Milestones, Training, and a New Goal

A post from my other blog,
losing It, where I talk about a cause very dear to my heart.

Losing It

Today, after finishing my first long run of my 10k training (more on that later) I looked down to check my mileage and I noticed something that had slipped my attention until that moment: I have run over 100 miles since starting this blog.  Pretty crazy to think that in a few short months I have logged enough miles to have run from San Diego to Disneyland.

It feels pretty momentous that I was able to do something so incredibly hard and to stick with it.  I don’t know if I have mentioned this before, but I’m a pretty big quitter, always have been.  It started when I was three and I quit preschool after being sent to time out for playing with a jack-in-the-box during nap time.  Then I quit ballet because I hated the sound of the word plié and the instructor’s choreography involved “tushy shakes” during the…

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Confessions of a Tired Mom: Why I Decided to Sleep Train

Sleep deprivation is a form of torture.  Deprive someone of sleep for long enough and they will be willing to betray their country, confess to crimes they didn’t commit, and forsake every family member they have.  After nine-and-a-half months without a full nights sleep, I am positive that the key to taking down al-Qaeda is to have their top general care for a baby that refuses to sleep. In a few short weeks his brain will be so addled that he won’t remember to inform his operatives that the secret password was switched and he will leave the blueprints for the next terror strike on the table at Starbucks while he is waiting for his triple-shot latte.

Irritability…check. Memory lapses…check. Decreased reaction time…check.

Before you all judge me, I realize that Benjamin’s sleep problems are my fault.  They are the same problems that David had with sleeping when he was a baby.  Instead of letting them cry a little when they were infants, I picked them up, rocked them and nursed them to sleep.  At first I would be able to lay them down once they drifted off, but after a few months, both boys decided their favorite place to sleep was on top of me, and I accommodated them.  It wasn’t out of some strong maternal need to be in physical contact with my children at all times, but because it was the easiest way to get the most sleep at the time.  You would think I would have learned my lesson the first time, but I didn’t, and holy crap am I paying for it now.

Let me paint a picture of what I typical night is like for me now.  At 7pm I go to lay down with Benni in my room.  Since my husband gets home around 5:45 that means we say exactly three sentences to each other (“How was work? The kids are driving me nuts. Dinner is on the stove.”) before I have to get Benni to sleep.  Once in my room, I lay with Benni while he flops around, tries to climb over me to get out, and (on really fun nights) crams his fingers in my eyes.  Eventually, he settles down enough to drink a bottle and then falls asleep, my arm acting as his pillow.  I then spend about 30 minutes trying to get my arm out from under him without him waking up before I give up and resolve myself to a bedtime that even senior citizens would laugh at.  And then Benni wakes up.  At 11:00. And 1:30. And 3:30. Around 4:30am he feels pretty perky and tries to get up for the day.  I know that because he hits me in the face and then giggles as I scream “It’s time for sleeping!” I then repeat the process of getting him to go to sleep which takes about 45 minutes.  If I’m lucky, he will stay asleep until 6:30am, but I’m not usually lucky.  On a typical night, I estimate I get around four to five hours of sleep (cumulative not successive), which is nowhere near enough.

Given that I sleep less than an insomniac on a 5 Hour Energy binge, it’s pretty remarkable that I am still able to do all the things required of me as a wife and mother and remain fairly pleasant and coherent.  But if I am being really honest, while I do the things required of me, I don’t do them well.  Things slip by me, emails go unanswered, calls go unreturned, paperwork, bills, appointments are all forgotten.  Relationships, like my marriage, like the one with my oldest son, start to show the wear of too little time and attention.  And it’s all just too much for me anymore.  Something has to change. So I am going to let Benni cry it out.  You can think I am selfish or cruel if you want to (I obviously have had those thoughts about myself as well) but I have to get my life back, even if it’s just a free hour in the afternoon and a few consecutive hours of sleep at night.

