Every time I leave the house, I have to fight my way through hordes of adoring fans waving their laptops at me. They do this because there’s nothing paper to autograph, because, as several of my sisters in Christ have recently pointed out in an effort to promote more charitable discourse, I haven’t written a book yet. All’s I do is blog, blog, blog, which is no more difficult than taking a seat on the keyboard and bouncing a few times. Blog, blog, blog! Here I go again.
Some people (coughmarksheacough) make this look easy. He can blog with his left hand while writing a book with his right. Heck, sometimes he writes one book with each hand and just lets his beard do the blogging. I may be the least feminine female ever, but I am happy to report that my beard, at least, is woefully undeveloped. The most it’s been able to accomplish is to make me feel gross and old—and, so far, gross and old don’t write no fine prose. At least not the way I do it.
The Archbolds, too, churn out content left and right without breaking a sweat. Of course there’s a distinct possibility that they find it easier to keep up with their hectic schedule because there are TWO OF THEM. And here I am, doing what they do, except backwards and in heels (by which I mean wearing pajamas and sobbing uncontrollably). And, oh yeah, being just one person. Well, technically I’m zoned as a double occupancy dwelling for another five months, but I don’t allow my fetus to stay up all night typing. Not until he can make his own coffee, anyway.
Then there’s Jen Fulwiler, who was put on earth to make other women look lame. I met her! She was pregnant! And she had heels on, and walked around in them! Also, plus, she writes books and articles and columns and two blogs and is on the radio and TV and is in training to be the terran representative aboard the next shuttle to Mars, which she helped to design as part of a homeschool project with her intensely happy and well-rounded children, who know how to pray the Rosary in three languages. But did you hear what I said? Pregnant! Heels! How am I supposed to compete with that?
I would envy Steven Greydanus for his incredibly sweet
career as film critic, but then I remember that the poor fellow has become familiar with the entire oeuvre of Kevin James, and has to say stuff about it, presumably without throwing up or biting his keyboard in rage. So, Steven is okay.
What I’m trying to tell you is that last night, I stuffed my third load of laundry in the dryer, set up the coffee, brushed my teeth, and fell into bed around 11:30. There I slept until 3, which is the traditional hour at which pregnant women lumber off to the bathroom. I then returned to bed for a rollicking sport called Unbridled Panic.
It’s so entertaining: My brain unbuckles itself entirely from reality, and starts off in six directions at once, straining with equal intensity after problems that I can easily solve (“Rats, I forgot to order more checks”), imaginary problems that I can’t solve because they’re imaginary (“My feet itch! I must have picked up bedbugs when I was looking at that rug at the Goodwill!”), actual problems that I can’t solve because it’s 3 a.m. (“What are we going to do about school, and money?”), and completely bogus problems (“Oh lord, there’s so much rhubarb”).
This goes on until the robins start to sing and the sun peeps through the towel I tacked in the window because my rotten kids keep wrecking the curtain rods. I drift away long enough to have a few nightmares about a dark hotel full of wolves and rubber bands (shut up, it was terrifying), and then it’s time to get up.
One kid can’t find her bathing suit and it’s almost time for day camp; the other needs help nailing bits of wood to a clementine box. The two-year-old, who looks as well-rested as I do, asks (and this is an exact quote), “Mama, can I have graham crackers dipped in spaghetti? Does that sound nice? Maybe not. Can I have the last plum I ever seen?”
Luckily, we do indeed have plums, so she trots away happily, wagging her diaper behind her. I get everyone fed and changed, take some meat out of the freezer, start some laundry, get some coffee and sit down to write.
What I’m trying to tell you is that, from time to time, someone sends me an email that says, “Ms. Fisher, what you say doesn’t completely make sense.”
What I’m trying to tell you is: I know, I know.
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Well, this was just hilarious.
Sorry, I just realized that could be taken for sarcasm! It wasn’t-I was being sincere! :)
So, not only do you find my suffering hilarious, but you want to make it clear that you’re SINCERE? That’s cold.
Ms. Fisher,
I have yet to read anything you’ve written that doesn’t make sense. If someone has a problem with you, it’s not your fault, its theirs.
Carry on.
Oh, my side. The curtain rod crack is so perfectly true. And the preganancy insomnia. I have never personally witnessed my sleepless wife in the middle of the night, but she tells me it’s awful.
Maybe a publisher will advance you a nanny so you can complete the manuscript.
