And Now Here You Are...

It's Been A While....

2012-03-04T18:18:00.001-08:00

The day after writing this post where I talked about how I was sick of being sick and on the sidelines, my baby girl caught my cold and was completely miserable. I'm not one to believe totally in the whole "the-universe-listens-to-you-and-gives-you-what-you-ask-for" philosophy (I always kind of feel like that belief is fortunate people's way of saying that they deserve their good fortune), but, by golly, I will certainly be careful and more mindful of my thoughts and statements because not twenty-four hours after writing about wanting to get after life with my kids by my side, I found myself walking with a baby in an Ergo on my front who could not be calmed any other way while pushing a 40-pound toddler in a stroller across town to our doctor's office to find out what the heck was making my girl so cranky. I guess I need to be clearer about what I would like "getting after life with my kids" to look like next time.

Like a good daughter, Rosie made the doctor believe that I was either a liar or a crazy mother, or a crazy, lying mother, because although she was a stuffy, congested mess at home, she was all smiles and "Hi's" for our visit. She checked out perfectly well, except for the virus that I must have passed along to her. I showed up for the doctor's last appointment complaining of a baby who could not be comforted looking like a homeless mother of two well-adjusted children who had just enjoyed a 45-minute nap on my two-mile trek.

*********************

Somehow, I lost the rest of this blog entry. It was really real, really what I needed to say about the past month. And poof - it's gone.

Pat says that Bono lost a whole briefcase of songs before the band U2 became U2. Bono says, or at least Pat is saying "Bono says" to make me feel better, that U2 never would have been the band it is if he hadn't lost that briefcase full of music. Tonight, I'll believe the story.

And, I'll be back tomorrow to try and resurrect the feelings that flowed earlier tonight. Until then, here's a video of my happy baby girl.

Sick Mama

2012-02-07T19:40:00.000-08:00

I caught whatever bug my kids had and now I have no voice. When I try to speak, the sounds that surface resemble some cross between a very shy person who sucked helium and Peter Brady from The Brady Bunch (think, or sing, "When it's time to change, you've got to rearrange....").

At first, I actually welcomed the sickness. It came on a Friday with a fever and chills and there was nothing that I could do but lay on the couch. I felt as if my body were saying, "Enough of this. You need to lie down and take care of yourself already." I dutifully listened and laid low all weekend.

By Sunday, though, I felt like I was going to bounce out of myself from being trapped inside so long, which is funny to me because in my life before children, I could have won awards for how long I was able to stay horizontal. I come from a family that likes to relax. We do, too, when it's required, but we relax really well. We recline, we rest and we sleep like champions.

So it came as a kind of shock to me that once the fever passed, but the sickness lingered, that I was just sick of laying. I wanted to get up and get out. I wanted my kids to run and play with me. My life before kids just fits totally wrong now. Of course it does. I should know that it would. But I've never really had the opportunity to test it out.

When I wake up in the morning, sometimes I think of what I would do to be able to close my eyes and go back to sleep. Or, what I would give to wake up slowly and luxuriate with books and tea in a robe. I daydream about it as I build towers and watch trains zoom through my living room. But that isn't going to be my dream any longer.

I like moving now. I like doing. Laying might be fun for a half of a day, but being sidelined is decidedly no fun. I like to be in the world.

***

This girl is missing me lately.

I think our nursing relationship is coming to an end. As much as I am so ready for it, there will always be a part of me that will want to have them little forever. It's the great contradiction of motherhood: roots and wings.

She nurses only once a day now, and even that, I think, is just for closeness. She just wants to be near me. I feel the same way about her. She is just oozing personality these days, and to be around her is to suck it up and bask in her glow. I can see all of her cuteness more clearly because I have been locked away on a couch.

New trick: hand on her hip.

This picture almost makes me want to wake her up right now so that I could snuggle her. See? I haven't been around my kids very much at all lately.

These days Charlie is a beautiful mash-up of adorable childhood sweetness and grown-up wit. I have been trying to take down my birthday card that was made by Pat and the kids for weeks. It hung from the chandelier on the last day of 2011; it was time for it to come down. Every time I adjusted it even slightly, he would come flying into the room, "Please, Mom, don't take that down. It's my card to you."

As sweet as it sounds, it's February and I just wanted the card off of my chandelier. Finally, I said, "Honey, it needs to come down because my birthday is over and so I will take down the card and keep it so that I can remember."

Without missing a beat, the sweet-talking son of two lawyers said, "Your birthday is over. But the card says, 'I love you, Mom' and that is not over. So please keep it up." Aww, snap.

These kids, now, are what I want to do, what I like to do. I know that I will go back to wanting to lay down on the couch and read a book, but only if I can quickly get back up and out with them by my side.

Before you mock me for reading Rob Lowe, I suggest you read it. Besides being an amazing specimen of a man, the guy can write.

Get Out

2012-02-02T08:00:00.000-08:00

Charlie just popped his head into where I am sitting to get a good-night squeeze and kiss. As I do every night, I told him to take a good night-night and that tomorrow we would have a fun day together. I have repeated a version of this almost every night since he could communicate decently (since Rosie's age, maybe?), and still, tonight he nearly jumped out of his pajamas and lit up in a grin that filled the room, if not my soul, and said, "What is tomorrow? What kind of great day is tomorrow?!"

I quickly tried to keep his hopes in check. "Honey, nothing super big, just a fun day with Rose and me."

"A fun day [jumps up and down twice with arms in the air], a super fun day tomorrow because it's February now!"

When I stop and listen, when I take the time to look and really watch, when I immerse myself in whatever situation I am in with my kids, I learn so much. Yes, it is February! That is super exciting, right?! I mean, can't it be? Can't I make it super exciting with them? It takes oh so little, and yet, some days I just feel the drudgery of waking, laundry, cooking, vacuuming, getting on coats, buckling seat belts, etc. that I feel like I can't climb out of the routine to see the wonder that children force upon you.

My kids likely would be fine with a butcher-sized piece of paper and some kind of writing utensil. A little diversion to their routine is just enough. But, for me, their routine is sometimes what bores the heck out of my soul. Can I read "Bedtime for Frances" again? Sure, but I just don't want to. I do, of course, read it again, each time exaggerating the voices for the badgers a little more in case there is a voiceover agent just outside my window waiting to sign me.

When I start to feel bored, I know that it's time to get myself out of my house pronto.

Not just to the grocery store, or the park (though that can sometimes work), but to the city, to the lake, to somewhere that isn't on my weekly radar.

We've been doing it frequently since the new year and it has felt good.

Waiting for the El

Pat has called our days "Ferris Bueller's Days Off" because he never knows what picture he is going to get of our kids.

At the Art Institute. The car was brought for Rose, but she fell asleep on me, so he got it. He would beep the horn when he liked a piece. Needless to say, they were glad to see us leave.

At the Museum of Science and Industry. Will you look at his tiny shadow?

Always his favorite: the trains.

We played Find the Artist's Signature on the Pieces... made him want to write his own name on his artwork when we got home

These little trips, which cost us almost nothing because the museums were all free for Illinois residents (click here for a list of free days at Illinois museums), brought enough newness to make us all connect together brightly again.

Getting out makes the days that we do stay home more special.

I can stop and listen and watch and learn. I can pay attention.

First snow angel.

Because I'm not bored.

I get out with my kids at least once a day. I don't mean in the car driving somewhere while I pick something up and they stay in their car seats. I mean, get out - get out. Like, unbuckle car seats or settle everyone into their bikes/strollers/cars, walk slowly and just be.

It's my number one parenting trick when things are headed south in our house. Get out.

Museum of Science and Industry

The newness works as an elixir to my soul.

Not sure exactly why I love this picture so much. His seriousness, his tiny mitten holding the el pole, or the fact that I know he was questioning my choice of trains (I got on the wrong el and he knew it, but I was trying to act like it was all fine and I knew what I was doing). Doesn't his face show that he knows that his mom is lost?

It is February. Time to get out and enjoy it.

Happy New Year!

2012-01-15T11:55:00.000-08:00

I started writing in this space a year ago. I was stuck in the house with a preemie and a two-year-old during one of the most wintery of winters. I needed a way to get out that didn't involve leaving my home. So, while everyone else slept in our home, I collected my thoughts, typed them up with one hand while holding a nursing babe in the other, and sent them out into the world.

Rosie, also known as "Bubbles McGee" (March 2011)

From this space, I have a collection of stories and thoughts from our year. I have had an outlet for myself. I have become closer to friends from my past who now have a little window into my current life whenever they find the time to drop in and read what's here.

I like it. I like blogging. I like writing. I hope that it amounts to something bigger, but even if this site is all that this experience ever amounts to, I'm happy with it. I am happy to have all of this work in one place to remember where we were, how I felt, how little they were.

This Christmas, all I could think about was how little they are and how they won't be this way forever.

My family has laid claim to Rosie's looks, but I'm afraid this picture shows a lot of her Daddy in her. She's lucky she has a cute Daddy.

These thoughts made me both fully present and completely sentimental. I mean, how many Christmases do you get where they really believe? Like, down-to-their-toes believe? Four, five maybe? Or, will my children defy all rational thought and follow in my footsteps believing in the spirit of Santa for far too long? Nothing wrong with that, of course.

Charlie was so into it all - the stories he has heard and the ones he made up to fill in the gaps. I think that it was as exciting for us as it was for him. He made us believe in it all - the magic, the love, the excitement - again.

Our living room became Nerd Central Station when Pat got a little too into it.

After a year that was filled with more trials than triumphs, we needed these Christmas feelings and this new year more than we ever have.

El ride into the city

This year, I will continue on in this little corner of the internet recording bits and pieces from our lives. I will do it to have these memories in the years to come, but more, I will write to have these memories to look back on just as they become memories. Days with young ones alternate between extremely hectic and supremely boring so that the moments - moments that are precious and special - can escape your mind almost as soon as they enter it.

What I come home to when I've only been gone an hour or two.

I need to have a place to go when I am feeling worn out and run down to remember that they will only be this little once. Parts of this world will only be this new to them for a short amount of time; certain experiences will shape who they will become. I want to make as certain as I can that they have many, many more positive experiences to fill their souls than negative ones.

Charlie's first time at the dentist. If I could always remember these eyes when he is driving me crazy... he is still such a little guy.

May your new year be filled with as much happiness as Charlie experienced after he learned to put on his socks (see pictures below). And may all of our trials this year be as simple as that.

Happy New Year!

Christmas Eve 2011

2011-12-24T19:54:00.000-08:00

This week started out rough. We had a family Christmas party roll into a cold virus thatwalloped our kids. I sadly calledCharlie’s preschool to tell them that he wouldn’t make his Christmassing-a-long or the next day’s Christmas party where grandparents and parentscould join. Somewhere betweenstage mom, martyr and grinch, I moped around our house with two sick kids goingover and over how bummed out I was that I couldn’t see him in thatsing-a-long. It caught me offguard, actually; I wanted to go to that thing so bad. Some mothers have aspa day with their daughters or a professional baseball game with their sons ontheir lists of things that they can’t wait to do; apparently, I had “PreschoolChristmas Sing-A-Long.”

For weeks, he had bopped around our house with arms andvoice expressing the words to our favorite carols. He sang and got me all excited and, then, promptly gotpretty darn sick. And Rose goteven sicker. I got to see how he“would hold the Baby Jesus” as he walked through the grocery store holding abox of crackers and the NoseFrida Snotsucker – not exactly what I was hopingfor.

I nursed the girl I was hoping to wean a little bit whilesitting on the floor in the bathroom with a hot shower – a shower that I wouldhave given a smelly armpit to be in – running to fill the room with steam sothat she could breathe. I was upone whole entire night; to be clear, that is not an exaggeration – my eyesliterally never closed for over 24 hours. I was tired, covered in snot and feeling pretty sorry formyself. I alternately used the Snotsucker, which totally works, and gagged because it’s just plain gross. Did I mention I felt sorry for myself?

But, slowly, the snots have begun to clear. I am not listening to a cacophony ofcoughs through monitors with one eye open. My kids are getting better and I can see the light.

And, tonight, it’s Christmas Eve. I cooked all day, thinking of the generations of womenbefore me who have made dinners for special occasions. First, I think of all of the work thathas had to be done so that we could all sit at the table and eat together. And second, I wonder if all of thosewomen had the same feeling as I did today: totally happy to be in the kitchenalone while my kids are entertained by people who love them. It didn’t feel like work because myhouse was full.

My brother played with my baby girl’s toys with her. My sister helped and played like acooler version of myself for my kids. My dad and mom watched and played and lounged. My mom continued to disown me and lay bloodlines to myhusband (quote from tonight: “Well, what could be better than perfect?” whenreferring to Pat. And when I told Pat that she said that, he quipped, "If you ever divorce me, your mom will be my witness.") Pat and I were able to clean up whileeveryone continued to entertain our kids.

It was so easy. It was nice in the grandest sense of that plain word. I wished I could have gone back to thatsorry, old, snot-covered me from earlier in the week and let her know that Christmas wasgoing to come. If I would justbelieve.

Rosie and My Christmas Elf

2011-12-20T20:02:00.000-08:00

Because I can sometimes be overly dramatic and because I amalways reminded of wherever I was the year before, the week after her birthdaycontinued to be about her. Icelebrated her all week because even though her birthday was one day, it tookus one whole week to get out of that NICU. That’s one whole week of machines beeping and time spent two floors away from my newborn baby, so you can bet I celebrated the weekI had with her this year.

Old, pumped milk when she was just "Baby Girl."

Her birth date and her departure date from the NICU are both etched into my memory – the latter date being the one where I felt I could exhale and celebrate the new life that had joined us.

For a year, I have wanted to thank the nurses who helped usthrough that time. Finally, I gotcookies, wrote a thank-you note and drove the 10 minutes to the hospital threetimes before I could actually bring my PTSD-affected self in through the doorsand up to the NICU.

It was eerie. And then it wasn’t. BecauseRose was in Pat’s arms talking it up and smiling at the pictures of babies onthe walls. Except when we got tothe NICU – where she had lived for the first week of her life without me by herside 24/7 – she squirmed and leapt out of Pat’s arms and into my own. Yes, I am overly dramatic, but hey,that’s what happened. My baby girlknows when she wants out of a situation; she knew six weeks before any of usever thought she would be making her entrance into this world.

And now, I feel like I ran the gauntlet of her first year; Ican wrap it up and put it away on the shelf to take down only when I want tobore her.

Because this Christmas is already shaping up to be a wholelot more relaxed and happy.

What? You don't see relaxed and happy on her face?

Charlie is so into it this year. I like Christmas, but I can kind of become blasé about itall. But this year? This year I am so into it because Ihave a Christmas elf that is with me singing carols in my ear, talking aboutSanta and his reindeer and generally spreading Christmas cheer to everyone thathe meets. It would make Scroogesick.

It fills me with delight. He is so excited by the magic of it all – the man, thereindeer, the chimney, the belief that if you believe, then it’s true. It’s enough for me to think that themerry old man is seriously going to fill our home with toys made by elves whenI close my eyes on Christmas Eve night.

Again, maybe not exactly "relaxed and happy."

We have driven and walked around looking at Christmaslights. For our home, I have always liked small,white lights with green pine branches and a red ribbon. Most of ourneighborhood is decorated similarly. But Charlie loves CHRISTMAS –capitalized and loud. He likesbig, colored bulbs that blink and run. He likes blown-up Santas and plastic Frostys. He wants to see what I might consider a little much.

We were driving by an antique store that had a bunch ofplastic, light-up decorations out front. I whipped the car around so that we could get out and look. I took my three-year-old boy aroundasking him if he wanted to pick something a little too much out for ouryard. Surprisingly, he wanted none of it, but hedemanded to go inside where he picked out the most retro of the light-up treesthere was. I tried to steer himaway and move him on to something less, well, gaudy… and expensive. He wouldn’t have it. He wanted this tree like I have neverseen him want something.

I can bring him to a toy store filled with things he wouldenjoy and he will happily walk out with nothing in his hand. He doesn’t really care about things…until he does. Then, when he does,there is no redirecting, talking him out of or trying to make him forget. The kid knows what he wants when hewants it. And, he will come homeand enjoy that thing forever. It’sthe total opposite of what I am used to with children: demanding a toy thatthey get home and promptly discard for something else.

Obviously, we got the tree. Every morning, he comes downstairs and asks Pat why it's not aglow. Pat explains that we turn it off late at night so the lights don't burn out, but that we can turn them on again now. And, every day, Charlie says, "Please do it now because it is just so beau-ti-ful and color-ly and I like them on all of the time. Isn't it beau-ti-ful?"

He loves winter – Christmas, the cold, the lights, the early and darknights, the coziness – that it just makes me get over my hang-ups about winterand love it right along with him. It's been a wonderfully mild winter with so little snow. I have loved it, but my kid wants snow.

He wants to go sledding and he is dying to go skiing this year. This will have to do until there's something on the slopes.

Practicing with his "skis"

After the purchase of the retro Christmas tree, like anydecent mom, I took him out to buy big-bulbed, colored lights. We strung them around our Charlie BrownChristmas tree. And I like them. I like them because they are loud andproud. We still have our whitecandles in the windows and our wreaths hung on our chimney and door, but Iwouldn’t be surprised if an evergreen of ours gets all done up with somethingthat I would have considered gaudy before. Gaudy is the new festive around here. Just ask my elf of a son.

