Thursday, June 28, 2012

There is no such things as a "free" storytime

There isn't much that I enjoy more than curling up to a good book. Ever since I can remember, I've been a bookworm. Obviously, with kiddos, I don't get to read near as much as I used to. Once I start a book, I have a hard time putting it down, which means everything else gets neglected. Not so hot when you have babes to care for. But when J travels, I often spend my evenings reading. Since he has been MIA 80% of the time since baby B has been born, I've gotten to read a bit more than usual.

But I digress...Miss H has definitely inherited my bookworm gene. I think baby B has, too. All ready he will sit, fascinated, as I read books to him, over and over again. Nothing excites Miss H more than reading a book or taking a trip to the library or bookstore.

This morning she ran around the house screaming, "Storytime today! Momma, storytime!" That girl loves her books.

Barnes and Noble is pretty much brilliant. They offer a free storytime, complete with a cookie or other treat, once a month for our local moms group (I'm fairly certain they offer it to the public at a different time as well...but I can't afford to go more than once a month, ha!). Yes, it's "free." But, as I vividly remember from Economics class, there is no such thing as a free lunch.

We always arrive early, Miss H making a mad dash to Starbucks where she gets "my own, Momma. My very own!" cup of tea or, when I'm feeling daring, chocolate milk (but if she actually drinks it all she ends up with diarrhea, yeah, you wanted to know that, so we steer clear of it most of the time). I get whatever, and typically Miss H cons me into a cookie or scone or quiche or whatever she so fancies that day, regardless of the fact that they are going to give her a free treat in just a bit. So all ready, our "free" storytime has cost me a good $10.

Miss H plays with the train table, listens to the story at story time, enjoys her snack, makes her crafts, and plays until she's finally a bit worn out. Fantastic! But no one can leave a book store without a book. That's totally my fault, but denying my child books is like denying her broccoli. I just can't fathom it. Mostly because I am a book addict and can fully appreciate the excitement of a brand new, crisp book, all of your own. The thrill of reading the words the first time. The joy of reading them another 2 millioin times, still as exciting as the first time.

And although she has a bookcase full of books, she really does read them. All of them. Regularly. In the span of one week I can easily say we've read each book she owns at least once - and anyone who has seen her collection knows it's extensive for a 2 year old (though she just told me a few days ago, "I need more books, Momma! See, see! I need more." Oh, the problems of first world children!). But since she reads them, I don't have a problem with having a few gazillion. And sometimes I agree with her, maybe she does need more...

I get it. I really, really do. So I always buy her a book. Sometimes 2. One time like 6, but we will pretend that time didn't happen.

So there I'm out another $5 if it was a cheap book. So, on a good story time day, the "free" event costs me $15. It's a good thing I never really anticipated it to be free.

And I can say that I retained something from my high school Economics class too.

Wednesday, June 27, 2012

Sorry doesn't fix it

I've known this my whole life. Sorry doesn't fix anything. Sure, it's nice to say after a wrongdoing, especially if you actually mean it. But it doesn't make the words you said disappear. It doesn't make the sting from your hit subside. Itn cannot, in fact, actually do anything to change what has all ready occurred. I know this. I'm a firm believer in this.

And yet I say that I'm sorry to baby B every single day. Sometimes multiple times a day. While he's nursing. While he's sleeping. While he's toddling trepditiously toward me. And away from me.

I say it even though I know that I cannot fix those first few months for him. I cannot make myself look back on my birth experience with him and say it was beautiful and great like Miss H's. I cannot go back and make myself happy. Sure, I wore him just as much as I did Miss H, but with so much reluctance. And only because I'd had her first; I knew what the right thing to do was, even though I didn't feel an overwhelming desire to have him on me. I hugged him and kissed him because I knew babies needed that, but it was on the rarest occassion that it was out of anything more than obligation.

I loved him, yes. That is a given. Just as with Miss H, I would have gladly laid down my life for him from the second I laid eyes on him. Before that even.

But I cannot go back and re-create a connection with him in those first precarious months that simply was not there.

Baby B is a happy, lovely, and loving baby boy. I know without a doubt that he knows how much I cherish him. We are connected now. That's for sure!

Bust still. There are things that make me feel awful, when in reality they should not. They way he is so wrapped up with J. At this age Miss H wanted nothing to do with her papa. But baby B happily crawls into his lap. He gives him hugs and besos unprompted. He cries when he leaves him. These are all good things, and things he does with me as well, but I feel sometimes that he only does it with J because he knows that J was the one genuinely connecting with him in those early months.

