Post Mommy

Change...oh, change

2011-11-10T14:11:00.000-08:00

There are so many things I'd like to change about my life, and even though I know the simplest way to do it is to start, I find it incredibly difficult to do so. I feel constantly overwhelmed by my life as it is, and adding a whole bunch of changes to my plate just seems undoable. I often feel like when I do try to change things, I get so much pushback from my daily life that I give up on trying.

My best friend and I were talking today about things we'd like to change in our lives. Eating healthier, exercising more, winning the lottery and paying everyone's mortgages (lol). Talking about it is motivating, but we both have the same problems: busy lives filled with caring for children and husbands and trying to breathe somewhere in the middle of it all. But I think we both also know that these are excuses. We can change. It's just really, really difficult to overcome the (abundant) excuses we have to avoid it.

So, we're going to try. And maybe between the 2 of us, we can keep each other accountable. Change can be unbelievably hard, but I think that if we're even moderately successful, we'll be even better off in the end.

I'm feeling inspired today by another friend, Erin, who is attempting to eliminate as much waste as possible from her life this year. Talk about taking on a lot of change! I applaud her, and hope to be bolstered by her admirable endeavor.

Six Word Fridays: Easy

2011-08-26T09:15:00.001-07:00

Chubby cheeks, blue eyes, loving coos...

It sure is easy loving you!

Things I wish someone had told me...

2011-07-02T00:01:00.000-07:00

Becoming a mother is an amazing experience. I don’t think anyone would deny that it is life-changing and (mostly) beautiful. But, let’s admit it—it isn’t all cuddly babies and cute onesies. Motherhood is a challenge. There are things about being a parent that you don’t expect, and not all of those things are pretty. Unfortunately, you hear a lot about the awesome parts of parenthood, but no one is very forthcoming about the not-so-awesome parts. You know it’s not going to be easy, but do you really know why? I didn’t. Sleepless nights and dirty diapers were the only drawbacks I was truly aware of when I first became a mother. Here’s a few of the other harrowing surprises I discovered when I brought home my first little bundle of joy:

Breastfeeding hurts. It's bond-building, rewarding, and good for your baby. Unfortunately, that doesn't mean it's painless. When my milk came in for the first time, I was totally unprepared for the rock-hard boobs and cracked nipples that come along with the job. Take all the breastfeeding advice you can get, especially if you're easily frustrated (like me!). Don't give up--I promise it gets better. The pain is fleeting and totally worth it.
Your inner bitch will be exposed. Becoming a parent reveals personality traits you never knew you had, and they aren't all pretty. Between unbalanced hormones and sleepless nights, it isn't surprising that you'll occasionally use your cool. There might be women out there who breeze through the newborn stage with their wits completely in tact, but I doubt it. So if you find yourself screaming about dumb stuff (Why are the coffee mugs on the wrong shelf?!) or contemplating ways to maim your husband (Can't he pick up the baby just this ONCE without being asked?!), please know you aren't alone. (Just try not to actually maim your husband...he is the father of your child, after all.)
Sleeping with your baby in the bed is cute—until they’re 5… I actually *did* get this piece of advice before my first child was born--I just didn't follow it. And, honestly, if you're the kind of person wants to sleep with your baby in the bed, then you probably won't listen, either. Because it is so precious to have your little one snuggled in next to you. But, for the record, when he's five and still wants to sleep in your bed--I told you so.
Outside advice is annoying—even if it’s warranted. Motherhood is a journey, and it's unique to everyone who travels the parenting highway. So even when your mother-in-law is telling you for the bajillionth time that your baby should be wearing socks, or your neighbor is recommending lullabies to stimulate your baby's brain, try to take it all with a grain of salt. Some of those tidbits might be useful, but at the end of the day, it's your child. Some mistakes are meant to be made. You'll learn and grow right along with that little bundle of joy (and that's exactly how it should be).

Yep, being a mother is an amazing experience. But it's also life-altering, stressful, and intense. So if you need a few moments to cry or scream or punch a pillow, don't feel bad. Nothing worthwhile is ever easy, right?

We did it!

2011-04-09T14:33:00.000-07:00

Some months ago, I shared my birth experience from my first son, and I announced that I was going to attempt to have a VBAC with my third child. Both of my other pregnancies were C-sections, which made a VBAC an unlikely option.

I would like to announce that despite the pushback from my medical team, who offered little support and appeared to simply be humoring me, that my son and I accomplished what my doctor believed I could not. My third child was born by VBAC on April 6, 2011.

It wasn't easy, and I have to say that there were a few points where I was almost ready to throw in the towel. But I'm SO GLAD that I didn't. It was worth it.

I was starting to worry because my due date was April 3, and there were no signs that I was going to go in to labor. What if the baby got too big? My last son had been 9 lbs 8 oz, and he was 2 weeks early. I started doing everything I read about to try to induce labor: walking, sex, spicy food, you name it. The only thing I read about that I didn't try, because I was just SURE that it wouldn't work was castor oil.

And then, after a long day of self-pity because I was still pregnant and knowing the next day my doctor wanted to do an ultrasound to see how big the baby was, and try to talk me in to scheduling my c-section, I caved. The worst thing that could happen from castor oil was some scary bowel movements, right? So when my husband got home from work, I announced my plan. He thought the same thing I had thought: it really didn't seem like it would work, and would just make me uncomfortable. BUT PEOPLE, I WAS DESPERATE!!

I took the castor oil at 7pm, and waited impatiently for something to happen. By the time I went to bed at 11, I was sure that it wasn't going to do anything at all.

Then, at 2:30 in the morning, the pain started. I thought it was all just from the stool-softening effects of the castor oil--I really didn't think I was experiencing labor pain at all. But after several lovely trips to the bathroom (because yes, it REALLY DOES work for that purpose), I realized the pains were a little...regular. So I timed a few. Five minutes apart. Hmm. Then, there was the famed "bloody show." At which point, nearly giddy with fear and pain and excitement, I was truly convinced that I was having contractions. I danced around the house, stopping to breathe through contractions and wondering when I should wake up my husband. At 5:30, I decided he should probably get his butt up and start helping me get ready to go to the hospital.

By 7 when my husband's parents came to take our other children, my contractions were 2 minutes apart. My mother-in-law was convinced the baby was going to arrive on the way to the hospital. I wasn't so sure of that, but I was definitely convinced that this would be my baby's birthday!

When we got to the hospital, I was still only 2 cm dilated, but my contractions were strong and regular and I was 80% effaced. After an hour, I was already at a 4 and they officially sent me to labor and delivery. In this span of time, I had to "explain myself" at least 3 or 4 times to nurses and doctors who were curious why I wanted a VBAC. And none of them seemed terribly impressed with my reasoning. But I carried on, making sure I let them know that I NEEDED to be able to walk around this time, and I would NOT be put on a full-time fetal monitor. My nurse was amazingly helpful--even after my doctor said I "had" to be on the monitor constantly, she let me take it off for at least 20 minutes every hour so I didn't have to stay tethered to my bed.

I easily got from 4cm to 7cm within a few hours, but then my doctor decided to break my water and my hall-walking rights were totally revoked. It was at this point that my labor stalled and I sat in the bed, zombie-like, fearful for each new contraction because they hurt so much while I was laying down (my back labor was atrocious!). My doctor was ready to throw in the towel--the baby's head hadn't engaged and I wasn't dilating anymore. My beautiful, wonderful nurse pushed so hard for me to continue; she was really my saving grace.

I had been laboring naturally, and I had just decided to have an epidural. It was no one's choice but my own. None of the nurses or doctors had pressured me, which was kind of surprising...I was expecting to be asked constantly if I wanted one. But I was pretty sure I was getting too tired to continue, and asking for an epidural was my last-ditch effort to fulfill my VBAC dream.

When my nurse heard my decision, she told me she was pretty sure it was all I needed to help me relax enough to go all the way. She was right. It took an hour for me to go from a 7 to a 10 after the epidural was administered. All of a sudden, it was time to push! I cried tears of joy when my nurse checked me and then clapped her hands and said, "You did it! He's going to be here soon!"

The pushing was SO much harder than I was expecting, even with the epidural. To all of you ladies who do that part completely natural, I salute you. No one can ever know exactly what that means until they have gone through it themselves! I pushed for an hour, and my son was born at 9:30 pm, 19 hours after labor had started.

Judah Patrick was born on April 6, 2011 at 9:30pm. He weighed 8 lbs 3 oz and was 21 inches long.

I owe a very special thank you to my nurse, who stayed 3 hours past the end of her shift to stay by my side and make my VBAC a success. I also owe thank you's to my husband and mother-in-law, who coached me through my pushing at the end, which was definitely the part of the process where I most felt like giving up.

Now that I've had a baby both ways, I can definitely say that VBAC is something every woman should try (as long as circumstances allow, of course). Birthing a child the "normal" way was special. It was empowering. And even though I love all my children equally, I think it formed that initial bond between me and my son slightly sooner that it was formed with my other two children.

If you are planning on trying for a VBAC, be strong and fight for yourself. You will not regret it. (This is coming from someone, by the way, who ended up needing an "abnormal amount" of stitches following birth. So it's not like it was easy or something, hehe).

Spring Fever

2011-02-15T14:56:00.001-08:00

For the past two days, a steady snow/rain drizzle has settled over the city, and the semi-warm, moist weather is getting me anxious for spring. It's been a long winter, and I'm ready to get out of the house. During this time of year, I always start to long for bright, sunny days full of chasing my children in the park and working in the yard. Of course, in practice, this doesn't always happen. But for me, even more so than the first of a new year, the beginning of spring signals a time for growth, change, and resolution.

My children, of course, are starting to share in my anxiousness to experience fresh air and sunshine again. The rumblings of restlessness started a few weeks ago, and now that we're occasionally able to venture outdoors for good lengths of time, it's getting worse. They're bouncing off the walls (and off of each other), and it's adding to my strong desire to get out of the house.

My plans for this year's springtime rebirth are twofold this year: truly dedicating myself to a successful garden, and truly engaging my two rowdy youngsters. It's time to get dirty as a family and inspire a love for the outdoors that will hopefully last them a lifetime. Our world is changing--and in many ways deteriorating--from our lack of respect for its resources. I'd like to impart this revelation to my children now so that their lives will be naturally molded to help counteract at least some of these ecological tragedies.

I'm hoping to truly engage my children in our outdoor adventures this spring. They are both getting old enough to understand and contribute to the gardening chores, and I can't think of a better way to sow a little bit of learning in with the dirt they love to play in. (Besides, with a brand new baby on my hip, I'm going to need all the help I can get!)

Here's to springtime, and my sincere hope that she wastes no time in arriving this year. This spring, we're planting seeds of change in our hearts along with the carrots in our garden.

Thinking about starting a garden of your own this year? This article inspired me, and led me to Root Simple and the blog authors' first book, The Urban Homestead. They've got some mighty extreme ideas about gardening and living a self-sustaining lifestyle, but don't feel like you need to tear out your entire lawn and buy a chicken coop. Just view it as a little friendly inspiration (and a lot of great advice) to help you figure out what works for you!

Counting Blessings

2010-11-25T07:12:00.000-08:00

This year hasn't been easy. There's always something to be worried about--something that isn't done, something that can't be fixed, something that can't be changed. As usual, I spend a good amount of time worrying. It can be difficult to remember the good things sometimes.

Lately, even though the worry is still there, an overwhelming sense of calm overrides it. Despite all the problems I have to deal with every day, there's one thing that is constant in my life.

I am blessed.

I am blessed to have a beautiful family.

I am blessed to have a loving husband who works hard to support our family, so I can stay home and help that family grow.

I am blessed to have siblings that help me remember my childhood (and sometimes, to help me pretend I'm still a child).

I am blessed by my aunt, who lets my children call her grandma and provides the comfort I sometimes need in the absence of my mother.

I am blessed by my grandmother, still healthy and full of life (and opinions...).

I am blessed to have a niece to spoil, since ALL THREE of my children are boys!

I am blessed by the roof over my head (even if it leaks sometimes).

I am blessed to be warm by a fire with wood provided by parents who love us.

I am blessed by the phone calls and text messages I get from friends and family every day (whether I manage to answer them or not).

I am blessed by my children's love, and by more hugs and kisses than I could count in a lifetime.

I am blessed to have good friends to talk to when I need to cry or to complain or to laugh.

I am blessed to live so near my family, and to always have help when I need it, whether it's a babysitter, a piece of advice, or help buying new tires for my car.

I am blessed. By these and so many other things. And for every time that I get frustrated, angry, or worried, I have ten blessings to remind me why life isn't really so bad.

No, nothing is easy. There is always something to worry about. But counting blessings is a lot more comforting.

Happy Thanksgiving, everyone. I hope you're enjoying your blessings as much as I am enjoying mine.

Six Word Fridays: Home

2010-11-19T07:09:00.000-08:00

From Making Things Up

Doesn't have to be a house,
Or even have a single door.
Just comfort from your loving arms.
A home I treasure forever more.

The Mother I Remember

2010-11-18T07:31:00.000-08:00

It has been 11 years to the day since my mother passed away. The pain of losing her has dulled over the years, but I still find myself in tears sometimes, thinking of how much I miss her. Lately, I've been thinking about her more than I have in a long time. I'm not crying as much as when she first died, of course, but I am missing her like it just happened yesterday.

I have been trying to figure out why I've been thinking about her so much lately. Is it my own growing family? Or maybe it's the stress of my life that I ache for her to calm? Maybe my hormones are to blame. I know it could be a little of all of these things. But last night, as I lay in my bed crying tears in to my pillow, I thought long and hard about my mom. And I realized that I've been missing her so much because I feel like I've forgotten her.

When I first started thinking about it, I felt like I couldn't recall anything specific about her anymore. How did she sound? What did she smell like? But the longer I thought, the easier memories of her became. It isn't that I've forgotten, it's just that, out of necessity, I've pushed them to the back of my mind. I can't describe exactly how much my mom meant to me, but I can tell you that if I remembered her so vividly every day, my eyes would never be dry. Her absence is a hole in my soul. I miss her dearly.

I miss the woman who could solve any of my problems with a hug and a stroke of my hair. She taught me how to spell (by needing things spelled for her all the time) and how to balance a checkbook (by making me balance hers). She was strong, street smart, and kind. I can't recall her without a smile on her face. She laughed in the face of temper tantrums and commanded respect without hardly ever raising her voice. No matter how sick she got--how the lupus warped her skin in to a patchwork of red blotches--she was always the most beautiful woman I've ever seen. She had an enormous heart, and for me, love radiated whenever she was in my vicinity. Smart, honest, beautiful--my mother epitomized them all.

There is a way to hug my whole family at once, to make us recall the glue that once cemented our family together, and all it takes is a single word. Jackie.

I miss you, Mom. I hope you're resting peacefully, and I hope you can feel the love we all still hold in our hearts for you.

Six Word Fridays: Change

2010-11-05T08:12:00.001-07:00

Sometimes we are afraid of it.
Usually we don't notice it happening.
It is fluid, like puddles forming
While rain streams from the sky.
It feels abrupt, sometimes, but isn't,
Because even those abrupt, altering moments
Don't immediately change who we are.
Change takes time--happens so slowly.
We are likely not to recognize
Ourselves from the changes we've incurred
But when we look back again,
Will we know how we've transformed?

Unplugging James

2010-11-02T06:10:00.000-07:00

My older son, James, turns 4 on Saturday. I can hardly believe it's been four years already. At the same time, however, I can't believe it hasn't been more than four. For as dear as my little James is to me, I am constantly challenged by him. Because he is my first. And every new thing he does is something I haven't seen before. It can be cute and funny and rewarding--but it can also be exhausting and perplexing and frustrating.

I suppose my real problems have arisen quite recently; James was the easiest kind of baby there is. He could sit happily in a swing while I went to the bathroom or cooked dinner. He rarely cried without a good reason. I couldn't help thinking, way back then, that parenting a newborn wasn't as difficult as I was expecting (then #2 came along, and boy, did he prove me wrong).

When James was a toddler, the story was much the same. While I sometimes worried about him, wanting to make sure he met his "milestones" when he should, there still weren't many problems. He was easy to discipline and listened exceptionally well. The terrible twos were markedly mild, and on the whole the threes have been fairly uneventful.

But now, my little one, my first born, is swiftly changing from toddler in to boy. Sometimes I'm shocked at how much of a little personality he has--how grown up he seems. And then I realize, it's just that he's not a baby anymore. And I think we're both having some problems with the transition.

A month or so ago, James started changing in a way I didn't like at all. He has become increasingly moody, lazy, and disinterested in the world around him. It's like pulling teeth to get him to play with a toy, and he can quite often be found brooding on the couch, thumb in mouth, pouting that he can't watch TV.

Initially I chalked this up to my own lack of energy in the preceding months. I wasn't the same Mommy I used to be from August to October. We didn't do nearly as much as normal, because I was having severe, all day "morning" sickness. We did a lot more sitting in the grass reading books than we did running around the park. I thought once I started feeling better and got us out of the house more, he'd snap out of it.

The opposite has been true. The problem was exacerbated when my husband introduced him to his XBox. This was a terrible choice for a child that's already obsessed with sitting on the couch; I wish I would have protested it. But, I must be honest, it was nice to see a spark of happiness in his eyes, and it was terribly cute how excited he got to play "Lego the Company," (as he calls the Lego: Indiana Jones video game his dad gave him to play).

Video games have now become an obsession. I've been setting limits and denying him, but our days are peppered with requests to play the game. I spend more time thinking of other things for him to do than I ever have before. I feel like we're sinking, and I'm afraid I don't know the way out of this hole. His moodiness has gotten worse, and it's hard to get him out of his little fog of electronic bliss. He doesn't even get excited to see his grandparents anymore--and they're the kind that hide candy in your pockets and bring you toys every time they visit.