Rosie's First Birthday

2011-12-07T19:11:00.001-08:00

-From December 5, 2011-

I woke up at 3:01 AM on the dot this morning. That is precisely the minute on thisday last year that I awoke, stood up and started walking to the bathroom. I can hardly remember who I was then,but I remember parts of the next few days down to the most intricate ofdetails. And yet, still, there arewhole chunks of time that I have completely lost from my memory.

I had fallen asleep on the couch that night after spendingthe day recovering from the stomach bug that had ravaged our house. I was better, but still verytired. I rolled over with my hugepregnant belly, got up from the couch and felt the feeling that everynon-pregnant girl knows – warm, liquid was coming out of me. I thought maybe that my water hadbroken, but then I saw that it was blood. And there was lots of it. In the fog of the early morning hours, my brain tried to compute what itwas that was happening. Adrenalinestarted flowing as I realized that this shouldn’t be happening because I wasmost definitely very pregnant.

Pat still remembers being awoken by me that morning. I don’t remember waking him. He says that I was composed andfirm. He says that I kept calmlyexplaining to him what was happening. That he had to get up and that we were headed to the hospital. I don’t even remember. I remember showering off, thinking thatI cleaned up the bathroom (only to learn later that the people who came towatch Charlie re-cleaned it because they thought it looked like a crime scene)and waiting by the back door willing my belly to move with a baby’s kick.

At a certain point in my pregnancy with all of the bleedingI had experienced and all of the roller coaster-like doctors’ visits, I hadmeditated and prayed to the soul within me. One night, in the bedroom where my one-year-old daughter nowsleeps, I talked out loud to her. I felt a little crazy – hell, I was a little crazy – while I told herthat I could deal with it if she had to leave. That it would break my heart, but I would carry on. I asked her then, at about 18 weekspregnant, to leave now if she knew she was going to have to go. I told her that I didn’t think I couldmake it through losing her if she left later on. After that night, I felt a strong sense that she would staywith me. That whatever it took toget her here might be rough, but that she would pull through regardless.

But when I saw the blood everywhere, I thought that myprayer that had felt answered was only a wish that hadn’t come true. I knew that I had to hurry to thehospital, but I was so afraid of what we would learn.

The magnitude of that situation last year sits on me thismorning more than usual. And yet,it feels almost silly because upstairs right now is my baby girl asleep in hercrib. She smiles, laughs, jokes,eats, claps, talks, crawls and almost-walks. I wish I could travel back in time and hug my pregnant self as Ifrantically showered off the blood to get into the car to go to the hospital. I would whisper, “It’s all going to beo.k.”

But, of course, that pregnant mama wouldn’t have totallybelieved me. I knew that placentalabruptions could equal disaster for all, even though I didn’t yet know thatthat was what was happening to me. I knew that gushing blood six weeks before my due date wasn’t what wewanted to see. I could see theconcern etched in all of the nurses’, midwives’ and doctors’ faces as theytried to piece together what might be happening and what the best way toproceed was. I could see whentheir concern changed to a controlled panic and then almost to pity when theyworried that things could be bad for my baby girl.

I remember that the bleeding stopped by the time I reachedthe hospital and my explanation of how much blood there had been didn’t alarmthem too much. But then, about anhour later, I felt the familiar feeling of blood; I sat up. It poured out. And the nurse became worried. The high-risk doctor and my own doctorhad just left my room. Both cameback quickly now. Within minutes,we were signing release forms and Pat was donning scrubs.

I remember the look of worry in the eyes of my midwife – awoman who has seen more births than most – as she sat with me while the doctorprepped. I remember her eyesdarting to the floor of the operating room when my doctor asked how long thisamount of blood had been coming out of me. I remember that the anesthesiologist was kind to me as Iasked question after question about what was happening next.

I heard a woman counting gauze pads and scalpels andrealized they were keeping track so that nothing would be forgotten inside ofme (clearly, I have watched way too many "ER" episodes to be conscious enough to have that thought while on an operating table in an emergency). There were so many people inwhat felt like a tiny room and there was so much scurrying and hurrying. And then Pat appeared. I asked my doctor how it wasgoing. She said, “It’s going wellbecause you have no fat to cut through.” I’ll remember that line until the day I die, or at least every time Istep on a scale or decide not to go for a walk. And I'll take that second doughnut, thank you very much.

I remember just wanting to hear a cry. It took long; surgery takes long. Finally, I heard a muffled cry, but itquickly went silent as my baby girl coughed up the blood that she had beenswimming in inside of me.

Pat went over to her then. He left my side for hers, just the way I would have askedhim to had I been aware enough of what to ask for. Later, he told me that he said good-bye to her then. There was a lot of blood and not a lotof clear breaths being taken by her and so he touched her amidst the doctors working, rubbed her and toldher that it was ok if she needed to go now. No one thought he was overreacting, which is to say thatthese moments were extremely precarious. Many of them are a blur; some will never be.

I know now when that took place because I remember himcoming back to me with wet eyes that hid something that I didn’t want toknow. He said she was ok, buteverything about him belied the truth. Like a child who pretends to believe in Santa long after she knows thetruth, I, too, asked nothing further about my girl.

I understood later that these moments were when she was inthe most peril, when things could have gone very wrong and this whole storywouldn’t have ended with the facts that she now says “Ho, ho, ho” when you askwhat Santa says or “Owl” when she spots a picture of any owl-like bird within aten-foot radius.

Learning to share the task of turning the page... not sure who is teaching whom.

***

All of these memories flooded back in throughout the daytoday. The chaplain coming intoour room, the social worker – all of the people that you don’t want to see onthe day your daughter is born. With each of those frightening memories, though, there are beautifulones. The NICU nurse who put warmblankets on my shoulders when I went up to nurse Rose. The people who brought us food while wewere in the hospital. The peoplewho took care of Charlie so that we could focus on Rose.

Rosie, for as long as I am alive, you will hear the story ofyour birth with all of its knotty details every year on this day. Some years, you will listen intently;other years, you will roll your eyes. Oh, god, how I wished last year at this time that you would roll youreyes in annoyance at me someday. Yes, you will get sick of the story until, if you decide and are luckyenough, to have a child of your own. Then you will, I think, understand on some level the rollercoaster offear, despair, anxiety, triumph, elation and, finally – oh thankfully, we madeit to finally – happiness that we were on with you as we welcomed you into thisworld.

Your birthday feels like a birthday for me, too, for I amcertain that I was born again on that day. I became a mother on that day of the most primal varietyfighting for you, learning from you, listening and waiting for every breath.

Week One of Rose's Life

Week 52 of Rose's Life

I learned that some times really bad situations, amazingly,can still turn out something really good. I learned to believe. Ilearned to find the good. Ilearned, as I looked around that NICU, that you can always find someone who has it worse than you in some way,and, though that shouldn’t be your barometer for how you are feeling, if youneed a kick in the ass, head in to any hospital anywhere where a child who isloved is sick. Look at thoseparents. If you want to see theface of grief, of disaster, look into the eyes of those parents who would doanything to have their child come out alive and well. Then, go back out in the world and live.

I learned that having people who really want to help canmake life so much easier to live. I learned, too, what it means to really help someone in need: not to dothe thing that you want to do for them, but to do the thing that they needyou to do for them. I learned thatsome people that you think will be good at this will suck at it. And, others that you would never haveasked before for anything will come to your rescue when you least expect it.

I learned that your Dada is the best Dada in the whole worldfor you because he, too, accepted being born again on that day. He became a part of the agonizing groupof fathers who have had to say good-bye to their babies. He did it alone, without me, because Iwas too out of it to know that that is where we stood. He left my side for yours because heknew that you needed him more. Hebecame one of the miraculous few to join that group, and then – luckily, thankfully– have his membership relegated to the “Almost” roster. He had to say good-bye to you, but wasable to say hello again. Don’tthink he doesn’t think about that every day when you wake at dawn. It makes early wake-ups feel downrightbeautiful… sometimes.

He, like I, will never forget the lessons learned from thecouple of days that we spent in the land of “this might not work out allright.” We would be complete foolsif we missed, or more likely, forgot, all of the love and hope and faith andconnection that take some people a lifetime to understand. You put us on the fast track tograsping and focusing on the things that really matter in life. We might have wished for an easier wayfor these realizations, but we know that there are harder ways that we were lucky enough to avoid.

My smile looks like it's about to bounce off my face, but you know what? I was that happy to be there with her.

Today, you raced around the house on all fours pullingyourself up to standing anywhere that was somewhat stable whether it was awall, an oven door or your brother’s head. You walked while I held your fingers. You played with toys, you laughed, youtalked. You said “Mama” and “HiDada” and “Arlie” and all of the other words that ramble off of your tongueregularly. I should marvel at allof this everyday, but I have already forgotten that none of this was a given onthis night a year ago. You make meforget because you just jumped into our world and moved on.

I’m following after you, sweetheart. Here I come.

Bye Bye Betty

2011-11-30T17:30:00.001-08:00

Boo Hoo Betty has left the building. Yes, I still want to nurture parts of me that don't have anything to do with being a mom, but whatever about all of that for today.

Today, I was a mom and the sun was shining and my kids were happy and I was happy and all was right with the world.

The person who cleans our home came today. Besides leaving our house so much better than the way in which she found it this morning, she told me that I look like the lawyer sister on Parenthood. And, you know, I don't think there's even a slight resemblance, but I'll take it because Erika Christensen is so much better than what I look like when our cleaning woman arrives.

My mom and I went to dinner last night at this place. No kids, so much food and a glass of sangria; it was perfect. The food is so, so good. It lived up to all of the reviews I had read. So different and so good. I have no pictures because any picture would have just been gross with us guzzling sangria and eating way too much Yucatecan food. Even if Xni-Pec weren't close, I'd make the extra effort to get there.

And this little nugget?

Puh-lease.

That's "So big!"

She is out of control in cuteness and destruction. She tears up whatever her brother is constructing and yells if he even inches towards her to stop it. She is everything I prayed that she would be almost a year ago.

This little bean is about to turn one.

And she'll show you with her adorable little finger if you just ask.

She gets jokes, she makes jokes and she is a huge part of our family now... A force to be reckoned with. She has likes and dislikes and she will let you know about each. She rocks, even though her sleep does not.

Seriously, if you would just sleep when I put you in your bed for a nap, this wouldn't have to happen. Do you know how much I would pay for someone to lay me down in my bed in the middle of the day?

We have Christmas activities a go-go this weekend. And Charlie is excited for them all. He gets the excitement that comes from holidays now, and Thanksgiving for him was a blast. Of course, why wouldn't it be? It was literally all about him. We all just watched him do what he does. He had so many adults watching him and talking to him; it was as if the Buddha himself had graced us with his presence. Ahhh, to be the first grandchild on one side of the family is to eliminate years of therapy, I am sure.

He still is on a "thankful" kick, as in asking me ten times a day for what I am thankful. Of all the things he asks a million times a day, this question never gets old. Shouldn't we all be on "a thankful kick?" It makes me stop and think when I am backing into a parking space, when I am walking into the grocery store, when I am changing a little girl's diaper.

I have to respond to the question for myself, and then he asks Rose, which is my time to talk like Rose and tell what she is thankful for.

Sometimes, though, I just say to him, "I am thankful that you asked me that because I was feeling blah and now I am feeling great." Maybe he is the Buddha after all....

I am thankful for a ton of things.

Balance

2011-11-28T18:45:00.000-08:00

I want to excitedly tell you about the best new thing to do with your kids or how much I just love being able to watch my kids grow and develop each and every day. I could do that, but it wouldn’t be entirely truthful today. I do absolutely love trying new things with my kids and watching them grow is sometimes more miraculous to me than the fact that I created each and every bone that is within them when they were within me. But those kinds of things aren’t what’s in me today.

Today I want to be more than a mother. Most days, deep in my heart, I feel extremely lucky to be able to stay at home with my kids for these years of their littlehood. I feel that there is no better person than I to help them, teach them, listen to them – and I mean, really listen to them, love them, nurture them, trust them, and honor them. Most days, I do all of these things decently; some days, I do them superbly, and other days, I just keep trying really hard.

Even on the days that I can say that I only tried my best, I know that I am doing good enough by them if only because my love for them is never withheld or conditional and I can see in the way they function that they know this to be true. I don’t feel like I am failing them because I really try for them, for their big souls in their little bodies to feel safe and listened to and respected. I can see in them when they feel that those desires are met. But, some days – and lately, a lot of days – I feel like all of this good for them comes at the expense of me.

I can hardly write that because it feels so selfish, because I have so internalized the notion that my life since having kids should be for them. I actually want it that way, on the one hand. On the other hand, I want to live my life, you know? Like I want to learn what I am really good at and what I really like and other things that I don’t even know that I would like to know about myself.

I have felt so stuck lately. Pat’s job is weird and all over the place and all of our possibilities and options leave me feeling all shaky. In a way, though, I think this shaky ground is just the sort of thing I need at this stage in my life – this time period where a mother’s life can be nearly consumed with the needs of two small children, where talking about poop, sleep and food intake counts as fascinating conversation. Maybe the shakes will help me see where I can firmly plant my own two feet for myself.

I want to write a book. Even when I don’t post here, I write almost every day. I have the desire and the words come easily to me. But there is a great big voice of doubt that reins those dreams in, that tells me that it cannot be done, that no one would want to read it, that I wouldn’t want to reveal that much of my life. I keep writing to silence that voice; it stops for a while only to come back louder later.

This is the life I hoped to have when I was working at my law firm. I hoped to be able to stay home with the kids I couldn’t even imagine yet. I wished to be living in a town like mine where other mothers were home with me and where there were kid things to do everywhere. It is now my life. And it is wonderful. But is it enough for me? Can there be room for this life along with some pieces that fulfill me to my core?

My girl is waking up now. My writing time is over. I absolutely love that she needs me, that her crying will cease the second I open her door and in its place will come a smile so big the room cannot contain it. It will bring me to my knees in love and joy; it always does – no matter the time of day. I love that so much and I want to keep writing here at the very same time.

Stifled Into The Kitchen

2011-11-26T12:22:00.000-08:00

For weeks, I have been trying to make this video montage on my computer of Charlie going to preschool. I get ideas for making things while I am in the shower – some of them turn out to be brilliant concepts, others not so much. This one, I think, was a cool idea; I had the whole concept in my head before my shampoo was rinsed out of my hair. When I sat at my computer to get started, I learned that my ideas had surpassed the capabilities of my eight-year-old laptop. My iMovie is so old that I cannot even update the program anymore, or any of the programs on my Mac for that matter.

I breathed and moved on, figuring I could google my way around the problems I was experiencing. That didn’t work. And I just got so super frustrated that I wanted to cry. So I did that. That didn’t really work either.

So I borrowed a friend’s computer only to learn that my Flip video is so old that her Mac’s iMovie doesn’t recognize my videos unless I buy a converter thingy. If this makes me sound tech-y and I’ve lost you, I apologize because I am not at all savvy with these things really. I just have an idea and I want to see it get made. When I get stuck, I get so mad about it that I totally understand why van Gogh cut off his ear. I feel stifled.

I write because I always have a pen and paper. I don’t need special equipment for it or help figuring out how to get what is in my mind out into the world. Words just flow and I have all of the skills and utensils necessary to express myself. This same concept probably is the reason I like to walk – I don’t need a studio with a mirror or a certain instructor or a certain racquet. I just put on my shoes and out the door I go. It’s free and gives me freedom.

After the whole computer/movie rigmarole, I brought my pouty self into the kitchen to cook and bake away my stifled creativity. There I have stayed for more than a week.

Cream of Tomato Soup - two cans whole peeled tomatoes added to a sauteed onion with a little roux of flour and butter. Then add cream. And blend so your three-year-olds don't get all goofy about the texture (he loved everything when he was little, but he's gotten pickier since turning three for sure).

Wild Mushroom Risotto from this guy's cookbook (and cooking it counts as a workout for how much stirring you have to do)

Root Vegetable Curry - a version of this girl's recipe

I whisked and stirred and made myself feel happy and creative again. I became pleasant enough that people wanted to join me.

Making biscuit clumps

These were soooooo good!

My buddy stayed around to help with the lentil soup, too.

This lentil soup and biscuit meal went so far and we ALL loved it. Even the littlest amongst us.

I know that so many moms are really good about letting their kids help in the kitchen. I have not been so good about that. The kitchen is my place to go and create without having to help someone else. Most of the time, I like to cook, which is amazing because I could not even cut a tomato within an hour's time before I got married. I'm not kidding, either. Necessity truly is the mother of invention because we would have starved (and kind of did when I was practicing law at a big firm and still unaware of how to turn on the stove) had I not been so hungry for good, solid food. I learned to cook from scratch. And now here I am...

Potato latkes that would make my old Jewish boyfriends' mothers weep.

I let Charlie help and he rocked the kitchen while his mommy taught him. It was fun.

All of the cooking worked… for awhile, until I came back here to try that movie idea again. And it, of course, didn’t work out because my computer didn’t magically become new. So I laced up my shoes and stomped my way around the neighborhood. I came back here to the virtual pen and paper that most always works without any assistance, extra funds or extra materials.

Oh, and to this sweet little thing that will lighten your load and make you feel sunshine even on the greyest of days.

How was there this much green only a few weeks ago?