Even with breastfeeding I sometimes feel like I screwed things up. He's never nursed half as much as Miss H, which is a totally fine thing. She's a bit of an addict. But then I sometimes find myself thinking "Well, maybe that's because he knows." And so, of course, I apologize, even though I know it won't fix it.

I figure some day I will be able to look at him and not think, "I am just so sorry." Some day I will be able to stop trying to make it up to him on an hourly basis.

I remember telling J during those first few months that baby B deserved so much better than me. That he was so perfect, and wasn't it his rotten luck to get stuck with a momma like me. And then the lightswitch went on and things got a million times better and I realized that he got a pretty kick-ass momma. I will always be honest and forthcoming with him. I love him to absolute pieces and would never let harm befall him.

But I'll still likely tell him I'm sorry on a daily basis. Because I am.

From the deepest depths of my soul I'm sorry, my sweet boy.

Monday, June 25, 2012

She can write "t"!

I've been working letters with Miss H. Her being able to see the letter and know the sound it makes. Everything I've read says to teach the sound, not the letter's name, so that it's easier to learn to read. That makes sense to me, so that's what we're doing.

I've been teaching her with some homemade cards and glitter glue until I take the time to order her the sandpaper letters I really want (which I could easily be doing right now...). Anyway, we've only been doing this for a little over a week, but she knows "t", "m", "h", "i", and is about 60/40 on "a". But I'm impressed enough.

I haven't even tried to teach her to write them. I just want her to learn the sounds they make first. Well, she was on the floor yesterday with J, playing with her magnadoodle, and starts loudly squealing "tuh! tuh! tuh!" We both look down, and sure enough, she had written the letter "t" all on her own!

I'm likely easily impressed, and I'm okay with that. Because she absolutely blew my mind!

Things I wish I'd known BEFORE I had a baby

A good friend of mine is pregnant. I'm so excited for her as she enters this next chapter of her life. I wrote her an email with some of the things I wish others had told me before having my babes.

I can vividly remember being pregnant with my first. That's when the world of parenthood is so exciting, so daunting, and such a mystery. You buy silly, frivolous things that you've become certain are necessities (nursery bedding, anyone?). You set yourself so firmly in your ideals that you cannot imagine anything else (Baby will sleep in his own bed for a solid 12 hours by the time he's 6 months...).

So here is a compilation of just a few things I wish I'd known before having my first babe.

1.)Ditch the travel system and just invest in a really good convertible car seat. Like a Britax Boulevard (safest car seat rating). Yeah, it's going to run your about $250-$275 from diapers.com or albeebaby.com (they always have decent deals), BUT, a travel system is about $150 if it's a cheap one, typically more than that though, and then you're going to have to buy a convertible seat anyways at about 6 mos, and even a cheap one is going to be $80-$100, so why not put that money toward a super safe, comfortable seat that the baby can use for a good 5 years, ya know?

2.) If you buy entertainment things, purchase them from Craigslist or a second hand store. They use them for such a short period of time. And really, I wouldn't bother having any until after the babe is here and you can go to Target or something and actually put them in the swing and see if they like it. All babes are different. H LOVED the swing, but hated the bouncer. B was the exact opposite. Both hated exersaucers. And those are a huge waste of money anyway. A few toys and a blanket does the same thing.

3.) If you don't want to co-sleep with the baby, I'd still skip the bassinet. If you want baby in your room, just stick the crib in there until you're ready to put baby in his own room. Easier, and cheaper, and you don't have to "transition" to the crib.

4.) If you plan to breastfeed, DON'T buy formula "just in case", and don't let them "top her up" in the hospital until your "milk comes in." Breastfeeding SUCKS for the first 2-6 weeks. You are 99% likely to WANT to stop. So if you don't have the ability, i.e., no formula and bottle lying around, you'll keep going. And once you get past the hard part, it's such a freaking breeze.

5.) Don't invest in a "baby bath". Either bathe him in the sink, or take him into the shower with you. When he's super tiny, take him in, rinse him off, hand him out to your spouse to dry off. Super easy. And babies don't need all that baby soap and crap. Until they have real hair, water will suffice. And even then, I just wash H's hair with conditioner.

6.) Be flexible. Regardless of what you believe as far as parenting, remember your baby is on their own agenda. I know of parents who badly wanted to co-sleep, but whose baby very much needed their own space to sleep. And then vice versa of course, those who wanted their babies in their own beds, but their babies had different ideas (us!).