1. Simcha, your suffering IS hilarious.
2. I can’t even wear heels when I’m not pregnant.
3. If you think you are doing a lot of laundry now, just wait. All our kids are teens with one pre-teen bringing up the rear. On our street, our is known as the House of Perpetual Laundry. You can hear the dryer going at all hours of the day and night. If you think maybe I should have taught them to do their own, I agree, But they have mastered breaking both the washer and dryer so well, that we can’t afford for anyone under 49 to approach the large appliances.
Wow. Had I known you played Unbridled Panic, too, I’d have felt a little less isolated. And, strangely, I have almost exactly the same set of worries, and they appear in almost the same order. Last night’s was particularly entertaining, as I was trying to get back to sleep, in a true panic about How On Earth Am I Going to Handle A New Baby in only One Month. Mind you, this is my 9th baby, so I really don’t understand the panic. But it kept me going until the birds started in.
This. I don’t have 8 kids, I only have one and this is exactly how every day goes only substitute some legal stuff in there instead of the bathing suit and the clementine box. But the baby is only 9 months. I’m sure it’s only a matter of time.
You are awesome, Simcha. (Incidentally, am I the only one too stupid to have any idea how to pronounce your name?) You are like my favorite mom blogger. I don’t always agree with you, sometimes I feel something shouldn’t have been said, or perhaps “not like that” BUT I don’t have that split reaction like with some other mom bloggers. You know, when you are edified but you are struggling not to hate her . . . When you are trying to feel inspired, but all the apparently shininess of her life makes you depressed . . .
Work on that beard typing, though!
You know your writing doesn’t always make sense. That statement could be summarized thus: Simcha here may write like an idiot and look like an idiot; but don’t let that fool you, she really is an idiot.
I actually checked IMDB to make sure that was accurate.
You make me laugh and I need it! Apparently menopause at 45 has the same results of pregnancy, which I no longer remember!!! Ps I can’t wear heels in any state of life, I trip in flats!
Simcha, your writing is always hilarious, and it’s always great fun to read. Occasionally I even lear a life lesson from your blogs. Additionally, I assume your NCR colleagues would praise your talent for humor when having eight kids and another on the way. I think with that much crammed into one life alone, you should be able to get away with an occasional sentence not making sense. :)
While you may not have a blogging beard, what you do have is a talent for writing posts that make people extremely happy. My sleepless night came about mainly through my own fault - I am really into this book I’m reading and my husband is out of town. The kids punished me properly though when the baby got up around 1am, then the toddler needing to use the bathroom, then the 8 yr old with a bad dream, then the baby again, and then it was dawn….and yet here I am, sitting on my couch and laughing instead of grinding my teeth over my coffee.
You’re like beer, making life a little bit better!
Just print off all the columns from here and your blog and you’ve got the book, for cryin out loud. And it will outsell all the others.
I love this post! I totally relate! I have three boys (one of which is a two year old) and a five month old baby girl. I started blogging around Christmastime just to get my thoughts down and it has become one more responsibility (happily though I must say). I too marvel at some of the bloggers out there, but you are definitely one of them! Thanks for keepin’ it real!
I beg your pardon. How do you know my brother Patrick doesn’t wear heels when he blogs?! Don’t make assumptions please.
“What are we going to do about school, and money?”
Just about every time a new post of yours appears in my inbox, I tell myself I will wait until I go do some productive things and then read it as a reward, and then I just read it anyway, crack up, and go do the productive things fortified with the strength of comic relief. So thank you! OK, NOW I’m off to do the seventeen loads of laundry I neglected when my husband was out of town.
Thank you for the laugh. You might appreciate my post “Remedial Mom”. http://fivehalos.wordpress.com/2011/02/09/remedial-mom/ I’m an idiot, too. It’s a club.
Well, first off you can’t compare yourself to men (who don’t have to change diapers, keep the kids from killing each other and doing 20 loads of laundry a day). The pregnant mom in heels, well, she has to be sacrificing something of her own in order to reap tons of material. I don’t envy that. She probably has to give up all mommy free time and nope, I can’t do that (and I only have maybe less than an hour of daily “me” time). If I give up that, I’d go insane. OR, she has lots of help from family and friends to babysit and clean the house (does she have a maid? That is highly possible if she is successful). Even if I had the money I don’t think I could hire a maid. One, I’d feel bad someone else cleaning up my trash and two, I’d feel like cleaning up BEFORE the maid came to see how bad it truly was!
Ooo, I like Daria’s idea! Yeah, do that. You’ll make more money than all the rest of them! LOL
Kelly: that is hilarious! That sounds like our house, with the washer and dryer going constantly. In fact, if it’s off, I know… I just know we are way behind in clean clothes and end up using old shirts for towels (yes we do that quite often, I’m afraid). In fact, our dryer now squeaks so you can hear it from the outside. My neighbor had to ask what it was!