Early Mornings

2011-11-07T06:28:00.000-08:00

It is 6:45 in the morning and I have been up for two hours already. Everyone in my home is awake and loud; you would never know that in some homes right around the corner from me people are still sleeping. Sleep was so long ago. Sleep is a world away.

I have already gone for a 45-minute walk around town with my baby girl. I have talked with my 3-year-old about how graham crackers get made, how squirrels are born and what I would do if a tsunami came into our house. I have gotten open-mouthed wet and juicy kisses from a girl who didn’t get the memo about Daylight Savings Time. Who were the jerks that made that up anyways? Definitely men, that’s for sure. Men without children and wives to tell them that that was a stupid idea.

I watched the night turn into day as I pushed my wide-awake girl through our town. She babbled at each squirrel, each leaf, each dog being walked by its owner. I knew which houses had young children living in them by the amount of lights on in the home at that ungodly hour. As the morning broke, I peered through lit-up windows to see people in their robes with cups of coffee and the paper, nibbling on toast. I just cannot imagine a home life that runs at that pace, where robes can be lounged in, toast can be nibbled on and coffee sipped. Most days, that just doesn’t seem to be the pace at which my kids operate.

Their energy is alight from the moment their eyes open. I believe their eyes don’t actually open before their mouths do. Their feet hit the ground running, or knees hit the ground crawling, and there is nothing slow about it. They move; they jump. They’re just so alive, even when it's so early.

My kids are still getting over colds that have had me wipe more snot than I ever felt prepared to do. Sleep has been hard to come by this week as Rose has been uncomfortable in the night. I alternate feeling badly for her, wishing to have the snot vaporize itself from her airways, with feeling, at 3 in the morning, vengeful towards every person who could have possibly been the culprit for this sickness. Lady in the grocery store who couldn’t keep her dirty hands to herself – was it you? Preschool mom that sent her kid to school sick – was it you?

It’s how I get through the nights of heavy breathing. I know it’s all a part of growing up, but when you are tired, none of that matters.

Our shower has been on so much over the past week, but I am not any cleaner because of it. I stand in the steamy bathroom with Rose and Charlie drawing pictures on the steamy mirror while letting them cough and blow and clear out their lungs.

Any remnants of summer are gone. It is only fall weather every day now – summer’s defeat is shown in the colors of the leaves, the dark early evenings and the yucky colds that keep my kids up in the night. But, fall is beautiful - the bounty of food we have, the leaves, the cozy sweatshirts.

With the change of seasons has come a new obsession for my boy: Mister Roger’s Neighborhood. It’s a welcome change from train horns and The Wizard of Oz. He’s serenading me now with a box of graham crackers in his hand because Mister Rogers took him on a tour of a graham cracker factory…

It’s a beautiful day in this neighborhood.

A beautiful day for a neighbor.

Would you be mine?

Could you be mine?

It’s a neighborly day in this beauty wood,

A neighborly day for a beauty.

Our neighbors are beautiful because even though their kids are grown enough to stay groggy past 7 o'clock in the morning, they invite my rambunctious three-year-old to bounce on their trampoline in the wee hours of the morning while they sip their coffee in their robes while nibbling toast.

Two Kids

2011-10-26T07:29:00.000-07:00

Sometimes loving and living with a three-year-old is a lot like loving and living with an abusive lover. One minute we are frolicking through life hand-in-hand with the wind blowing our hair, eyes and mouths smiling as we sing some made-up song together, and the next minute he trips on something – or nothing at all – and I get dagger eyes looking up at me for having not prevented the fall from occurring. The thing is: that same wonderful beginning scenario could happen, and even the fall could follow, but on that day he might look up sweetly and truly hurt wanting a hug and some mommy love to make it all better. But I just never know. So often, I feel like I am walking on eggshells around a three-year-old. It's hilarious (right now, as I write about it) and extremely maddening (in the moment).

Just when I think that I've had enough – that I really am going to have to start laying down the law, whatever that means - he says or does something that melts my heart and erases all of the previous wayward behavior. We start from scratch again because, you know, he didn’t mean to hit me, proverbially speaking…. He loves me, but I make him do bad things.

To live with a three-year-old is to be slightly abused as they come up and into knowing themselves. I get glimmers of hope and love with slaps of crazy interspersed.

Yesterday, we spent a full thirty minutes pretending to get married. Again and again, we exchanged my ring and kissed. I’m pretty sure that will lead to some intense therapy session later on in life, but it was pure bliss spending thirty minutes laying in his bed with our wedding witness, Rose, as she crawled around yelping what I’m pretty sure were “Mazel Tovs!”

She is so funny right now – like hilarious slapstick-comedy funny – that we are often just howling at what she is doing. Usually, he is right along side us laughing, but I have caught flickers of jealousy as she has perfected her routine and our laughter comes more frequently.

The minute I put her in her high chair, the placemats go on her head. Smiling and giggling as she gets in – ready for her first round – she grabs at the placemat bending it to form a bonnet on her head. She howls – we all do – and she moves on, dropping the placemat on the floor and moving on to Joke Number Two. She covers her eyes with her hands, we say, “Where is Rosie?” and she pops out with the biggest smile you’ve ever seen on a face so little. We roar and she continues the show knowing that she has the crowd in her pocket now.

Those are our meal times. Funny, but reminiscent of some asylum somewhere I am sure.

He wants in on the attention, but, like one of the not-as-famous-as-Alec Baldwin brothers, he’s just going about it in all of the wrong ways. Crazy and goofy behavior that is so not really him. Oh, and it’s hard because I am so often so tired that taking a step back and really seeing what he is really feeling (maybe left out) instead of what he is putting out there (definitely bordering on insane) is difficult.

But, I get there. We get pockets of alone time where we talk and talk and play. And I learn to hear him through the cacophony of other voices that come out of him.

Love doesn’t divide; it only multiplies.

Harebrained Idea(s)

2011-10-15T14:54:00.000-07:00

Yesterday, the monotony of the week had taken its toll; I was ready for adventure. Pat was headed downtown for a meeting and I asked if we could drive him. I never say, "Poor Pat" - I never need to because my mother always does (she is the exact opposite of the typical definition of a mother-in-law with him in that I am pretty sure the blood line she shares with me has been obliterated by her adoration of my husband), but I will say "Poor Pat" just this once because I saw his eyes as he cancelled out the vision of a quiet ride to himself into the city and back again and replaced it with what actually happened: two kids talking and singing loudly in the back seat while he intermittently replied to emails and I drove.

I needed to see something new. Actually, just as I sat down to write this, I started to go through my phone to see what pictures I took of our adventure yesterday. As I scanned through, I noticed a theme: I could trace my weeks through the pictures. The week starts with pictures of the kids inside and outside, finding fun any which way.

Then, more things like this appear.

Finally, pictures from a new location show up.

End of Week 1:
Charlie on a hike in the woods

End of Week 2:
At a farm - this place is 10 minutes from our house!

End of Week 3:
At the lake

By the end of the week, I just cannot stand to be around my wonderful, little town anymore. I have to get out.

Yesterday, we drove Pat downtown and then headed to Hyde Park and the University of Chicago to visit my mom at work. I love seeing different.

One of the things I really miss from my life before having young kids is being able to just go. When I get this longing for adventure, I still go, but it's so flipping slow. And if I rush it? Well, then the feeling of adventure just turns into a feeling of defeat and anger at how things turn out because I never win when I rush them. It is one of the great truths of parenthood: You will always lose if you rush them.

So we amble along where I would otherwise like to move more quickly. I do less but I see more with them at my side.

Not really interested in the Business School, but definitely interested in his reflection.

I kissed Pat good-bye when we dropped him off at his fancy restaurant. With our packed lunches in the car, I drove away and yelled to him: "I might live to regret this, but at least I'm living!"

Just as he shut the door after kissing Rosie on the head, I was pretty sure that the "live to regret this" part would be all that I remembered once I got home because Rose cried from North Michigan Avenue to Hyde Park because her daddy didn't take her out of the car with him (and maybe she knew that our lunch wasn't going to be as special as his).

But, once we made it there, and had lunch in the car while the three of us sat in the front seat outside of Rockfeller Chapel (we couldn't make a picnic outside because my kids were hungry... you eat wherever when your kids are hungry), I felt like I was living. I also felt a little crazy, but definitely alive and in the moment... Guess those are the bonus feelings to being crazy.

We walked around and met my mom. Charlie played at a new park.

And then I pretended that they would take a late afternoon nap on the car ride home.

Pat finished up working and took a cab so that he could drive home with us - a move I am sure that he regretted as we sat in traffic with two kids who didn't feel the need to nap. Each of us, I believe, silently thought of how much better it would be to be in the coffin that is a Yakima rack on top of the car rather than riding in the looney bin that our children create in the car. But we said nothing to each other.

Well, I spoke.

I said, "Thanks, this was fun for me."

Barf

2011-10-10T07:26:00.000-07:00

With two kids three and under, I am sure you think you know where this post is going with a title like that. But, my kids are not puking. Everyone is all right around this house, except for an annoying fall cold that is hacking its way through my kids' lungs.

My kids are fine, but I haven't written in so long that I feel like I just have to sit here and throw up all of this stuff that I have in my head and on little notes around the house reminding me what I wanted to write about a week ago when I could only find the time to scratch a note to myself to remember the thought while a baby squirmed on my hip and a kid yelled from the bathroom that he needed to be wiped.

So....

The squirming baby. She's on the move - crawling and pulling up on stairs and getting into everything her brother holds dear. It is hilarious to watch: she spots the item that she knows is his favorite for the day and she darts for it. He watches her gaze and draws an imaginary line to see what she is headed for and then he stops whatever it is that he was doing and runs to capture the object before she can get there. She regroups and starts again. His blood pressure stays elevated until she is down for a nap. I cannot imagine how you could ever really teach an only child to share. Like to really share all day long and with every single thing. But, I can imagine how relaxing it would be not to have to referee the battles that have already begun.

*****

Pat was out of town for work, and I rallied, as I typically do, to be the mother/father that my kids need. And then, when he returned, my rallying cry turned into a whiney moan as I crumbled into a ball on the couch knowing that someone else could respond if the kids awoke in the night. I am all strength and motivation while he is away and then I melt upon his return. I hate when he has to travel, but there are parts that aren't so bad. I like the change of pace, the ability to see how I can do it all when I have to - kids still get fed, baths get drawn, laundry gets washed.

But it's lonely. With two kids, a relief parent is a really nice thing to expect at dinner time. But, more than that, when they go to bed, no one really wants to hear about the nuances of your kids other than the father of those kids... Ok, and maybe my mother.

The first night alone in bed is exciting with all the space and the ability to lay diagonally in the bed. No talking about anything, I let my mind race on its own course. But, by Night Two, I'm ready to share again. I'm a little worn out and willing to move to my side of the bed if it meant that he would be home again. He is, after all, my first buddy before we made the two little ones who are with us now.

*****

"Today, I swapped vacuuming for laying on the couch in the spot that he made for me. There, I closed my eyes while he traced my face with his pointer finger - over my eyebrows, down the slope of my cheek, up and over my chin again and again as if he were the master of his own roller coaster."

See? Not even sure when I wrote that. But now, I remember the moment. My little buddy, Charlie P.

*****

Her little muppet mouth of gums and lips has broken with teeth and words. She's got Dada, Mama, No and ... Woody. She loves his Toy Story Woody doll. And I love the way she says his name, "Whoodee."

As a second child, "No" had to be in her list of first words. How could it not with toys being ripped out of her grasp regularly? When he takes something that she really wants, that she's not going to let go of easily, she goes back to her German ancestors for support and yells, "Nein, nein, nein, nein, nein." "No, no, no, no, no."

His reaction to her growing personality is one that I have experienced in other areas of my life: his face reads - is this how it's going to be? She's not going to go back to the quiet, sleeping, stationary baby, is she?

No, sweetheart, she's not.

*****

I have so many pictures to add, but Mr. Rogers is over and the natives are getting restless.

We are off to enjoy this fall day that feels more like summer somewhere where no other mother gives us a glaring look because my kids are coughing like they have the plague.

Size 2

2011-09-20T19:23:00.000-07:00

I run up and down our stairs at a good clip multiple times a day - up for socks, down with laundry, up for a toy that he cannot find, down with diapers that she needs. I add weights to that routine at least 50% of the time: up with Rosie to rock her to sleep, down in a Spiderman-like fashion avoiding the creaky stair spots so that she doesn't awaken.

I eat not when my cues tell me I am hungry, but when I realize that I have morphed into a crazy mom because I am starving. It is 11:00 in the morning and I have not had breakfast yet. I have been up since at least 7 AM and I have fed another human being twice without any nourishment for myself. I gobble a breakfast over the sink. Or, I sit down to eat civilly, only to be asked by the beggars that are my children for bites of my food. I share. Of course, I share; I am a mother.

I walk to pick Charlie up from preschool where he tells me to "run so fast that the wind blows my hair" for the walk home. I oblige as best as I can, panting for breath and puffing out responses to his questions in between strides. Sometimes, I ride him home in the Burley attached to my bike; I pull the forty-plus pounds of kids like I am competing in the Strongest Woman in the World competition. But, alas, I am not.

I am a mom.
Trying to stay fit.
Having to stay fit just to partake in my normal life.

Why I am not a Size 2 I will never understand.

Charlie and I walked to the library the other night. He conned me into going without bringing the stroller. He was superb with his persuasion, "Mom, I am three now. Look at my fingers: one, two, three. I don't need a stroller."

We made it there easily. It was great to walk side by side, turning to look at the same things at the same time without fingers directing eyes. But that picture above was taken on the walk home. I walked at least five blocks with a bag of books and a not one, not two, but three-year-old on my back who provided no assistance as you can see by the fact that he is looking up at the sky. He didn't hug my neck and support himself. I used my core, my quads and my triceps to lug the bag of bones that my body produced all the way home.

And I came home the same size as I have always been.

Nursing Toes

2011-09-10T08:22:00.000-07:00

When I nurse

her feet swirl and wiggle,

back and forth, up and down,

like a conductor's arms

setting the tempo for her suck.

Her toes spread and grip,

slide and hold,

like a pianist's fingers grabbing for keys

to find the right note

as she swallows, sucks, inhales and

swallows again.

We are our own symphony.

The call and echo of grunts

ehhhhs,

ahhhhs,

mmms.

Together we communicate clearly

without words

only her feet and toes,

and her only eye that shows.

People ask incredulously,

"You're still nursing her

at 9 months?"

"She's never had formula?"

I brush it off with,

"It's what I know how to do."

"It's easier for me."

But what I really want to say is,

Have you seen these toes?

Have you seen the way they twirl

in comfort, in trust, in delight

at my arms around her,

at my finger in her grip,

at my eyes locked onto

her single exposed eye

as she fills her tiny belly?

When I am in the ho hum of the daily grind,

I sometimes wonder what I will miss of these days.

I keep wondering and wondering

as a whiney someone

asks me to hold him

while I nurse his sister.

And then,

it hits me.

I will miss this.

I will miss the feet and the toes

and the strong build of the little boy that sits

all up in our business

as she and I

conduct the music that is her food.

The restful time - quiet and dark - that is her nightcap.

The peace that comes from watching these toes.

This, I will miss.

Harvest

2011-09-04T07:03:00.000-07:00

Our CSA has been delivering the goods.

This tomato pie recipe is perfect. And I use her pie dough recipe, too. To her recipe, I add a few more tomatoes so that it's not so crusty and I add basil and whatever else my little window boxes have growing for me (e.g. parsley, garlic chives, oregano) to add some greens. It's delicious - tastes kind of like a version of deep dish pizza - and Charlie will eat it. And, I love saying, "I'm making tomato pie" (in my southern drawl).

We have been cooking - and eating - so well lately that I know that my skinny jeans that already are too tight would be even tighter if I cared enough to attempt to put them on. But I don't care enough because it's still summer in my world and we are hitting up the pool and cooking with fresh produce and laying out on blankets in our backyard with sprinklers going nearby. I will not let summer leave without sucking every last ounce out of her.

I know that the days where I can make this with all fresh, just picked produce are coming to a close.

Super Yummy Chilled Avocado-Cucumber Soup (FYI - Charlie thinks it's too spicy, so probably not a great one for young kids)

1 English Cuke (you can't get away with using a regular cuke; it tastes bad)
1 Avocado
A huge bunch of cilantro (like 1/4 cup or more)
A jalapeno de-seeded
1 scallion (white and light green parts)
1 cup of plain yogurt (and don't buy the low-fat kind; that's just gross - I would use plain coconut milk yogurt if you are trying to watch fat intake)
1 cup of water
Some lemon juice (maybe like more than a TBSP and some zest if you are using a real lemon)
salt and peppa (more salt than pepper)

Chop it all up. Put it all in a blender and voila. It's a chilled soup, but I eat it at room temperature because I don't like really cold things and because I am always too hungry to wait. Make it with quesadillas to dip because dipping is so good.

As Charlie has been asking our guests lately, "Are you a dipper? Because I am a dipper because I like to dip things, you know. I like to dip crackers and butter in soup and I like to dip my pancakes in syrup and so I am a dipper. Are you?" Even if you are not, you will feel peer-pressured by him into becoming one.

We are off for an adventure today. Happy Labor Day and Happy It's Still Summer Weekend!