7.) If you plan to breastfeed, make sure you have SUPPORT. Even if that support is in the form of your well-informed husband who can tell you during the worst moments the reasons you chose to breastfeed- both for you AND baby's health. And he can also remind you how freaking expensive formula is. That being said, make sure you also have the support for if it just genuinely isn't working out for you and/or baby, that there is someone to tell you that it's okay- your baby will be fine on formula. Both momma and baby need to have a good and positive experience with breastfeeding. And if someone isn't happy in that relationship, it needs to change. And that's okay!

8.) Don't stock up on one particular brand of diapers unless it's relatively chemical free, like 7th Generation. Some babies have bad reaction to some brands of diapers. It would suck to have 500 diapers you can't use.

9.) And lastly, don't be afraid to ask for help. It's one of the hardest things as a parent to do, but really, one of the best when you are able to do it. (I'm still working on this one...immensely...)

Anyway, take it or leave it. I'm sure there is plenty more, but this is all I can think of off the top of my head, and baby B just woke up...

Sunday, June 24, 2012

Words hurt

We ran to the mall this afternoon, after attending a birthday party. I left Miss H with J at Target while I ran to grab something quickly from a different store, lugging baby B with me. As I passed American Eagle, I sadly overheard a mother tell her daughter, who looked to be about 10 or 11, "I am not paying thirty dollars for a pair of shorts that you're just going to eat yourself out of in a few weeks anyway."

Seriously, my heart broke for that little girl. There were SO many things wrong with that situation.

1.) That's her mother! The one person in the world who is supposed to love, support, be kind and gentle, and give words of praise. Not a person who should degrade or bully her!!

2.) She's a little girl! Why would anyone say such a hateful thing to a little girl, let alone to their own child!?

3.) She's a little girl! She doesn't buy the groceries or get to make food choices, her momma does! How sad that her mother would put that on her child. She's under 18. She doesn't decide what goes in the cart.

There are a lot more thing that were wrong with that scenario, but I digress. I walked into Target, holding baby B closer with tears threatening to make me look weak, and J was immediately all over that, asking what had happened. I immediately told him what I had overheard, which, of course, pissed him off.

"Unfortunately we live in a world where it's acceptable to make fun of and degrade our children. And many people do it in a joking manner, so they think it's okay. But I guarantee you it's not okay to the kid."

"I know," I agreed. Because I do.

I really wish I'd had the courage to intervene and say something instead of just walking on by like a shocked, appalled, crybaby.

I'll say an extra little prayer for that sweet girl tonight. I hope she realizes that she's beautiful, whether her shorts are a size 4 or 14. And I'll pray for her momma, too. That she realizes the same thing of her perfect daughter.

Because our children deserve better from us.

Friday, June 22, 2012

Big families impress me

Most days I feel like I'm going to lose my cookies with just the two kiddos. And seriously, anyone with even one child is a rock star in my book, so when I see people with 2+, I'm always amazed. Especially when they are such calm, well-mannered, well-behaved kids.

Not going to lie, I don't really look forward to running errands with two babes in tow. It seems like a task that would take me 20 minutes takes 2 hours when I have kids with. It drives me a bit insane.

But I do it. Obviously. J has been gone far more than he has been home since baby B was born. And it's not like we could go 10 months without eating! So I run all my errands with the kids, and really, it's become second nature. It's only when I get small indulgences and run to the store for tomatoes all by myself, that I remember how much easier it is on my own.

Or when I see someone with half a dozen kids and think that surely I shouldn't feel insane with just two!

While picking up some snack foods at Target today (we finally got Plum Organics here!), both babes in tow, plus J, which is always handy, we came across a lady with seven, yes, seven, children. All under the age of 10 roughly.

These children were all well-groomed, they stood beside or were nicely seated in the cart. The oldest pushed a stroller where the youngest babe sat in her bucket seat. That smiling baby alone amazed me! We had to give up the bucket seat long, long ago as baby B would just scream in it. And this sweet girl looked fairly older than baby B, but she just smiled on.

All the children smiled at us, none of them were loud. I had to do a double take at my own little baby, yelling in gibberish to me from his seat in the cart while my little tyrant of a daughter filled my cart with whatever she cared to put in there. The baby had milk spots on his onesie from where I'd just fed him and he'd been distracted and yeah...there'd been milk everywhere.

Miss H's pigtails were lopsided, her lips had a coffee mustaches (don't slay me!). I only had two babes and J was with today, and my kids were still mussed up by 10am, loud, and probably more rambunctious than this lady's brew had ever dreamed of being.

I wanted to ask her her secrets. How she got them all to be so calm and sweet and ever so behaved.