“There’s so much rhubarb”—I know this was just a random panicky thought- BUT here’s a recipe for that! Cut up rhubarb mixed wih either cherry pie filling or peeled, sliced apples (add sugar if using apples). Dump mixture in buttered pan- cover with flour-oatmeal-sugar- cinnamon mixture- dot with butter and stick in oven while the baked potatoes and chicken are cooking. The Jerk will be amazed
You’re honestly a better writer than all of them.
Maybe they’re all great people, multi-taskers, go-getters, with deals and contracts galore, but I swear to G-d, you are the one with the VOICE.
You’re so flipping talented.
“Oh lord, there’s so much rhubarb.” I’m glad I wasn’t drinking coffee when I read that, because I would have spit it all over the keyboard. I have lived this entire article. Except that I have worn heels during pregnancy. The heels were 3 1/2 inches, and I was almost 40. People thought I was trying to be one of those “see I’m still sexy, even though I’m middle aged and pregnant” ladies; in reality, my pants were too long. Also, as a lowly freelance/blogging Catholic mother who has not yet(ha!)written a book, I too constantly compare myself unfavorably with others. You are one of those others, cuz like, you actually have readers. Keep up the great work! It’s priceless.
Thanks for the laughs! I look forward to your column/blog daily.
I feel your pregnancy-induced-panic pain! The heat here isn’t helping. My dreams/nightmares seem so much more vivid and horrifying since the thermostat started topping out over 100 every day. The other night, my 3am fear was that I had accidentally poisoned my daughter with generic brand sunscreen after she came home from a splash park and ran a low grade fever for the rest of the day. A sane person would think… low grade fever…must be a virus, right? And then I proceeded to have a dream about a zombie apocalypse beginning in the house across the street and the only way to defeat them was by singing “We Are the World”... loudly in the streets I’m not sure which aspect of that dream was scarier, to tell you the truth…the zombies or the song.
And now I have to go scrub my mind of the mental image of Patrick Archbold in heels and a chiffon gown a la Ginger Rogers. Thanks Matt!
Does anyone else’s version of Unbridled Panic include the, “What Was That Noise?” feature? Or how about the deluxe Math edition, “Subtract Predictable Awakenings from # of Hours/Minutes Left til DH’s Alarm Sounds”?
Simcha, you are a pure joy.
I was talking to my midwife about my Unbridled Panic and she said it sounded like I had an anxiety problem. Then she said there were medications I could take while pregnant, but I would need to see a counselor. I sat there in silence, thinking about the fact that for the 5th night in the row I had been up for hours trying to figure out when a papoose, who spends extended periods of time strapped to a cradle board, would learn to walk and how much time were they not on the cradle board and at what age did mothers stop using cradle boards. Since I could not imagine hashing out this issue in counseling, I said thanks, I’ll think about.
You know, if you ever write a book “Unbridled Panic” would be a great title.
I think of you and your nine kids when I start to panic about the second one on the way. I wanted to get pregnant so badly, and now that I am, I’m starting to go, “So, am I really going to be up for sloggin up and down the preschool stairs three days a week, holding a newborn in a heavy carseat? How am I going to handle the whole, “Three-year-old: you drive me insane bit” when I will have even fewer emotional resources than I have now.
So it’s good to know that you’re still standing, with or without heels.
I was going to leave a comment to clarify that I’ve worn heels only twice in the past year and my homeschooling efforts primarily involve yelling “go read something!” over my shoulder while I surf the web, but my kids are whipping each other with Rosaries, which they’ve mistaken for nunchucks, so I need to go deal with that.
You see? And she’s HUMBLE, too! Oh, Jen, why are you making me feel so ba-a-a-a-a-a-d about myself?
I have this recurring dream that my son is falling off of the bed (he’s never slept in bed with me, even when he was a wee newborn) and last night it hit a new high when I slugged my husband in an effort to catch the invisible child. I thought I was making progress just the night before when I was clearly, and loudly explaining to my husband that our baby was “t-a-n-g-l-e-d”. Do the dreams get worse with more children? Or is that when sleep ceases and worrying begins?
Hilarious! You have a real gift for writing, of which I’m mildly envious. (Graham crackers dipped in spaghetti? That’s priceless!) I recommend bribing one of your older children to wash and chop the rhubarb and put it in freezer bags for you.
“Subtract Predictable Awakenings from # of Hours/Minutes Left til DH’s Alarm Sounds”?
Oh, good. Someone else plays that game. Do you add the extra bit, “How Many Times Will He Hit The Snooze Alarm Before The Baby Wakes And I Kill Him”?