While I know this is not going to be easy, I think it is the best thing I can do for me and for my family.  And when I feel my resolve start to slip, I will keep this quote in mind:

Dear Universe

Dear Universe,

We have had our ups and downs, you and I, throughout the years.  Sometimes you have given me more good fortune than I deserved, (remember that time I found $200 in the bottom of the dirty clothes hamper when I was working at the dry cleaners? That was pretty awesome.) and sometimes you have seemed singularly focused on effing up my day (like that time my hoopty Cadillac windows stopped rolling down at the exact moment the radiator started spewing rotten fish stink into the car while I was on my way to work.).  And sometimes it seems like you, dear Universe, have stacked the cosmic deck with more bad luck than one person can bear.  This is one of those times.

Yeah, I’m talking to you
photo courtesy of

It began when the car we purchased last year started to shift hard. I took it to AAMCO for a “free” diagnostics check, and agreed to the $3000 repair, just wanting the car to be safe for my children.  “You’ll have it back by the end of the week.” I sort of knew that was a lie when the manager said it, but I hoped for the best.  This was FOUR WEEKS AGO. Four weeks.  Now Universe, I don’t know if it is fair to blame you for the mechanics incompetence, but that is what he wants me to believe.  He said the parts he used were defective, and then the new parts were also defective. Then he said the wrongs parts were sent to him.  Then it wasn’t the transmission but the computer causing the problem.  And he received the wrong computer. Twice. See? All of the explanations for the never-ending car repair seem to be your fault.

But the car is only the tip of the shit-that’s-gone-wrong iceberg.  The sofa is broken.  It’s actually the third sofa to break.  Each time it breaks, the store we bought it from refuses to refund our money, and instead gives us a new version of the same over-priced crap couch, which then, within two months, caves in on itself and gives anyone who sits on it the sensation of sinking into quicksand.  And the microwave died.  Just died in the middle of cooking dinner.  It was also the fan to the oven, so now every time I cook I also get to play amateur fire marshal, waving a kitchen towel frantically in front of the smoke alarm before it wakes my sleeping husband and thus ruining the sentiment of a home-cooked breakfast.  The temperature in the fridge varies between 36-49 degrees for no apparent reason.  My solution has been to move the thermometer waaaaay in the back where I can’t see it and pretend to enjoy lukewarm orange juice.  The printer says it’s jammed and no amount of unjamming, hitting, unplugging, or threatening will convince it otherwise.  The knobs keep falling off the kitchen cabinets and I keep putting them away until we have time to put them back on, but now I can’t remember where I put them.  The Apple TV refuses to stream Netflix, meaning I am instead left watching Jersey Shore and endless episodes of Cupcake Wars (okay, I admit, this doesn’t actually bother me too much).

I was trying to take all these mishaps in stride, but then I woke up this morning to find that Benjamin has a horrible case of thrush in his mouth. And so do I, except mine isn’t in my mouth.  I have tried to be patient, tried to see the humor in these set backs, but let me tell you, there is nothing funny about blotchy red nipples that itch like I gave them a poison oak rub down.  So Universe, all I have left to say to you is WTF is your problem? Seriously, what have I done  to make you so cranky? Me and my family are good people; we pay our taxes, love and care for our children, and I always leave way more pennies than I take from the little tray at the gas station.  What gives?

See, I give to charity.
photo courtesy of

Oh wait, is this one of those times where you are trying to teach me a lesson? Like that time you gave me stomach flu on my birthday after I pretended to be sick to get out of a geometry test? Okay wait, let me think…everything we own is breaking and we don’t have enough money to replace even half of it….are you trying to tell us to convert to Buddism? Yeah, so when we get to the part where we have to give up all our worldly possessions we can be all “no biggie, all our shit is broken anyway.”

I’m going to have to practice this hand-candle thing.
Photo courtesy of

But wait, first all our stuff broke and then me and Benni got sick…oh….wait…I get it. Were you trying to teach me a lesson about how material things don’t matter as long as you and those you love are healthy and happy, and then I kept on bitching about how everything sucks, so then you decided to give me a reminder of how shit can always get worse so I  better be appreciative of all the good things in my life even when things get tough?

Ummm yeah, this is embarrassing. Sorry about that Universe. Could you do me a favor and just disregard the above letter please?