And not just her. But all big families I've come across. I mean, really, how many times have you come across a family with more than 5 kids and thought "Well, those kids are crazy little buggers?" I mean, typically kids of many are always so sweet and well-behaved. At least around here.

They amaze me. They impress me. They astound me.

They make me want to have half a dozen.

Until I realize that adding four more would not make my kids behave differently. They'd still be crazy, jumping off the walls, independent, stubborn, sassy, wonderful babes. I'd just have more of them.

And way less sanity.

But seriously, I bow to the mommas out there who do it. You're Goddesses. You really are.

Sometimes being a good mom sucks

Like when you have amazingly beautiful, ripe blackberries and sun sugar tomatoes in your garden. And you fantasize all morning about eating them. And when you finally go outside to pick them your kids look at you in horror - like how could you eat their succulent fruits? So instead you just crawl through weeds and lift up berry branches so they can find and pick all the ripe ones themselves and devour them as if they are the ambrosia of the Gods. Yeah, I don't care who you are, sometimes being a "good" mom just sucks. That's all I'm saying.

Thursday, June 21, 2012

I'm not a tree hugger, just cheap

It seems that everyone equates cloth diapers with tree huggers. Really, I'm not a tree hugger. Sometimes I wish I was. They are all free-love and seem to have no care in the world. But, regardless, I'm just not a tree hugger. Sure, it's nice that cloth diapers seem to be environmental friendly, it's like a bonus. But I'd never do it because they're kind to Mother Earth. I'm just not that good of a person, to be honest.

The main reason I cloth diaper is because it is CHEAP. Like, to the extreme. We do disposable diapers (7th Generation) at nighttime and when we are travelling. And just in those, I can guarantee we've spent at least 5x on the sposies than we have our entire, rather extensive, cloth collection. That's a lot of money. (A baby goes through approx $2,500 in disposable diapers before potty learning...)

Our babes also have sensitive skin, so really the only diapers we can use are expensive disposables...but to be blatantly honest, I wouldn't want the other diapers on my babes anyway. Don't get me wrong, we've used them. Before I fully realized what was in them. Now it's no way, Jose! Not in a million years. (Okay, if we were in a pinch and needed a dipe and that was all someone else had on them...)

Besides, cloth diapering is easy.  No matter what kind you use. Throw them in the wash every few days. Use again. Pretty simple. There really isn't an ick factor. It's not like you are actually touching poop. And quite frankly, your kid's poop just really isn't that big of a deal.

Also, cloth diapers are cute! I mean, baby B crawls around with math problems and bicycles on his bum! What's cuter than that?

So no, I'm really not a tree hugger. Just incredibly cheap.

Wednesday, June 20, 2012

I am humbled

It's a little crazy. I started this blog at the prompting of a dear, sweet, pregnant friend of mine. She was asking me, nearly hourly, all kinds of questions about pregnancy, birth, newborns, toddlers. Pretty much everything I have experience with thus far (go figure). She'd ask random things, insightful things, sometimes even things I hadn't even yet thought of. Sometimes, quite frankly, it was exhausting (and I know she is only laughing at this, because it's true!). Finally, after she said for the umpteenth time that I should just start a blog so I can write down whatever comes to my mind about parenting or pregnancy or whatever, and she can read it at her leisure, I finally agreed. Because when I ask others for advice, I'm sure it's annoying, but I'm greatly happy that they oblige me and take time out of their busy lives to shoot me a text back or answer an email.

To be honest, it's become crazy therapeutic for me. Can you tell by how many posts I've all ready accumulated? But, when the babes are napping and I have to sit and hold baby B, or after they're in bed, then I've got the time. So I'm sure some of them are a bit jumbled due to typing with one hand and never proof-reading because someone wakes up before I remember to do it. Oh, well.

But I'm truly humbled by what has transpired since I have began this blog. I've gotten over 30 emails from people, both male and female, some who I know, some who I do not, telling me that they agree with xyz, or they never thought of xyz before, or thanks for taking the words right out of their mouths.

Who'd have thought that the ramblings of a crazy girl could actually mean anything to anyone, right? Or that anyone would even bother to read them? I'm certainly not complaining, but it is not what I was expecting at all. I'm very used to marching to my own drum, so realizing that there are others marching to it, even if quieted in the shadows, is nice.

But, I should get back to cleaning the house. Hurricane H has struck massively today as I spent most of it walking in circles with baby B who is pissed off at the world because he's getting more teeth. But he did take some time off from screaming to discover that he can take five whole steps without stumbling. And he's getting pretty good at it.

So just wait for the post about two toddlers running in different directions and how I take J's advice and push one down while chasing after the other. Kidding. I'm totally kidding. I'd never push my kid down. Trip them, on the other hand...