Wiping away tears of laughter; kids are demanding to know WHAT is so funny and I can only gasp “You wouldn’t get it even if I tried to explain it to you!” The way you capture this stuff, Simcha. You may be a little crazy but the rest of us are a little saner as a result. And I remember how excited Jen Fulwiler was when you started blogging again so I think you get partial credit for her apparent sanity too!
And why is it that in the early, early morning after the bonus round of “Unbridled Panic” when we finally manage to go back to sleep that we are plagued by wolves, rubber bands, and other dream subject matter that causes us to wake more exhausted than we already were? Thanks for finding the time to type it all out, whatever appendage you may be typing with!
I loved this. Except, oh dear, I have the Unbridled Panic thing sometimes and I’m still single…
Between you and Jen, Simcha, I get a good laugh on a regular basis. Please, don’t stop!
Simcha, that was my night last night. Except my nightmare wasn’t about wolves or rubber bands. And I was plagued by an overabundance of watermelon, not rhubarb :)
I am SO GLAD that somebody else’s Unbridled Panic includes bedbugs, as well. Why I am so irrationally terrified of them, we may never know. Little bloodsuckers.
I always have to read your post out loud to someone as I wipe away the tears of laughter. I simply must share the joy. Since my dear husband is not fluent in English, and it would be utterly impossible to translate your posts into Japanese, my kids are the chosen victims. I’m sure they would think it was funny too if they could understand a word through all the laughter, but as it is they just roll their eyes and look at each other with that “there she goes again” look.
For what it’s worth, they no longer ask “what’s so funny?” when they find me cracking up in front of my laptop.
Simcha, you make my day!
I would eat anything dipped in spaghetti.
I was laughing at the Unbridled Panic game bit as well, and my husband (whom I sometimes awaken in order to share my Unbridled Panic with someone)looked across the room and said, What are you reading? I answered, Simcha Fisher. He said, I could have bet that you were reading Simcha Fisher. :) When I start the deep harumphy laughs, he knows it’s your blog I’m reading. :) He also knows it’s you because it’s what I do when he walks the baby to sleep in the baby carrier each night, awesome stud that he is.
Another blog that I absolutely needed to read this evening. Thank you
Not even one single comment topped you. It’s because of your present, wonderful state in life that you are so incredibly funny… Live it up! You’ll look back someday when the first of those nasty little ones goes away to college, and you ask yourself if you did everything you were supposed to do, and if God would be pleased with His good and faithful servant, and it’s okay anyway because you have several other chances still at home, and then your realize you’re likely not fertile anymore, and you have another bad nightmare, only this time its about whethere your adult child really even likes you at all, and you’re still thinking about homeschooling and wondering if it really does produce more polite kids, but you’ve written 9289 blog posts, and you finally go to sleep because you’re pretty sure you’ve been doing God’s will all this time. Oh yeah, and you and your husband are still happily married.
Did I meantion I am 49?
I’m another one who gets to start the morning with belly laughs - thanks.
Absoulutely LOVING this article and ALL of the comments up here in Canada.
Unbridled Panic DOES NOT go away as the children get older. My youngest of 4 is 16 and I get it at least twice a week. Just for the record, I will be 52 in a couple of weeks and I thought it was just menopause that was the cause. Thanks for clearing up that myth.
Simcha, if I had a laptop, I would absolutely come and wave it at you. I agree with Daria, just compile all your blogs into a book, and I will buy it. See, then you will eliminate at least part of that Unbridled Panic attack with regard to money. :)
@Anita: I went to one of the local Jewish stores in my neighborhood to make sure I was pronouncing her name right and to see if it meant anything - it’s Sim-(phlegm)-a. I try to remember, but the phlegm doesn’t come as easily to me as it did to the man at Pinskers, so more often I say Sim-k-a (like simba but with a K). Best of luck!
“Unbridled Panic Attack” made to laugh till I cried, at work!
When I grow up, I want to be able to write like Simcha. Somebody plz publish a book by her!
Jumping through lots of comments to attack this: Unbridled Panic @3 am…
I had it too! I don’t remember if I had it when I was pg, but I could imagine it might be a problem…
What worked for me…eat protein and fat (ie a piece of meat, cheese…) before bed.
If you are having a hypoglycemic spell, you may well get totally irrational terrors at night. By eating a substantial (no carbs!) snack before bed, you may alleviate this.
Really.
“wagging her diaper behind her”... best sentence ever. LOL!
Those other guys are interesting and all, but you’re the only one I read every. single. day. Even when there’s not a new post!
At least I can now know that I’m not the only one haunted by such 3am phantoms.
