the pathetic hearthbroken baby face, the stomping reluctantly to her room. Then cue the crying followed soon bt screaming that increased in volume the longer we ignored it. After Bri and I had our discussion of you deal with her...no you deal with her I'm going to kill her...no I'm going to kill her first, Bri finally trumped me with Kevin can't throw you out and the all time classic, it's your kid. I tried a couple times to get her to understand that the only way she was going to leave her room was if she shut up. But she was on a roll and wasn't planning on loosing this fight. The best moment was when she screamed at me, "I want daddy!" The same daddy who she hated for sending her to timeout the day before. I threatened some more including reminding her that daddy would be home soon and did she really think he was going to be happy with her screaming which eventually reduced the screams to a volume I didn't think the neighbors could hear. Bri went out to smoke. I went to my room. Abbey shut up literally 2 min before her father walked in the door and she was immediately parolled by him. The next night at dinner it was his turn to deal with them. Next thing I know, Abbey is next to my bed crying that daddys making her go to bed without tv. Play the whole tantrum scene again. The next night same ting, though less screaming more crocodile tears. Finally, finally tonight she went to bed without a fuss. Ok, her father wasn't here to enforce his no tv thing, which I think was supposed to be all week, and I did let her go to bed on her little foldout care bear couch on the floor of her brothers room, but at least it was quiet.
Oh and the doors locking from outside, you gotta lock the windows or they will try anything. I'm sure my son would have tried to climb out the 2nd story window when he was your kids age. My grandmas house was strangely without any locking doors, except bathroooms. In my desperation one day to get him to stay in timeout, I took the door knob off my bathroom and put it on his door backwards. It's still there that was but he at least is past the major temper tanutrum stage. Trust me it does get easier but I wouldn't count on a full nights sleep or a day with no screams for a while yet. I guess it's what we get for having three kids so close together, and I think theres something about it being three kids. Any two of mine can be fine, add in the third and you know world war three is going to break out. All we can do I guess is invest in ear plugs and asprin, lots and lots of asprin.
Oh, geeze. Sushi is good. As good as you. You might have met your match!
Lucille sounds like a "no." Go with your instinct.
And I think you'll need counter-home-schooling for all three of them, just to de-program everything about "culture" that they're taught in school. Good luck!
I hope you teach them Hebrew at home...and have you come up with a suitable psuedonym yet for the next big holiday? Something that can rival the "Festival of Tights"? Hash-over (you love potatos and corned beef)? Bass-over (you can claim to be an avid fisherman)? Mass-over (hey, that gives it a Catholic flair to further enhance your home while you're "Anne Franking it")?
That is hysterical about Sushi!! How would a three year old (four year old) even think of something so clever?!?!
I say "NO" to Lucille too. A BIG no. A nine month old should not "have to learn".
I'm getting a bad vibe...trust your instincts, you know what's best for your children. Not to mention the social hierarchy of the domestic staff. HA! When we weere growing up could you have ever imagined even HAVING a "domestic staff"?
I'm not sure what your office supply resources are, but may I suggest a tape community as an alternative to eating a bucket of sand? It's been almost ten years, but if memory serves, it also helped to break up the monotony.
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