It's tough, but totally worth it

Most people don't "get" breastfeeding a toddler. It's cool, I get it. Anything outside of our own norm makes us pause.

I wasn't breastfed as a toddler. Before I had kids, I didn't have friends who had breastfed toddlers. So it's not like I had anyone advocating to me to do it. Or to even think about doing it.

And yet I am. And it's challenging. And some days it really sucks. But to be honest, what sucks most about it the majority of the time is to have no one to talk to about it who actually gets it. Okay, to talk to about it at all. Nearly everyone I know, rather they chose to bottle-feed for breast feed, just do not support extended breastfeeding. And that's hard. Because that means they don't support me. And while I certainly don't do anything because people are supporting me, it's nice to know sometimes that there is support when you need it.

People I actually know have made fun of children who extend breastfeed. Yes, adults making fun of children.  Terribly disgusting. I've heard people refer to extended breastfeeding as sexual abuse or psychologically harmful. Both of which are absolutely ridiculous.

A lot of people even think the only reason someone breastfeeds past a year is for attention. Really?

There are a LOT of reasons to breastfeed past one year, but I'm pretty sure that all extended breastfeeders wouldn't miss a beat in agreeing that "showing off" certainly is not one of them.

Breastfeeding a toddler can be challenging. I've certainly had days (if not weeks) when I've struggled to keep myself from just screaming "That's it, you're done!" I just keep reminding myself that there are lots of reasons to keep going, and they outweigh the reasons to forcibly wean Miss H.

Just to list a few ....

1.) When Miss H is sick, I cherish being able to soothe her so easily while simultaneously providing her with immune boosting antibodies.

2.) I have always been comfortable nursing in publicand continue to do so. I love that I have a secret weapon to whip out in public situations that might require a non-nursing Mom to rush her cranky toddler out of sight.

3.) I love having an excuse to snuggle with my busy girl, and put my feet up. For a few minutes anyway, it's just her and I in a bubble of love and nothing else can bother us.

4.) I really feel that nursing her at this age is teaching her to be gentle with others. It also teaches her patience "Wait util Mommy finshes this, love." It teaches her to be aware of other people's feelings.

5.) While I realize she doesn't need breast milk, knowing that she gets it eases my worries about nutrition. So if the only thing she eats all day is a can of tuna (true story!), I know she's just fine.

 7.) Most of all, I love that she loves it. More than anything else in this world, I want my children to be happy and (for me at least) breastfeeding is an easy way to accomplish that.

So some days it's tough for me, but at the end of the day it's always worth it. And since I'm not one who generally gives a flying frak as to what others think, I won't be cutting her off any time soon. (Though some days I think she may not be too far off from stopping on her own..)

Tuesday, June 19, 2012

Going it alone...

So here is to another week of virtually single-mommyhood.

Of course, J is an awesome husband and the best papa that there ever could be, but, unfortunately, he is forced to travel for work. A lot.

Really, I shouldn't complain. 1.) I knew what I was signing up for (theoretically anyway, I didn't realize how hard it would be in practice). 2.) He travels waaaaay less now than he ever did before we were married with babes.

Still, it's hard. Yesterday, when he walked out the room initially to leave, baby B cried and reached out for him. It's sweet, I suppose. Especially since most of the time Bdoesn't seem to really care if J is around or not. I know it made J feel loved. So he came back and spent a few minutes holding and playing with him, which was beautiful to witness. There is something about seeing my husband with our children that is both incredibly beautiful and absolutely sexy.

Miss H said her obligatory good-byes, prompted J to give her, baby B, and myself besos, and then proceeded to have him kiss her kitchen, fake bird, baby doll, etc. Being the amazing papa he is, J obliged her. Then she watched him through the window as he drove away, standing on her plastic farm, which I was certain was going to fall over and put her through the window.

H does well without J. For a while. She can make it nearly his entire work day being okay. But by the evening she is typically breaking down, in need of her papa. I make it about as long to be honest, but of course the babes never see that. I am Momma. I am strong.

She made it to nap-time, then fussed for a few minutes for Papa. She's used to this routine though. Not that it makes it any easier. On any of us.

When J is gone I feel very lonely. Really, at the end of the day, he is the only person I have to talk to. Sure, I have friends. So many categories of them, in fact.

I have the friends I've had since my school years. They are great to reminisce with. To talk about basic things. But I can't really talk to them. We are at drastically different places in our lives. I mean, of course we are! We're only 24 years old. They're all in grad school, or just starting off on their own. They're not happily married with children all ready. And that's okay. Just makes it difficult to talk about much. Since, well, my children are my life. They're pretty much all I have to talk about.