You are totally hilarious!
You and I are almost the same woman in two different skins and in two different generations. I insist that in the age before popularity schema of justice, that any potential publishers should definitely be courting me first- in fact, if you wanted to share your professional blog space, post-partum ala Archbold, ...
you know, I’m just sayin’...
I will confess though that old age and maybe being a grandmother while also mothering a toddler makes one’s skin a bit thinner-
lighter heart, thinner skin- it’s always a trade-off, this side of heaven!
LOVE it! NOT your suffering but your writing.
Hilarious. We so totally need a National Catholic Register comedy roast video out now on DVD please. Invite Norm Macdonald.
Oh, I just laughed and laughed. Love this!
I love this! The memories just flowed - my four children are all grown - my baby is 32, yet I can remember as if it were yesterday the utter exhaustion when I fell into bed and then waking up in the middle of the night with all the panic like yours. Mine was always so scary - like your wolves and rubber bands - and they made no sense later, but it was enough to make me sleep deprived the next day! And the madness continued until I fell into bed again. But I wouldn’t trade anything for the memories of sticky floors, laundry piled up, and all the kids piled into my bed for naptime storytime. Or the mornings when all four children climbed into our bed to wake hubby and I - the youngest playing “mole” by tunneling in from the bottom of the bed.
I agree with the poster who said you should just copy the blogs - it would be a best seller!
Thanks for the sanity!
Insomnia in late pregnancy: totally UNFAIR! As if one is not going to be up with a baby shortly and would like all the sleep she can get until then! I do both Unbridled Panic (including, but not limited to, bedbugs; I haven’t had the rhubarb problem, although the pounds and pounds of strawberries did have me going for a while) and Unnecessary Planning. I have planned out our entire next 5-10 years of house projects, mostly between the hours of 1 a.m. and 4 a.m. in the last few weeks, because in 5 1/2 weeks (give or take), I’ll have another baby. Must get those house projects planned, you know. Why is this in the pregnancy design?
Incidentally, my solution is to try to completely wear myself out physically during the day. This isn’t so hard with multiple kids. The hard part is that I actually try to include real exercise—much less easy with multiple kids. It works a lot of the time, but not all the time. Because I STILL have to plan all my house projects, you know, and I just can’t bring myself to set aside time during the actual normal waking hours to do so, when there’s already plenty to do.
Oh, Simcha… you are such a gift. I know and love the blogs of both Jen and Mark. But if God had needed another Jen or Mark or Steven or another set of the Archbolds, He certainly could have made another of them instead of you. But He chose you, and I’m delighted to read your wonderfully honest and witty take on life.
My husband and I were just agreeing a couple days ago that you should write a book, but now I see this. Keep doing this! It’s maybe even better than a book! (I just want to buy one of your books one day! No rush. :)
I don’t know how to tell you without gushing how much I love your writing, so I hope you just keep doing what God made you to do!
watching the programs on TV gives me nightmares!! But reading articles and blogs like this make me very happy!
Love you, Simcha. You write my life and remind me that it really is to laugh at… If you do somehow manage to figure out how to get the time to write a book (Which I’ve been waiting for for years now…) I will buy it. I’ll buy several and send them to all my friends for Christmas presents. I will. Make me prove it! :)
Simcha, I’m not a regular reader, but I had to stop and say thank you for naming that awful thing that happens to our brains at 3am - Unbridled Panic - well said!!
WAIT A MINUTE! Unbridled panic happens to MEN TOO! (And, btw, we DO have to change diapers, do laundry and all that. Don’t we? My wife said that we do. Hmmmm. I may have to check on that.)
I used to OFTEN dream that my baby was falling out of our bed onto the hardwood floor! (Ours also NEVER slept in our bed). I whacked my wife TWICE in such dreams as I flailed to leap out of the bed and catch the invisible falling baby. She was like, “What the hell is the MATTER with you?” To which I replied, “I was TRYING to catch the baby!” Unfortunately she answered with “The baby’s not here!” (Meaning that the baby was soundly sleeping in her crib as always.) But of course, I went apoplectic, “OH MY GOSH WHERE’S BABY?! WHERE’S THE BABY?!” LOL pretty funny now of course….
Simcha,
I think your new patron saint is Erma Bombeck. I suggest a shrine be created. I’m sure she could just take a small spot by the changing table.
Funniest post ever. Just when you think you can’t possibly go through another day of small children sucking the sanity right out of your brain while trying to sort through Round 4 of Unbridled Panic (“How will all these kiddos possibly FIT in the house???”), someone comes along to help you realize that your life is actually funny. I will link to this blog, one of my faves.
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