Respectfully Yours,


Signs of Stay-at-Home Burnout

All jobs are stressful and demanding, which is why there are labor laws in place to guarantee that the basic rights of workers are protected.  There are defined business hours, coffee and lunch breaks, and mandatory days off.  If you are lucky, your place of employment also offers vacation time and sick leave.

This cannot be said of stay-at-home-parenting, a 24 hour a day, 365 day a year job, working for the most demanding of all human beings: children.  A recent study found stay-at-home parents report being more stressed, more worried, and more depressed than their corporately employed counterparts.

photo courtesy of

Burnout is a real possibility stay-at-home parents need to be wary of.  Here are some signs that it may be time to schedule a spa day and leave the kids with the sitter:

-Your idea of a lullaby is repeatedly chanting “go to f*@#ing sleep” while checking your Twitter stream.

Seriously, go to sleep.
Image courtesy of

-While looking for your keys, you lift up the couch cushions and reveal used Kleenex, a half-eaten lollipop coated in dog hair, and enough change to pay for a full tank of gas.  Not seeing your keys, you replace the cushion and go check the bathroom.

If you pretend you didn’t see it, it’s not really there.
photo courtesy of

-When your four-year-old drops the f-bomb at preschool, you furrow your brow, shake your head, and mutter “what has your father been letting you watch.” You then sneak a peak at the teacher’s face to see if she is buying it.

-Your secret nickname for the baby is “Mommy’s little burden.”

-You let your kids watch Human Centipede, thinking it is a nature special.

You’ll make it up to them by paying for their therapy bills when they are adults.
photo courtesy of

-You wear headphones all day so when your spouse asks why you didn’t pick up the dry cleaning like they asked, you can point to your ears, shrug and say “I can’t hear you.  I have my earbuds in.”

Were you talking to me?
photo courtesy of

-Headphones also drown out all but the most serious of your children’s screams.

-You feed your kids chocolate milk and cheese puffs for breakfast because you didn’t go grocery shopping the night before, instead opting to watch a very special episode of The Real Housewives of Orange County.

She’s the ideal housewife, unmarried and childless.
photo courtesy of

-You pack up all three kids and yourself into the car and race to the store at 6am when you discover that you’re all out of “mommy juice.”

photo courtesy of

Follow My New Blog!

Hi all,

I know it has been quiet over here on Jamie’s Jargon lately.  You know the excuses–life, kids, blah, blah, blah.  Actually, I have had a lot to say on one topic in particular, weight loss, but decided to start a new blog dedicated solely to this subject.  This blog will still be what it always has been, the good, the bad, and the ugly of my life.  Like my next post about the first time David gave someone a bloody nose!

Anyway, I am sick of the extra 15 pounds of baby weight I have been lugging around on top of the extra XX pounds I had before the baby. I decided to start a blog as a way to stay accountable for my choices and to motivate me to stick with my weight loss plan.  I was also hoping some of you may want to join me and share your diet plans and progress as well.  Anyway, you can find the blog at where you can subscribe for updates.

As always, thanks for reading.  I hope to see you guys on the other page!

Morning Chatter

As a parent, it’s only natural to want to give your child everything they desire. I usually give in to most of David’s requests, be it a trip to the park, or a limited edition Spider-Hulk action figure which can only be purchased on eBay. And then the day comes when your child asks for something you can’t possibly give them.

Like a shrink-ray.

“What do you want to do today?” I asked David over breakfast this morning.

“I want to go to the toy store to buy a shrink-ray.”

“A what?”

“A shrink-ray. I’ll take it to school and I’ll shoot my friends–SIZZZZZZZZZZ–and then they’ll be tiny, tiny, tiny like babies!”

“Why do you want to shrink your friends?”

“Then I’ll be the boss at school. And Miss Teacher will say ‘David why did you shrink the friends’ and I can say ‘because I am a mean boy!'”

“And then what?”

“Baby friends will cry and have to go home. And then I don’t go to circle.”

“So, you want to shoot your friends at school with a shrink-ray so you don’t have to go to circle time?”

“Yes. Can we go to the toy store?”

“Um, not today buddy.”

Future Evil-Genius