I have my "mom" friends. My social circle definitely expanded significantly after having kids. I love my mom friends. Really and truly. There are days I probably couldn't function without them. But once again, I can't really talk to them. I mean, I'm just not close enough to them I guess, where I feel comfortable picking up the phone and saying, "I'm about to lose my shit. How's the weather your way?" And I feel like when I do vent to someone, I'm really just putting them out, because who wants to listen to someone vent about something they signed up for, you know?
I have my family, which of course, are friends. But I won't lie, I'm not terribly close to most of my family. Not from lack of trying, but it is what it is. It's nice to send them pictures of the kids and hear they're cute, but other than that, not so great for real conversation.

I don't have that friend that you pick up the phone and call when your toddler continually pushes every button, and the baby won't stop crying no matter what you do, and no one has napped all day and you're so on edge you could burst.

Other than J.

He is that friend for me. So when he is on travel, when he is virtually unavailable to me all day, every day, for a week or more at a time, it's really hard.

He is the person I vent to, or who I lament that I veered from eating Paleo and now the baby is vomiting again. He is the person who triumphs with me in our daughter learning new things and the baby taking steps. He is the person who I can discuss parenting beliefs and dietary needs and my goals for the future and any other random thing that might come into my head.

He is my best friend.

So although I can live without him. I can function. We get through all of our day-to-day hubub. I still miss him. I'd rather him be home. And so would the babes.

But we are lucky, I suppose. He could travel more. He could be home less.

At least when he is home he makes it count. When he is physically home, and the babes are awake, his attention and time is 110% directed toward them. Playing with and teaching them. Everything else comes second, as it should. He is not a sports fan or a video gamer. Nothing gets his attention over his children, and for that we are all truly grateful. They are first. As they should be.

So even when he is gone, they know they still matter. I know I still matter. And we just count down the days until he's home again. Which is never soon enough!

She surprises me sometimes!

Sometimes my daughter truly amazes me.

Yes, she's 2. She acts like she's 2. And that's okay. We've all been there at some point.

(Is it bad that I'm currently pretending I don't see baby B eating the cupcake wrapper out of the trash so that I can take the 2 minutes Miss H naps to type this? Yeah, probably...)

But then sometimes she does something that just kind of makes me go, "Whoa! Was that my girl?"

We were at the park today and a little girl who was probably about 4ish, started randomly hitting and shoving Miss H. Her little eyes welled up with tears and I wasn't sure if she was going to cry because she'd just been hurt (and hadn't instigated anything), or if she was just going to turn and wallop the girl. Both scenarios were pretty feasible.

After taking a few steps awayfrom the girl, instead she said, "Hitting's not nice. Maybe you're hungry. I sink (because this is totally how she says "think") I have snacks. Want some?" And came over to get some grapes to share with the little girl.

I watched this whole thing from where I was seated with baby B in the mulch, my jaw probably falling off it's hinge. WTF? Did my little girl really just respond that way?

(Okay...I fished the cupcake wrapper out of his mouth. He's moved on to chewing on the Internet cords...typically they nap at the same time...)

I was just dumbfounded with how well she handled the situation. And how it is in fact possible for kids to handle situations without other intervening all the time.

They ended up sharing grapes and the little girl helped Miss H into a "big kid" swing and pushed her for a while.

And this all seriously started with Miss H minding her own business (for once!) and the child randomly taking out some aggression on her.

I can't believe how big my baby girl is getting!

(And baby B is cutting 3 teeth...so I'll remove him from the cords now and be an attentive momma).

Monday, June 18, 2012

Sprinkles

Who knew something as simple as sprinkles could procure a nearly hour long conversation between J and I?

I made cupcakes yesterday for my little sister's birthday. Fantastically delicious dark chocolate cupcakes with dark chocolate nutella frosting. Yeah, yum! But of course, they're all brown, not very pretty, and so I decided I wanted to pretty them up with some sprinkles. Which brought on the conversation.

To sprinkle or not to sprinkle?

You see, Miss H has a food coloring sensitivity. So if she eats food coloring she ends up with a nasty case of diarrhea. It used to be that just touching it would break her out in a rash. But now she's gotten better, and so long as we wash her up thoroughly, and she's not touched/played with it for too long, it doesn't seem to bother her.

You do no realize all the things in the world that have food coloring in them until you have a babe that gets sick from it. Between her food coloring sensitivity and baby B's sensitivity to wheat, I've become a pro at reading labels. Mac 'n cheese, Nutrigrain bars, even marshmallows all have food coloring! Which, if we're being honest, I'm not really okay with feeding my kids artificial food coloring on a regular basis - sensitivity or not. This just makes me even more cautious.