Middle Age

2011-08-30T06:21:00.001-07:00

I don't think that we are technically in that period of our lives quite yet, but things are shifting and I can feel it. Maybe it has something to do with having two kids instead of one or having a kid enter preschool or celebrating a five-year wedding anniversary. Or, maybe it just is the feeling you get with the passage of time.

And, I know, if you have a kid entering third grade and you are celebrating your tenth year of being married, my dates and milestones might feel like small potatoes. But, the fact is: I feel it. I feel less like two young, married kids with a little boy toddling around and more like a family with an ethos (hopefully, positive) and a way of being. Like, do you remember when you were little and you entered someone's home and their home had a smell that was neither bad nor good, but just different from your own family's smell? Like, I bet we have a family smell now.

I know that although I still feel like the same person I was right after college, I'm not. And, though I pretend that someone could mistake me for the nanny to my children, that hasn't happened since Charlie was very little. I am a mom in all of that role's glory and out-of-date style. I actually dislike spending money on myself - when the heck did that happen?

I get the irony of rocking out to Lady Gaga in my Honda Odyssey with my two kid-filled car seats in the back. We do dinner date nights where we mostly talk about our kids and where, instead of getting all dolled up before we head out, we are quickly whipping off the shirt with baby spit-up and mud hand prints and grabbing for whatever we can find that is suitable for a night out. And, by suitable I mean clean and not from 1999.

I laugh and gab when I go out for drinks with our Girls-in-Town Night Out and talk about the last Bachelor Pad episode. But, as I look around, I see that we are moms. Like, even if we didn't have kids, we would be classified by that noun solely because of our age. I remember in college when I baby-sat and would see moms meeting for breakfast at Egg Harbor. I wasn't sure that they had kids, but that was the category into which I classified them. Certainly, there were a few with charm bracelets with their kids' names that were dead giveaways. But, the rest got clumped together regardless of whether their tummy skin was a little stretched out. If it wasn't and they could still rock a bikini, then I just referred to them as really cute and young moms, not a mom-mom.

I feel the shift and I embrace it for all of its goodness and try to fight all of its blahness. I mean, after all, I am blogging, and more often than not, it's about my kids. A mommy blogger? Hello, Middle Age of the 21st Century-kind. They are my life, of course... until they go out and make their own.

The shift of time comes in waves; as we head into a family party all dressed up, each with a kid in our arms, we are a family. But, on the day we randomly decide to head into the city and go stand-up paddleboarding with our kids strapped to us and a poorly-packed Patagonia diaper bag slapped over our shoulders, we are a family of two big kids in love and two little kids who are our loves. In and out. Shift and change. Cool mom and grocery shopping in my pajamas mom.

I went off the high-dive this weekend. Something I hadn't done in years and that I swore to myself I would do whenever summer came and I wasn't pregnant. I found myself, finally, in that space and decided I had to do it. It was exhilaratingly fun, scary even and, I am sure, hilarious to anyone who watched me inch my way out onto the bouncing board. I hadn't seen the view from up there "in ages". Oh, "in ages", I tell you.

Glen Lake, Michigan

2011-08-18T08:13:00.000-07:00

I wrote different posts in my head for the whole seven hours it took us to get back home (we added an hour onto our return trip thanks to Pat's "shortcut").

The gist of all of those imaginary posts was this: We had a great time. Or, wait, maybe... Why the hell did it take us this long to get together? Or, just, I love my best friend.

Since having kids, we have talked about meeting up at her lake house for awhile and, truthfully, I think if I would have known what I was missing, I would have dropped whatever it was that made it that I couldn't go and I would have just gone.

I was so excited getting ready to go - to see her with her kids, to have a real amount of time together, to get her to see my kids, to be with Pat and my kids and her husband and their kids all together.

It lived up to my excitement. Our kids played. We talked. We relaxed. We ate. We laughed. I felt like we were in college again only this time our lack of sleep had nothing to do with gossiping until the wee hours of the morning while eating breadsticks and everything to do with our little kids running around before the lake awoke.

This girl is the reason why I believe in friendship. When I am around her, I cannot believe that we aren't sisters because it is so easy. Like, I didn't once have the feeling of "I think it's time we leave now because we are annoying them."

And believe me, as cute as this kid looks, that moody sky reflects his behavior on this trip.

My bright and smiley little boy came out infrequently and, in his stead, was a curmudgeonly, though still cute, little boy who needed to sleep more. He had to share regularly with these adorable little girls and it was so hard for him... and hard for me to watch. I know that he will learn, that preschool is right around the corner, but when you see your kid struggle with kindness, a little part of you just wants to hide in embarrassment.

But I didn't need to. Because I have a friend that is a real friend. That can laugh when your kid hands a plain-colored block to her kid to play with instead of the train that her kid wants. And, she can offer love to him even though he could hardly give a smile back to her until the very last day.

I was a little sad when I awoke at home after the trip. I loved waking up there and knowing we had the day to talk and wander with our kids, to catch up, to laugh, to see how each other parents these little people. I wanted her little girls for her before they were ever certain just as she wanted these little people for me before they were even in existence. To share history, to talk effortlessly, to love another's kids as if they were somehow blood-related to me -- that is real friendship.

Know when you have a friend, but then there is something about that friend that is just a little different from you, so you are friends, but, like, a little piece is different and, maybe, weird to you or odd or not able to be fully understood? Like, you are totally good friends, but she hardly eats and works out all of the time, and you totally eat and try to work out, so you are friends, but there is a bit of a gap. Or, you love your friend, but then she marries a guy that you really just can't believe she chose. And so, you are still good friends, but you just can't believe that she chose that guy, so there is a disconnect.

I have none of those feelings with her. I love her; I understand her; I love the family she has created. There is no disconnect with her, no gap to fill.

If you would have told me the second night of my first year in college that my kids were going to be friends with the tall and cute blonde's kids, I would have gotten nerdily excited.

The best picture we could get with them.

She is the kind of friend that will take this blog post as the thank-you note that I should have written and given to her before I left.

It doesn't matter where you are when you are with people that you love to be around. But, when you are in a beautiful place with people you love, then, I'm sorry, but it matters. It ups the fun and peace and beauty of the moments.

Every parent has things tucked inside of us that we wish to do with our kids - nap with a baby, take our kid to see Santa for the first time, etc. I do believe Pat fulfilled one of those secret dreams with Charlie last week - fishing with his boy.

***

I have a waking baby and a boy who is, for the first time, sick of looking at pictures of himself, so I have to wrap up.

Reconnect with a friend. In person. For more than an hour.

Our Boy (Age 3 Years) and Our Girl (Age 8 Months)

2011-08-07T18:43:00.000-07:00

Last week, Charlie awoke at 3 o'clock in the morning from a bad dream. Pat went to comfort him and laid with him for awhile, almost falling asleep in his bed until he asked Pat to leave because he felt better.

Pat came down and relayed to me the bad dream that had awakened Charlie. I kind of heard Pat talking, but didn't really listen and quickly fell back asleep. The next morning at breakfast, Pat asked Charlie to tell me about the bad dream.

"I was in a preschool in Japan and a huge thundercloud was coming inside the preschool. And the kids were not safe in there. But I was safe because I was outside with you, Mom. And it was swirling and dark and windy. It was extremely dangerous."

I looked at Pat. Pat said, "Yep, creepy. That's why I tried to wake you. The description kind of freaked me out."

I don't know what we have with this kid, but he sure is something else. Smart, funny and wildly curious and imaginative - probably similar to most 3-year-olds, but since I'm his mother, I think he is so uniquely amazing.

His intensity and his intuition seem high to me for his age. He just wants to learn all day. Like, the other day, he was talking about something being "very, very, very, very" and I explained to him the word "extremely." And that was that. Its usage is regular and contextually accurate in our house now. After seeing that, I did it with a few more words - "gradually" being one. He was eating eggplant soup (click here for the recipe) so slowly that I was encouraging him to finish up so that we could get up to bed for a nap. "Mom, I am eating it gradually" was his reply.

It can make it hard to give Rose the time that she deserves to get words in because he is constantly talking. Sometimes, it's just about random things, but then sometimes he will start pontificating on something - Japanese tsunamis, let's say, or how that cloud looks a lot like a wedding dress (it did) - and I'm kind of at a loss for words; she and I both.

We got time alone with her this weekend while he played with more people who love him.

Of course, we missed him; it's amazing the presence he has in our home. It is understood completely only when he is gone.

But, man, is she fun. I hereby declare 8 months my favorite baby stage - the babbling, the sleeping (finally, she's back on the wagon with sleep), the personality, the waving hello to random people in the grocery store and, behold, the fat rolls.

No, I just can't get enough. Those toes? Come on.... It's too much. She's overflowing on the cuteness scale.

I could tell he felt left out at her photo shoot when I came upon this:

They are always watching, aren't they?

I've got a thing for her, similar to and different from that I have for him. Because she is the second child - the girl following the boy. A girl after my own heart, and birth order. To have alone time with her, to see her discover without her older brother leading the way, is precious. It makes me alert again to her growing wonder with the world.

I stopped in the grocery aisle to show her the peaches that had caught her eye. You never really get to do that when you are moving through with two kids and a shopping list that needs to be completed before nap time. Her eyes were full moons in wonder; we had time to really look at what captured her. It kind of made me feel bad that I don't do that more. I'm going to try. But I know she's doing all right, my little fighter.

And our little man is back with us. The energy in our house has lit up the atmosphere once again what with the talking and movement. It's good to have him back.

Even with all of the deep talk that's been coming out of his mouth lately, he has not lost his enjoyment of his reflection. Like a woman checking her hair in the glass reflection of a door before entering a store, he makes do with what he has before him.

Off to bed now; here's to a good week!

Not So Good Day(s)

2011-07-29T18:50:00.000-07:00

I don't usually write on a night that comes from a day like today. I am tired, drained and cranky.

The day was not really bad, just long and boring without any bits of alone time. I don't know what to do on nights like tonight - what makes you feel better? A glass of wine? A walk and a talk? A hard work-out? A funny movie? All of those options feel not enough to me tonight.

I know when I feel like this that I am experiencing a severe lack of sleep. Rosie has just gotten her first teeth and all of their pushing and breaking through is causing me to feel pushed and broken a bit too.

***
Well, I wrote that bit last night. That was as far as I got before getting sick of listening to my own self, so I stopped and moved on. The thing is: today wasn't much better.

Rosie is killing us in the sleep department. If I ever worried about her milestones and development, none of that worry exists anymore. That worry has been thrown out the window with the arrival of her separation anxiety (hello, 6-8 months) and teeth, and her flips, rolls and scoots about the crib. While all of those things are good to see, each of those developments creates a challenge to her easily falling asleep.

My mood is so directly correlated with the amount of sleep my kids are netting (and, thus, the amount of sleep that I am getting) that I am sure some psychiatrist would classify this mood-kid sleep correlation as some disorder. But you know what I would say to that psychiatrist? I would say for him (because it would surely be a 'him') to try and make a plan for the day that continually gets tossed out the window, or to be so exhausted that you decide to lay down for a few minutes when you have finally got this on your monitors

only to be awoken just the second that your breathing becomes smooth and rhythmic. I would ask him to go to bed at night and just as he lies down in bed, I would make the loudest thunder clap followed by the brightest lightening accompanied by itty bitty cries of "what the heck is going on out there?" to jar him from his beginning of relaxation. I doubt at the end of this charade that he would have the brain power to categorize my mood-kid sleep correlation into any sort of disorder.

Besides the fact that Rosie has decided sleeping is for the birds, life is fine, I'll admit.

We're all good and it's the weekend and I'm about to curl up with a tiny glass of wine and watch Bridesmaids with Pat. What's the big deal? It's just sleep. I kid. It's a huge deal.

But I have hope. I made my mom run out to the library tonight and get this Sleep Lady book that a girlfriend said helped her. Charlie was a different kid and I don't think the books and methods we used for him will work with Rose. Because why would god give exhausted parents children with the same issues so as to make it easy for the exhausted parents to figure out what to do? Because god is funny, or nature is ruthless.

And, if I didn't already love how my mom loves my kids, I would now for the mere fact that with the book I asked for, she brought The No-Cry Sleep Solution because no grandma that's worth anything wants their babies to cry.

I'm off to read and watch a funny movie and, hopefully - or, hopelessly - to sleep.

If only there were a third seat...

Good Day

2011-07-25T19:24:00.000-07:00

I know it's been a good day when it's 9 o'clock at night and I am still in my swimsuit top.

I know it's been a good weekend when we share a family nap.

I know I am tired when my pictures don't really go with what I have in my mind to write because I am too lazy to walk the twenty steps into the other room to get my iPhone and dump the pictures onto this blog.

Our weekend was laid-back: errands, cooking, playing and laying. All easy things that required no extra exertion on our parts. Except we moved our bed into our new room and we went to a carnival.

I do have a picture of that carnival, but, again, I am in my swimsuit top and there is no more swimming to be had for the day so that should let you know how likely you are to see that picture here. But, I will tell you that he loved seeing everything at the carnival, though he didn't give a lick about going on any of the rides. Had we been there longer, I think he would have ventured on a few. I could see him working up his courage (we've been talking a lot about courage lately because of the Lion in The Wizard of Oz), but Pat and I were pretty much done with the place by the time he was getting ready. And because he is the eldest of our children, he didn't really understand that you usually go to the carnival to go on the rides. It's all new and fine to him whatever way we do it. How wonderfully easy it all still is.

The littlest nugget has started eating food that doesn't come from me. Little Beans definitely has her Mama's appetite.

I needed a hair cut so badly and I finally was able to squeeze in an appointment this past weekend. You know it's time when your 7-month-old shows you it's time.

It's late and I am tired and, tomorrow, this will be what we awaken to at some ungodly hour. The energy, the smiles, the excitement for the day - oh my.

Weekend Recap

2011-07-19T06:48:00.000-07:00

I learned a couple of things this weekend:

First, we've been calling Rosie 'tiny dancer' because of the way she sits perched on our sides, riding along with us with arms outstretched like a little dancer. Needless to say, Pat and I have been serenading her Elton John style as she hangs off of us twirling through the house, making coffee and boiling water for pasta noodles. What I learned? When Pat was little, he thought the words to Elton John's hit were "Hold me closer, Tony Danza." And, once that gets stuck in your head, you will never sing it correctly again.

Second, the whole lot of us are bad in transition. I talked about how Charlie hasn't always been good at moving on from one thing to another; it doesn't matter what the transition is - house to outside, outside to getting in the car - it takes some cajoling most times. Turns out we shouldn't be so astonished at that trait of his... neither of us would win the award for moving on to the next thing without dragging our feet a little.

We have gone back and forth with how to accommodate our growing family in our tiny house. I am not exaggerating when I say that our house is itty bitty; my mom compares it to living on a boat. Every piece of furniture we buy has to have a dual purpose of being able to store things, and we are the best donors to goodwill stores because we cannot hoard things or we would be consumed within days. I have no idea what the impact of not having a basement filled with shit will have on our kids, but I can say that, for now, my kid could care less about things, preferring a stick, which he imagines into a myriad other toys, to any other actual plastic toy. He prefers playing in the backyard to hanging around our house (once we can get him out the door) because there are few places to hang. Accentuate the positive, eliminate the negative.

So, we've thought of, and quickly eliminated, many options for room arrangements in our home since Rose has been born. We were considering these options when she decided to arrive early and we just are getting back to discussing it all now. What a baby will do to you....

The options are many: 1. We own a lot across town that we have considered building on, but now we are rethinking that approach because we like our little part of town a lot (can you say provincial?); 2. We have been considering a move that would bring us out of state for some of the year - namely, the winter, which would make our tiny house o.k. for the warmer months when we use it as a stopping hut to shower, eat and sleep before we head back outdoors again; or, 3. We've thought of buying a lake house and staying in this little home here. And, really, the list goes on.

Regardless of those options, Pat and I need a place to sleep together without a baby in the room, so we are rearranging our rooms. We were doing it in stages because that is the way you have to do everything with kids because, once you have kids, you rarely have a huge chunk of time to get everything done in one fell swoop, so you do what you can, when you can.

We moved in fits and spurts and my crew was out of whack with the change - Charlie was whiney, Pat was weird, I was less weird (I'll take liberties, thank you) and Rose, well, Rose just hung like a tiny dancer (or Tony Danza), but didn't give us much consecutive sleep at night to recover.

So the weekend was kind of blah. By Sunday after naps, I was seeing the week ahead and I was annoyed that I hadn't had something fun planned for the weekend that was. I felt kind of bummed out like I wasted time, even though I knew that the move had to be done for the future. But it's the summer, I whined to myself because no one had any room in their head for more whining, and it's still the weekend and we are all weird.

I called Snowie, who is like an angel to me, but mostly now, to my kids. She had offered to come over earlier but I was hemming and hawing in my weirdo state; now, I was clear - would you come and watch the little one while she sleeps? We have movies and books and a couch that is in a room that is different than the television's room, but we have food... please? And she came and stayed with Rose as she slept for the biggest part of her sleeping while we took off for the city with our little whiney dude. Wouldn't you know, he wasn't so whiney once he got the opportunity to be with us alone. Amazing how that happens, and that I can forget that so often that is the solution to many a three-year-old's issues.

Our drive was supposed to be just a drive to look at El trains, but we got downtown and he saw the Bean and that was that. Onwards and upwards, Macduff!