I was thinking last night, as I lay in bed worrying about this problem, that this is our first real "big boy" struggle. He's developing distinct interests, and problems like this are bound to come up again. I'm not always going to like how he chooses to spend his time, and I have a feeling we'll spend quite a bit of time struggling over it.

For now, I'll keep denying and keep trying to get him interested in less reclusive activities. But I think both of us have a long road before we totally figure this out. We start ice skating lessons on Saturday, and he's getting a slew of actual Legos and other real toys for his birthday on Sunday. I'm hoping something catches his interest and helps me wean him from his video game addiction.

I'm definitely open to suggestions. But please, curb the judging on why I let my 4-year-old play video games in the first place. I'm still trying to figure out why I let that happen.

A Story of Births and Beliefs

2010-10-17T08:41:00.000-07:00

The other night, I decided to watch a movie. I didn't know what I wanted to watch, so I clicked on the suggested movies of Netflix and let it help me decide. The Business of Being Born popped up, and it sounded fairly interesting, so I decided to watch it. I'd never heard of it before, but I figured there couldn't be a better subject for an expecting mother, right? I thought maybe I'd learn something I didn't already know.

I knew within 10 minutes that I'd made a mistake. Not because it was a terrible movie, but because it was going to be difficult for me to watch. Within a very short time, I was crying.

I cried because the story echoed over and over throughout the movie is similar to what happened to me when I gave birth to my first child. I cried because there was so much I didn't know then, so much that would have helped me make better decisions about the whole experience. I can't say for sure if things would have worked out differently if I had been more informed, but learning some of these things after the fact is like a sucker punch to the stomach.

When I was 36 weeks pregnant with my first son, I developed severe hypertension and borderline preeclampsia. The doctor kept reassuring me that my blood pressure wasn't so high that we needed to worry, and there wasn't much protein in my urine. But, to be safe, he sent me for a nonstress test to make sure my baby was doing ok. The test seemed to go fine; the nurse told me the baby looked like he was doing great. I left the hospital feeling absolutely relieved.

I didn't make it to my car before I got a phone call from my doctor's office.

"We need you to go back to the hospital. We're admitting you for further observation."

Apparently, although the baby was doing fine, they weren't so sure that I was. My blood pressure had increased, and they didn't want to risk it getting worse. So, my husband and I walked the 20 feet back in to the hospital and I was taken to the mothers and infants wing to spend the night.

The result of my overnight stay in the hospital was fairly inconclusive. My doctor ordered me home on bedrest, but he still didn't think there was too much need for concern. He thought if I stayed off my feet and relaxed, I'd be ok for the last few weeks of my pregnancy.

That was on a Friday. On Monday, I had another appointment. My blood pressure was still way too high, even though I very literally only got up to go to the bathroom the entire weekend (it was a very boring weekend at my house!). My doctor, still not seeming terribly concerned, gave me an option: take the risk of the blood pressure problem getting worse, or be induced?

It's hard to explain my decision making during this time. It was definitely altered by the fact that I was very excited to meet my new baby, and it was also altered by my ignorance about child birth. All I knew was that, even though he seemed calm, my doctor was paying me an inordinate amount of attention. And I was terrified about making the wrong decision. So, I consented to induction.

I hadn't dilated yet at all; my body was in no way ready to have a baby yet. I spent the night having suppositories to ripen my cervix (or something like that), and in the wee hours of the morning my water broke. So far, so good. Then, they brought on the Pitocin. I didn't want an epidural, so I tried to labor without any pain medication. The Pitocin contractions were horrible, and from subsequent conversations I've had with other mothers, I now know that they're not "natural." When you go in to labor on your own, the contractions start off slower and build in intensity. I went from nothing to full throttle in less than an hour. I was in terrible pain, and because they were monitoring my baby, I wasn't allowed to get out of the bed more than once an hour. I couldn't stretch or walk. I labored like this for 10 hours before I finally asked for an epidural; I had only dilated to 3cm.

A few minutes later, the nurses changed shift. My new nurse came in to introduce herself and look at my chart. She took one look at the fetal heart monitor and her eyes got huge. She asked my aunt to feel for the baby and rub my belly to help get his heartbeat up. Then she rushed off to find the doctor.

Again, my doctor didn't seem terribly concerned. Almost nonchalantly, he explained to me that my son's heartbeat was dropping dangerously low every time I had a contraction. Did I want to continue to labor, or just have a C-section?

I often wonder what kind of question this is to pose to a terrified woman in labor with her first child. Why didn't he offer any advice? Why was he treating this like routine? I broke down in tears, unable to answer. My husband answered for me. "If there's something wrong, do what you have to do." After a moment I concurred with my husband. If my baby was in danger, we should just do the C-section.

I've never gotten over the loss of a "normal" child birth. I feel like every intervention from doctors led me further down a path that inevitably led to a C-section. Could any of them have been avoided? Was I too scared to really think of the consequences of my choices? I'm not sure. But I do think there was definitely information I didn't have, that might have changed some of my decisions.

Ultimately, I know that it doesn't matter how my son was born. I love him just the same, and I'm happy to have him alive and healthy. But I still long for the experience of birthing a child.

On my doctor's strong suggestion ("It seems like you might have a small pelvis. You didn't make much progress while you were in labor last time. Better safe than sorry."), I opted for a repeat C-section the second time around. It is something I regret very deeply. I let myself get scared. My first birth experience was so full of scary moments that I didn't want to take any chances the second time.

Now, here I am, 16 weeks in to my third pregnancy. And from the moment I found out I was pregnant, I was very sure of one thing: I want to attempt a VBAC this time. I know there's a chance that something could go wrong. I know there's a 40% chance I'll have to have a C-section, anyway. But I want to try. And my doctor isn't terribly receptive to the idea. For now, he's humoring me, telling me there's a chance that I can. But his list of reasons I shouldn't keeps getting longer. I do trust my doctor's opinion, but I've also done a lot of self-education this time around. And I won't take no for an answer.

I'd like to be allowed to pick my baby up when it's born. I'd like to be able to walk up the stairs of my house and put my baby in its crib and (maybe) sleep comfortably in my own bed. I'd rather have the soreness and discomfort that comes with vaginal birth than the painful open wound in my abdomen that comes with a C-section. And I would like to know that my body can birth a baby on its own, without a long list of medical interventions.

Wish me luck...this is going to be a bumpy road.

Six Word Fridays: Favorite Things

2010-10-15T07:35:00.000-07:00

From Making Things Up

Pumpkin spices in my morning coffee

Snuggling before getting out of bed

The Beatles, and some other classic rockers

Monty Python's Flying Circus (Argument Sketch)

Seeing my children learn something new

Fresh challah, straight from the oven

Weekly playdates with my best friend

A clean house by week's end

Cake (the band; sometimes the food)

Reading a good book without interruptions

Dancing (when no one is looking)

The list could surely go on

Stopping, for the sake of time...

Weariness and Worry

2010-10-14T04:54:00.000-07:00

It's not quite 5 am yet this morning, and here I am, staring at my computer screen. I've been having a lot of trouble sleeping lately, mostly due to an overactive bladder (thanks, baby #3), but for some reason this morning I just couldn't make myself go back to sleep. My mind was racing, and I let myself start to worry. Why does worrying always creep up on me in the middle of the night when I should be sleeping? I always try to tell myself that I should wait until morning to worry, because there isn't much you can do about it in the middle of the night, anyway. But I still find myself staring at the ceiling pondering my troubles on a pretty regular basis.

What I worry about changes, although there are certainly themes. Most often I worry about money: did I pay all the bills? Can I pay all the bills?! How can I earn some money to make this easier? These questions plague me, and sadly I often don't have the answers. I used to be really good with money, but now it makes my stomach turn and I feel like hyperventilating. There's too little of it no matter how I try to stretch a dollar.

I also worry a lot about how I'm doing as a parent. What do I need to work on? Did I do enough with them today? How can I be better? I toss and turn, thinking about my failures, the things that I don't even want to talk about out loud because I feel bad about them. I let them watch too much TV. I let them stay up too late. I'm not good at disciplining them. The list goes on, always exaggerated by my sleepy, overactive brain.

Sometimes I feel worried and I don't know why. Furthermore, I'm afraid to think too hard about why I'm worried, because then I'll probably remember some lurking worry that I've managed to push to the back of my brain. Ever find yourself fretting and you're not even sure why? I think I might have a disease or something. My Gram would probably tell me it's just part of being an adult.

Most of the things I worry about have solutions. They're just not solutions that I can implement at 3 am when my brain decides to overload me with them. And that makes me feel helpless. In the morning, I can at least begin to focus on my problems with a clear, well rested body and mind. But that's only possible if I can manage to get back to sleep first. It's a vicious cycle.

I'll keep working on my worries during the day, and I will keep trying to calm myself in to peaceful sleep during the night. But in the meantime, if you ever find yourself awake in the wee hours, worrying about something you can't even begin to change until a more decent hour, remember me. I'm probably wide-eyed and weary in my own bed, worrying too.

Six Word Fridays: Fantasy

2010-10-08T06:49:00.000-07:00

I'm curled up on the couch.
My husband offered to cook dinner!
The kids are playing quietly alone.
Bills are paid (all on time)!
Later, I'll read in the bath.
(And no one will interrupt me).

A Confession

2010-10-03T08:47:00.000-07:00

I've been absolutely struggling with a way to pick up this blog where I left off in August. Way back then, my last post was about how devastated I was to be leaving my children home for a week while I went adventuring on the Alaska Highway with my good friend. I intended to tell you all about my trip when I came back.

That trip took more out of me than I expected. While it was exciting to see a new place, and it was in some ways relaxing to have a whole week with no children, I still missed them terribly. Every new thing I saw, I wished that they and my husband could be there to share it with me. To make matters worse, while I was gone all three of them were terribly sick. They spent the entire week inside, noses running, heads stuffy, being miserable. I was already feeling guilty and this took me right over the top. In short, I couldn't get my mind far enough separated from life back home to really enjoy myself.

That was a hard thing to admit. When I came home, of course everyone expected to hear stories of how awesome my trip was. And I tried to oblige. No one wants to hear my whine about how much I missed my family. This was an amazing opportunity, not something to cry about!

So, every time I sat down here at my computer to write in this blog, I hit a wall. I just couldn't recount my happy adventure to Alaska. Because as great as some parts of it were, I just can't get over the guilt of not having enjoyed it that much. I thought about just skipping right back in to day-to-day life, but that didn't seem right, either.

Maybe I'm just a hopeless homebody. Maybe my hormones are just EXTRA out of control. But I don't think I could ever take a trip like that again, without my family. I love my friend and I love the adventure we shared, but it will always be slightly marred by the heartache I experienced while I was gone from home. My younger son still gets anxious now when he can't find me, and he throws his arms around me and says, "Mama, I missed you," even if I was just in the bathroom. I can't help feeling like I wasn't the only one who hasn't gotten over my vacation yet.

Sorry for staying away for so long. Happy to be writing again!

~Jen

North, to Alaska

2010-08-09T07:23:00.000-07:00

In less than 12 hours, I will be heading off on an adventure. The kind of adventure that wouldn't have phased me in the least 6 years ago when I was still in college, and not married, and not a mother. But right now? I'm terrified. I'm leaving my family for an entire week. And even though I know they'll be ok, I'm not sure that I'm going to be.

A few weeks ago, I got an email from a good friend; she was my college roommate and we've been friends since the first day we met. The subject was: "An offer for you to refuse." I opened the email to discover an invitation. Her boyfriend was supposed to drive with her from Seattle to her home in Alaska, but he could no longer go. He offered to pay for the flight home of whoever she could find to ride with her. She wanted to know if there was any way I could find child care for a week and come to Alaska with her. My first thought was, !!! Followed by, "there's no way." And then I looked at my husband, batted my eyelashes, and told him what she had asked. He didn't hesitate. "Of course you're going," he said. I was thrilled. But also scared. It's a long time to be away from home.

I woke up in the middle of the night last night, and my mind started racing about what I need to pack and what I need to accomplish today before I go to the airport. But then my mind drifted to my children and how desperately they cry even if I go to the grocery store by myself. I've been telling them about this trip for a few weeks, but I know they won't understand until they wake up tomorrow and realize that I'm not home yet. I could cry right now. I probably will when I get on the plane. My younger son is cuddling on my lap this morning, and I don't want to let him down. I know it's only a week, but it's a week. That's like a lifetime to a 2-year-old. And to top it all off, they've both come down with colds in the last few days. So not only am I leaving my children, I'm leaving my sick children. There's a huge ball of nerves in the pit of my stomach right now, which on top of my already queasy pregnant stomach is making it difficult to breathe. I need to get over this, because quite frankly I'm not even excited about my trip right now. Just sad, and scared, and desperately looking for a way out.

I ~~know~~ hope that once I leave, I'll relax a little bit and enjoy my trip. And I'll savor the ability to get in a car without buckling car seats or walk through a store without needing the stupid, gigantic cart with the bucket seats on the back. It's going to be like taking a step back in time, and I'm going somewhere I've never been. It is destined to be a trip I'll remember forever, I'm sure.

But I just can't stop thinking about how much I'm going to miss them.

Six Word Fridays: Temptation

2010-08-06T05:46:00.000-07:00

Sleep, delicious sleep. Middle of day.

!!!

2010-08-02T15:15:00.001-07:00

I know it's not the right day of the week for !!!, but sometimes on a Monday, you just need some, anyway. And really, it's only one little thing, so it'll be brief.

!!!

I took a nap today. And for the past couple of weeks I've been in bed by 8:30 pm.

!!!

I feel like crap. I've visited the restroom more often recently than I have in the last couple of years, it feels like. And my 3-year-old is calmly giving me advice on how to make my "yucky food" go away by "spitting in the toilet".

!!!

My chest hurts so much I want to cry.

Why are all of these things !!!'s, you ask? If you haven't guessed already, it's because of this:

!!!

We've been trying for about a year and a half, and I had just started to come to grips with only having two children even though I really wanted a third...and then it happened! It's still early, of course, and I'm sure all of us know how delicate these first few months can be...but I was too excited to keep it a secret any longer (I lasted a whole week, heh).

I keep going back and forth between being really excited and thinking, "What the heck was I THINKING?!" (the latter is usually after a particularly rowdy day with the two I already have).

Here goes nothin'....too late to turn back now! Think I can convince my kids that I'm on bedrest for the next 9 months??

Wedding Vows, Remembered

2010-07-30T17:30:00.000-07:00

My husband and I didn't exchange vows when we were married. Instead, I chose one of my favorite sonnets from my very favorite poet, Elizabeth Barett Browning, for us to recite to each other. Part of it was probably my desire to do something "different"--an urge that has plagued me my entire life, and most certainly extended to my nuptials. But mostly it was because these words are so powerful to me, and they are steeped with the devotion and unity that marriage entails.

Sonnet VI
by Elizabeth Barett Browning

Go from me. Yet I feel that I shall stand
Henceforth in thy shadow. Nevermore
Alone upon the threshold of my door
Of individual life, I shall command
The uses of my soul, nor lift my hand
Serenely in the sunshine as before,
Without the sense of that which I forbore--
Thy touch upon the palm. The widest land
Doom takes to part us, leaves thy heart in mine
With pulses that beat double. What I do
And what I dream include thee, as the wine
Must taste of its own grapes. And when I sue
God for myself, He hears that name of thine,
And sees within my eyes the tears of two.

It's similar to wedding vows, in a way. It is a pledge of unity, and a description of the way a marriage unites two souls. At first, it seems melancholy, but after the thousands of times I've probably read this, it is simply beautiful. So succinctly it portrays lifelong, deep love. And it reminds me of all those same vows that many speak on their wedding day, but in a deeper, more provocative way.

I'm glad we used these words on our wedding day. I was thinking of them today; we have had a long, tough week in terms of our marriage, snapping at each other more often than normal. But we still have this commitment--this vow--that we know neither of us will ever break. My heart will forever have pulses that beat double.

Six Word Fridays: Perfection

2010-07-30T05:41:00.000-07:00

a perfect life: a pipe dream.
life's a messy, seldom simple thing.
goals not completed, plans are misplaced--
still, there's perfection to savor, taste:

baby fingers and baby toes, wiggling;
soft kisses and your hand's caress;
knowing what's ours, is ours completely
whether it's perfect (or slightly not).

a perfect life? not for us.
but what we have is abundant.
abundance of perfections wrapped in complication.
perfect seems a little boring, comparatively.

Playground Parenting: Encouragers, Tolerators, and Refusers

2010-07-28T13:49:00.000-07:00

There are three kinds of parents here at Discovery Playground, with its rock climbing wall, splash pad, and gigantic sand pit: Encouragers, Tolerators, and Refusers. I've seen them all in the last few weeks, and the ample amount of time we've spent here has given me plenty of time to observe these creatures as they play out their parenting tactics here in the park.

The first group, the Encouragers, are by far my most favorite group; it's a fairly biased opinon, however, since I count myself among them. Encouragers are good at two things: playing with their children, and encouraging explorative play, and letting their children play without them, letting them explore the park with an entirely minimal amount of supervision. Encouragers are often found on the opposite side of the park from their children, although you can tell they know exactly where each child can be found. Should they lose sight, Encouragers will go on excursions, often stopping to praise their kids for the fun things they've found to do. Encouragers can also be found frolicking on the splash pad or digging tunnels in the sand pit. Their children may or may not be with them when they do this.