Anyway. We can find a lot of natural foods around here. Naturally colored sprinkles are not one of them though. So to put sprinkles on the cupcakes means to put food coloring on the cupcakes. We went back and forth debating whether or not putting sprinkles on the cupcakes made us bad parents. If it was wrong, etc. We ultimately decided that a minimal amount of sprinkles would be just fine. It's not like a peanut allergy or something where she'd die, though probably terrible justification, I'm sure.

People warn you about a lot of things in parenthood. But they don't warn you about things like food allergies/intolerances and what a pain they are; for the kids and the parents.

Sunday, June 17, 2012

I need to be on my list of priorities

I won't lie, I really pride myself on always putting my babes first. This is just super important to me.

But I'm slowly realizing that although it's okay to put them first, I need to put myself at the very least somewhere on the list of my priorities. Since the day I got a + sign, pregnant with Miss H, I've put myself to the curb and dedicated every breath in my body to my babes.

And that's not a bad thing. Not really.

But there are so many simple, mundane things I forget, put off, or completely ignore for myself.

I mean, the kids get their hair brushed every single day. When we leave the house they are always in nice, clean, matching clothes (well, now that Miss H dresses herself frequently they're not always matched...). I won't lie, there are lots of days my hair never sees a brush. I just throw it up and hope for the best. Sometimes I wear a ratty t-shirt out in public, or, this is probably awful to admit, wear the same freaking shirt for 48 hours straight. Not to mention that I legitimately have two pairs of shorts and four shirts that even fit me properly - everything else is falling off and even my belts are too big to help. But whenever I say I'm going to go buy clothes for just me, I end up deciding against it because all I can think of is what I'm taking away from the babes. Ridiculous.

Every single day I read countless books to the babes. Miss H could literally read all. day. long. And I believe so strongly in reading that I read to her like crazy, even if it is the same book twenty times in a row (sadly, I'm not exaggerating here). But I never get to read for pleasure anymore. And before children, I easily read 2-3 books a week, though one a day was not uncommon. Now it's a miracle if I make it through a whole book in 6 months. No joke.

I make sure my kiddos eat well-balanced meals each day. Some days I forget to eat altogether (and I used to think people were crazy when they said they "forgot" to eat. I mean, who forgets to eat!?). I need to make eating a priority. And eating well a priority.

My babies say their prayers every single night. I can't remember the last time I said a real prayer. Something more than the repetitive grace I say before eating or the "please God let us be safe" before travelling. I think God and I are due a little heart to heart sometime in the near future.

It's a miracle I've managed to become relatively thin, because I never exercise. And I really need to. I do Pilate's once a week. But that hardly counts. I need to start running again. I need to make the gym a routine part of my day. Which really means I need to stop bitching about lack of sleep and get my lazy bum out of bed at the crack of dawn so I can hit the gym before J leaves for work.

Miss H's baby scrapbook doesn't go past her first Christmas. I need to finish it up until her first birthday. Then I need to work on starting baby B's. I need to find a way to just let those babes be and do some things on their own. They don't truly need Momma to entertain them every waking second. Do they?

I've been working on the same quilt, made from my grandfather's shirts for over a year now. It's still relatively unfinished. The only sewing projects I have been able to complete are for the children. I deserve at least one thing for myself. I really do.

I make sure the babes have active social lives. They play with other kiddos nearly every day. But I've not even gone out with a friend since Miss H was born. Not once. Not even for an hour. I need social interaction, too. Don't get me wrong, I adore the social interaction I get from J and the mommy friends who get together with us, but it's probably okay to have friends who I actually see without our children, right? Maybe.

This is why it's so hard to make me a priority. Because once I start thinking of what I should do for me, I start feeling like I want too much for me. That I'm selfish and that every single thing that I do for me is in some way taking away from the babes. And I feel like that's not fair because I chose to have children. I chose this life. It's kind of like I don't have a right for "me things." But I know that's also super silly. If I don't take care of myself, and make myself some sort of a priority, I'll probably end up a sour pickle. Or maybe not.

But I probably do need to do something about the me factor.

Saturday, June 16, 2012

"Best Dad Ever"

J is seriously the best father I know. He is so present with his children, which seems to be a rarity for many these days. He always puts them first, and I love that. I mean, this is the guy whose little girl called him one early afternoon and said, "Papa, come home and carry me." And what did he do? He immediately turned his computer off and came home to hold her and play with her. I don't know a lot of dad's who would do that! (Granted, a lot aren't in work positions where they can, and I do get that, too).