We found parking easily for $5 in a meter. Pat and I laughed that even when we had a condo in the city, it took us about the same amount of time and hassle to get anywhere as it did coming from the suburbs.

We walked around like tourists and headed home when the sun was setting behind the big buildings.

I didn't bring a camera, just my iPhone, so the pictures are of poor quality, but I beat back my blah weekend with a quick Sunday night date with our three-year old. We were all better off for it.

Charlie has this new thing where he just wants to watch himself do what he normally does. Our iPad affords him this option while offering me time to myself.

Mad face.

Happy face.

When you see a genetic trait played out in front of you double helixing all up in your face, it makes you pause. I remembered the days when I played with a mirror in my upstairs hallway imagining an extra floor to our home and talking to myself in the mirror. And I remember my mom telling me that she played in the mirror endlessly. Does everybody play in mirrors?

This meal took two hours to eat because he watched, and laughed, while he chewed, drank and swallowed.

The Bean, then, was a hit for other reasons for him. A giant mirror it was.

Too bad we can't fit that in our tiny house. Better than a basement, I'd say.

Shots

2011-07-15T17:08:00.000-07:00

When Charlie was a newbie newborn, the setting of the sun elicited nervous feelings of dread for the night to come. I worried about what the night would hold: would he present with some unknown issue at 2 AM when I had no one to call to ask for guidance? Like, one night at 2 weeks old, he just decided not to nurse anymore. He would not let my nipple anywhere near his mouth. Between frantic Google searches and me going primal cave woman, I got him to nurse again, but only after some serious anxiety about what to do and how to feed a baby who refuses to nurse when you have no bottles or formula in the house because you were trying to be committed to nursing.

Those feelings that came when the sun went down disappeared once he started to sleep through the night, and they never really came back when she was a newborn. She was a different kid, more even-keeled, and I had my sea-legs.

But tonight, my psyche is remembering the first couple of weeks after having Charlie. Today, Rosie got her first shots.

We delayed her shot schedule, though she will get almost all of them in due time. Because she was a preemie, she got her first shots today at 7 months.

It is one of the only parts of motherhood that I seriously despise. The lack of sleep, the getting pooped on and puked on - of course, none of that is a cakewalk, but all of it lets you earn your stripes as a mother.

The vaccinations, though, are rough. I definitely hate them - fear them - more than my kids. Last night, I went to bed worried and I awoke this morning feeling good, but then remembered that today was the day. I didn't eat breakfast; I hugged her tighter. Yes, seriously, I act like it's that big of a deal. It's exhausting.

Our new pediatrician is a dream - knowledgeable, scientific and cautious. I appreciate her insight and I trust her skills, but there is something about watching your kid get voluntarily poked that just goes against every mothering instinct in your body.

And, she looked into my eyes when they poked her. They had two nurses so that they could do it all at once and I was whispering in her ear all crazy-like, and she was looking at me like, "What's with all the closeness, Mom?" And, then they did it and she looked at me, "You let them do that to me?!"

She was fine within minutes. I, on the other hand, pitted out my shirt and probably could have used a blood pressure reading.

She came home fine. But this afternoon was a bit rough. From what I can observe, I think her legs are sore. And she only wants me, which makes me somehow feel like a good mom, but also makes me nervous that it might be a long night ahead.

The sun is setting now. The nervous anxiety for the night to come has crept its way back into my system. But I trust myself more now. I got this badge of motherhood, didn't I?

I did, but that badge was with a different little kid, a little baby boy. This little baby girl is all her own and I will earn my stripes with her just the same as I did with him.

Go With the Flow

2011-07-13T15:28:00.000-07:00

What I love about getting away is that it shakes us out of our routines. With a change of scenery comes a change of spirit. We wake up with different ideas about what to do with our day. We have motivation. We have energy.

Our vacation either coincided with a mental and emotional growth spurt for our kids or our kids came away from our trip feeling renewed and rejuvenated much the same way we, as adults, feel after a trip.

Before-vacation Charlie was slow to move. Getting out the door with kids can be difficult in general - always one more diaper to change, bathroom trip to make, toy to grab, kleenex to pocket, phone call to answer. Getting out the door with pre-vacation Charlie added to the difficulty; many days, he just didn't want to go anywhere. I could propose a trip to the train store with an ice cream and a new train toy and he would need time to want to go. Like a college kid who can't get his act together to get down to the cafeteria before it closes, he would mope through the house asking me not to rush him and explaining that he just didn't want to go right now. I would try and be respectful of his desires, but good god, I wondered, what is the right way to handle this situation? Of course, there were times when his wishes were not followed. We headed out the door when he would have preferred to stay inside with his books, all scattered out on the floor with him in the middle of their opened pages. There were times, too, when the bribery worked or when I just decided that the whining about going would dissipate soon enough.

But, it was frustrating because always when we got to the new place, he would enjoy it. But the getting there, sweet lord, was awful. The transition was bad. The stopping one thing to start another was an extremely difficult time; it could get ugly. Do you know how many transitions happen in a three-year-old's life? Yep, it made for interesting days.

And, the thing was that it was almost always reading that he didn't want to leave; I can relate. But there I was, bribing a two-and-a-half-year old to ditch his books for an outing with me. We call him the professor because he will quietly read his books for hours (yes, that is plural). We love that he does this. We don't encourage it because it has never needed encouragement, but we appreciate that he needs that time. Still, there are times when we, as adults, just want to go or just have to go.

But that was the pre-vacation Charlie. Post-vacation Charlie? Kid's got his rain boots on at the back door before I have proposed an outing. He has the outing itinerary planned, he has the necessary objects for his outing and he is ready to roll. I say, "Hold on, Char, I just have to talk to Daddy to see if that's a good thing for us to do right now."

"Mom, it is a good thing to do and I am just going to get started getting ready and I will meet you by the back door."

I don't let my kid totally control my life, but I have found that rolling with his flow isn't a bad thing. Sometimes he knows the flow that we should take and sometimes we are all better off for following his lead. So, since being back, he has had a sleep-over that he woke up planning, a trip to town that he brought his breakfast for because he just had to get going and some late-night swims that I couldn't have gotten him out the door for if I had done everything in my power.

His routine was shifted; his energy is refocused. This new boy is ready for adventure.

And his sister is, too. She, in her own way, came home with a new voice. She is loud, she can be demanding and she is funny. Her sweet baby self is still there, but more now I get to see who she is - who she might be - and she has a personality that is all her own.

I just wonder how long she will go with his flow. This should get interesting.

My sister-in-law made this for me. No idea how she did it.

Three Years

2011-07-10T07:11:00.000-07:00

I have a three year old.

My dear baby boy. What all of the moms of older kids say is true - it goes so fast, though they forget to mention how slow some days with them as babies can be. But now, now that we are out of middle of the night wakings and explosive poops, now the time is flying. He is literally growing before my eyes. Each night that I say good night to him, I know that I have said good night to a piece of his baby-ness, for tomorrow he will not ask what "gradually" means when I use it in a sentence. He will not ask why the moon is not a full circle tonight. Tomorrow, he will explain to me that the moon is full only once a month and that in the middle of the month, it is a half moon. He will explain the word "half" using my words - "first you have a whole peanut butter and jelly, and then, when you cut it, you get two halves."

A more developed boy emerges each morning after his slumber. Stretching, growing, learning - he, as well as me.

My first child forces me to think, to reflect, to feel, to try harder. I grow each day he does. I learn each day he learns. I rejoice in his accomplishments knowing that they are his alone; he is separate from me, though it feels like our hearts beat in unison.

Probably the fifth time "Happy Birthday" was sung; hence, the half eaten cake.

He is funny. More importantly, he has a sense of humor. He wants in on the joke and he wants to be the one to make a joke. When he was 19 months old, we were at Old Navy. I was looking for some summer tee shirts to bring for him on vacation. I made my purchase after being checked out by the cashier lady, whose name tag read "Barb", but who also introduced herself after giving me my receipt and showing me how I could go online to say that she did a good job. As I walked out the door, the alarm started sounding. Normally, I wouldn't care about the alarm knowing that I had paid, but I knew that if I had one of those plastic things still attached to one of the pieces of clothing, it needed to come off before I left the store.

Barb wasn't looking my way even though I kept sounding the alarm. I was carrying a 19-month old and I wasn't about to walk all the way back with the bags and a baby in my arms. So, I did the most mommiest of things: I yelled across the store, "Barb, I'm beeping over here. Can you help me out?" The reason moms do mom things is out of convenience and exhaustion. Like, probably mom jeans started out just cheap and comfy and the only thing a mom could find, so she just started wearing them without realizing that the zipper was so damn long and the style nothing but unflattering (I am not, however, in any way condoning the wearing of mom jeans).

My 19-month old started laughing and saying "Barb, I'm beeping" as clear as any 14-year old would have taunted me. And, he wasn't laughing with me; he was laughing at me. Like, I started laughing with him and he kept repeating to himself "Barb, I'm beeping" while laughing and looking away from me; clearly, his first moment of "my mom is such a dork and I cannot believe the things she does."

I laughed in astonishment all the way home. I knew then that I was in for quite a ride with this kid if I was getting ridiculed at the tender age of 19 months. Yikes.

But, man, does it make for great companionship. He gets jokes, nuances and irony. That is fun with a three year old.

Yesterday, he found a stuffed dog while we were over at family's house. He walked around with that thing - holding it, loving it - saying, "This is my dog, Toto. He's a good little guy." He said "my dog" like he was born and bred in New York, heavy on the vowels.

We somehow ended up outside with him in only Buzz Lightyear undies, a white undershirt, Pirate rain boots and the dog. He wanted to take the dog for a walk and I couldn't resist. So what that he was barely dressed.

We just walked to the corner. I texted Pat his words because they were just so sweet:

"This is my dog [gives the dog kisses]. Oh, he is just so good and he is my friend. This is a special walk with you mom. You are a nice mom and this dog is my nice dog. Well, I got this dog because I'm married. And I asked god, 'God, could I have a really nice dog?'

"And god put him in my belly and gave him to me. And I woke up and he was in my bed. Oh, I love you guys."

His imagination is in full bloom. When he is happy, there is no drug that could compete. And when a three year old gets peeved, no disordered person could compare. The juxtaposition of his temperaments keeps me thinking and growing. He keeps me on my toes.

For the first time, he stayed up to watch fireworks. All day we talked about it - would it be too loud, what would they look like, would he be scared. He has heard their booms, but never seen their lights. We were up at the lake and on the Fourth, we went over to my cousins' house on the lake where we could see fireworks up and down the beach.

You get moments like this as a parent - moments where you feel like you are doing it right, like you are making a happy human out of the environment you are creating. He was in his pajamas with just socks on outside on the deck. He carried Woody with him for the show. And he watched and clapped when he saw a firework that he particularly liked. I feel like he will remember that moment too, but likely it will just be for Pat and me to hold onto.

My sister came in to town for the Fourth. I love the Fourth of July like a lot of people talk about loving Christmas. For me, the Fourth is summer in all its glory. Heat, sun, even a moody storm every now and then coupled with family, food, beaches and pools and no hint of guilt for it not being big enough or stress from not having the right gift. It's just chill.

We went up to the shores of Lake Michigan, where we have gone since I was a little girl. Since Pat and I have had kids, we have rented our own house so that our kids can sleep and we get a little more privacy. This year, though, we didn't think we were going to be able to go. It just wasn't working out and so we kind of just gave up. But, on July 1st, a house came available for the next day and the following week. We packed up in a night - with no electricity because of a bad storm, by the way - and left the next day. Best last minute decision we've made in a long time.

I love being there. Every one should have a place that is close enough to their home that they can get there in a day and that brings them peace and joy just in being there. We get that here.

My sister and my mom stayed with us until Meg had to fly back to Los Angeles. Usually, when she leaves, it's easy. But this time, we had such a good and relaxing time that I didn't want her to go. Neither did he.

Getting away, however you can do it, is so essential. Your family dynamics change. People change. I change. I relax. I have more fun. I see everyone in a different light.

We are in the heart of summer. Every day, there seems to be a list of fun things to do - pick up produce at the farm, swim, cook, garden, beach, the park, ice cream. This is my heaven.

And The Winner Is...

2011-07-06T18:33:00.000-07:00

Nobody!

I'm taking the lack of comments as a sign that my crafty skills are less than I thought. Because people were clicking on my blog - and reading - and no one but a girl who doesn't even want a free blanket left a comment.

I'm tough. I can take it. Though my ego would like to think that someone somewhere would have left a comment if only for the fact that they were guaranteed to win because they would have been the only comment - wait, is that even egotistical at that point?

Nevertheless, I'll keep posting. I've always thought I was better at writing than sewing.

We've been having a great start to the month of July.

For the record, in the winter when I complained about wanting to visit a new place because the monotony of my house - kitchen, laundry room, family room - was boring me to tears... well, it really is all made better when you get to see this.

I took that picture this morning at 7 AM with a baby girl who is getting teeth. She couldn't sleep and she just needed to walk. This setting makes teething a whole lot nicer than doing loops around my tiny house. And sleep came... for her at least.

Like so many things, when you aren't in it, you can kind of be like, "What's the big deal?" Like, the other day, I saw that a mom on Facebook was asking for advice for her son who was teething. She was open to anything that anyone had had success with and in my mind I thought, "Oh, it'll pass. It's no biggie."

After these past couple of rough nights with a baby getting teeth, I am bowing down to the teething gods and taking back my laissez-faire attitude. When you are in it, it's a biggie. When you are tired, everything's a biggie.

But when you are here, it makes it a bit easier.

Our 7 AM walk

We've had really full days - beaches, pools, family and food. What could be better? Well, a little sleep could make it a little better, but I'm not complaining.

More to come later because 7 AM has been coming awfully quickly around here.

Welcome to July! And you see that boy there? He's three years old! And super proud of that!

Well, Hello There... and Our First Giveaway

2011-07-01T06:10:00.000-07:00

This blog has been on my list of things to get to. Like an old friend that you have been meaning to call, I kept putting it off because once I had put it off for long enough, I knew it would take some time to get back into.

I've had many a thought that I had been hoping to turn into a post. By the time I sat down to write at night, my brain was mush and the concept of stringing words together into a cohesive piece was too much.

It's summer, afterall, and we have been packing our days with parks and pools, trips for ice cream and picnics for dinner. In summer, I feel like a woman who knows that it is her final months of life - squeezing all that I dreamed about all winter long into the three months where the weather generally cooperates and allows us to pack up quickly without boots and hats and mittens.

But there is a franticness to it all - a frenetic pace to get to the fun and the good that almost leaves me a little melancholy, for I know in planning and going and doing that the summertime is slipping away, that the dreams that I live for in winter are becoming realities and, in quick fashion, memories. I suppose, you could call this time midsummer and that alone is kind of sad to me. I have to stay focused on the present, on the moments that are today, but that's hard as your kids grow, as a first day of school date is filed into your mind, as dates and places remind you of where you were last year and the time that has passed.

I have been multitasking - reading while enjoying the warmth outside as he plays and she sits alongside of me, cooking while listening to the podcasts to review my law license, doing some contract legal work while smiling and cooing at a baby. Sometimes multitasking makes me feel more productive, sometimes less. Sometimes at the end of doing two things at once, I am not sure that I finished either well. Sometimes I should just do one at a time. But, sometimes, a mom just cannot.

I have been liking doing legal work again. I turn on my computer, check the clock to start my billing clock and flip my brain on in a different capacity than its customary "mom" setting. I remember that I am smart, thorough - that I was efficient and capable enough to land a big firm job that paid big bucks. I can lose myself in that legal work in the same way that I have found myself lost in the job of motherhood. Unfairly, I feel more accomplished while lost there though, as if losing myself for work and for money is more worthy than losing myself in my children. Isn't it all the same? Don't we all judge the mother that is lost in her kids more harshly? Not sure about all of that.

I read a poem the other day on another blog. Even if you don't usually click on links, click on this one (and scroll down to read the poem). If you are a mother of young kids right now, you must. I found it beautiful, moving, truthful. I keep it on my phone, I reread it during a hard day when Pat was traveling and sleep was hard to get to while my mind raced in this house alone with two little souls. There is so much truth in that poem - the love and the pain that comes from rearing little kids, the bliss and the blah times.

Pat traveled this week and I rose to the occasion. To you mamas who regularly do from sun-ups to sun-downs (and all of that middle of the night stuff, which is THE hardest when alone) with your kids, this mama's hat is off to you. It takes so much. But then, I found a groove. Just when I thought I could do no more, I hit my stride. And then he was home again.

*****

I got through the conversation. We connected again, didn't we? The next call won't be so hard to make next time. The next time we can start from where we left off....

Because we have a birthday boy about to turn 3 tomorrow. My god - something about 3 years of age that makes this all feel real, that makes me think I have to stop calling them babies even though they will always feel like my babies to me.

I asked him, after his pool party with kids, if there was anything that he might like as a gift, something that he hoped to get that he hadn't yet, that we could get for him on his real day of birth. He was very serious for a moment and then said, "I would like my very own kleenex box. That I can bring to Washington and put into a zipper pocket. Just for me, for my work." If I ever doubted that he was watching every little thing we do or say, I am not now. He watched Pat pack. He is watching everything, not that there is any pressure or anything.

In honor of his birthday, I am offering my very first giveaway. Why not? I get practically nothing on here in terms of comments, but I know you are reading. When I check the stats, there are people out there reading this blog. So let's see, readers, want to say hello?