The second group, the Tolerators, can sometimes be mistaken for Encouragers, because they tend to give their children a little space still, and they still let them play with everything--even if that means letting them get wet or dirty. The biggest difference is plain on their faces, though-- they really don't want a wet or dirty child. But they also don't want to deny their child the fun they're obviously having. So they tolerate it, but their tolerance wears out quickly. For this reason, you'll find Tolerators slightly closer to their children, usually only a few paces from arm's reach, ready to grab a child who has gotten too dirty or wet, encouraging them to move on to something less...messy. Like how about the slides? I understand Tolerators, and I think that some of them are Encouragers at heart. Maybe this particular day, though, they have to meet someone for lunch or go to the grocery store. And maybe they don't want to do that with a wet child with sand in his diaper. I get it.

The third group, however, I don't think I'll ever understand. Refusers are people who should never have brought their child to the park in the first place, because they are so obviously uncomfortable with being there. Refusers lead their children through the park, gently pulling them past anything they don't want to get in to (which is usually everything). Case in point: I just saw a mom walking her son around the park, holding on to his collar. When he reached to open the gate to the sand pit, she quickly turned him, and told him the sand pit was closed and he couldn't go in. Next, she gingerly coaxed him around the splash pad and on to the other side of the park. True Refuser style often includes little white lies such as "that part of the park is closed," or "it's time for the park to close now." I actually saw one mom bring her little girl in, walk her around the park with her nose up, telling the daughter not to touch anything, and then leave 5 minutes later. Seriously. Why did you come here? It's like they're punishing their children, bringing them to a Museum of Childhood to show them all the things they're not allowed to do.

It's interesting to watch the dynamics of families at this park, and the way each type of parenting style affects the play of their kids. I think that this particular type of park is a perfect place to observe such interactions, since it was made specifically as a place to explore. The different types of playground parents are really just different parenting styles being acted out in the park. Some of us think that kids should be kids, even when that's a little (or a lot) messy. Others think they should constantly be steering their children in the "right" (clean, dry, non-dangerous) direction. There are, of course, benefits to both angles, and the "best" parenting techniques are probably a combination of the two extremes (although even the Tolerators don't seem to have it just right, because they just look so uncomfortable with their children's freedom).

I'll never be a Refuser ('cause if I'm in that bad of a mood, we just won't drive to the park), and sometimes I might be a little bit of a Tolerator. At the end of the day, though, when I take my children to any park, I try to let them be in charge. They so rarely get that opportunity, and the amazing, fun things they discover when you let them loose is worth sandy diapers and wet shorts any day.

It's all too much

2010-07-26T05:58:00.000-07:00

Lately, it's seemed like there's entirely too much on my plate. And I've been having trouble coping. There are so many things that I want to do, but they all get lost in the ins and outs of our day-to-day. Summer is in full swing, and I've been making an effort to take my children to the park every day. Not because I have to, but because I want to. But just that simple task creates complications for the rest of the day. Going to the park means taking my husband to work. Taking my husband to work means coming back in four hours to pick him up for lunch. And then the kids fall asleep in the car, later on refusing their "real" nap because their little kid logic is convinced that the 10 minutes in the car was long enough.

This cycle keeps repeating itself. And some days I'll forgo my park-every-day goal and decide to just stay home, because it feels like we're never here lately. But then my husband will need me to run an errand. Or my grandma will ask me to stop by for something. Or my sister will want to spend the day at the lake. None of these things are bad or wrong or even undesirable. But they do manage to suck us back in to the cycle.

Then there's stuff like this blog. Things that I love so much and hold so dear. And even when there is time, I feel so anxious about the other things that I'm not doing that I can't concentrate on it. I open this interface to write a post and nothing comes. Or I write half of something and decide that it's unworthy. Then I decide to read other blogs and can't even muster the energy to leave comments.

I haven't cleaned my entire house now for two weeks. My laundry is done, but is wrinkling in baskets as we speak. I have 3 days worth of dishes sitting on my kitchen counter. When I decided to stay at home, I thought this would be my "job"--the upkeep of our house. It can be spotless! I'll have so much time to do it! I thought. Man, I was wrong. Either that, or I'm just really bad at being a homemaker. Either way, my job description now is child entertainer/errand runner. Oh, and do a load of laundry before you leave for the library.

I'm coming to terms with all of this; I'm trying to work on some of it, and I'm trying to be ok with letting some of it slide. Because even though I stay at home with my children all day, I still don't have time to "do it all." Maybe some people do. And I applaud them. But for me, a day with smiling children, and perhaps dinner on the table at a reasonable time, is enough. It has to be.

Six Word Fridays: Together

2010-07-23T07:02:00.000-07:00

I saw a friend this week.
She'd been away for several years.
And when she looked at our boys,
She said, "It's so amazing seeing
Half you and half husband combined."
And it made me smile wholeheartedly.
Because I always see YOU there.
Maybe you always see me there.
But it's both of us, together.

Six Word Fridays: You

2010-07-16T06:42:00.000-07:00

Big hearted procrastinator, two screws loose.

Conservation of Youth

2010-07-14T07:02:00.000-07:00

My younger son has just turned two, and even though I've already done this once, I am constantly blown away by his rapidly developing personality and skills. The day he turned two, he began chanting, "I do it! I do it!" as if someone had given him instructions on how 2-year-olds were supposed to act. yesterday, he sang me "Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star" and got (almost) all the words right. Both of my boys surprise me with their newfound talents almost on a daily basis. I am in awe of how fast they are growing; increasingly, I'm aware of how quickly time has begun to move.

It's cliche, I know but also terribly, beautifully ture: they grow up so fast. For all my wistful longings to have my "life" back, I don't want to turn around one day and realize that my children are all grown up. As Thoreau would say, this is truly a time to "suck all the marrow out of life." My children change daily; sometimes it almost seems hourly. As beautiful as it is to witness, it also fills me with anxiety: I'm so afraid of missing out on the little moments that make up their lifetimes!

Yesterday, as I watched my little Jake eat his dinner, chatting to me about his day, I started thinking about how fleeting each phase of childhood can be. What he does repeatedly today could easily be a thing of the past tomorrow. I couldn't possibly recount the path he took from one-year-old to two-year-old, or remember the exact moments when he started acting so grown up. They are too small and varied, but still startlingly important. I decided as we sat at the dinner table that I should treat each day as its own age. Jacob is two all year, but he's only THIS kind of two today. I'd like to strive to celebrate the joys of each day, remembering that today's mundane is tomorrow's faded memory.

While it's inevitable that we won't have time to revel in every "age of the day" because of other responsibilities, it's important that we recognize it as often as we can. Protecting those little moments that sometimes come only once in their lifetimes is essential to truly savor every day of their lives. It's a kind of conservation of their youth, and we are the rangers, ensuring things remain the way they're meant to be.

Mommy, Off Duty

2010-07-12T16:03:00.000-07:00

I sent my children to their grandma's house this afternoon. She has the day off, and she loves having them come play with her. They love it too. And, frankly, I love the break it gives me--the uninterrupted solitude it provides. I feel a little guilty for how much I enjoy it, especially when I think about all of the poor mothers out there who don't have as much opportunity as I do for a break. Every time my family makes me want to pull my hair out with their meddling and such, I try REALLY HARD to remember why it's nice to have family so close. Because for all the little things that get annoying about having both of our families live nearby, there are some obviously huge benefits.

Today, though, I feel especially guilty about having surrendered my children to grandma. Because I didn't even *really* feel like I needed a break. My house is in terrible need of a deep clean, which is what I intend to do with this sudden "free time," but I already miss my boys and it's only been an hour. Usually I don't really start to get anxious for them to be home for at least a few hours, if not more.

The wind is terrible here today. It's the kind of wind that makes you feel like you could be blown away in it. And just this morning, James was anxiously trying to make his kite fly, to no avail. The wind wasn't strong enough this morning. Now, I see the little boy from down the street--the little boy James begs me daily to go play with--out in the empty field across from my house, flying a kite with his mom. And James isn't here. And I feel terrible.

Is a little "break" from my children worth the possible missed opportunities for enjoying them? Is it selfish of me to want some time that isn't dominated by toys and tantrums? Maybe yes, maybe no. I have friends who think it's ludicrous that I ever send my children to stay with their grandparents overnight, and I have others who are happy that I have the opportunity. I suppose it comes down to a matter of opinion. But today, instead of feeling recharged and relaxed from this break, I kind of just feel lonely.

Remind me of this tomorrow, when the boys are back home and the toys and tantrums reconvene. Perhaps my outlook will be slightly different. :p

Siblings

2010-07-10T07:28:00.001-07:00

At first, when there was only one, my husband and I looked at each other and said, "We could be done." Because having him was more than fulfilling. We were satisfied. And yet.

Yet we knew we weren't done. For a few reasons. Because he was growing up and I was craving more tiny fingers and baby breath. Because we'd always wanted at least three. But mostly, because we didn't want our first to grow up without a sibling.

My husband and I both have siblings; he has four, I have two. Although we both have our share of horror stories about the trials of sibling-hood, we never considered having only one child. It was a strange feeling, being content with just the one. Our desire for our son to have a sibling overcame any doubts we may have had, though.

When I imagined James interacting with his new little brother, I thought of them happily playing in our yard, laughing and smiling and enjoying each other. "Let's have them close together," I told my husband, "so they'll have more in common as they grow."

That idea makes me laugh now. Because right now, the 18 months between them feels like a lot more than a year and a half. And they have things in "common" (like both wanting the SAME Buzz Lightyear toy even though we have 3. identical. toys.), their commonalities usually end in screaming and wrestling and forceful separation. James is quiet, contemplative, and analytical; Jacob is loud, rash, and dangerously curious. Right now, they don't get along. At all. And yet.

Yet I hope for the future. They're still so young now, and I have a hope that as they grow, things will get a little better. I'm trying desperately to ignore my own history--the fights with my sister that lasted until she graduated from high school and went away to college. But there were good times, too. Great times. And I hope my children can have some of those.

I look at myself and at my husband now, and I see the gaping hole in our lives where our siblings should be. They are "here," but not really. Not like I want them to be. Siblings should be built-in, lifelong friends that share an entire lifetime of memories with you. But our lives have changed and we've grown apart, and it's the hardest growing apart to experience. My sister--for the first seven years of my life, the only sibling I had--lives in the same city I do. We see each other once a week, most of the time. But our interactions feel strained. We chit-chat. I think we're both afraid to really talk. Our lives have taken us down such drastically different roads that it seems we never really see eye to eye any longer. I see my husband interact with his 3 brothers in almost the exact same way. There's still love there, but almost no kinship. As the years roll by, I fear we'll only interact with our siblings at the standard holiday and birthday celebrations.

As I watch my boys yell and wrestle now, I worry that their future will be the same. Is this just part of growing up? What can I do to make sure the bond of brotherhood doesn't decay over time? Sibling kinship is what I wanted for my boys. I'm desperately hoping sibling rivalry doesn't overshadow it.

Six Word Fridays: Feeling

2010-07-09T06:47:00.001-07:00

"You hurt my feelings," James says.
I've just punished him for something.
And it breaks my heart to hear.
I remember being young like him.
I remember when I got reprimanded.
And it hurts despite probable guilt.
I know I can't always recant.
I know I shouldn't do it.
But sometimes I would like to.
Because hurting feelings isn't mommy's job.

The Great Homeschool Debate

2010-07-06T06:33:00.001-07:00

I know that my children are only 2 and 3, but discussions of their entry in to school have already started to surface between my husband and myself. He, having had an extremely terrible experience in the public school system, is insistent that I homeschool our children. I, having loved school and having thrived in a public school environment, am perfectly fine with sending my little ones off on that big, yellow bus to public school. And, strangely, I feel a little stronger about it than I would have expected from myself.

There is a lot of emotion tied up in school for me. Things that have very little to do with what I learned there, and a whole lot to do with the friendships I forged over recess and study hall. I moved quite a bit while I was growing up, and the friendships I managed to create every time I started school made each new transition bearable, albeit slightly melancholy for the friends I had to leave behind. So many of these people-- quite a few of whom I still love and count as friends today--I would never have met if I had been homeschooled.

For my husband, the opposite argument can be made. He hated school, didn't do well in his classes, and suffered from a kind of all-around bullying that I thought only existed in movies. He went to the same school for much of his public school career, in a small town that couldn't have had more than 100 students at any given time. Once he got branded (for whatever reason), he became the kid that got picked on every day. In high school, he even had a teacher add to the bullying, opening his locker so some kids could get his brand new Stetson that he'd been saving for all summer so they could cut it in half. He has true horror stories. When he finally decided to change schools and be bussed to the city for his last two years of high school, his only comment on the improvement was that people didn't care that he dressed like a "cowboy" any more than they cared about the kids with baggy jeans or the ones who looked like hippies. But, he reminds me, it is also where he was introduced to underage drinking and drugs.

Even my mother-in-law has started in on this debate, lamenting the downfall of public schools. They're so DANGEROUS now! I'd NEVER send my kids there! Gangs and sex and drugs! Oh my! She's pretty worried about the kinds of things we'll be exposing the children to if we send them to public school. I, on the other hand, have trouble trusting the opinion of someone who counts Fox News as her only source of "facts" when it comes to something like this.

For a long time, in my mind, the issue has been settled. I want my children to go to public school. I want them to get the entire school experience. I know some of it won't be pretty, but I'm willing to trust my parenting skills enough to think we can make it over most of the hurdles that will come along. Even though my husband still brings up homeschooling occasionally, this is one fight I don't think he really expects to win.

Yesterday, however, a friend of ours got me thinking about this all over again. She asked if we were planning on homeschooling our children. I told her, "Uh, well, it's still in debate. We've got a few more years to decide," and she started telling me about a program she's been researching that helps you fund field trips and science experiments for your homeschooled children. She was homeschooled, and for a very long time she's been absolutely sure she wanted to send her children to a school (although she ideally would send them to private school). She disliked her homeschool experience, partly on the basis of things similar to my fears (lack of social interaction being the biggest), but also for reasons of her own. She didn't get to experience a lot of hands-on learning because her mom couldn't afford to buy a lot of materials for them. So her homeschool experience was lackluster; she didn't have a desire to repeat that for her children. After having done a little research, however, she's changed her mind and she's ready to dive in to homeschooling.

I'm definitely not convinced that I want to homeschool my children, but this did put a bug in my ear. My husband, when we discuss the Homeschool Debate, always reminds me of the amazing things I can do with my children that a public school wouldn't be able to provide--the caring, hands-on attention I would be able to give them. And this is tempting. But it also feels a little selfish. Or maybe sending them to public school is the more selfish option, and I'm just coming up with reasons not to keep my kids at home for the next 12 years? I don't know. I do know that my older son already has a passion for other children, squealing with glee when he sees other kids his age on the playground at the park. Can I deny him the sweet savor of daily peer interaction just to protect him from possible unsavory interactions? Would the exciting hands-on activities I could provide from home be enough to fulfill his mind and win over his heart? I'm not so sure.

I know people on both sides of this debate, and I would love feedback on this. What do you love about homeschooling your children? What's nice about putting them on the bus every day? Do you feel like your homeschooled children get enough social interactions with their peers? What have been the drawbacks of public school--bad habits, peer pressure? I'd love to know. You can leave a comment, or if you have a longer message to contribute, you can email me at jhildebr at gonzaga dot edu.

Six Word Fridays: Found

2010-07-02T06:47:00.001-07:00

Just this morning I was searching.
Searching for something haphazardly set aside.
Now, because my search was unsuccessful,
We'll consider that item officially lost.

Who knows when we'll find it.
Probably when we don't need it.
And it will irk me terribly.
Why does that always happen, anyway?

It makes me so very frustrated.
But then I start to think.
I feel lost on occasion, too.
And I find myself unexpectedly, too.

I find myself in little moments.
In my morning cup of coffee,
In a cuddle from my children,
In a smile from my husband.

Maybe we lose things on purpose.
So we can recall their necessity.
Or just so we can reflect
On what things really need finding.

Happy Birthday, Little One

2010-07-01T13:32:00.000-07:00

Two years ago on this day, I was a bundle of nerves and anticipation. I knew exactly what day you were coming, and I knew what time. Somehow, all that knowledge made me even more nervous than the first time around. Maybe because I knew what to expect. Or at least, I thought I knew.

Just like with your big brother, I had a c-section. This one, though, was planned, unlike the scary emergency one when he was born. In some ways, this made it more frightening; I didn't have my adrenaline pumping already when it was time to enter the operating room. I kept holding on to an image of me holding my new baby--my little Jacob--to keep myself from crying. I couldn't wait for you to be here. My excitement to meet you was laced with anxiety over needles and scalpels and masks and sheets.

Time seemed to pass so slowly once I was ready for surgery. I held my breath as I waited for your father to come sit next to my head; he stroked my hair and kissed me gently, excitement growing on his own face. I couldn't help but wonder what your brother was up to; he surely had no idea what his parents were doing. But the thought quickly passed and my attention was back on you. It was time.

It seemed to take forever, although I know it wasn't really that long. I ached to meet you, but the doctors near my feet were treating this like break time around the water cooler, chit-chatting about vacations and their own children, occasionally slipping in an order to a nurse or noting some portion of my anatomy. Your father stood up to watch as the doctor finally pulled you from my womb. I thought I knew what to expect. It would take a moment, and then you would start to cry.

You were the loudest little baby I've ever heard. Much louder than your brother. Instantly, you announced yourself to the world.

When they brought you to me, I was shocked. At your size, at my instant and total love, at your booming baby voice echoing through the operating room. You were big, loud, and beautiful.

