Feeling a little stressed?

     One of my favorite german words is 'überfordert'. I can't really pronounce because the 'ü' is more like a 'eeewwww' and 'r' isn't like the English 'r' and I can't really describe it 'cause if I could, I would probably be able to say it, wouldn't I? The means something like 'overextended' or 'swamped.' It's stem word 'fordern' means to demand, ask, require, claim. I thought the stem word was 'fördern' which means something completely different (support, encourage, foster, promote) because you know, putting two dots on top of anything, especially a letter, can make someone's life a living hell.
     I just survived my daughter's 7th birthday party, complete with extra kids showing up unannounced, total meltdown of the birthday girl, total anarchy halfway through the games, too much candy, screams of "you're not my friend anymore!!!", and of course the former best friend picking a fight with my son (but that was to be expected).
    A lot of this I could have predicted before hand. We invited too many kids to begin with, but that was more out of guilt than anything else. I was out of town for a week, the week before, which always upsets Fifi. Her grandma, who was visiting us at the time, got admitted to the hospital on the morning of her actual birthday. Not to mention the fact that I had to bake the cake for her real birthday in between shopping for ingredients and dropping and picking up kids for different activities that day, and so only the top half actually got cooked (the toothpick came out clean THREE freaking times, how was I supposed to know?), although the top half was pretty tasty, and Kiki didn't seem to mind the bottom half!
     And then no one RSPV'ed. Well, one did the first day, the current "best friend" (who can keep up, when they are too young for Facebook?). Then another, although I wasn't thrilled to hear it since the kids, although close friends, were a few years younger and needed more of my attention. Then one more trickled in, and then nothing. Then I hear another girl in the same class is having a party on the same day. Then another girl can't make it because her best friend is celebrating on the same day as well. Crap. I can't have just 4 kids (including two who are more like family than friends) show up at my kid's party. My kid is more popular than that, right??? Panic sets in.
     But by the Thursday before the party, we had a decent amount of kids, and I was happy to hear some couldn't make it. Now to tackle mess that was the house. No point in cleaning too early, it'll just get messy again. Can't give Bugsy too much notice to clean his room, apparently, anything more than 24 hours and he just doesn't take it seriously.  Threatening to take away your next birthday party (still 6 months away) when said the 3rd time, didn't seem to sway him either. Yelling and screaming and throwing his gym bag under his desk got his attention, but just barely.
     But of course nothing is that easy. Wednesday, my MIL, starts getting a swollen foot and is having trouble walking on it. During the week I've got a series of doctors appointments, and find out that in addition to recovering from pneumonia, the reason my side is still hurting is because I have a cracked rib that never showed up in the 10 x-rays I took over Christmas vacation. A CRACKED freaking rib, do you hear that Sweet Papa? I think that trumps your head cold, any day! Not to mention stress from my renters in Florida, daily visits to see my MIL at the hospital, a 'sick' husband who gets 3 days off of work from his doctor, and the stress that is my weekly grind. So of course on the Friday before the party, when I really need to start pulling things together, I collapse out of exhaustion on my bed for a few hours.
     So that left Saturday morning to prepare. Made the cake (and made sure it was cooked all the way through, this time), made the pizzas (that no one really liked, but was oh, so thankful for after everyone left), left to go shopping for an hour but almost had a panic attack that Sweet Papa would start mopping the floors (and not let anyone walk across them until they dried - which could take up to an hour). Luckily, or not, no one seemed to have moved while I was gone, although the mop and bucket were in position, ready for attack. I swear I was ready to leave that man if he started mopping the house an hour before the party (when there were a million other things to be done). Moved the furniture around, decorated the table, put up the streamers, laid out the snacks, all with 5 minutes to spare before the first doorbell rang.
     Only one thing I forgot - feed my kids lunch. Kiki grabbed some pizza during the party. Bugsy, he has enough meat on him to last him 3 days. But Fifi, the birthday girl, was in no way going to survive on the mornings oatmeal. No way to get her to eat real food with all that chocolate and candy floating in the air. No way to get her to think about food with all her friends in the house. 
     The meltdown started right after she opened her presents, conveniently enough for her. She ended up having a private party in her room with a few kids she allowed to enter. Kiki got a group together for herself and played with them in another room. One group got excited about the swing in Bugsy's room and played in there. Bugsy got some earphones and plugged into his PSP. Sweet Papa gave up and escaped to the computer. And after playing a few games with some of the other kids, I ended up on the couch hanging out with a mom that stayed.
     Überlebt. One of the first words I learned after holding my first kid's birthday party. It means "survived." Just barely.

Mothers and Sons

     My mother-in-law is visiting, and well, I just couldn't help but blog about it. I want to start off by saying that my MIL is just a really sweet, funny, loving person, who would do anything in the world for you as long as you, your parents, and possibly your grandparents have never done anything to get on her bad side. OR that possibly any random series of events made it look to her that you, your parents, or your grandparents have ever done her wrong, ever.
     Luckily, for some reason, she seems to like me. I think it helped living on a different continent and not really speaking her language for the first 8 years of my marriage. Smiling and eating large amounts of anything she cooks, and providing cute grandchildren have gotten me far. Luckily for you, she neither understands English nor owns a computer let alone know how to surf the internet, so I feel I can speak freely.
     Every so often, when I see my husband with his mom, I realize what a mama's boy he is. I feel really bad for his sister, because their mom definitely favors him over her. That's a chain I'm trying to break. My mom definitely favored my brother over my sister and me, but I thought that was just an Indian thing. As I understand it, sons are favored because daughters are considered part of their husband's family as soon as they get married, so if you don't have a son, you have no one to take care of you in your old age. Kind of like India's version of Social Security. Although my mom once said to put her in a nursing home before making her live with her son!
     In the fight against favoring "my son! my son!" over my daughters, I've probably gone one step too far. That boy of mine loves his Sweet Papa more than anything. My husband had to go out of town one night for work and Bugsy was like, "Mom, did you ever miss anyone soooooo much?" I thought I was going to puke. And he's trying to be like his dad in so many ways. That's where I try and nip things in the bud. You know, get at the source of the problem before it gets out of hand.
     In some ways though, I'm missing out. I see how Sweet Papa is with his mom, and I'm like, my son doesn't like me THAT much. My mother-in-law, was on the couch the other day with a swollen, aching foot and Sweet Papa was on it. At her beck and call, offering to massage it, even using some kind of healing mud mask on it (Luvos Heilerde for those that know it, used for everything from acne to irritable bowel syndrome) to get the swelling down. He never took care of me like that. Most likely because I've never been THAT sick, according to him. So even when I was 10 months pregnant with his kid, and not able to stand back up again after squatting down to tie his other kid's shoe, didn't warrant a helping hand, because technically, you know, I was healthy. And well, he probably didn't notice we needed help because he was already out in the car waiting for us to bring down the luggage.
     Being Sweet Papa's mom isn't without it's drawbacks though. It never occurred to him to come home early or even on time that day when she couldn't walk on her own and I said even I couldn't support her weight to help her get around. She eventually had to go to the hospital for treatment, and she was complaining about how terrible the food was. So his suggestion? Should I bring you some toast? The woman slaves for days making pot roast and stuffed cabbage for you, and the best you can offer is TOAST??? I'm thinking that kind of love I can do without.