If you leave a comment on this post by Monday (July 4, 2011), I will put your name in a hat - because I don't know how to use random.org yet and because there won't be very many names in the first place. I will announce the winner on Tuesday (July 5, 2011).

What will you win? Your very own kleenex box!! Just kidding, you will win a custom fleece blanket made by yours truly. It's my only really crafty thing I can do. Here is what it will look like (with your kid/goddaughter/niece's name on it):

It will take me about two weeks to make unless your kid's name is Gabby, in which case I have had this one for way too long and I don't think I am going to see the little girl named Gabby that I made this for soon enough to give it to her, so you will have it as soon as it is shipped to your door.

Give me some love. Post a comment. And let's not wait so long to talk next time.

Warning: Gross

2011-06-17T18:23:00.000-07:00

Warning: This post is a departure from what you might expect to find here normally. You know, you come here usually to find true stories of our life detailing the trials of raising little kids which invariably end with the sappy conclusion that I would do ANYTHING for these little creatures that have made my life immensely more full.

But today, I feel different. I just woke up from a two-hour nap and I feel human again. Like, I can't believe that most people are walking around with this much of their brain function and, yet, are still so stupid. I feel like I could conquer the world with this sleep. Like a starving human that just landed at a food buffet restaurant, I cannot believe that there is a place where sleep is the norm. This week has been anything but restful and this Friday night change of attitude is a welcome adjustment.

Also, I have been reading Tina Fey's book, Bossypants. She is seriously self-deprecatingly funny. So much so that she has made me believe in this sleep-induced conquer-the-world state that I, too, can be funny. So what that it's never been my forte. Never say never.

Last night, Pat and I had the good fortune to find ourselves in the company of people who were willing to watch our kids. Although I could have fallen asleep on a picket fence, I just cannot pass up an opportunity like that so we got ready quickly and started walking to this great new sushi place.

We texted some family of his that we have been wanting to get together with for a drink and, as can only happen when things are last minute, it all worked out: we would do dinner alone/together and meet them around the corner for a drink. Perfect.

We sat at the sushi bar because that felt fun and different and the place was pretty full. As we sat down, we exhaled while taking in our surroundings. We felt fun, young and hip - basically, the complete opposite of how we have felt generally all week in our home. We talked freely - giddily - about how it felt like we were newly dating and in the city on a dinner date. Aww, how cute that we could get to that place again within us so quickly.

And then, without really even thinking, I farted. Honestly, I cannot even write that word without laughing and I am a grown woman. But, nevertheless, I did. I am not proud of it, but it happens, even to petite and sweet girls like me.

There was nothing petite or sweet about this, however. It was bad and I knew as it wafted up that I had to say something. When you have had two kids with your partner, there is not much left on the ick scale. But I still have some decency. A shred. After last night, I believe that little shred tore in two (insert a fart joke using the words "shred" and "tore").

I was ashamed of myself for tainting this hip and fun date with something that I could have controlled. Why didn't I? Control it, that is? Because all day I get farted on, spit up on; I get boogers wiped on me. One time, my boy stuck his finger in his ear and in my mouth before I knew what had happened. Yeah, I threw up in my mouth a little, too. So I guess my excuse is that I have lost the ability to know what should be done in private, which is obvious because I am posting this.

I said to Pat, "I just farted. Sorry, I shouldn't have done that."

And with that, we both just started laughing. I mean, laughing like you haven't done since you were in seventh grade and your teacher farted while standing at the blackboard and you knew that you were not allowed to laugh. That kind of deep, soulful laughing that is so good for your health that there is no pharmaceutical concoction quite like it.

The fart, itself, was funny, as all immature people will agree. But, my disappointment with myself was even funnier. Why didn't I think before breathing out of my bottom? Doesn't that last turn of the phrase sound less disgusting than "fart"?

Why didn't I keep up a facade as I knew so keenly how to do when we were first dating? Because you just can't keep it up when you are so tired that the rules on general standards of decency have lost their file drawer in your brain. You are operating from a part in your brain called the basal ganglia, which supports only the most basic brain functions. It is the part that animals operate with everyday.

Let me close by saying this: if you found yourself laughing through this, then you, too, have been to the place where sleep is a word whose meaning you cannot comprehend. You, too, have had someone in your life that has let you be you in the most animalistic sense of who you are. And you, too, have had fun.

If you haven't, go find yourself someone that can laugh about your farts with you. That, my friend, is real love.

Scattered

2011-06-15T19:06:00.000-07:00

I'm out of sorts lately. There are a number of things that are contributing to my current chaotic state, but the major contributor is the fact that I am waking at 4 AM to feed a hungry baby. It's a new phenomenon - one that I expect to go away as quickly as it came - but it's a killer. She is sweet and warm and she eats and goes right back to sleep. I, however, do not.

It's like my body gets just enough sleep to think that it's done for the night; my mind starts to plan the day. The birds have begun their calls outside my window and, though I know how badly I will wish that I would force myself back to sleep, I just cannot make it so at that hour. So I wake.

And I am all over the place. Trying to do laundry, cleaning, looking at what I might make for dinner, reading, thinking about where I might work again, writing, planning - all of which sounds really productive, but I can promise you that I am so unproductive. I am like one of those birds outside my window - full of chirping, but not actually doing much of anything.

Like, I just noticed my stack of books. I am reading all of these right now.

Even for a girl who always has a few books going, this is a bit much. If you, too, are a library-goer, you will hate that I have ALL of these checked out at the same time. Don't worry, I read quickly and return on time.

My parenting has been chaotic too, but it's made for some fun. You're not napping today, little boy? O.k., well let's get out of here. It's a free day at the Museum of Science and Industry. Hop in the car.

Even the landscaping at our house is going haywire.

It's beautiful, but it's a thorny rose bush that could hurt a little boy who barrels through puddles while looking down at the splashes that his boots make.

I just need some sleep, I think. That's where to start anyways.

Her face when I go in to get her up. I need to start waking that happy.

Proof that he still needs a nap.... on our way down to the Museum after he had decided
that a nap wasn't necessary.

6 Months

2011-06-06T07:07:00.000-07:00

Some people love the newborn stage where they are all snuggled up on your chest in the same position as they were in your tummy. Others would prefer to skip the entire first year where sleep is in such short supply and a minor cold can ruin their and, of course, your entire week.

At six months, I love my babies more than ever. You start getting a regular return on your investment with belly laughs and pumping fists and smiles. I can enter a room now and she lights up in a smile before I can even get out a "hello."

Her toes look edible.

Her legs and feet as she nurses.

Her neck cannot be left without a kiss. She snuggles. She hugs. She laughs. She tells us what she wants through her body language. She is less of a womb being and more of an outside-my-body human being. She likes music, the outside and my milk. Her needs can be met completely by me. It's such a beautiful stage.

Of course, it wouldn't be a blog post of mine if I didn't belabor the point that I was so uncertain that this day would ever come with her. All along she just wasn't supposed to make it. When doctors use the word "miracle" to describe your baby girl, you will never get over it. You will never stop talking about it. You will be at her preschool, high school and college graduation and think about it all. You will think about getting the call that told you that your pregnancy hormones were continuing to rise even though the doc couldn't find a baby's heartbeat. You will think about the call that cancelled the D & C. You will think about every bump in a road that seemed that it would lead anywhere but to this happy and healthy baby.

You will have hope because of her. You will believe. You will have a faith in something higher than yourself alone.

Pat and I talk about the parents we knew while growing up that got teary at the milestones of their childrens' lives. They were not our parents. We didn't think it would be us. Before Rosie, we didn't get to that place. We loved Charlie deeply, but we hadn't yet dove deeply enough into the waters where your kids might not be with you. Rosie has made us love both of our kids more deeply and I didn't think that was possible. She has taught us that the unfathomable, the unthinkable - the idea that either of them could not have been with us - can be a heartbeat away. It is not a right to have our children; they are a gift to us.

I will belabor the point her whole life. I will feel such gratitude for her life that a silly preschool graduation might bring me to tears. I will love her brother more fully because she made it safely to us.

And I will live her up. Every laugh, every coo, every "hiyaa." Happy Half of a Year, My Sweet Little Beanbag.

Oh Summer...

2011-06-03T19:57:00.000-07:00

I love you.

If the winter weather had me complaining about how to entertain my kids, you can bet that I will talk about the plethora of options in summer. They make my job as a mom of little kids easy. The park, the pool, a walk, the backyard, ice cream, the fountain in the town next door, golfing, the lake, the city, a hike in the woods - and we don't have to spend 20 minutes getting dressed just to head out for 5. We run out in whatever we have on ditching our car for bikes and walks.

We've been having a blast, though little Beans did catch the cold that we all had. Man, was I hoping she wouldn't get it, but she's a champ.

To celebrate the return of good health in our house, we headed up to the lake again. As soon as I turn down the hilly road that ends at the lake, my heart starts to beat a little faster. And then, as that last hill approaches, I ask him if he's ready. Are you ready to see the lake?

The excitement on his face is what every mother hopes to see in her child regularly. It costs us nothing but the gas in our car and my boy is so darn happy. I would make that drive every day for him if I could.

He is so full of joy, so free, on the beach.

Popeye Face makes its way to the beach

I can hardly capture his face because he is darting this way and that, picking up rocks and throwing them, baking sand blueberry crumbles carefully and destroying them quickly, running into the water and out again. It's like a helium balloon has been released. A bird has been let out of its cage. Or maybe, just a boy on a beach after a helluva winter.

We didn't even plan this day at the beach. We woke still tired after a night where sleep was the thing we did least. Rose was eating much of the night and, just when she went back down, Charlie woke explaining loudly to whomever he thought might be listening, "Herbs need three things to grow: sun, dirt and water. Or they just won't grow. They just won't. That is what you have to give them or they won't make it."

All very good and interesting points, but at 2:30 in the morning? Not so much. Pat took them both for a 7 AM walk while I got ready for the day. And I started thinking that wherever we were going to be that day, whatever we were going to do, we - all of us - were going to be tired. So, I made an executive decision: if we are going to be tired and cranky, let's at least do it somewhere beautiful. To the lake we went.

Of course, I know that he likes it. But the surprise fan of the lake was this girl.

She loves the beach. I had her on me most of the day because, though the sun was hot and the sky was blue, there was a cool breeze coming in off the lake. Each time I stepped into the house to grab a shovel or more sunblock, she cried. And when I stepped back out again into the breeze and the sound of the waves, she smiled and rocked and "hiyaaa"d (her favorite babble word at the moment) herself into blissfulness. If I were a keeper of baby books, I would write that the beach was the first thing she really showed that she liked... not counting me taking off my shirt which she knows means food.

And, of course, as having kids can do, it made me all retrospective on where I was last year at this time: in and out of doctors' offices, wondering if I was pregnant, hoping to god that this baby would stick or leave easily if that's what was in the cards, playing with Charlie from the couch, from the beach chair... and now here I am.

***
More posts from me next week.... And to all of those that write me notes saying that they enjoy reading, thank you. You know how to stroke this girl's ego.

The Four Ps

2011-05-24T16:04:00.000-07:00

There are many theories on how to navigate the toddler years. From getting rid of pacifiers to moving from the crib to a bigger bed, experts and parents alike weigh in on how and when these things should be done. My own theories come from a combination of laziness and gut-instinctual knowledge about my kid, peppered with what I have read in Parents magazine or heard from other moms.

But there is a disconnect for me; I know that these bridges from babyhood into little kid-hood are coming and, yet, I somehow am never prepared when the day arrives. I am never fully informed, fully decided or fully convinced that anything that I do is the right way… until I see that it is the right way for my kid.

In the last two weeks, we have crossed off three bullet points on the list of “Not A Baby Anymore If…” easily without much handholding by me.

First on that list, Getting Rid of Pacifiers. We called ours Pacis. And he loved them. I mean, L.O.V.E.D. them.

I know that he had them for pretty long. I am sure that your kid got rid of them sooner. And I am pretty certain that his bite will be compromised because he had them for that long. But his spirit wasn’t hurt in the least in the way we did it. Bites can be fixed easily; spirits take much more work.

He understood that it was time. We had been talking about it for quite awhile, with me delaying the process out of fear that it would affect my – ahem, I mean, his – sleep. But I knew that he was ready now. So we packed up the pacis in a cute little bag and brought them to the train store and exchanged his four pacis for four new trains with the clerk who couldn’t quite catch on that I, in fact, understood that pacis weren’t going to be the only currency exchanged for the new merchandise.

That night, Pat – who was incredulous that I really left the pacis at the store (I think his exact line was “But what if we need them…. I might run out and buy some just in case”) – and I braced ourselves for a night of little sleep, but it never came. He was fine. What I know about my kid: he may take a while to get there, but when he is ready, he is ready… even if you aren’t.

And I wasn’t ready for him to potty train. Sure, it was time. He will be three in two months, so I knew it was on the horizon. But I didn’t think it would be that day. No, that day I had planned to have a picnic at the park with friends. But he didn’t get that memo. Instead, he woke up as usual and then, in the morning, just as I was changing diapers to get ready and go, he said, “I don’t want to wear diapers anymore. I want undies and I want to go pee pee on the potty.” He had all the language down pat as we had discussed this on numerous occasions – who was doing it, why it was a good thing to do. And he was ready. So I asked Pat if he could come home so that I could run to the store and get some undies because I did not want to miss the window. I can be lazy, but I am not stupid – I know that when it’s time, it’s time.

One accident in the garage and that was pretty much that. Pee pee on the potty checked off the list the same day that I dropped off his preschool registration form, which told me that he had to be potty-trained by the beginning of school and which I hadn’t turned in because I just didn’t think that he would be ready by then.

That’s often the problem I find with having kids – my predictions of when they will be ready for certain things are off, especially with my first. Like, I wasn’t ready at 18 months when he decided that his crib was the jungle gym and he was the baby monkey that liked to climb instead of sleep. That wasn’t even on my radar of things to watch for until I heard through the monitor “No, no, no, no – help!” and ran in to find him holding onto the crib railing for dear life like a drunk squirrel on a fence. It was time for the big boy bed. My gut instincts rejected the notion of the crib tent only because I knew that it was just a band-aid – that someday that, too, would have to be weaned off of and if I was weaning off of anything bed-related, I wanted to do it and be done with it. For us, it was the best decision I ever made because he is almost three now and doesn’t get out of his bed at night (I say “I” because Pat was in the camp of thinking that if he just laid down on the hardwood floor next to the crib that that might help somehow. Gotta love a doting father). But I know that that is my kid. It worked for him.

Or, how about when he had just turned two and I was pregnant and exhausted and was trying to find television shows that he would sit and watch for a half an hour. Didn’t matter which station I put on, he was distracted within 5 minutes, just the amount of time that it took my eyes to start to close and my breathing to become more relaxed. But The Sound of Music? Now that he would watch from the start to the Doe, A Deer scene – much more than the half an hour I had hoped for originally and totally not what I had predicted to hold his attention. But I went with it and Julie Andrews’ kiddie movies have been a go-to staple in this house ever since. Well, actually, any musical is enjoyed.

Below, Charlie singing Popular from Wicked to Rose. The Pacis are gone, Potty training is going A-OK, Preschool is locked and loaded and we’ve got a new song in our repertoire –Popular. How in the world did we get here so quickly?

Time

2011-05-18T09:42:00.000-07:00

It's been awhile. The weather has been good and I have been busy planning - a garden, outings, food and home improvements. It's spring and my brain has sprung.

Pat's work schedule has changed such that he is home more during the week. And, can I just say, that we, as a society, have it so backwards about the way we schedule the time in our lives. We work hard to sustain our families while our kids are little, and then harder still as college becomes a reality for them and a financial hurdle for us. Then, just when we have enough sleep to make sense more often than not and enough time to give it our all at work, we retire. We retire just at the time that our kids need us less. They can drive. They hopefully have a job. They definitely don't need boos-boos kissed (at least not as often) or noses wiped. And then we stop doing the work that we tried to balance while raising them. If youth is wasted on the young, then I would say retirement is wasted on the old.

I hope to work hard during the years that one typically retires. And, I hope that we get to continue to enjoy this time together while our kids are young while still being able to sustain our life.

Isn't this what we work for anyways? Having time with our kids, good food that we take the time to make together and a house that has been shown some TLC - most days, that's my goal when I wake up. Of course, I have had to rearrange my brain on how we set up our days now that Pat is around more. But it has been an absolute treat to go to a yoga class while the sun is still up. Or, how about getting to make a dinner at noon so that I can nap while the kids do. Or, getting to write while Pat takes a work call and the kids play together at my feet. Yep, can you believe that? They can play together now. Of course, it's mostly Charlie bossing Rosie around as she sits propped up with pillows yodeling and grabbing at things. But, hey, I call that playing, as in I am not entertaining either of them and they are content with each other. Now that is a milestone.

Even with Pat around, it seems as though the magnets they have internally still attract some magnet that is found within me. But, it doesn't bother me so much because I know I can get a break. I can go to the bathroom... alone. We are talking luxury here.

I feel like if we all could manage our lives the way we are getting to enjoy ours right now, life would be a little better in the world. We would all laugh a little more, drive a little more slowly, see things that we don't normally see, eat better, move more, take the time to offer a hug or a kiss... be better. All of this good stuff arose from just a little more time together. And we didn't even have to move to Scandinavia to get it.