And absolutely nothing like I expected.

You and your brother are so different, but so equally amazing. You have a huge heart and a mischievous mind, and your booming voice is still a notable attribute.

I love you, little Jacob. Happy birthday, Little One.

!!!

2010-06-24T04:40:00.000-07:00

No pictures this time, but still plenty to be happy about.

!!!

Waking up really early because it's too hot to sleep and getting to watch the sun rise.

!!!

A few days of sunshine and warm weather to let my children play in the park. Watching my older son, who has always been afraid of water, run through the water pad at the park with reckless abandon, and instead of crying about water in his eyes, laughing and telling me how much fun he's having.

!!!

Finally taking our family dog, aptly named Chewie (as in Chewbacca from Star Wars), to the groomer and having him shaved. I'm pretty sure HE thinks that's !!!, also.

!!!

Getting visits from my Gram, my sister, and a good friend all in the same day--and all unexpectedly!

!!!

Getting my pond CLEAN and free of algae, even if it did mean donning rain boots and not-so-flattering clothing for an afternoon of scrubbing. It was totally worth the random stares of people who drove by my house to be able to enjoy the pond again.

!!!

My son requesting to buy and subsequently falling in love with The Last Unicorn. Husband thinks it's a little weird. *I* just fell in love with my son a little more ;)

!!!

Amanda, who is always there when I need someone to talk to, and is always willing to help me out without question. She and her family have come over several weekends in the last few months to help us get our yard ready for the wedding reception that will be here on Sunday. And she even offered to come help us the morning of the wedding! Best. Friend. EVER.

I was in dire need of some !!! this week; it's kind of stressful around here right now trying to get everything done before Sunday. Thanks to Bad Mommy Moments and Momalom for thinking of !!!

Six Word Fridays: Appetite

2010-06-18T06:46:00.000-07:00

Why is it when they're babies
They need food every few hours
And you start to feel like
Your life revolves around sore nipples

But when they are slightly older
They seem hungry but don't eat
Unless you provide them with candy
Or some other non-nutritious food product?

Mommy, Snake Killer

2010-06-15T07:17:00.000-07:00

We took the boys fishing for the very first time on Sunday. Before heading out, we stopped at a local sports equipment store to buy them their own poles; that alone was a thrilling experience for them. Even if they did think that the purpose of the poles was to sword fight... They also enjoyed exploring the tent displays and gazing nervously at the walls covered in deer and bear heads. I did not tell them they were real. I think it might have ruined it for them.

Once we were on our way, we realized we hadn't ever really decided where we were going. My husband and I have a knack for doing things on the fly without really planning them. So, we headed out down the road, sort of knowing what we were looking for, fishing regulation book in hand. We'll just stop at the first lake we find.

Which we did. A tiny lake that wasn't even on my county map. My husband rented a boat and we loaded up our stuff. I was a little concerned about our older son, who is a little bit afraid of water, but after my initial explanation that the dock was not going to fall in the water, he seemed to be ok.

When we got out on the water, the boys just absolutely came alive. They loved watching their dad row the boat out in to the middle of the lake, and they got a kick out of all the other people in their boats floating past us. It was kind of humorous, though, how easily we created our own large spot on the lake...everyone quickly moved away from the boat full of rowdy toddlers yelling, "HELLO! DID YOU CATCH A FISH? IS THAT YOUR BOAT?" etc.

We finally got the boys settled down enough to ask them to hold still while we set up their poles. Ok...while Dad set up the poles. Because even though I've fished for my whole life, I'm still pretty clueless about the whole process. Everything was fine and dandy... until.

Until it was time for the worm. Which was the single task I was assigned. I pulled a worm out of the container, which elicited excited squeals from both boys. "Oh, worms!" from the older son, and "'Nake! 'Nake! Ssss!" from the younger one.

Then I put it on the hook.

And suddenly I was the world's worst Mommy.

My older son took it ok. He just worriedly asked if I hurt the worm. I told him no, the worm wanted to help us catch a fish. (I'm totally not against lying to my children to protect their feelings. Don't judge.)

My younger son absolutely broke down. He laid in the bottom of the boat with his hands over his head weeping and screaming, "Mommy! 'Nake DIED! 'Nake died in the water!"

Right then, I wanted to die in the water. I never knew my boys had hearts quite so tender. I should have guessed; they do like worms a lot. I should have known this would be traumatic to them. But I never guessed. And I felt so horrible.

Eventually we got Jacob calmed down and everyone enjoyed the rest of the excursion. But he still whimpered a little every time we cast his line in to the lake. And, by no means a surprise considering our boisterous boys, we didn't catch any fish. (We're blaming it on the lake. Better one next time).

Six Word Fridays: Possibly

2010-06-11T06:15:00.000-07:00

the laundry might get done today
i might sweep and mop floors
it's possible i'll bake some challah
it's likely i'll finish these chores

but it is also entirely possible
that i'll put my responsibilities away
take time to enjoy the boys
kind of like i did yesterday

!!!

2010-06-10T15:48:00.001-07:00

!!!
Claimed a space of my own for my crafting stuff. Long overdue and MUCH needed!!!

!!!
(re)built the train track just minutes before it started to pour (again)!!!

(and it was a good thing I took a picture because it's in pieces again already)

!!!
Bought myself a pretty new journal to write in...and it was only $3!!!

!!!
Those are tomatoes. Growing on MY tomato plant. It's like summer is on the way or something...!!!

!!!
Mud pies. I knew the rain was good for something.

Want more !!! in your day? Check out Bad Mommy Moments and Momalom, if you haven't already!

Speeding Up to Slow You Down

2010-06-07T15:02:00.000-07:00

Yesterday afternoon, my husband asked me if I would take the car in the morning and go get a few things from the store for him. "Sure," I quickly replied, since I needed milk and creamer anyways. I didn't give it a second thought.

This morning, as we were getting ready to leave, I grabbed a pen and asked my husband what other things he needed from the store besides creamer for his coffee. "Oh, no," he corrected, "I need you to go to the HARDWARE store."

Those last few words, in my mind's eye, came out in slow motion, and at the same time my insides were screaming, "NOOOOOO!!!" really dramatically. Ok, maybe not that dramatically. But I definitely tensed up.

I am a very intelligent person. I've always done well in school and I feel like I'm pretty capable of holding an intelligent conversation. I am, however, a complete DOLT when it comes to common sense. Ask me to do a small thing like "Get some pickets for the gate and enough sod to fill the bare spot on the lawn," and I freak out. I over-think it, get nervous that I'm picking the wrong thing, and completely lose the ability to speak coherently, which means asking for help is difficult.

So I trudged through the yard, half listening to my husband and writing down measurements so I could pick up what we needed. I was irritated at being asked to do this seemingly simple task, and so I wasn't totally paying attention. Maybe this is part of why tasks like this are so hard on me. I rush through the thinking process and then get to where I'm going and have NO IDEA what's going on.

When I got to the hardware store, my pulse began to race and I started to sweat a little. I probably looked like some deranged mental institution escapee as I stalked the aisles of Home Depot, searching for the right size of lumber. I looked at so many different sizes of lumber and couldn't seem to find the one my husband had asked for. And let's not forget my stress-induced speech impediment. Every time an employee walked by, I would clam up and just sort of smile vacantly, not realizing I should have asked for help until they were gone.

Luckily, my husband called me on his break. I had already been in the hardware store for half an hour, and I still had nothing in my cart. As I talked with him and told him what I had found, inundating him with a lot more information than was necessary, I realized I could have easily solved this problem by myself. You know, if I had been paying attention in the first place. I know how big the gate is. It should have been a simple thing to find boards that would fit, even if I just judged it based on my knowledge of the fence that's already there. Simple critical thinking, right?

I had the same issue when I went out to look at the sod. Suddenly, simple algebraic equations were too difficult for my muddled brain--even with a calculator. But when I calmed down and actually THOUGHT about the area I needed to cover and compared it to the sod, the job became much easier.

After an hour of toiling, I walked away with 14 fence pickets and 8 pieces of sod. This whole thing should have taken 15 minutes tops. But it was sort of worth it, because I realized something really valuable. It's not that I'm incapable of handling this kind of thing. It's just that I shut myself down before I even have a chance to get started. I doom myself from the beginning.

Here's to getting it right next time. The next time I'm faced with one of this silly tasks that makes my heart race and my mind spin, I'm going to tell myself to SLOW DOWN. Because in the long run, it saves time.

Creativity Boot Camp

2010-06-06T21:54:00.000-07:00

I'm participating in Creativity Boot Camp, but because it's likely to be stuff that doesn't really "fit" in to this blog, I will be putting my work here. Just in case anyone's interested. :)

My Jacob

2010-06-06T06:39:00.000-07:00

This morning, I was awakened by a distressed call. "Help-a me, mommy, help-a me! Stuck!"

I shot straight up in bed, my eyes suddenly wide open. I wondered what my little one might have gotten himself in to this morning. I ran down the stairs to find him and discovered Jacob, naked except for his diaper, sitting on the kitchen floor with his finger stuck in a bucket. He had taken the handle off and stuck his thumb in the hole where the handle was supposed to go. Well, I thought to myself, at least he's not bleeding.

I thought this because normally he would be. Jacob requires first aid at least once a day. He is a lively, mischievous, curious little boy. If ever there was a real-life version of Curious George, Jacob could be it (except for the whole "being a monkey" thing, of course).

Unlike his big brother, Jacob was a very LOUD little baby. It seemed like if he wasn't eating or sleeping, he was crying. He was a challenge from his very first day on earth, testing our patience and stealing our hearts simultaneously. He does it every day of our lives.

Jake isn't "bad," he's just...destructively curious. If something is missing or turns up broken, a good first guess is that Jacob got a hold of it. He doesn't deal well with punishment, either. He will often try to "punish" you back if you have to reprimand him. The other day, when pulling my finger to lead me to the time-out chair didn't work, he found a teddy bear and made IT have time out instead.

Jacob has an amazingly creative mind. He is not even two yet, and he role-plays more than James ever has. He will pick up two toys and make them have conversations together. He loves to pretend. Right now, his favorite thing to pretend is that he is a cat. He gets on all fours and crawls around the house, mewing and hissing.

Even though he causes me a lot of headaches, Jacob's pure spirit and endless imagination captivates me daily. And then there's his big blue eyes. Which he KNOWS how to use. Watch out if you have little girls. I think he's going to be a heartbreaker some day...

This is my Jake. I wish he could stay this way forever.*

*(Even more "sort of" than my wish for James).

My James

2010-06-05T07:50:00.000-07:00

When my older son, James, wakes up in the morning, he usually greets me with an excited proclamation.

"Look, Mom! I'm awake now!" He says, throwing his arms up in the air, asking to be picked up for a hug. Usually, after this, he also announces, "I want a ride on your back to the couch, Mommy." Which he usually gets. Because it's so cute that he asks every day. And even though he's 3 I still get nervous about him walking up and down our very steep Victorian staircase.

James was my first baby, and he was a very easy one. The most difficult thing about his first year was figuring out how to be a parent. But there was no colic, no bouts of illness, and when he learned to walk, very little curious mischief. He didn't cry much, loved his swing, and slept through the night fairly quickly.

He does, however, have some drawbacks to his little personality. He is VERY stubborn (an attribute I like to blame on his father). When he learns something new, he usually doesn't want you to know about it. As he was supposed to be learning how to talk, I found him to be mostly mute. I kept asking the doctor if he was ok, if he was falling behind, and she kept telling me to be patient. Then I noticed that sometimes he would say words, but if I got excited and praised him for it, the words would disappear again. He didn't want us to know.

He does the same thing now with numbers and the alphabet. He knows more than he lets on. And he is a very deep-thinking little child. Truly introspective, you can often catch him sitting quietly, usually with his thumb in his mouth, thinking about something. Later, you'll discover that he's built a new robot with his Legos or drawn you a picture. He's silently creative, which is beautiful even if it is a little maddening sometimes, too.

The more James starts to talk, the more his personality shines through. His stubbornness shows in his favorite phrase, "I can't want to," and his tenderness in his OTHER favorite phrase, "I like you the best." He is quick to remind my husband and me when we have a bad language slip-up, correcting us, "That hurts my ears. You should say 'gosh' instead."

He is my little man, getting so grown up, and I can hardly believe it. He is a mama's boy, but he hangs on every word his dad says. He loves to talk to everyone he meets, and he always has a story to tell. He's silly and fun, but also often serious and introspective. Trying to get him to smile for a picture usually results in something like this:

This is my James. I wish I could keep him this age forever*.

*sort of ;)

Six Word Fridays: Message

2010-06-04T07:00:00.000-07:00

I know I'm bad at responding
Because I get a little anxious
Every time I hear beep, beep
Because I hate typing on phones

I had a dream last night

2010-06-03T06:45:00.000-07:00

Suddenly, I was somewhere different, not in my bed but sitting on a couch in a dark living room with the curtains drawn. The bright day outside peeks around the edges of the dark blue curtains, and although it is cool inside, a thick layer of humidity still clings to the air.

I know where I am, but I don't know why I'm here.

I rub my eyes and stand up, just as a woman comes rushing around the corner and we almost crash in to each other. She is tall and skinny, with prematurely wrinkled skin set in a worried frown. She wears her hair short and permed, and when she does smile, her bright white teeth seem to take up her whole face. She beams happily now, her eyes disappearing in to the folds of skin around her eyes.

"Oh, Jennie! I'm so glad you're here. Thank you for coming to visit me, it's been such a long time," she cheers, pulling me in to a lingering hug.

"Hi, Meme," I whisper, enjoying the reunion. It really has been too long.

"Is that Jennie?" a voice calls from down a dark hallway. It sounds like barely more than a whisper, but I know it's just the way he talks.

A man walks out of the hallway, very slowly but with obvious purpose. He has long, white hair pulled back in a ponytail and he wears glasses with light frames. He isn't dressed like a man in his fifties; he wears his pants baggy with skater shoes and a Led Zeppelin t-shirt. He does everything slowly, but deliberately. Even his voice is low and measured.

"Hi, Jennie!" He exclaims, although his voice is still soft. His excitement dances in his eyes. He hugs me and then holds me back, looking at my face for a moment. Then he squeezes my arms lightly and says, "We didn't think you'd ever come back."

I know it's just a dream but I can't help being excited to be here. To see these people who took such good care of me when I was a runaway. It has been much, much too long, and I feel like I could just sit and stare at them for hours and still be happy. There is one thing lingering in the back of my mind, though. One thing missing from this reunion. One person.

"Henry should be home any minute," Paul says, as if he had been reading my mind. He smiles and tells me to take a seat. Meme asks if I'd like something to drink. But I'm not thirsty. I'm boiling over with anticipation. I converse with Paul and Meme, but the corner of my eye stays on the front door.

After a while (who knows how long a "while" is in dreamland), there is a key in the lock on the front door. I almost jump but keep my composure. I suddenly wish I had looked in the mirror to see if I was presentable. The last few seconds before the door pushes open, I realize I am holding my breath.

And then. There he is. My heart still stops when I see him, just as it did way back then, when we were in love.

He is tall like his mom, but he moves slowly and deliberately like his father. He wears dark-framed glasses and has dark, curly brown hair. He also has a smile that fills up his face, which is there now. "Jennie!" is all he says, in an exclamation much louder than his father's had been. "Jennie!" he says again, shaking his head in disbelief. I don't wait for him to come to me, but instead I run to him and pull him in to a deep, long-needed, comforting hug. He hugs me back and whispers in my ear, "It's good to see you."

The rest of the dream is too dream-like to describe. Mostly emotions streaming past like watercolors on canvas-regret, love, longing, sadness, desire, happiness...when I wake, I'm left with this little lump in the middle of my chest that feels like a weight trying to pull my heart down from the inside. The feeling that I missed out on something. And the ache of a love long lost but never forgotten.

I love my life now, but I loved it then, too. And sometimes I long for it, for the comfortable familiarity of it. And for him. Because even though I am not in love with him anymore, I still do love him. At this point, after ten years, I imagine I always will.

Deal With It

2010-06-01T06:36:00.000-07:00

My children have a train table. It has little drawers to hold all the parts, and the boards on top flip over for a "change of scenery." I remember buying that train table, before our second was even born, and I remember thinking that my firstborn was still too young for it. I imagined pieces everywhere and the train track in a constant state of destruction.

I was right about the constant state of destruction. Every time I would sit down and put the train track together, my son would play with it for ten minutes and then tear it apart. When my second son got old enough to toddle around, he also started destroying it. It started to become sort of a pet peeve of mine. Finally, I just stopped putting it together. Why bother? I knew it would be destroyed in less time than it took me to build it.

A few months after I stopped rebuilding the train track, I was visiting the home of some people who were interviewing me for a job. I noticed they had the same train table sitting in their living room. Their sons were both about the same age as my boys, but miraculously, the train track was not being torn to pieces. Their older son pushed the train around the track for a few minutes and then moved on to something else. The younger son didn't even bother with it, favoring the remote controls on the coffee table. I was surprised enough that I mentioned it to the parents.

"Wow, I have the same train table. But mine never stays put together like that," I exclaimed, trying to hide the jealousy in my voice.

"Oh, ours didn't, either," the mom replied, "not until Bob screwed the pieces into place!" She beamed, obviously very proud of their successful plan.

You would think I would have been excited at this revelation. That I would have ran right home and gotten out the screwdriver. But instead, I felt a little sad. I felt sad for their children, who would never be able to figure out how to put that train table together by themselves. I felt sad that their train track would always look exactly the same, and they couldn't use their little imaginations to reassemble it. I wondered what else these parents had bolted in to place--literally or metaphorically--and what kind of effect it might have on their children.