It hasn't been all roses though. We've all been sick with a cold virus that has Pat and Charlie coughing like crazy, which never is good for anyone's sleep, so we've all been a little more tired than normal. But the day isn't so rushed. And, for that, I am grateful.

Pat has gotten to see and hear the parts of Charlie that I usually have to relay to him. Only in an eldest child would it be the case that he wouldn't know that you actually could eat an ice cream cone. Of course, he knew to eat the ice cream, but he never knew that the cone was edible.

Charlie came home from getting ice cream and blasted into the house with a "Mommy, you can eat the cone! Did you know that? Did you know that you can chomp it? You can! You can eat it! It tastes very, very good! You can eat the ice cream and then you can chomp the cone and it is like a cup but it is food!"

Or, how about the day we spent the whole morning explaining what the word "all" meant to Charlie. He kept asking and we kept answering and we couldn't figure out why he didn't know the meaning of it. Finally, he went up to Rosie and gave her a sweet pat on the back and I said, "Awww, honey, that was sweet. You're a good big brother."

"That's it, Mommy. What does 'awww' mean?"

So we sat, as a family, talking about the meaning of "awww," explaining that it was kind of like "yahoo" and a little like "ouch", but with a different feeling behind it.

Or, the day we got to watch Toy Story 3 and fast forward to the end where the toys are in the dumpster. He calls that part the "scoopster part." And we don't correct him. Instead, we just look over and smile at each other.

It's been great to get to enjoy each other, to slow down, to make a plan that you actually get to develop instead of just falling into one exhausted step at a time.

I am on our screened-in back porch wrapped up in a blanket. Charlie and Pat are hanging my window boxes so that I can plant our herb garden and Rose is asleep upstairs. This is the life.

Mother's Day 2011

2011-05-08T17:01:00.000-07:00

I love days that celebrate me. That may sound conceited - o.k., it does sound conceited - but, nevertheless, I love those kinds of days.

And days that celebrate me for getting to be what I have wanted to be my whole life are even luckier to me. I was a total tomboy when I was younger, playing sports, running with the boys. And, yet, I still knew then that I wanted to have babies some day.

Newborn Charlie

For my kindergarten's day of Career Dress-Up, where you were to dress as the career that you wanted to be in the future, I dressed as an attorney amongst a sea of teachers (the girls) and professional baseball players (the boys). And, even then, I knew that I wanted to be an attorney and a mom.

Baby Charlie

Dreams do come true.

I also have my own mom to celebrate on this day. She has set a very good example for me.

She loves me. She is there for me. Now though, she is mostly there for my kids, which is, in effect, akin to being there for me since having these little babies is like having multiplied my heart by two and having those two little beating organs bouncing around outside of my body.

She pretends that her drive to my house is only 17 minutes away so that I won't hesitate to call her to come over. It takes 45 minutes, maybe 40 on a good day. She has been vomited on, spit up on, pooped on, coughed on and sneezed on by my kids and, perhaps, by me when I was a baby. Perhaps.

She answers my call any time of the day or night and pretends that she wants to stay on the phone at 4 AM while I am nursing a newborn and need some company. She listens to all of the stories of the things that I find just incredible about having kids of my own, even though I know any other person would declare, "Enough already."

She will drive to four stores to find the requested item for Charlie. Hell, she went to a less than desirable neighborhood for a pinata for me when I was five years old.

She gets caught in the middle of phone wars with my sister and me where she can't decide who to hang up on when the other beeps in on the other line. She usually just makes me wait for awhile and then comes back saying, "It's Meg and she said to get off with you." I, being the older, wiser and more confident sister, say, "That's fine. Call me back." (I love having my own blog. I get to take liberties.)

Can I get a what-what for the roundheads in my family?

Truthfully though, Charlie's phone call always wins. And he typically says the same thing these days to get my mom to say that she is scared, which is the only reaction he wants from Grandma Mosie lately. She obliges each and every time.

She will come to my house at 8 PM to sit on my couch and watch television or read so that Pat and I can go for a walk together alone. She will come to my house at 5 AM for a whole two months after the birth of her first grandson just so that she can hold him while he sleeps, which is the only way he will stay asleep, so that Pat and I can get some sleep. She will spontaneously lick that grandson's foot out of pure infatuation with her firstborn grandchild (ADHD + excitement with a baby's adorable features = licking his limbs without his mother's approval).

Baby Charlie

She will make a dinner date to celebrate Mother's Day with me alone, knowing that a dinner without children is much more valuable to me at this stage in my life than an overpriced brunch where I try to get my 2-year-old to sit through the whole meal while discreetly nursing my baby cakes. And, on Mother's Day itself, she will come over in the morning to take that same 2-year-old to the park with Papa and her so that Pat and I can breathe for a couple of hours.

She will Skype with that 2-year-old at every available option. She will drive from the city straight up to the lake to be with the both of them for a couple of hours. She will do all of this and act like she likes it, loves it, has been waiting her whole life to do it. Well, maybe I understand that now.

And, for the record, Mom, I know you won't like the use of the pronoun "she." Go with it this time.

Happy Mother's Day to all of us who get to be mothers, to all of those who want to be mothers someday and to those that aren't officially titled "mother," but who nonetheless show all of the qualities of a mom to those lucky enough to have found her.

Escape to the Lake

2011-05-07T19:27:00.000-07:00

To make it through this winter, I imagined a day that got me through all of the days that we were cooped up inside. We would drive up to the lake and have a beach day. I knew that it wouldn't be a lay-in-the-sand-in-your-bikini kind of day (frankly, I think those days are forever gone for me anyway, at least the bikini part), but I just needed different scenery. I needed to see the vastness of the water. I needed to feel the softness of the sand. I made Pat promise that on the first nice day of spring, we would get to have that day.

Yesterday, that day became a reality. It took five months to get here, but get here it did.

We walked along the sand, we played in the sand, and some of us ate while snuggling on the sand.

We spelled our names in the sand. We pretended we were Eric and the Little Mermaid. We found Chicago's skyline.

We did all of the things that I remember looking forward to all winter when I was younger. There is some primal sense of happiness in seeing your kid enjoy the same things that you loved to do as a kid.

When you are in a setting that is embedded in your earliest memories, it brings back all of the feelings and memories that you have had while there. Then, to see your own child in that same setting, when what feels like just a few summers ago, it was you and your cousins letting the waves unfurl over your toes. It's profound, even if I can't explain it properly.

Summer '09

Summer '10

Popeye Face, May '11

We did all of this and then came home to our own sand-free beds the very same night. What a way to start the weekend.

Bits And Pieces From The Last Week Or So...

2011-05-05T18:55:00.000-07:00

It's been awhile since I've downloaded pictures from my camera onto my computer. Lately, days seem to roll into the next pretty quickly around here. I forget what we were doing three days ago that made me run into the next room and grab my camera to capture the moment on film to make it last forever. Then I download and remember.

We had a visitor for Easter.

My sister Meg was only in town for a few days. She came over and played and played with Charlie and Rose. The most amazing thing to me is to watch how my kids just let her into their lives as if she is not over 2,000 miles away from them most days of the year. They fall into her as if she were here all along.

Easter was fun, if a little tiring. The weather was good which allowed for us to be outside together in the morning. When the weather is good and we're all outside and the sun is shining and there is no whining but only smiles and laughter, I feel so content. And then I run to get my camera to try and capture the feeling on film.

I am glad that I do that when I can. Because there are other moments that are good and fun, but that I just can't capture. On Easter Sunday, after playing outside in the morning, we went to dinner with my family and cousins in the afternoon. I captured none of that on film. But it was fun for everyone, as you can see by my rear view on the ride home.

Now that the weather is decent, it feels like our backyard is the new room in our house. It's great to have another place to go and to let him burn some toddler energy.

If I could bottle the energy he has and sell it, I would be an extremely wealthy woman.

She just hangs with us outside. Interested to see what's going on; happy to hang while being adored.

Airplane pajamas, shamrock socks and a vintage bonnet. And still as cute as a button.

A lifetime ago, when Pat and I would go to breakfast together just before noon after staying up late with friends the night before, we bought this little bunny coat that she has on.

We had no children; we weren't even married. But we wanted all that we get to enjoy now. We hoped for it. So we - well, let's be honest, I - bought this little coat while waiting for our plastic buzzer to buzz letting us know that our table for two was ready. Charlie wore it as his Halloween costume when he was a babe. And now Rose is able to wear it as the little bunny she is.

Would you believe that, the other day, when Osama bin Laden was killed, I didn't even know that that all happened until 3 PM the next day? And no, I am not Amish. I live in a house in a neighborhood and I have an iPhone. I fell asleep early and was unplugged and with my kids for much of the next day, obviously.

But, I guess we come late to awareness on a lot of things. We just discovered Woody. And we love him.

One last piece.... Charlie and I were just finishing up playing tonight. He got two new trains, one that has a giraffe in the freight car and one that has an elephant. He took the elephant out and sat it on top of the giraffe. I said, "Oh no, don't do that. They might start fighting with each other."

"Falling?" he asked.

"No, fighting."

"Mommy, what is 'fighting?'"

I love that he didn't even know what that word meant. Unfortunately, I have no doubt that I will never have to explain the meaning of that word to her.

Mama Said...

2011-04-27T17:58:00.000-07:00

My mama said there'd be days like this. Actually, my mama didn't. My mama said that her days with young children were the best days of her life.

I have times where it is wonderful. But I've come to realize in my short life that I am not the type of person that has a "best time in my life." I have best moments that feel like the best time at the moment, but then I have more moments and different times and all are good and full in their own way.

For the past couple of weeks, Charlie has blown off his nap more days than he has taken it. For any of you who don't have kids yet, or for those of you whose kids are now grown, you are not allowed even to wonder why no napping could cause such pain for me. You either just don't get it or you just don't remember.

When he is awake, it is a full-time talk fest. He is a busy dude. He plays hard. He lives big. He is cool with playing alone, but even with that, he is in and out of my business while playing alone. It usually works. We flow well together.

But last night, he didn't go to bed until 10 PM. I don't really know what the deal is with his sleep lately. Nothing has changed around here except his development. The only correlation I have found with this new no sleep routine is the fact that he now asks "why" after every single thing I say. It's funny and exhausting at the same time, as most things with toddlers are.

So last night, he stayed in his bed in his room talking and laughing until 10 PM by himself. It's a comedy show up there complete with different voices for his few bed buddies, stories retold from the day and a question and answer session where he provides both the question and the answer. When my mom is here, she watches him through the monitor and calls it the Judy Miller show. I'm too young for that reference, but I get it from the context that he is providing.

After the 10 PM bedtime for him, Rosie decided to wake at 4:30 to eat. She was sweet and warm and hungry. And then totally ready for the world at that ungodly hour. So we hung out. And when her daddy woke up a couple of hours later I went back to bed before he had to leave for work.

When I woke for the day the next time, I saw that there was no more sun out than what was out when I awoke at 4:30 AM. And I am sick of running through puddles outside. I am sick of cold and rainy. I am sick of a spring that feels more like a winter.

We got through the morning. Tired and slow, but we made a day of it with paints and books and train tracks. But I was counting on that nap. I mean, I needed it like nobody's business.

But it never came. The Judy Miller show started about 30 minutes into nap time. With Rose asleep on my chest, I heard his opening monologue and knew I was done for. I tried to reset him explaining how important sleep is and blah blah blah. It did no good.

Then, I was mad. Like really mad because I was counting on that nap. I am a good mom, but I needed some alone time.

"Mama, are you mad?"

"Yes, I am."

"Why?"

"Because it is nap time and you are not sleeping and I am tired and need a rest."

"But I am not tired so I didn't sleep. I didn't even need to yawn. That's ok. Be happy."

It sounds cute as I type it out. I am too tired to see cute. I went downstairs to regroup and get the stroller ready for a walk in the rain with both of them. I returned to his room to see him pulling the vaporizer machine by the cord through his room with puddles pooling behind it.

"What are you doing?"

"This is my sled. And in the puddles I take the water and make the 'In the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit.' Like this."

We headed out for our walk. The rain fell. I walked. I am sure I looked slightly insane bringing two little ones out for a walk on a day like today, but it was honestly less crazy than what I would have been with inside my home.

The rain stopped; Rose was sick of the stroller so I got her out and held her while I one-handedly pushed the stroller home. A lady that was walking a dog passed us. She smiled. She asked knowingly, "How is your day going today?"

I opened up, "This one didn't nap and the weather is horrible and I am just so tired."

She told me about days she had like this with her kids, who are now grown. She said she remembered that feeling. She said, "I remember just wanting to be alone and being so tired."

I nodded and was ready to respond when Mr. No Napper piped up like the conversationalist that he is, "And how're you doing? Are you good now?"

He is asleep now. He practically fell asleep while eating dinner. She is asleep too. And me? I am getting that coveted alone time for which I have waited since 4:30 AM.

Good night, ya'll.

Hug Smelly People

2011-04-21T13:11:00.000-07:00

Before my husband and I married, we both worked in politics. We had events to go to every night. Before he and I were dating, I went to some of these events and skipped others. When I did go, I generally only talked to the people that I knew or cared to know. He was different though. He loved going to all things and meeting all people. He talked to everyone. He listened to everyone. He navigated the crowd smoothly, easily introducing me to those that interested him, shaking hands and slapping backs.

I loved seeing him in his element. It was a lot of energy for me though - the night after night glad-handing had me wanting a shower and a robe and my couch.

There were times when we would go to things that I would complain that I just didn't want to talk, hug, or shake hands with all of these people. It was all said kind of in jest and kind of in truth. He told me that I needed to open up, let the world in and "hug smelly people." That that was really living. That that was getting the most out of life.

He says it to me still when I would prefer to stay the homebody that I am with babies curled up around me. Because that is when I am my happiest. The funny part is: that is when he is at his happiest too. But he knows that part of that happiness comes from the fact that you feel warm and cozy with the people you love because you have been out in the world with people who are less familiar. The contrast is what highlights the good feelings. Without that contrast, you wouldn't know how great it is to be in the middle of a heap of babies' toes and blankets and motion.

I have not fully mastered his concept of hugging smelly people. I still prefer a spoken hello with a smile to a pseudo-hug and an air kiss hello. I prefer people who don't smell to people that do.

But with kids, I have had to open up to a whole new level because kids, or at least my kids, innately understand the concept of hugging smelly people. They are open. They are free.

I have talked about Charlie's ability to find the one person in the grocery store that would much prefer not being spoken to by a toddler. It is that person whose attention he seeks. Always, always the lady who is overly nice and sweet is given only a cursory hello.

He dressed himself, choosing the hat and umbrella specifically. Hello, Dick Van Dyke.

But the lady who needs to learn to hug smelly people? That is the person he targets. The person who just might be the smelly (not always literally, but sometimes) person? That is the person to whom he would like to talk.

The reason that I have to overcome my hesitance in hugging smelly people is because I don't want my kid to see it. I don't want him to learn the hesitance that comes from judgement and pretension. So I have to suck mine down and smile with him.

Yesterday, at Whole Foods, he found the person who needed it most. A woman who was overweight, who couldn't walk very well and who had a hair cut that she might have given herself. (As judgmental as that might sound, keep in mind I likely was in pajamas with a day-old ponytail). She walked hunched, with her head perpendicular to the ground such that she wouldn't even see you smile or say hi.

No matter. He was short enough to get under her face. His 3-foot-self got right under with his child-sized cart, "Hello, what's your name?"

There have been times, I admit, that I have encouraged him to move on at a time like that. But a good angel got a hold of me and told me to let him go. The woman's head actually went up. She didn't answer his question, possibly out of shock that it was she to whom the question was addressed. But she smiled. As did he.

He said good-bye and started walking back to me. Smiling, he said, "I just said hi to that lady."

"And what did she say?"

"Nothing, but she was happy about that."

Like his father, he is proud to have made a new friend. But, let me say, like his mother, he knows when to move on.

Seriously, snow pants in April?!?! Uncalled for.

I'm finding her to be the same.

You have to work a little harder because she's younger, of course. But if someone gives her a smile, even someone that I would prefer moved on from us, she lights up. Eyebrows up, cheeks up and gums bared for all.

All of the cliches that encourage you to live bigger and better are good, but I think our motto - Hug Smelly People - says it all.

Messy little boy.

Are You Mad?

2011-04-19T19:08:00.000-07:00

Parenting a toddler is complex in that it takes both physical strength and mental preparedness. Toddlers are smart enough to question your answers, your behaviors and your ideas, but they are still goofy enough to dart out into the middle of an intersection in a blink of an eye.

What makes parenting my toddler even more difficult is that he is so in tune with my emotions that when I even slightly find some "bad" behavior funny, he sees the opening. As I seriously talk about whatever it is that he shouldn't have done, he sees or hears something within me that I don't even know that I am showing that lets him know that this time, he can break me. This time is ripe for a laugh. And he pounces. His latest trick mid my "That wasn't appropriate behavior" line? The Popeye face.

You try to deliver a serious message when you have that face looking back at you. It cannot be done. So I pretend to brood; I massage my temples while stifling a smile. I inhale and exhale deeply asking the parenting gods what would be so bad about breaking down into a laugh at this point. No gods respond, but some Supernanny episode does and I straighten up and try to salvage the message of discipline.