That day, I realized that there was a damn good reason to keep putting together that train table. And for letting my kids dump the whole box of blocks all over the floor. And for taking every single crayon out of the box at once. It might be a little messy, but it's nothing we can't reassemble later. And in the meantime, it's an extremely safe way to let them spread their wings and figure things out in their own way. The minor frustration it causes me is not worth the detriment it would be if I stifled their creative play.

This isn't to say I don't sometimes wish I could glue a few things down. In fact, I had quite a little fit yesterday after the kids disassembled the train tracks because I had spent quite a bit of time putting it together. Maybe I'm writing this more to remind myself more than anything else.

Today, I'm going to put that train track together, with my two favorite engineers at my side. It will take forever if I let them help instead of following the plan. It will probably be torn down before the day is over. But I'm going to bite my tongue and turn away if I start getting frustrated. Because it's a toy. And we can fix it. My kids, their budding personalities, and our quality time together are all worth it.

Please remind me of this later when I complain about the train tracks everywhere.

Six Word Friday: Wishing

2010-05-28T06:58:00.000-07:00

It's Friday, and that means it's time for Six-Word Friday with Making Things Up! Today's topic is wishing. So here's some things I often find myself wishing for...

I would like a housekeeper, please.
And plumbing that isn't always broken.
A landscaper would be very appreciated.
I wouldn't mind a nanny, either.

Want to publish my new novel?
I have to write it first.
But I promise it will rock.
Maybe I'll just stick to blogging...
I'll keep working on it, though.

Anyone know of a magic button
That'll stop my thighs from jiggling?
I'll get right on that "exercise."
Right after the nanny gets here.

Warning: Your Mommy is Overheating

2010-05-27T20:07:00.000-07:00

Maybe it's because we've spent the last two days stuck inside while it's raining out, or maybe it's because I have a tendency to let my anger simmer until it suddenly boils over, but I'm having a terrible Mommy evening.

I just screamed at my (almost) 2-year-old. This is when Mommy knows she needs a break.

He filled his Little People bus with all of the wipes from the wipe container. Which might have been funny, if this hadn't been the millionth time. He's been in trouble for it before, but it was the gentle, "I don't want to see this happen again" kind of trouble. Today, he got "Emergency: Mommy Malfunction. Please step away from the Mommy" type of trouble.

I've also been pretty short with my older son today; I've given a lot more lazy "no's" than I have in a while. No sitting on my lap. No I will not make you more chocolate milk until you find your Thomas cup. No I don't want to watch Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. And you don't either. NO NO NO.

When I get this way, I feel a little sick on the inside. I know I am being irrational and need to just chill out and regroup. But it's SO HARD once you get in the downward spiral. I've had a terrible time getting myself motivated today, the kids are driving me up a wall (2 days indoors tends to make them a little rambunctious), and even my husband is annoying me with his random snippets of chitchat about the computer cases he's drooling over on the internet.

The thing is, I feel like I've had a lot of "breaks" lately. I mean, people beg to take my kids overnight (we have a lot of family in the area). Why do I feel like I don't have time to think?

Maybe I've let myself have too much time and I've spoiled myself a bit? Maybe I need to buck up and get off the Emo train? I'm not sure.

But right now,

I feel

BLAH.

And

GRRR.

Bring on the bubble bath and cosmos.

Why I Hate Public Restrooms

2010-05-26T18:24:00.000-07:00

Today, I was ~~guilt tripped~~ invited to go out to lunch with my Gram to meet my great-aunt's granddaughter (I am still not clear on what that makes her to me? third cousin or something?). Gram, having the ~~crazy old lady~~ impeccable taste that she has, picked a crappy little diner with a menu chock-full of bacon. You know the kind of place, I suppose you'd call it a "greasy spoon," the seats stick to you, the waitresses are old and cranky, and if the food isn't good, you pretend it is anyway. 'Coz you don't wanna get shanked on your way out.

Now, considering the grimy texture of the table and chairs, I could very easily guess what the bathroom was going to look like. I was secretly praying that I wouldn't hear "Mommy!! I have to go potty!" during this little adventure. I mean, it was only going to be an hour or so. Surely my children could make it an hour without needing to use the bathroom.

But no. That would be too easy. A sudden foul smell from Jacob told me I was going to have to visit the nasty restroom, at least to change a diaper. And of course, when I got up to excuse myself to do that, James decided he also had to go. Perfect.

We enter the restroom. On the surface it's not too bad, except for the terrible decorating choice of peach-colored paint, dusty fake flowers, and an overabundance of brass. It definitely had that I-haven't-been-cleaned-in-a-while smell, but the fruity air freshener hiding somewhere in the room covered it up a little. Actually, the worst thing I noticed when I walked in to the bathroom was no changing table. Oh, God. The floor certainly would not do, and there wasn't even enough counter space to stick him up there to change him. There were two stalls, so I thought, hmm, maybe the changing table is in the handicap stall?

Of course, it was occupied. No problem, I can wait a minute, I thought to myself. James went in the other stall, and I thanked my lucky stars that he stands up to pee, because I didn't even want to think about how gross the toilet seat was. By the time James was done going, I was still waiting outside for the second stall to open up. I was starting to think it was a lost cause when I heard a flush!

No one came out.

Now I didn't want to go in THERE either, because if that lady had to flush before she was even done...yikes. I was considering just going out to the car to change Jacob's diaper, but of course, The War On Pants had already made my decision for me--Jake had his diaper half off already. And it was...probably about as disgusting as what the lady in the other stall was doing. No pulling it back up and taking him outside.

Changing a diaper while a child is standing up is a fine art. For some reason, it's extremely difficult to wrap my mind around the way their little butts look standing up compared to when they're laying down. So many little folds of baby fat! What normally takes one wipe takes at least three when I have to do this. And then there's the part where you have to put a new diaper on. It always bunches and never goes on straight. You'd think it would be a simple task, but it isn't. At least not in my world.

Add to this the fact that I made James stay in the tiny stall with us, and he spent the entire time yelling, "Look, Mommy! My pee is bigger than Jake's! His is tiny! Mine is bigger! Look!" (I can only imagine what the woman in the other stall was thinking).

This was, to say the least, one of the worst public restroom experiences I've had in a while. It very nearly tops the time I was a housekeeper and discovered a toilet tank--the TANK!-- full of brown chunks (don't worry, it turned out just to be a chocolate cookie. But it was an awkward few minutes until I figured that out).

When I finally managed to get Jake cleaned and re-diapered, we thoroughly washed our hands and left. The second stall? Still occupied.

An Award! Shiny!!

2010-05-24T21:18:00.000-07:00

Melissa at Making Things Up has honored me with this cute little "Versatile Blogger" award! To truly earn it, though, I have to tell you 7 facts about myself and then nominate some other bloggers to do the same.

Ok. The intro was the easy part. Now to think of seven things to tell you about myself...

1) I have lived in Georgia, Illinois, Texas, Michigan, and Washington, and even though I was born in Georgia, I consider Illinois most like "home." (Although now that I've lived in Washington a while it is starting to grow on me).

2) I have a BA in Sociology from Gonzaga University with a concentration in Women's Studies. And 5 years after graduation, I still have no idea why I chose that course of study.

3) I desperately want to have a baby girl. But I don't want more than three children. So...if I get pregnant soon, please cross your fingers for me! :p

4) My favorite bands are The Beatles, Weezer, and Cake. I have to list all three because I can't quite choose an ultimate favorite.

5) I hate shopping. I don't know why exactly I hate it so much, but it makes me crabby. And tonight, my husband made me go to the mall for THREE HOURS. With kids that hadn't eaten dinner yet. And one who skipped his nap.

6) My husband and I have grand fantasies about moving to Portland, OR. We love it there. It's kind of funny, because it's not a city you usually associate with "grand fantasies," but it's our dream town.

7) I have a dog named Chewie who didn't bark for the first 2 years we owned him. In fact, he still doesn't really "bark," he just has this silly-sounding howl thing that reminds me of a hound dog's. And he only does it to the mailman.

8) After writing poems and stories for at least the last 15 years of my life, I've finally figured out that what I really want to do is write. I don't know how I didn't pick up on it earlier.

9) I look exactly like my mom, except her hair was dark brown and she wore glasses. Sometimes I catch my Gram looking at me in this sad, nostalgic way and I just know she's seeing her daughter standing there instead of me.

10) I love to bake. Especially bread. And my very favorite is Challah (and if you have a good recipe for it, leave a comment/email me, and I will love you forever!).

Well, there you have it! Now for the fun part: giving out some Versatile Blogger awards of my own!

Rebecca Mullen at Altared Spaces...you are a great writer and my "happiness hero!"

Amanda at My Thoughts...I miss you IRL. Quit having real life stuff happen so we can hang out.

Rudri at Being Rudri...you write engaging posts and you leave good comments. <3

MidnightCafe at Midnight Cafe...you have so much insight and wisdom, I love reading your blog.

Kate at small medium and large...I'm still laughing about your aversion to owning a minivan.

Congrats on your award, ladies...now get to writing! :p

Took off my Mommy hat, hope no one noticed the boogers on my shoulder

2010-05-23T19:34:00.000-07:00

I spent this weekend pretending I wasn't a mommy. I didn't outwardly deny my mommy status, but I did quite a few things that reminded me just what this blog was meant to be about: who I was before, and how I've changed post-"mommy."

I stayed up late on Friday. I had donuts for breakfast AND lunch. My husband and I had some..."alone time" (wink, wink) in the middle of the day. I TOOK A NAP. I took a shower (without an audience!!!), brushed my hair (and didn't put it in a ponytail!!!), wore a skirt (I forgot other clothes besides jeans existed!!!), and even put on makeup. I had dinner at a restaurant without having to ask for booster seats, a kid menu, or extra napkins. And then I went to an awesome concert with my big sister.

We stayed out too late, but I got to sleep in! I woke up in time for a cup of coffee, my usual blog crawling, and then I headed off to a writing club (where I pretended that I actually know how to write and stuff). I pretended I was completely used to hanging out in an organic coffee shop, even though my "mommy self" thinks coffee comes from the drip at home or a drive-through. After two hours of some awesome writing exercises and meeting a bunch of other writers (can I call myself that?), I headed off to ANOTHER organic coffee shop for a book club.

I met more people today than I've probably met since I was in college. And I even spoke without getting red in the face or stuttering (although by the end my stomach hurt so bad from nerves that I thought I was going to be sick!). It was, overall, an amazing weekend. I'm proud of myself for letting go of my mommyhood for a little while. I needed this break; I needed to embrace the woman I am without relying on my identity as a mother.

At the end of the day, though...I did really, really miss my kids. I almost cried when I came home and saw them; it was like they'd been gone for a year though it was only two days. We took a long walk, pretended to be explorers hunting dragons in the jungle, and played catch in the front yard. It felt good to put my mommy skin back on.

Nothing like a little time away to remind you how good you have it.

This is me, breathing a giant sigh of contentment.

The War on Pants

2010-05-22T08:27:00.000-07:00

My children have started a War on Pants.

I'm not sure exactly what pants have done to them, but my, oh my, they are putting up one hell of a fight!

I dress them in the morning. Shirt, underwear/diaper, pants. Within an hour, at least one has removed his pants, and if one does it, the other is likely to follow suit. Furthermore, the one still wearing a diaper believes that diapers are ALSO the enemy. Usually right after he's pooped. Which makes for awesome clean up (no one thinks about the innocent bystanders in these kind of conflicts!!).

Last week, I was outside working in the garden. My hands were covered with mud because I'd just finished planting something. Out comes Jacob, his bottom half completely naked...and let's just say his bottom matched my muddy hands. Ew.

Of course, this would be an appropriate time for the neighbor to walk up and say hello. He didn't notice the pantslessness of my child at very first.

"Oh, hi, Jake! Are you working in the yard with mom?" (Not so casual glance down, double take between Jake and my muddy hands) "Uhh, have fun! Talk to you later!"

Why. Me.

Yesterday, my older son was playing with the hose and his pants got wet. He runs inside immediately and then re-emerges with his snazzy Spiderman skivvies on display for the world to see! I ask him to go put pants on. He tells me they're too wet. As we're arguing about how much laundry Mommy has to do and he should just put the pants back on because they weren't really THAT wet, my other son derobes. He doesn't back down when a battle with the enemy ensues. He's always there to remove his pants if his brother has!

I put pants back on them both.

As soon as I'm not looking, the pants are again removed.

We go through this process often, and I am really at my wit's end. It never fails that they decide to take off their pants right before a guest shows up or the mailman comes in the yard or something. No, it's not "end-of-the-world" embarrassing or anything, but it is frustrating.

My Gram laughs and tells me I was worse when I was their age. And she has the naked baby pictures to prove it. I know she's right; I know it's not anything to be worried about. I guess at least they haven't tried to do it in public. But. Still. At the very least my laundry basket is angry because of all the extra pants it's had lately.

I give up; I'm not cut out for war.

Six-Word Fridays: The Unexpected

2010-05-21T07:06:00.000-07:00

Melissa at Making Things Up has started a new Friday series called Six-Word Fridays. And you know what? Sentences with only six words is trickier than it sounds. Anyway, here's my stab at it. Go over and participate if you have time!

I never thought we'd be here.
Not the first time we met.
You filled an empty, broken heart.
I was scared to let go.
Once I tried to break up.
You told me you'd stick around.
You said being friends was ok.
And that's when my love grew.
I knew you weren't going away.

And now we have two children.
We have a mortgage and yard.
We love and fight and reconcile.
Thank you for not letting go.
Thank you for giving me time.
You were very unexpected back then.
And even now you surprise me.

The Search

2010-05-19T14:11:00.000-07:00

It's 7:30 am when I hear two little feet hit the floor upstairs and pitter-patter down the staircase. I take a deep breath and quickly gulp down the rest of my coffee. Once I hear those little feet, there is no longer time to sip.

Before he even hits the last step, James is calling to me. Even though I love those little feet, and that little voice, this first interaction of the morning is often difficult for me. Not because it means the end of my quiet coffee-sipping morning time, though. It's difficult because, nine times out of ten, the first words from James' mouth are, "MOMMYYYYY! I WANT SOME MILK!"

No, there is nothing inherently wrong with my son wanting milk as soon as he wakes up. There are worse things he could ask for (which he sometimes does, also...cookies or crackers or whatever other weird non-breakfast food he can think of). The problem with this request as he jumps to the floor, skipping the last step completely is this: there is only ONE CUP that will do for that milk. And this one cup is, on most days, nowhere to be found. Thus begins the search.

James was fairly young when I stopped giving him a sippy cup, and he really did quite well using a regular cup. I knew it was better to stop letting him use a sippy cup as soon as possible, and since there was just him around, there wasn't as many opportunities for his cup to be spilled. It wasn't until I had my second child and started babysitting that he became attached to this one certain sippy cup. I started giving all the kids their own cup, all with lids, because after the first day of giving them cups without lids I wanted to throw my mop out of a window. I think James took my speech about "This is your cup, please don't drink out of anyone elses' cup" a little too literally. For the past year and a half, now, I have trouble getting him to drink if the "Thomas Cup" cannot be found. Unfortunately, for as attached as he is to it, he very often loses the "Thomas Cup," haphazardly setting it aside after he empties it. Attempts at instigating a "put-your-cup-in-the-sink" rule work sometimes, and we continue to reiterate it. But when there's playing to be done, who has time to run all the way to the sink to throw in their cup?!

The search starts out with a simple request. Chocolate milk. IN MY THOMAS CUP. Please.

I check the sink. No Thomas Cup. I sigh.

The search usually begins in the living room. I ask James if he remembers where he saw it last. "In the sink!" he swears, apparently remembering the rule NOW that the cup is missing. I shrug.

There are places I know to look. By the couch. On the piano. Near the TV stand. Even though he loses his cup often, he seems to "lose" it in the same spots--as if in his little mind, these are OK places to leave it. Some are not so typical. Inside a backpack. In the garden. Behind the couch, buried under three blankets. Still, these are places I know to search. We do this way too often.

Today, I wander the house three times. I've checked all the usual spots, and I try to go over my mental list one more time. When was the last cup of chocolate milk issued yesterday? Was it BEFORE or AFTER I closed the front door for the night? Should I check outside the fence? I'm certain he had milk after the door was closed...but it doesn't seem to be in any of the "inside" hiding places. I'm starting to panic, imagining the Thomas Cup being lost for a week, and finding it later with disgusting, week-old chocolate milk still in it. Plus, James is still asking me for a drink every two minutes.

As I search, I marvel at all the hiding places this house has. It doesn't seem that big until we lose something. I stop searching, telling James he can have his milk in another cup. I sit down and try to think about something else. But now I'm just as obsessed with finding the cup as James is about using it. I decide to look one more time.

I've made my circuit around the house, my eyes panning slowly over every room, searching for that familiar blue hunk of plastic. As I enter the final room on my list, I'm nearly pulling my hair out, loudly announcing that there's NO WAY I missed it this time, it must be in this room...and I still don't find it. My heart sinks. But then I have a thought--I looked in all the normal spots, but I didn't look any further. Sure enough, three steps further in to the room, hidden behind Daddy's chair in the office, I spot it. I was looking hard enough, but I wasn't looking in the right spots.

It's easy to get caught up in your daily routine, and to stretch your mind only far enough to include what you already know. Most of us are tired and stressed enough that the energy to think outside of the box isn't always readily available. Fortunately, our children still have plenty of energy to spare. I started out my morning obsessively searching for a cheap plastic sippy cup, but in the midst of my struggle, I learned a lesson from my son.

The search never ends, and the answers can't always be found in the usual spots.

Maybe he loses his cup on purpose, to keep Mom's brain from falling in to a rut?

Oh, Yes- You've Discovered My Nemesis

2010-05-18T00:26:00.001-07:00

I have a hard time saying no. In fact, it is 12:30 am right now, and I am still awake making invitations, reply cards, and "we're registered at" inserts for my brother-in-law and his fiancee. Why? Because of yes. Because it slips through my lips when I least expect it.

"Yes" has me up hours past my bedtime, my head pounding and my fingers ink-stained and paper-cut. "Yes" also has me scheduled to babysit another child on top of my own tomorrow (I am going to need a REALLY BIG cup of coffee).

"Yes" scheduled me to go to a book club, a writing club, and a concert on Saturday even though I'm supposed to be working in my yard (for yet another "yes": hosting the reception for the wedding I mentioned earlier).

"Yes" does this to me a lot. Me and "yes"... we have lifelong issues. I'm the kind of girl who would do someone else's homework for them in grade school--but not because I was afraid...just because I couldn't say no. I can't seem to help it. It's always been a struggle for me.

You'd think considering all the trouble "yes" gets me in to, I'd learn to say it a little less. But I won't. And here's why:

"Yes" made a very stressed bride-to-be stop crying after she opened up her "wedding invitations" and discovered "Save the Date" cards in the wrong colors with only 4 weeks to go until the wedding.

"Yes" gives my very good friend a chance to spend time alone with her husband on their anniversary, which is an especially large commodity considering they work opposite shifts and have only one day off together, anyway.

"Yes" is feeding my desire to read, write, and listen to good music on Saturday, and it's giving me a chance to rest my perma-dirty feet for a day. Grass doesn't grow that fast. I can take a day off.

For all the reasons I have to dislike my inability to say no, I have equal reasons to remember why I like to say "yes." Even when it isn't ideal for me personally, I really, truly, enjoy helping other people. This isn't to say I shouldn't curb my desire for "yes" sometimes; I need a break from it about as much as I need a break from anything else that I love.

Tomorrow, when I give my soon-to-be sister in law these invitations, I'm guessing she's going to ask for help addressing all of them. And, despite my desire to burn the next wedding invitation I get in the mail, you know what I'll say.

Yes.

A Kiss

2010-05-16T07:50:00.000-07:00

Just one more
is all I ask of you,
but I know that one is
never enough.
I can't stop myself
from wanting you-
I don't want to.
for now, I'm alone
(although never without
thoughts of you)
and I can't help but wish
for one more kiss
just one more before
I close my eyes
and dream
of many more
to come.

to my mother.

2010-05-13T20:09:00.000-07:00

in a small corner of my mind,
in my brain where synapses fire and chemicals react,
it's still there. and it manifests
as a numb emptiness in the center of my chest.

i shut out the world.
i close my eyes and try to see--try to feel--
but it isn't the same.
no dull ache; no heavy breath; no sobbing sadness.

it's there--i know it is!
but time and trials and tears
have buried it like so many leaves turned to dirt
on a quiet forest floor.

sometimes there are flashes--smoke signals to lead my way:
when i hear your voice from my mouth, or see your smile in my mirror
but always, always, i find a dead end
when i thought i had found the trail.

how heartless of my brain to hide you.
how my heart wills my mind to uncover!
i fear i've lost you on purpose, to soothe my pain,
but all the same it seems so cruel.

i have you, but i don't have you.
all i have is what remains.
and with each minute, day, month, and year,
the memory is farther away.

A Moment

2010-05-12T06:46:00.000-07:00

Something about today just feels good. For the first time in months, it's warm enough to have breakfast in the backyard. All the springtime flowers are blooming. A pleasant breeze carries the spicy-sweet scents of hyacinth and lilacs. The sun is hot already. My skin drinks it in, and even my bones feel warm. At 9 am, I've already turned on the hose for the boys to play in.

Nothing compares to the bubbling, innocent laughter of my children. In a rare moment of cooperation, they are sharing the hose. James is fiercely possessive, and teaching him to share (especially with his little brother) has been an immense challenge. Just now, though, he's forgotten that everything is HIS. Jacob presses the button on the sprayer of the hose, then gets frustrated that it won't stay on. James, ever so gently, puts a hand on his little brother's shoulder.

"It's ok, Jake. Lemme show you how it works."

James slowly presses the button that holds open the valve deliberately-- slowly so his brother can see. He coos softly to Jacob as he does it, explaining, "There you go. Just like that. Now it'll work, Jake."

"Tankoo!" Jacob replies, a glowing smile returning to his face.

I know this little moment won't last, so I drink it in, letting it fill my heart with joy. I say a little prayer that my boys will always remember to be so kind to each other. I know they will fight and make ME want to scream and cry, but I also know there are more of these tender moments to come. These snapshots of happiness make all the trials of motherhood worth it. They remind me why I chose to be a parent.

My children are happiness, wrapped in skin and bone and clothed in 3T board shorts. I hope I never forget it.

Without Fear

2010-05-10T08:35:00.000-07:00

The year that my mother died was one of the hardest years of my life. So much changed in such a small amount of time that when I think back on it, much of what happened is fairly blurry. I was 16, and my biggest worries up until then were what I was doing with my boyfriend this weekend, or what I was going to wear to school the next day. The course of my life was suddenly and swiftly altered, and I felt fairly out of control. Things seemed to be happening around me without my permission. It was during this hectic year, however, that I first took a stand for myself, and made a bold move that I have never regretted.

For the first couple of months after my mother died, my family tried to go back to "normal," at least as normal as we possibly could be. Despite my family's pleas that I move to Washington to live with my grandmother, I stayed in our home in Michigan with my little brother and my stepdad. Things were tense, but bearable. My stepfather could be a very volatile person; for much of my life I had been very afraid of him. It was easy to send him in to a tirade, and the stress of our current situation did not help him at all.

To say I was frightened of my stepdad would be an understatement. I was terrified to be left in the same room alone with him. He had never physically hurt me, although I had seen the bruises he left on my sister. I was always scared that I was going to make him angry. For much of my life, I had relied on my mom and my big sister to "protect" me from his tirades--he would get angry for the smallest things, and his fury could last quite a long while. With my mom gone and my sister away at college, there was now no "buffer" to protect me from him. I lived every day in fear that I would make him angry, make him scream and call me horrible names and possibly hurt me.

One day, my sister was visiting my brother and I and she took us to the movies. We left a note for my stepfather telling him when we would return. Unfortunately, the movie we went to see was sold out, so we went to a later showing. We returned home half an hour later than we intended. My stepfather greeted us with a screaming match. How inconsiderate of us to be late! Why didn't we call? He couldn't believe how we could do this to him! As usual, my sister took the brunt of his anger--for every scream he threw at her, she yelled back, doing her best to keep his attention on herself and away from me and my little brother. She stormed out of the house, him following after, screaming at her. She asked me to come with her, but I said no. I couldn't imagine how angry that would make him, but I didn't want to find out. Instead, I sulked away and hid in my room. He stopped yelling after my sister left, and he also stopped speaking to me.

About a week later, after a week of silence from my stepdad, I came home from school just like any other day. By this point, I had stopped trying to speak to him, since the only response I got was a cold shoulder and silence. He was sitting in the living room, and I walked past and went to my bedroom, where I had been spending the majority of my time lately. A few minutes passed when my bedroom door burst open, and my stepdad stood there, his eyes bulging out of his head and his face bright red with fury.

"You come home and you don't even bother to say HELLO?" He roared at me.

I looked at him blankly, my heart starting to race. I had no idea how to respond, so I tried to be honest.

"You haven't spoken to me for a week. Why would I say hello to you?"

Unfortunately, this only managed to anger him further.

"You ungrateful bitch. You never even said sorry for being late on Sunday. It's like you don't even love me anymore..."

Typically, this kind of language from my stepdad, and the lengthy tirade that followed it, would do nothing but reduce me to tears. I would cry and curl up in a ball until he was done, and hope that he would calm down. But today was different. I'm still not sure why it was different--maybe because it was the first time I'd really faced him completely on my own. This day, I didn't stand down and wait for the storm to pass. This day, I decided to fight back.

I gave my stepfather a tirade of my own. I told him how terrified he had made me for the last 13 years of my life. I told him how there was never a day that I wasn't afraid to be left alone with him. And I told him he was right, that I had no love left in my heart, no patience left to deal with his tyranny.

My words took the wind out of my stepfather's sails. He left my room, still angry, but no longer screaming. I sat on my bed staring at the door, in shock. I wasn't certain what to do next, but something told me I didn't have much time to decide. I thought of going to him and apologizing, trying to make everything better. But I also knew if I did that, we would have to go through this same thing another day, for some different silly reason that made him angry. At that moment, I made one of the craziest decisions of my life. I decided to walk away.

I quickly packed everything that I could fit in a suitcase and my backpack. I had no idea where I was going to go, but I knew that it was the right time to leave. As I was walking out of my bedroom, my stepfather was walking back down the hall, starting to scream at me again. I gave him one last goodbye, as calmly as I could muster, and told him I wouldn't be back. I walked out my front door, dragging a suitcase behind me, and headed down the road.

Part of me said I should turn back, but most of me felt like this was the bravest decision I could have made. I walked down the road, not sure of what I would do next, but certain I had done what was right for me. Even though I was technically "running away," I felt like I was running toward a better future--one where I didn't have to be afraid all the time.

I left that house and I have never looked back. I stayed with friends until my sister and I could get an apartment together. I managed to finish my last two years of high school in relative normalcy. Although I still struggle with it, that fateful day I learned that I can stand up for myself. It was like fighting a battle with my arch nemesis and winning. I was free in more ways than one that day that I walked down a busy highway dragging a suitcase behind me. I was free to live my life without fear.

Educating the people the world needs most

2010-05-06T20:16:00.000-07:00

Back in the day when I was in college at Gonzaga, the university started a new ad campaign. For an entire semester, there were stickers, buttons, and posters all over campus that read "WHY GONZAGA?" It was so prolific that it became a campus joke--"WHY GONZAGA? Because the cafeteria food is awesome!" "WHY GONZAGA? Because I can ALWAYS find a parking spot on campus!" We were all ready to find out what the punchline was by the time their "big reveal" happened--a gigantic pep rally where they finally announced their answer to the question:

"Why Gonzaga? Because we're educating the people the world needs most."

At the time, I thought it was at best a grandiose overstatement of the importance of the university. Lately, though, that tagline has been going through my head quite a bit--but not because I've been pining over my alma mater.

A few weeks ago, as I was pulling out my hair trying to pay the bills, my mind started to wander (as it often does during bill-paying). I started worrying about the future--about the fact that by the time my children are in school, I will have been out of the workforce for 6 years, which will leave me with no resume and depleted Social Security funds. As I was brooding, I went from worried to angry, beginning to question why these should even be concerns in the first place. I'm not changing the world directly right now, but I do believe that I'm doing one of the world's most important--and severely underrated--jobs.

I started searching for more information about this and found this book, which I am very anxious to read. The more I researched and read, the more fired up I got. Lately, I've been daydreaming about writing an extensive research paper on stay-at-home parents and envisioning a stay-at-home rights movement while doing the dishes. And this brings me back to that great slogan once coined by Gonzaga that keeps running through my head.

Higher education is undoubtedly important, and it certainly produces many of the specialists that the world "needs" to run. But I keep thinking how sorely this slogan misses the mark in my current situation. It actually highlights the lack of respect for child-rearing quite starkly now in my mind. Yes, universities are responsible for giving their students the specialized knowledge they need to pursue a career, but I think when it comes down to it, much of an adult's essential education is learned much earlier. It is from our parents that we learn our values and morals--that's where we start to develop our sense of what is important and what WE think the world "needs." So I've been imagining that Gonzaga's ad slogan could be much better used like this:

WHY PARENTS? Because we're educating the people the world needs most.

It's my new personal motivational slogan. I keep reminding myself of it every time I start to get stressed or when I feel like I'm not really doing anything of value being at home with the kids. I think that our society could do with a little reminding of exactly how important the task of parenting is. People give it lip service, especially around holidays like Mother's Day and Father's Day, but the proof is in the pudding, and my bowl is empty. No one is in the least bit interested in giving parents the time they need to raise their children, because it isn't (directly) economically viable. And whether you are blessed with the opportunity to stay at home with your children or if you are working full time, our first and most important job right now is to be parents to our children.

I'm not saying everyone should quit their jobs and stay at home with their children, but I AM proposing that it should be a more realistic option for a greater majority of our society. I can remind myself all I want that I am "educating the people the world needs most," but how many other people see it that way? And how many people think I'm just watching soap operas and eating bonbons?

Ok, I think I'm done here on my soapbox for now. I fear this post was a little more scattered than I intended, but I really needed to get this off my chest. And the next time you're knee-deep in dirty diapers and laundry, just remind yourself that "you're educating people the world needs most." Maybe it'll help.

Dear 22 Month Old,

2010-05-02T07:09:00.000-07:00

Hi, Sweetie. Sweetie?

(snapping fingers and rolling eyes)

SWEETIE! Ok. Now that I have your attention. Ahem.

Hi, Sweetie. Erm...honey...don't climb that. Mommy REALLY doesn't want to take a trip to the hospital today, I haven't even paid the bill from our last visit yet. Don't make me get out of this chair. Don't you do it!

(smack on the floor and inconsolable wailing)

Grrr...Didn't I tell you NOT to do that? I know you understand me! Why don't you listen. Oh, stop, you're fine. Alright, one hug, but really I don't think you deserve it. That was totally preventable.

(wiping copious amounts of snot from shoulder)

Ok. Now. ARE. YOU. LISTENING.

Sweet, beautiful, energetic little baby boy--
It's probably time to stop calling you "baby." You are, after all, very nearly two. But I just wanted to write you this little note to remind you: You're not two yet! I've got two months left, precious, and I'd really like to enjoy them. I'm getting sick of having to apologetically announce to shocked onlookers in stores and restaurants, "He's two," when it's not even true yet! Couldn't you give me just a *little* more time? My bruises haven't all quite healed since your brother turned two. I demand at least a one-week notice before "The Terrible Twos" commence.

Don't look at me with that blank stare. You know what I'm talking about. No? How about last week at the playground, when I TOLD you not to hang off the top of the big toy, and then you did it on purpose (I KNOW it was on purpose, damnit) and when you fell you screamed at me like it was my fault? Since when does warning someone that they're going to get hurt constitute liability when it actually happens? It's not like I'm psychic or have kinetic powers that I used to push you off the toy (because if I did, life would be a lot more exciting for both of us).

Still not impressed? Still don't think you've been behaving badly? Hmm...ok. What about Friday when we were at the restaurant? You spent the entire time trying to wriggle out of your seat, and when you finally succeeded, you screamed, "NO, MOMMY! NO LIKE MOMMY!" and ran away screaming. Just because everyone in the restaurant laughed does NOT make it funny. Just so you know, I was ready to crawl in a corner and die. And if that happened, who would feed you? I'd like to remind you that Daddy does NOT know how to cook.

Alright, I can see you're still not getting the picture here. So let's go over one more example. This morning, when you woke me up at 5 am? I asked you not to put your hands in the fishbowl. I asked more times that I should have because I was tired and annoyed at being awake that early. And when I finally just yelled, "NO!" to get your attention and make you stop, what did you do? YOU BIT ME.

That last one alone is enough proof for me. You are cute, cuddly, and very sweet. Please, please, PLEASE stay that way just a little bit longer. I've ordered full body armor to protect myself and it takes two weeks to deliver. Can we at least wait that long?

Love you, Sweetie. Now stop jumping on the couch and eat your breakfast.

Love, Mommy

C is for Cookie...that's good enough for me

2010-04-27T11:33:00.000-07:00

I was so excited the first time I made cookies with my boys. I had visions of them calmly stirring the batter, sneaking a taste when they thought I wasn't looking. I imagined them happily watching me measure out the ingredients as I explained what each thing was as I added it to the bowl. I knew it was going to be fun, and I couldn't wait to enjoy the experience with them.

Things started out well. It was so cute watching them rush for the stools in the kitchen, pulling them as close to the mixing bowl as they could get--so close that I barely had elbow room. Equally adorable was when each of them then rushed to the utensils to pick out their very own spatulas to help stir with. And that's about where the calm and cuteness of the experience wore off.

Ever-curious Jacob opened the canister of salt and poured about half on to the counter before I got it out of his hands. Stubborn James refused to let his brother--or me--touch the mixing bowl without his permission. There was baking soda, salt, and flour in equal amounts on the floor and in the bowl.

Not only was my kitchen now a total wreck, my patience was starting to wear thin, and I just wanted the damn cookies DONE. I'd gone from excited and happy about the whole experience, to wanting to pull out all my hair in a matter of minutes. What was I THINKING, letting a one- and three-year-old help me bake?

In lieu of screaming like a banshee and banishing my children from the kitchen, I walked away from the situation and sat down in the office with my husband. "What's the matter?" He asked tentatively, pretending to not notice the flour splotches all over my face and in my hair. If there hadn't been steam rising from the top of my head, he might have laughed, but God bless him he held his tongue.

"The kids are making me crazy!! All I wanted to do was make some freaking cookies and now the kitchen's a mess and I don't know if we even measured anything right...." I let out a 2-minute tirade with some less-than-clean language, and by the time he stopped me I was close to tears.

"Babe...why did you want to make cookies with the kids?"

"I thought it would be fun. I wanted to show them how to do it."

"Take a look in the kitchen."