Then, he asks, "Are you mad, Mommy?" And I start to answer. He knows just how to lure me in because we are not supposed to be talking when he is in time-out.

"Mommy, are you a little mad? Don't be mad. It's no big deal and I'm sorry."

His reasonableness and his ability to put it all in perspective is so mature and so good-natured that I tend to forget what got us here in the first place.

I remember being little and hearing my mom's breath change. Early on, I would wonder aloud what was the matter. She would answer, "Oh, nothing. I'm fine." But her breath told me something different. Children know their mothers.

There are times, when I am rushed or tired or hungry, that I must breathe differently to him. He asks and I say nothing is wrong, but he hears something different. He asks again, "Mama, are you mad?"

I caught myself responding quickly, "No. I'm fine." But I saw his confusion. If you are fine, then what am I picking up? Kids know. Kids trust their instincts. Kids don't hesitate to ask.

And so I take the time to respond now. Accurately and truthfully. I am not mad, but I might sound different because I am tired. Or, I am not really mad, but I am so hungry that I think I sound mad. Did I sound mad?

Yes, you did.

Well, I am sorry. Let me eat something and I will happy up.

I eat. I feel better. And he says, "See you feel better now."

With all of his innate wisdom, I tend to think that he isn't the toddler that will dart out into the street. He couldn't be the toddler who would jump from too high of a step or eat a Lego or paint his face with watercolor paper paints.

But he did, paint his face, that is. I brought Rosie up to bed and I came back down to find him with the paintbrush to his cheek. He lowered the brush from his cheek as he saw my face, "Mommy, are you mad?"

Here's the rest.

Hump Day

2011-04-13T19:15:00.000-07:00

Remember all of my complaining when the weather was bad? I was all, "This weather really puts me in a bad mood; I'm not kidding."

Well, I wasn't kidding. Because this sunshine and this warmth have made me all smiles and given me energy that has been dormant all winter long.

It's been fun to have her outside. She looks at everything as if she is seeing it for the first time - oh wait, she is. She is literally seeing grass for the first time; isn't that amazing? I don't know about you, but I just keep thinking about it. Like, imagine seeing a cloud for the first time. When I am with her, I see things for the first time again.

It's being with her and seeing the world through her eyes. But it's also the fact that sleep isn't in such short supply anymore and our days together are not so Three Stooges-like. Most days now, I feel like a chicken with a head instead of without.

But there are moments, of course, when I wish I could just pick up the phone and call someone and relate the story that I am living at the moment so that I could laugh while telling it instead of cringe while living it. Today, he asked me if the slightly rotund grandmother at the park with her grandson had a baby in her belly. And, as everything he speaks is, it was extremely loud. She definitely heard. I just found a happy place. Actually, the happy place was right where I was. I just wish I could have laughed out loud.

He got new bucks for Easter and all he wants to do is wear them around the house.

The game is as follows: he puts on his bucks and says that he is going to work. I whine and plead with him not to go, the same way he does when his dad has to leave. Straight-faced, he tells me that he has to do it. I ask for a kiss. He says that I cannot have one and that he just has to go. That is not how we do it at all.

Our precious little nut got baptized this past weekend. It was a perfectly hot day and she was in fine form.

My sister-in-law, who is everything and a photographer too, took pictures for us. She is uber-talented in eye and light and editing and everything. I have been lazy lately, taking pictures with my iPhone and telling myself that they look good enough. When I saw her pictures, I realized what an amateur I am. She is good, Dawg.

New favorite picture of her.

This week is flying by with good weather and a quick bout of the stomach flu. Did I not mention that? It really is unimportant as it lasted only a morning and was history by late afternoon. The only remnant left, thankfully, is the newly purchased bucket to catch, well, you know. It was never needed. And so he brings it to me several times throughout the day now, "Mommy, do you need to spit up?"

You have to say yes to play. "Yes, yes I do." Gag, gag, cough.

"Good job, Mommy. You made it in the bucket."

It was an unremarkable illness, but the fact that he learned how to hit the bucket? Truly remarkable.

Friday is almost here and that means that the weekend is right around the corner. We have egg hunts and fun things lined up.

I promise to bring a real camera.

Shady's Back, Back Again, Shady's Back, Tell a Friend...

2011-04-12T18:54:00.000-07:00

So I'm not going to talk about the last post. I'm just skipping over it and letting that negative energy dissipate. Here we go, yo....

Monotony is my nemesis, which is ironic only because I like routine very much. Knowing what will happen from day to day is calming to me. I like to know that at 1 o'clock in the afternoon my kids will be in their beds falling asleep. I like to know that at 8 o'clock at night on any given night, our house will be quiet and peaceful.

But the monotony of the day to day - the breakfast, the lunch, the dinner, the nap, the same discussions over the same books and the same toys - can wear me down. Like talking day after day about trains coming from Chicago to Naperville can get really, really boring for me. And pretending to be Ursula and the Wicked Witch and a witch that I made up named Pia can just get tiring. But, I have to say, my witch named Pia is hilarious.

When I can break the monotony with just a little change, I feel refreshed. I think he does, too. I start loving the little things again just because I have a little newness.

So, Things I Am Loving:

Last week had a rainy day that wasn't so bad because it wasn't freezing out. It was actually kind of foggy and cool and Bay Area-like, so Charlie and I went outside early in the morning. He ran through the puddles while I ate breakfast. And it was different and, therefore, fun.

Charlie and I rarely watch television together. We have some favorites that are great when I am nursing though, like The Sound of Music. He and I watched the other day and this was the conversation that occurred:

Charlie: "Does Liesl have a vagina?"

Me: "Yes, she does."

Charlie: "Does Rolf?"

Me: "No."

Charlie: "He has a pee-pee."

Me: "Yes, that's right."

After that exchange, I figured it was time to move on to something else so that we didn't have to dissect the characters' anatomy any longer.

Lo and behold, he loves American Idol. I had it recorded and it caught his attention; he calls it "The Singers." I loved watching it with him. No joke - he asked if Ryan Seacrest had a vagina.

Charlie and Rose's relationship makes me smile everyday. I caught my little bookworm reading Charles Dickens to her. You can tell she's really interested in the story. The professor asked me to leave after interrupting them to take this picture. I was distracting her, he said.

When I am not being a witch, he asks me to talk like Rose. For your enjoyment,

"No, she didn't?!"

"Is my head seriously going to get that big?"

"As I was saying..."

Rose's new toys: her hands.

Got carried away with herself.

We're back in business over here. With happiness and sunshine and positivity for all.

Little Devil

2011-04-06T20:18:00.000-07:00

I've been a neglectful blogger. It's not because I don't have anything to say - I always have something to say. That's why I started this thing; this blog offered a place to write my thoughts without having to say "thank you for listening to me" when I was done talking. You can click your "x" in whatever corner of your screen that it sits and throw me away altogether without feeling the least bit guilty.

I haven't been uninspired either. The weather has been decent enough to get outside and meet up with friends. We've had some really fun days together - park dates, easter egg hunts, picnic lunches. I feel less like a cooped-up inmate whose pals are running the asylum and more like a mom who's got her mojo back. My toddler is no longer mad at me for gifting him with a little sister and that little sister is now oodles of fun for all of us. Life has been good.

I haven't been too busy or too tired. The culprit for my lack of posting? It's the work of the devil, I tell you. There is this little devil on my shoulder, cousin to another little devil that pops up when I try to tie my running shoes, that has been piping up with "what the heck are you doing" and "you're wasting your time" and "who needs another mommy blog."

My process before this devil set up camp on my shoulder: An idea popped into my head and rolled around there for the day. I took pictures of moments and that action alone forced me to live just a little deeper in that moment. To remember more. To be more there. Then, at night, when the little biscuits were asleep and any annoyances from the day were long deleted from my mind, I reviewed the pictures and thought over the thoughts that accompanied me throughout the day. I wrote. And I got to hit "Publish Post" at the end of that process.

Even if I still had laundry that needed to be switched from the washer to the dryer and a dinner that I wanted to try and make for the following night, it was all o.k. because I finished something. I published a post. And I got to check a made-up box as complete.

So often, I read before I write here and that little devil seems to hop through cyberspace right onto my shoulder while I read and immediately starts his taunts, "Are all of you moms just going to rehash the same things? The same love for your children balanced with your own desire to satisfy your dreams for yourself? The same contentment that comes from having a day out with your kids? Don't you have anything new to say? If not, then why are you saying anything at all? It's all been done before."

Well, you listen here Mr. Little Devil, I'm sure it has. But not by me. I'm just giving this a go, so let me be.

I don't know that I have anything new to say. But, maybe someday, my kids will have these posts somewhere to read. And it will be new to them to see their mom in a light that is more girl and woman and less mom all of the time. Maybe they will see a picture of themselves that causes them to remember something that they loved or how free they felt or how happy they were. Or maybe they will know, like really know, how much their daddy and I love them.

Or maybe all that I wish for them to see in this blog will be seen by me. Maybe I will look back and remember that having babies can be trying on every part of your emotional and physical body. Maybe I will look back and know that I gave it my all. Lived it up. Did it up. And laughed along the way.

If not? No big deal. Maybe I was just sick of checking off the laundry and dinner box on my to-do list.

Coming Up For Air

2011-03-29T19:04:00.000-07:00

I blinked and he grew up.

I know that the most famous line of parents, and of those giving advice to parents, is that "it goes so quickly." "It" being the time that our babies are babies. I will be walking in the grocery store with my baby tucked neatly on my front and Charlie pushing kamikaze-style a child-size cart around the store and an older woman will stop me, comment on the kids and always, always end the exchange with "It goes so quickly. Enjoy it."

I smile and say that I am enjoying it and that it does go so quickly and then I move on making sure that he doesn't ram her behind into the pineapples. I am not sure that she would enjoy that.

Well, I didn't really blink. I had a baby. I had a baby that I needed to nurse and change and get smiling and cooing and my focus was very much on her. I, of course, tried to pay attention to her big brother as much as possible, but getting out for our impromptu excursions seemed like flying to the moon. So we stuck close to home doing the same things we always do, which are fun, but they are repetitive and they don't allow me to see all the different facets of the kaleidoscope that he is.

But now we're back. And it's so good to have this little boy as my sidekick again. With some creative scheduling, I have made it a point to have some one-on-one time with him, or as he calls it, "my 'lone time." I've tried not to make it too complicated - no big plan that we have to have - but just time together flying by the seat of our pants and figuring it out along the way.

We've done two library classes and yesterday we hit up the train store.

And this little boy has emerged from this crazy, long winter; he is sharp, he is bright, and he is ready to roll.

My sweet little boy, my little buddy. The baby who made me a mom. Thanks for hanging on with me through these cold months, Bubba Bear.

As a mom, you pour yourself into these little beings. You hold them close so that none of their goodness in those early years gets spilled out into the wrong places. As parents, we read to learn what to do. We then learn to read our kids along with the books on the shelf. We attempt to be the best for them that we can be. And then, if you are doing it right, they are ready to head a little farther away from you. They are stronger, bigger, more capable.

So you let them fly away a little. A friend's house. A birthday party. And when they are gone? You relax. You exhale. You release the neck muscles that seem to tense up when their cartoonish energy is flying around your feet. But you miss them. I missed him. I missed my little bear.

The best part? He missed me. I thought he didn't much care who was taking him to the places that he likes so much. Turns out, it mattered to him that I was along for the ride.

And she's as happy as can be about my leash extending just a bit further from her. She knows she's got me by biological necessity - my milk, her suck. Just like he did not so long ago.

Some Friday Cuteness

2011-03-25T07:32:00.000-07:00

He's two and he's hilarious.

"Mama, is God a guy or a lady?"

"Well, what do you think?"

"I think God's a chair."

***

I was trying to explain that there were all different sorts of families, some with mommies and no daddies and some with daddies and no mommies, some with a grandma and a mommy and no daddy. At first, when I would say that a kid could have 2 mommies and no daddies, he would say, "And that kid is sad."

I would say, "No, that kid is happy because they love the people they have and the people they have love them."

He started catching on and adding some family configurations that I am sure exist, but that I have never really thought about.

Finally, he said, "And maybe some kids get to have two Grandma Mosies [my mom] and no mommies. And they would be really happy."

His set-up as he waits for my mom to come over.

***

One day this week as he was getting ready to walk out the door, he said, "Let's roll."

I laughed and he said, "I'm a funny kid, Mama."

"Yes, you are funny."

"I'm hilarious."

Yes, he is.

***

So many times I can see myself in him, but his desire to be funny, to make people smile and laugh, is all Pat. He finds the lady in line at the Post Office who just doesn't want to be bothered by a 2-year-old. He surveys the crowd and that is the lady that he picks to go right on up to, "Hi, Lady. How're ya doin? Here, let me take my hat off for you. I have a lot of hair. I got it from my grandma."

The lady's face starts to crack into a smile, something that it hasn't done freely in at least a dozen years. "Well, aren't you a cute little boy. You have beautiful eyes."

"Yes, I do. And thank you for saying that."

And then he is done with her. He comes back over to me with a smile on his face that says it all. Yep, Mom, I got another one.

***

He got an invite to a 3-year-old birthday party the other day that is going to be at a bounce house place. He has been carrying the card around with him, looking at the picture, talking about who will be there.

I said, "You know, there are going to be other kids there besides Liam and Lauren. And you can all play together."

He said, "You probably will freak out a little bit if there are a lot of kids, but then you will like it."

Know thyself, little one.

***

I don't have a video to post, but let me set the scene. He's in his pajamas on the couch with his ukulele in his lap. He's strumming it or, as he says, "drawing my guitar."

He starts to strum and proceeds to sing Doe, A Deer all the way through. At the end, I say, "That was excellent. I'm not kidding. You did the whole song."

His reply, "Mama, I'm going to do the whole song again and you are going to say 'That was excellent. I'm not kidding. You did the whole song.'"

We did that routine for about 15 minutes. His song, my reaction. That's some cuteness.

***

It's Friday. It's cold. Spring is here, but it's not. I got nothing else for you except the cuteness and the sunshine that these two little balls bring into this house everyday.

Happy Friday!

A Muddy Dinner

2011-03-23T19:58:00.000-07:00

Like all good spouses, my husband puts up with my foibles without complaint. He lets me be me. Of course, there is a lot of humor in our relationship, so the occasional joke at my expense is part of the package. It's all in good fun.

But this post is at his expense. Sorry, my love.

Pat made a dinner late last night that we were going to heat up for our dinner tonight. After the Peninsula, we each came up with a few things that we wanted to try and do better. He had been reading this book about doing things just 1% better than you currently do and how that will get you greater results over the long term than trying to make big sweeping changes that are more difficult to stick with (that was the gist of it, at least. Perhaps I need to listen at least 1% better).

Anyways, he decided that he was going to try to make a dinner just one night a week. I was ecstatic. I had made my own resolutions - none of which really benefitted him - so I was glad to be gaining from his list.

He started with his new routine last night. While I read, he cooked. It was great in the kind of way that new rituals are. This was something we were going to like and follow through with. It was a win-win.

Today, at about 4 p.m., I sat down to eat a little something before getting ready to feed Rosie again. I was hungry. I was tired. It was that time of the day where you just start to glance at the clock a little too frequently, where naps are over but bedtime seems far away and where, sometimes, you just don't have a lot left to offer because you have been leaving it on the field all day. Not to mention, it's freezing here again and any hint of getting outside to pass the time until dinner seemed remote.

I opened the fridge and saw Pat's dish. Perfect, I thought. What a great guy. This is great. With Rosie snuggled up into me, I one-handedly scooped the noodles with spinach and artichokes and - what is that? Oh, I guess lentils. Hmm... interesting, I thought, but it should be good. He got the recipe from this new app that he downloaded and that he thought was going to help make the dinner-making process a cinch. (Notice that I have not posted a link to that app... that should give you a hint as to where this is going).

I sat down to eat and took a big bite. I like almost everything. Even if something isn't the tastiest, if I know that it is good for me and made from good quality ingredients and love, I will eat it. I am a breastfeeding mama, after all, and anyone who has been here before knows that when you get hungry, you are like a rabid raccoon sifting through last night's garbage.

But I couldn't even eat that pasta. It was so bad. Like really, really awful tasting. It tasted like mud.

I am laughing as I type this just as I laughed after I spit out his pasta. It was so bad and he tried so hard and all the 1 more percent in the world wasn't going to help that dish.

The best part is: he is sticking with his resolution. As I sit here typing right now, he is in that kitchen chopping God-knows-what to make something that I am praying doesn't taste like mud. He is nothing if not diligent. He just heard me laugh out loud and he knew what I was writing about. He is redeeming himself, he says. Just wait, he promises.

I asked if I could take a picture of last night's dish. He said that he tried to eat it. He tried to pretend that I was the one whose taste buds were off, but he couldn't manage to do it. He dumped the whole pot into the garbage. Yes, it was that bad that he couldn't even pretend for his pride. I asked if I could take a picture of the noodles in the garbage. He said that I couldn't because it smelled so bad that he had to take the garbage outside.

To be fair, when we married, he never offered himself as a good cook. He is a doting father, an exceptional provider and the best-hearted man I know. The feminist in me always wanted a man with whom I could share household chores. We'll keep trying to divvy those up fairly. We'll keep working on being 1% better. In the meantime, if I want to eat, I have a feeling I will be the cook in this house until Charlie is old enough to take the reins.