I huffed and crossed my arms, but still I stuck my head out the office door and looked in to my cookie-coated kitchen. There were my two boys, covered with even more flour than I was, pretending to measure and stir and laughing together. They were having fun.

The cookie-baking experience had not been anything like I hoped for, but I'd still accomplished my goal. I had shown my boys something new, and they loved it. The only thing standing in the way of ME having fun, too, was that I was stuck with a fantasy that didn't match my reality.

There are so many instances of parenting that end up turning out nothing like we've planned. It can be difficult to overcome the disappointment sometimes, but seeing the bigger picture can often help ease the anxiety. Having someone point it out can often help, too (thanks, Hubby). I often end up learning lessons from my children when I set out to teach them something new.

We've since baked cookies more times than I can count, and although I have to admit I sometimes still get a little tense, it really does warm my heart to see them race for the stools, spatulas in hand, ready to make cookies--and probably a really fun mess--with me.

Whoever has the best child gets a cookie.

2010-04-26T18:55:00.000-07:00

I love my children. Like most doting parents, I think that my kids are the best kids in the world. They're always the cutest, always the best behaved, and man, are they ever smart! I, however, am not delusional. I know this is normal and that all parents (well, all decent parents) feel this way about their children.

I also have a confession to make: in addition to believing my kids are the best, I am also occasionally guilty of judging the behavior of other children. Usually, the judgment is aimed at their parents: "He's three and they seriously haven't taught him how to say please and thank you?" or "Wow, I can't believe her mom let her get away with that." In private, my husband and I have often proudly compared our little angels to our friends' children, pointing out all the things that make our kids great. I'd wager a guess that even though we all care about each other, our friends have made the same comparisons about our kids.

I honestly don't see that much of a problem with this; I think it's a pretty natural phenomenon. It makes total sense to me that parents would be absolutely in love with their kids--in love enough to not notice the flaws that other people see. There is a problem, however, when parents bring their not-so-nice comparisons out in the open, turning a playdate in to a competition to see whose kids are "better."

Last week, our family went out to dinner with the family of my brother-in-law's fiancee. It just so happens that her parents (her dad and stepmom) have a son who is only 2 months younger than our oldest son. I thought, well, that will be kind of cool, they can keep each other company. What I didn't expect was that this would be the OLYMPICS of child-comparison competitions.

The jabs started out subtle. My son pointed at a red balloon and said, "Mommy, I want that pink ballon!"
"Hot pink, huh," she snickered, "And he doesn't even have any sisters at home! Besides, that balloon isn't pink. What color is that balloon, Johnny?" she asked her son.
"It's red, Mommy!" Johnny cheerfully replied.
"Very good, Johnny. James, what color is that other balloon?" she asked my son, pointing at a blue balloon.
"Green!" My son replied, just as cheerfully.
"No, it's blue, Mommy!" interjected Johnny.

This same conversation continued until Johnny had correctly and without hesitation named the colors of all the balloons in the restaurant. My son, bless his heart, tried to name the colors with little success. It's something we've been working on; he knows them but he often confuses them (and I'm not concerned about it because he always confuses the same names of colors with each other, which makes me believe he understands the concept, he just hasn't memorized the color names yet).

After this amazing display of Johnny's color-naming skills, his Mommy explained--her chest puffed up with pride--how Johnny would be moving in to the 4-year-old class at preschool even though he just turned three. See, he's in a very prestigious preschool...he had to apply to get in and everything!

"Can James even say his ABC's yet? Didn't you say he was older than Johhny? Oh, really? That's too bad. Johnny, say the ABC's for us! Oh, and he can write his name. Write your name, Johnny! Oh, and why don't you show them how you can dance, Johnny?"

This friendly banter continued for some time, as we waited for our food to be brought. There was no doubt that Johnny's Mommy was attempting to prove how AMAZING her son was, and she was not shy about pointing out where she felt my son was lacking. By the time our food came, I was fuming, although I was doing my best to stay civil for the sake of my brother-in-law and his fiancee.

I don't understand the need to prove that your child is the best. In my mind, it's enough that I know how great my children are, and although I might be proud enough to mention something awesome that they can do, I've never compared my sons' accomplishments directly to the inadequacies of my friends' children--well, at least not to their parents' face. In a perfect world, we wouldn't be comparing our children at all, but in the real world we can at LEAST keep our opinions to ourselves.

Just as I was getting ready to shove a hot buttered roll in Johnny's Mommy's mouth just to shut her up for a while, however, my son took care of the problem all by himself. Dinner was done and the boys had both just received a nice bowl of chocolate ice cream. Perfect, smart, ABC-singing Johnny dove right in--face first. No attempt at using a spoon, he just stuck his face in the bowl and started eating like an animal. My dull, non-color-knowing little James turned up his nose, and with all the patience he could muster, pronounced, "Oh, Johnny! Don't do that it's RUDE! We use a SPOON to eat ice cream!"

I didn't laugh, but I wanted to. It made me feel a lot better about the whole situation, and it also made me realize something. We all know there's only so many hours in a day, and thus there's only so many things you have time to teach to your children. We pick and choose the lessons we teach our kids, mainly based on our own preferences and values. For me, early childhood is a blessing for my children because no one is forcing them to learn anything--they're learning by playing and enjoying the world before life suddenly gets "structured" when they hit grade school...but I expect them to mind their p's and q's in the meantime. For Johnny's Mommy, having a smart, "advanced" child who can sing his ABC's while tapdancing is at the top of the list, with manners being somewhere around...nonexistent. These are the parenting choices we have made, and therefore the things we're proud about are different. No one's child is the "best," we've all got great kids, and they all excel in different areas in life--most likely the areas of life that we've shown them are important to us.

Johnny's Mommy could certainly use a chill pill when it comes to her expressions of pride, but at the end of the day, I think we all win as long as we're trying our hardest. Just try not to knock my kid down on your way to the winner's circle. There's enough cookies for all of us.

My Girl Loves to Party All the Time

2010-04-23T08:07:00.000-07:00

The last few weeks, we have spent more time being social than we've probably been in the last year. Birthday parties, nights out on the town, random visits to family in the middle of the week...lately, it feels like I'm away from home more than I'm here.

Typically, even after one such event I would be stressed out and ready to lay in bed for a week to recover. Ok...maybe not *that* bad, but social situations have never really been my thing. I was the girl standing alone in a corner at parties and dances. Sure, I had friends, and I loved hanging out with them, but for some reason more than five people in a room at once tended to render me mute and socially useless.

On Sunday, we had gone to a birthday party for one of friends' sons. There were over 30 guests...and only about 14 were adults. I knew all of the adults, at least from meeting them at similar functions over the last few years. But (and this isn't an excuse, but really my train of thought) it was REALLY hot in the house, my boys were outside playing, and there was not really any place to sit without displacing a mother holding a baby. So, I said some hasty hello's and smiled as I booked straight through the house to the backyard. I came in a few times to try and "hang out," since all the ladies were in the house but, really, it was just so damned uncomfortable in there. I went outside and played with the kids. Somehow 20-some children all under the age of ten are way easier to handle than standing in a hot room with 5 adult females and their babies.

Yesterday, while having dinner with some friends that were also at that party, I got a not-so-subtle suggestion that I work on my social awkwardness. I guess it was a wake-up call because I never thought that my problem was so obvious. My friend just casually mentioned that "maybe" I should "try" to come out on ladies' night to get better acquainted with all of the women in my social circle. Then, perhaps, "you won't feel so awkward at birthdays and baby showers and stuff." It was an attempt at subtlety, but this friend doesn't really have a subtle bone in her body, so there it was, like a slap in the face. The unspoken part was, "everyone noticed you ran from us like a deer in headlights, and we're all a little concerned."

The really sad part about the whole situation is I had been looking forward to that party all week. I was actually excited to get out and hang out with friends. I was especially excited because all of those women are mothers, and it is sooo easy to find something to talk about when other people are parents, too. I felt mentally prepared to interact with other adults and maybe even have fun. But, oh, how terribly I failed.

I suppose it's just something I'll have to keep working on. Perhaps I really will go to ladies' night next week and practice my social skills a bit. Or maybe I'll just crawl back under my rock and pray that we don't get any more party invitations for a while.

2009-11-09T18:53:00.000-08:00

I was such a bum today it's not even funny.

I left the TV on ALL DAY.

My 1-year-old removed his pants 3 hours ago and he's still not wearing any.

I made scrambled eggs for dinner.

At least I took the time to put together puzzles with my older son and chased all the kids around the house a few times. That makes me feel a wee bit better, but not much.

I need winter to be over already :(

rules for giving my children birthday presents: to my in-laws (with love)

2009-11-08T09:25:00.000-08:00

1) I know how fun it is to go to the toy section and pick out a toy that you think is really awesome to give to my children. However, I would appreciate it if you at least asked me if there is something in particular that he would like to have. I would also appreciate it if you did not choose the loudest, most annoying toy possible just because you think it's funny.

2) Please keep in mind that one of my children is 2 years younger than the other. When you buy my 3 year old toys that are meant for 6 year olds, remember that a 1 year old will also most likely try to play with it (i.e. he will most likely BREAK it which will lead to tears and much pandemonium).

3) Think about all the other toys you have brought to my children in the last oh...month. Do we REALLY need ANOTHER one???

4) Thank you for giving my children a present. Thank you for bringing one for the younger child even though it's not his birthday. But when they get a little older, the younger one is going to start noticing that he got a crappy ball on his brother's birthday, and on his birthday his big brother got an entire playset. Some consistency would be appreciated. I have 2 equally amazing children and favoritism is not allowed.

5) It's awesome that you find deals on stuff at the thrift store. It's cool that you would look there first and reuse a toy that someone else no longer needed. But PLEASE bring it to us clean and in working order...do you know how hard it is to tell a 3 year old that they can't play with their new toys until I wash them?! And what do I say when they ask where the missing pieces are?

6) I know you love my children. They know it, too. So please don't feel obligated to give them enormous amounts of junk food and candy in an attempt to win their heart. They loved you without the 2 gigantic bags of pixie sticks. And who gives pixie sticks for a birthday present, anyways?

I love my in-laws and I know they mean well but...if I could really give them these rules, birthdays would be a lot easier for me to handle :p

In Memoriam

2009-10-29T15:46:00.000-07:00

It was not too long ago that you treated my sons like your own grandchildren. For the rest of my days I will remember how you scoured your house for something that resembled a toy to let them play with. I will remember you in this one instance, as it embodies the kindness and gentleness that existed always in your heart. You found a box of dominoes and eagerly sat down on the floor to show my son how to set them up and knock them down. I could tell you felt a little awkward, but you also looked excited and happy. Again and again you set up the dominoes and laughed with him as he knocked them down. Ever since, he has constantly begged to get out the box of dominoes and repeat that precious little game that you taught him. I couldn't wait until my sister's baby was born so you could teach her how to play with dominoes, too.

My heart aches for your family, and for your loss of life so young. I'm sorry you won't be here when my niece is born, and that she will have to grow up without either of her grandmothers to teach her simple games and laugh with her. May you rest in peace. You will be missed.

Love,
Jennie

Money, Money

2009-10-23T10:32:00.000-07:00

The cold, dreary weather the last few days mimicks my mood perfectly. It has been a rough few weeks, and there have been moments where if I had the ability to just roll up in a ball and die I might have considered it. Ok...not really, but I have felt at the end of my rope a lot lately.

When I made the decision to stay at home with my children, I knew it was the best choice I could make. After all, when I only had one child I was paying half of my paycheck to the babysitter. So if I'd kept working, I wouldn't have had a paycheck anyway.

But now, times are hard and getting harder all the time. And I am feeling REALLY guilty. I know it's not logical to feel this bad about it, since really me working or not we'd still be in the same boat. And I have been racking my brain trying to think of a way to solve our money troubles, but to no avail.

Taking in other kids to babysit has helped a little, but it never seems to be enough. Now I'm faced with the worst option, the one I really didn't want to consider: either my husband is going to have to find a second job, or I'm going to have to find a job in the evenings after he gets home from work. I really don't want to do this. I'm already exhausted from being home with the kids all day and never really getting a break. But I can't just stand by and watch everything we've worked for get taken away.

So, at least there's the fact that it's coming in to the holiday season and I have retail experience. It shouldn't be too terrible to find a job, but I'm certainly not looking forward to how stressful this is going to be :(

Maybe it won't be so bad--I'll have new things to stress over, but at least I won't have to hold my breath every time I get a bill in the mail.

I hate money.

What happened to naptime?

2009-10-15T12:54:00.001-07:00

I don't know if it's the smaller amount of outdoor time the kids are getting or what, but they are starting an all-out war on naptime. And it's making me want to cry.

They will be so obviously tired and still they fight it. For instance, today my 15-month-old was falling asleep in his lunch, but as soon as I put him in his crib he was wide awake and screaming. I left him in his crib for quite a while, but he never gave up. He screamed and cried and carried on...and now he's quietly, sleepily sitting in my lap while I type this.

Then there's the 3-year-old...he starts telling me, "I'm AWAKE, Mommy!" as soon as he starts getting tired. Then he does everything he can to keep himself awake through the entirety of the "naptime movie," eventually getting bored of being on the couch and coming to ask if he can go outside. This wouldn't be so bad except he is a total JERK for the rest of the afternoon if he doesn't take a nap. Or he'll wait until four o'clock to fall asleep...like I really want him to take a nap right before dinner/bedtime...

I miss my quiet 1-2 hour break while they surrender to their sleepiness!! What happened to naptime? Someone bring it back, PLEASE!!!!

:(

I fail.

2009-10-12T18:37:00.000-07:00

I feel like a very terrible person. I was reminded yesterday of my biggest character flaw, which is that I am very likely to not follow through on things I entirely intend on doing. It's like, when the time actually comes, my brain just pauses long enough for the moment to pass and then it's too late to fix it. Then I start feeling guilty and lock it away instead of trying to remedy the problem...yeah. It gets messy. Unfortunately, my husband and I both share this terrible trait (PLEASE don't let us pass it on to our children!!!!). We let down some friends pretty tremendously this week, and I am feeling tremendously awful about it.

About this time last year, my husband and I started attending Sabbath services with some friends of ours; we started coming at first because we felt like we wanted religion in our lives but we weren't really sure exactly what we believed. Our friends are extremely devoted to their religion and when they offered for us to join them, we thought it couldn't hurt to at least go once. We ended up going on a fairly regular basis, and although we wouldn't ascribe ourselves to their religion, we did start at least attempting to follow some of the basic rules, like eating kosher and observing the Sabbath.

Over the course of the year, we started to feel like we really belonged, like we were part of the fellowship of faith that our friends invited us in to.

Unfortunately, we are the "black sheep" of that fellowship. We forget holidays. We neglect to read the weekly portions. We basically are very nonchalant about this whole experience, whereas our friends are extremely devout and thorough about their devotion.

So, there's the background...I've kind of left a lot of it out because it goes in to the religious side of the issue more than I care to do. But what is important to know is that we've been growing in to this religious community for a whole year now and besides our friends who we attend services with, probably no one else in our lives is even aware that we've changed anything (because we've been failing so often at it).

This past week was Sukkot, a Jewish holiday that is celebrated in remembrance of the time that the children of Israel spent wandering the wilderness. The most notable part of Sukkot is that it is commanded that you spend the week dwelling in a sukkah (basically a tent, although there is a little more to it than that...the point is you are supposed to be sleeping outside all week).

We promised ourselves we were going to do this holiday like we were supposed to. We even made plans to set up our tent at our friends' house so we could celebrate at least part of the holiday with them. This was supposed to be the first holiday that we actually participated in, instead of just passively observing.

And then the kids got sick.

And then I got sick.

And suddenly, sleeping outside for an entire week in October didn't seem like such a great idea.

So, we made our excuses, told our friends we wouldn't be able to make it (which really was because we didn't want anyone else to get our illness), and we stayed home. Inside. With our pillowtop mattress and heat.

Yesterday, the last day of the holiday, the shit hit the fan, so to speak. I honestly didn't even know that yesterday was still part of the holiday, and moreover that it was a sabbath (meaning we shouldn't be cooking, cleaning, etc.)...so here I was, baking bread and mopping my floors, when our friends show up at our front door. >.<

Then, they ask "Oh, you already took your tent down?" >.<

Then, they give us a card. "This was for Sukkot, but you guys never came over..." >.<

Worst of all, after they leave and I open the card...it has money in it. $200...because they felt that we qualified to be given part of their tithe for the year.

It's hard to adequately describe exactly how traumatic this whole situation is, but I suppose it is a little like being told you've just won a contest that you never entered. Now, of course, they weren't giving us the money because we "earned" it being so good all year or anything, but still, that they would choose to give US part of their tithe is kind of a big deal. And here we were doing everything the opposite of what they believe in (some with full awareness and some without).

They are the most gracious and understanding people I have ever met, and some of the best friends that my husband and I have. We love them like we love family (and we probably like them a little better than we like most of our family). It feels pretty awful to have so blatantly let them down.

We should have been doing this for ourselves, anyway, not for our friends. But the fact that we didn't do it at all is very depressing.

I was trying to think of the best solution for this problem, how I could help them to see how bad we feel and how much we want to change. I thought at first that I would write them a thank you card and try to explain it in there.

But then it came to me---words are the opposite of the solution here. Words are what I always use to alleviate problems. Because of this bad habit I've developed throughout my life, my "word" has become pretty useless. What I need is action.

The only real way for me to solve this problem, this "character flaw," in all its manifestations, is through action. In this, actions truly will speak volumes louder than words. It is time to start making myself accountable. I know I am capable of it-I do it every day in some areas of my life (for instance, I do NOT find myself letting my children down-I follow through with them more than I have ever done before in my life).

So now I need to work on doing it 100% of the time. Part of this requires figuring out what the heck is really important to me. Then I need to prove it.

Here goes nothing.

Sickness and Doctors

2009-10-06T18:35:00.000-07:00

Well, shortly after my last post I realized that The Sickness had also attacked me...I've spent the last few days in a snotty, headache-induced coma for which there was little relief. I'd like to think this might be the worst cold I will get this season, but with all the little disease-carriers running around the house I highly doubt it.

Today, I had to force myself to get dressed and actually brush my hair so I could be presentable enough to take my younger son to the doctor for his checkup. God, I hate how smug doctors can be when you are late on bringing your child in for a checkup/booster...even though THEY are the ones that overbook themselves in to oblivion and you have to make an appointment six years before your child is even born to get them in on time...

Anyways. So I got a little hell because my son was 2 months late for his one year checkup. It could be that I'm feeling a little bad about it anyways and so I'm being oversensitive about the treatment I got... I don't know. I *did* manage to make an appointment for both of my kids for their next checkups...3 months in advance and I still couldn't get them scheduled on a day/time that was actually convenient for me. I would either have had to get them separate appointments or take a day and time that weren't really that great for me. Can't win for losin'!

I sort of hate doctors. Maybe that's why I have to be in severe amounts of pain before I will see one...

Cold Season Begins

2009-10-03T13:11:00.000-07:00

The wee ones have come down with a cold. I hate seeing them sick. I would gladly take any sickness they got for myself to spare them if I could. Poor little Jake is not only coughing and sneezing and dripping snot from his nose, but he's also cutting a molar. I feel so terrible for him.

For some reason, in the midst of this sickness, nothing but Daddy will do. It's kind of a weird thing for me to deal with, since the older child always runs to me when he gets hurt or sick. Jake won't even barely let me touch him, and I get the distinct feeling that he thinks being sick is somehow my fault. He actually ran from me this morning and clutched at his Dad's legs like I was some evil monster coming to get him. I chalk this up to the fact that I'm the one who chases him down to wipe his snotty nose.

All I want to do is snuggle him and let him fall asleep in my lap :(

I used to love rainy days...

2009-10-02T11:58:00.000-07:00

Ahh, I can still fondly remember it: sitting snuggled up on the couch with a hot cup of coffee and a good book...I used to wish for rainy days. It used to be one of my favorite things about fall. Ohhh, how the times have changed.

Now, when I see a dreary overcast sky my palms start to sweat and my heart races a little faster. I pray that it will pass with no rain. Oh, God, just please let the ground stay dry... But, no. It rains. It pours. There is now no hope left in my heart that it might just be overcast. This will be a Rainy Day. Also known as Hide-yourself-in-the-office-and-barricade-the-door Day.

I can think of all sorts of fun things to entertain children indoors. Coloring, puzzles, storytime, and when all else fails, a movie. These things usually work for a period of time, but more often than not they don't last nearly long enough for my kids. This morning, it worked for about an hour. Since then, we've had fights at 15 minute intervals, my 3-year-old has overturned every piece of furniture he can lift at least once, and the little girl I babysit has become my very own (very unnecessary) personal announcement system ("JEN! You're cooking lunch!" "JEN! Jacob is crying." "JEN! It's raining" etc.).

This rainy day is definitely not the comforting, relaxing experience that rainy days once were. In fact, if you wanted a definition for "pandemonium" you might just glance through my front window for a prime example.

Naptime can not come soon enough today. I think I might need a valium.

Things That Are Funny That Probably Shouldn't Be

2009-10-01T12:31:00.000-07:00

When my kids get hurt doing something I told them not to do (as long as they're not seriously hurt, of course)
That my 3-year-old is the perfect height to punch his dad in the nuts...now if he could only do it on cue!
The way my 1-year-old can so efficiently aggravate his big brother
How impossible my husband finds caring for 2 children at the same time (**only funny if I won't be able to witness most of it**)
When my kids run away from their grandma until she bribes them with candy...you make your bed, you gotta lie in it!
When my kids repeat "colorful" phrases they've heard from their father and embarass him (not so funny when it's me getting embarassed)
The way my kids always pick the person-who-doesn't-really-like-kids to harass
Irritating my children to the point of tears by doing to them what they do to me

It's All Too Much...

2009-09-30T13:18:00.000-07:00

My thoughts are all jumbly today. I am feeling a little anxious because it's payday on Friday and I have bills that should really have been paid LAST payday...but I'm trying to not worry about it too much. Not very much I can do about it, and we're all still alive and healthy, right?

I had a lot I wanted to write about, and of course I didn't sit down earlier and even jot any of it down, so now it's pretty much gone from my brain. I swear I've got some sort of memory disorder. I often forget what I'm saying before I'm even finished with a sentence. Or maybe it's just "mommy brain" - the extended version. Hard to say.

I trudged up the hill to the park today, and although I've been letting the older kids walk lately, I decided I didn't feel like dealing with their dawdling today so I pulled 'em in the wagon. About halfway there I remembered why I started letting the older ones walk: THEY'RE HEAVY! I was sort of glad it was cool out today because I was sweating and breathing heavy way before we got to the park. I got a nice little surprise when we got there, too--they put in some park benches. I used to have to sit on the (inevitably wet) grass if I wanted to sit at the park. And man, did I feel like sitting when we got there today!

I love the park. I'm going to be so sad when it's too cold/snowy to go there. I love autumn, but I'm really, really sad to see the summer go this year. It's been good times only being indoors after the sun goes down. Not looking forward to tromping through the snow with stacks of wood for the fire. Sigh...such is life I guess.

My husband called me this morning and asked me to spam craigslist and make flyers for his photography in a last-ditch effort to get some senior photo business. I don't mind doing it, but sometimes it drives me nuts that he just calls up and expects me to do whatever it is he decided needs done today. I've got my own schedule going on here! Just because there isn't a timeclock doesn't mean I don't have tasks I'd like to accomplish. Such is the plight of stay-at-home moms...everybody just thinks you're sitting around watching soap operas and eating bonbons all day... (for the record, I'm reading a book and drinking coffee all day. BIG difference)

Anyway. Off to the flyer-making business. I think I've proven my statement that my mind is jumbly today, because I don't even know what the heck this post was about. Next time I'll just get the little one to come in here and mash on the keyboard for a few minutes, it might be more interesting.

Time to Think

2009-09-29T12:53:00.000-07:00

I gave up sitting at the computer to try and write this. Unfortunately, pen and paper is turning out to be no less difficult. I can sit aimlessly on the porch watching the kids play in the yard, but as soon as I start doing something they're all over me like pink at a princess party. Arguments over toys and personal space abound. They're thirsty, hungry, bored, and have to pee. My hair is a handy and conveniently located rope to an attempted siege of my lap. My pen-wielding arm is a perfectly positioned ladder rung. What is up with all this sudden attention-seeking behavior? It's like they can sense as soon as my mind wanders away from trains and tiaras on to something more...adult-like. How do they do that? And when's a girl supposed to find time to think?!
Apparently, "finding time to think" is a common problem--common enough that there are businesses out there dedicated to helping you find it. Go ahead, Google it. Almost all the links I encountered were for businesses/consulting firms promising to help you find time to think...at work (HUH?! if you can't find time to think about work when you're at work, try doing it in the presence of four children under the age of 5!). Now, try searching for "stay at home moms time alone" and pretty much every result stresses the importance of finding time for yourself when you're home with kids all day. Ahh, that's better. I wholeheartedly agree. Anyway. No matter who you are or what it is you need to think about, it's apparently a fairly common human phenomenon.
In the realm of parenthood, this issue can be exceptionally challenging. I find it difficult to even make it all the way through a bathroom break without an interruption. A little creativity is often in order to make it through the week at least partially sane (I'll shoot for totally sane when the kids are a little older).
Today, I have invoked an extremely powerful (and highly looked-down-upon) trick for finding a few minutes of relative peace: TV. It's a method I try to avoid, but like all guilty pleasures, it often entices me when I'm feeling weak and desperate. I know for some letting TV "babysit" is a cardinal sin, but I find that, in moderation, it can be a sanity lifesaver. Wisely choosing what your kids watch takes away a little of the guilt, although this form of distraction is hardly the best option to find some much-needed "quiet time." Use it sparingly, but don't feel terrible if you give in to it now and again. For the record, I'd like to remind you that "The American Academy of Pediatrics (AAP) recommends that kids under 2 years old not watch any TV and that those older than 2 watch no more than 1 to 2 hours a day of quality programming"(source). Take the kids out and run 'em around the block to shake off the TV coma afterwards.
20 minutes of TV was ample time to let myself relax and focus on writing. Here are some other helpful "thinking time" aids:

-Get them involved in something.
A game, drawing/coloring, Play-Doh...something cooperative and creative that you can step aside and let them do without having to totally focus on supervision. I find stuff like this to be especially effective when I'm doing something like writing, since the kids think that I'm "drawing" and they are only too happy to do the same thing that I am. Of course, if your child is under 2, this might be more of a headache than a help. Use your best judgment.

-Get 'em OUT.
Now that I have kids of my own, I can completely understand why my mom was always ushering us out the door to play. Getting the kids out to run around is an excellent way to focus their attention on something other than having your attention. I definitely notice how much needier my kids are on days when we can't go outside. Even better than heading out the front door: bring whatever you're working on to the park. This is especially effective if there are other kids around.

-Naptime.
Naptime doesn't always pan out in my house--someone decides to take nap at a different time, wakes up early, or doesn't fall asleep at all. But on most days this is at least one hour of pure solitude!! Make the most of it. I used to try and fit as many chores as I could in to this time of day, but I've learned that it's much more wisely spent as a resting period for me, too.

-Let someone else take over.
Unless you leave the house entirely, this one is not necessarily effective. I can tell my husband he's in charge for a while, but that doesn't mean my kids will agree to leave me alone :p Working this out with Dad so that he gets them involved in an activity while you sit and have a cup of coffee can really make you feel refreshed, though. And FYI, on average moms spend more time alone with their kids than dads do so...you're doing Dad and kids a favor by encouraging them to spend some time without you (source). Don't forget about grandparents and aunts/uncles if they're nearby-- I know mine always want to take my children whether I'm interested or not. Let them take your kids for a few hours and treat yourself to uninterrupted silence!

-Take a nice long bath/shower.
Just remember to lock the door. And see above suggestion, since you obviously can't lock your kids out when you're home alone with them :D

-Use household chores to your advantage.
Sometimes if my kids see me bent at a task like dishes, they'll find something else to do and leave me to it. Tasks like this have the advantage of taking minimal brainpower to accomplish, so I can let my mind wander while I wash.

I can't say that any of these suggestions are foolproof, and a lot of their effectiveness will depend on the age and temperament of your children. But they do offer at least a chance for you to focus and spend time doing something that matters to you. It might be slightly interrupted "thinking time," but it's good to find it when and where you can.

Kids are amazing, fun, and challenging. I love spending my days with them. But I also love an occasional moment or two of peace and quiet. It's not too much to ask for. I believe it refreshes me enough to be even better at my fight-resolving, snack-making, lap-offering parenting tasks. If you have other suggestions of good ways to find a little "me time," please feel free to offer them up. I'm always interested to see how other moms make life with little ones a little less hectic.

A return, a restart

2009-09-28T14:17:00.000-07:00

I had such grand notions for this blog when I first created it. I planned out the kinds of things I was going to write about, I made layouts, and I was really excited. Then, when it came to actually starting it, as is my typical style, I quickly fizzled out. Over a year has passed, and after finally managing to remember my password, here I am again, staring at my potential. I'm ready to try this again.
I *was* going to delete my first two posts and pretend they never happened, but after re-reading them I decided I enjoyed them and they should stay. It's important in this whole re-defining myself struggle to recognize my shortcomings, right? So a big one is that I daydream about things, and sometimes even start them, but then never follow through. Here's to trying again.
My life has changed even more since the last time I wrote in this blog. Money is tighter, my jeans are (slightly) looser, and I've got one or two extra little ones running around on the weekdays. I've got a lot to uncover about myself still, and exactly how one balances being a full-time stay and home mom and a full-time, interesting, intelligent person at the same time. Can it be done? I think I've made a little headway in the last year, but there's still more to find out.
So, here's me pressing the "restart" button. Please close any programs that may be running...

At least at work there's a time clock

2008-07-21T16:33:00.000-07:00

I am having trouble accepting my new identity as a stay-at-home mom. This is very surprising to me, because I didn't even like my job before, and even though I knew it wouldn't be an easy "job," I was fairly certain I'd feel more at ease with the way I was living my life once I started staying home. Perhaps I just hyped it up too much, or maybe the learning curve is just a little steeper than I thought it would be. Even though I know better, I can't shake the feeling that I'm not doing enough every day.

I don't want to be one of those women who complains about how hard it is to stay at home all day, but then sits around watching soap operas and spending their husband's earnings. (By the way, I don't even know if those women exist, it's just a fear of mine that I will become something similar, or at least viewed as such by others). I feel like if I'm going to be at home, things should be clean and organized and under control.

Apparently my (almost) two-year-old didn't get that memo.

I started out this morning to do a few simple chores; I learned my lesson last week about big lists, so I made it much shorter today. All I wanted to do was put away the laundry. Unfortunately, because putting the laundry away involves going downstairs to the laundry room and then upstairs to the bedrooms, it became more of a production than I expected. I grabbed my basket of laundry and the new baby, then tried to wrangle the toddler up the stairs (he loves going upstairs, but of course today he just wanted to run away from me). After enlisting every appendage I had to hike up the stairwell, I spent the next 20 minutes trying to get the little one to stop crying and the big one to stop running down the hallway to the top of the stairs (every time he does it I can just see him tumbling down them, it scares me so badly). I finally decided that the only solution to stopping the baby from crying was to put him in his sling carrier...but this meant *another* trip down the stairs and back up.

My 10-minute chore ended up taking about an hour, and I still didn't fully finish it. After that, I got a little depressed about attempting chores, and now it's 4:45 and I'm not really sure what we did with the rest of our day. I know there was a lot of sitting down to breastfeed...and we did manage to make it to the grocery store.

I am just starting to wonder how other stay-at-home moms I know manage to have any hair left on their heads. Here's to hoping that time and experience will make a big difference.

The Definition of Accomplishment

2008-07-19T21:54:00.000-07:00

For much of the day today, I felt more like a hunk of granite than a human being-huge, inert, and seemingly useless. Nothing I had done by 4:00 today seemed productive or even interesting. Despite my despair at having done nothing worth mentioning all day, I found myself struggling to invent things for myself to do. I have felt utterly paralyzed all day long-tied down by my indecision and (dare I say it!) lack of creativity.

This feeling of being paralyzed has been haunting me a lot lately. I think a big part of the problem is having a lot more time on my hands now that I'm staying at home with my children. Another part of the problem is that although the children do occupy a good portion of this newfound "free time," I am still passing many hours feeling like I haven't done anything at all. There is very little that is tangible about breastfeeding a newborn every two hours, especially when the grass hasn't been mowed in two weeks and the sink is still full of dirty dishes. Sure, I can pat myself on the back at his two-month appointment for having helped him grow so well. However, in the meantime, I'm stuck watching the clock, and wondering how I could have accomplished so little even though my typical morning starts at 6 am.

By the time evening rolled around, I had spent all morning doing things I wasn't interested in doing and all afternoon lamenting the loss of my morning. I knew it was time to crush the cycle of doubt and self-pity that was making me so miserable, but I wasn't sure how to do it. The answer came in a form much simpler than I had imagined. As often happens, I was saved by the simplicity of youthful imagination.

My older son, James, was in just as terrible of a mood as I was for much of the day today. He acted out, cried when he didn't get his way, and was generally the opposite of the sweet little boy that I know and love. I imagine at least part of this was my fault, since children have an uncanny ability to sense things like tension and frustration. Therefore, as I sat on my couch this evening attempting to free myself from my stubborn, self-inflicted troubles, I began to feel terrible about James and the way his day had panned out. My new mission became to change the course of the day for both of us, to cheer us both up. The answer to my problem became obvious in this moment.

The way to solve my problem was as simple as just doing something. As easy as that sounds, it took me all day to figure it out. After I got my younger son settled down from his umpteenth diaper change of the day, however, I made a break for it-literally. I ran out my front door screaming animatedly (which of course was an excellent way to get the attention of a two-year-old). Suddenly I went from a lump on the couch to a happy lunatic being chased by a toddler through the front yard! I was a hastily hidden villain being stalked by my son, the hero! I was a puppy, earnestly barking at my beloved master James! Yes, there were moments when I felt ridiculous as I yelled and barked and crawled across my front lawn, but feeling ridiculous never felt quite so good before. My son's honest, wholehearted laughter was enough to overcome any anxities. I'm not sure what possessed me to take charge of my day in this manner, but I know that it worked, and I won't soon forget how well it worked.

I learned something extremely valuable about myself and my new position in life today. I've been treating every day like a job where I needed concrete accomplishments to feel successful. What I should be doing is enjoying the fact that I don't have to have concrete evidence of accomplishment to consider my time wisely spent. All I need is an honest giggle or a heartfelt hug to know that I've done my "job" for the day. And although the laundry and the dishes still need done on a consistent basis, I will try to remind myself that even if the only thing I do in any given day is feed my children and make them smile, I have done something productive. Some day, my children will think back on their childhood fondly, and as they wax nostalgic about their crazy (but fun!) mother, they'll hopefully find the energy and strength they need to accomplish whatever they need to do-even if it's just to get their lazy butt off the couch and stop feeling sorry for themselves.