The relationship he has with our children is so beautiful and amazing.  Nothing melts my heart more than seeing him holding and playing with our babes. And nothing breaks my heart more than when he's away and I have to listen to them cry for him. But I always remind myself that it's a good thing they cry for their papa, because the alternative is them not being attached enough to be phased. And I wouldn't want that.

J inspires me as a parent each and every day. It's like he's able to take all my beliefs and carry them out without all the mistakes I make. He definitely inspires me to be better.

He's incredibly supportive of all the crazy ideas I come up with in regards to our children. When I mention something that is "new" to him (and typically me too!) he is always immediate in going about to research the new idea. And then he typically feels more strongly about it than I do, and is my support person when I'm feeling weak. (So many times I have sighed after feeling all touched out and proclaimed that maybe I wanted to wean Miss H, and each time he says, "If you really feel like you can't do it one more single day and still be happy, then let's do it. But remember, these xyz reasons are why we decided on self weaning.").

J's never raised his voice to our children. Not once. He's never made empty threats. He's never hit them. He's always so calm and gentle, the best peaceful parent I could ever hope to know (and far better than I could ever hope to be!). And let's be honest here, it's not like my kids are little saints that never try him. He's just a saint and realizes that he must be the example for them and must react the way he wishes for them to. Seriously, he's an awesome dad.

Right this very second he is out on the porch swing putting baby B to sleep, because he was having a rougher time going down tonight. I brought B downstairs after 30 minutes of trying, to no avail, to help him into slumberland. Immediately J whisked him into his arms, kissed his cheeks, and said, "Let me take him out to the swing." And that was that.

I hear so often of married mothers who do the majority of all the childcare 24/7. And if that's what works for them, than that's great!  But I think I'd lose my mind. J changes nearly all the diapers when he's home. He gives baths and helps to feed them. Nearly all of our children's waking hours when J is home he's playing with them. And that's kind of awesome to me. And it's not him playing with them because he feels like he has to, but it's because he truly wants to.

He loves teaching our children new things. Today he and Miss H found a dead bumblebee outside and he was so excited to explain all the different parts of the bee to her. At the Farmer's Market he held baby B's little hands and walked him through the fountain, talking to him about the temperature of the water and the texture of the rocks on his feet.

I love the kind of father J is. I love the kind of man he is that let's him be such a kick-ass papa. I love that he adaptable. I love how tough he likes to pretend he is, but how I can watch a 2 year old girl and a 9 month old boy turn him to putty without saying a word.

I know, I know, everyone has the "Best Dad Ever" or are married to the "Best Dad Ever." But seriously, my children really do have the best papa ever. I seriously am married to the man who is the best papa ever. And that's just that, folks.

Friday, June 15, 2012

Baby B's name just isn't as cool as Miss H's

Let's face it, it just isn't. At least not in my opinion.

Miss H's name is beautiful and spunky, just like her. It expresses a passion of mine and tells a simple love story that is J and I. It took immense amount of thought and time to come up with.

Baby B's...well, his first name is his great grandfather's on his papa's side. A man I never knew, which alone makes me a bit uncomfortable. What if he wasn't the kind of man I'd want to name my son after? Albeit, it's an uncommon U.S. name, so it gets tons of points for that, but most people absolutely butcher it, so I often prefer people to call him by his shortened nickname. And I do love the nickname.

His first middle name is my dad's middle name. Nothing wrong with that at all, except I really hate the idea of naming kids after family/friends. It's like taking a piece of their identity away, you know? But at the end of the day I have no one to blame but the flabbergasted woman who gave birth to a boy when she was certain he was a girl...yeah, that'd be me.

And his second middle name is the name of a great man in one of my favorite novels. If he grew up to be like him, I'd be okay with that.

So although I like his name, it's no where near as "cool" as H's. I kind of feel bad for that, but really, Miss H just has a kick-ass name. We knew we couldn't give another kid a name quite as great. But baby B's name is pretty great, in it's own way. And I'm sure the older he gets the more I'll appreciate it, and the story of how it came to be (I mean, seriously, I was 100% sure without a doubt he was GIRL!)...

Thursday, June 14, 2012

The heart and the head

Eleanor Roosevelt once said, "Do what you feel in your heart to be right - for you'll be criticized anyway."

I have to agree with those words. And I try very hard to live by them.

During those moments of frustration when Miss H and I are not connecting because she's just so pissed off about something that seems absurdly ridiculous to me, and I really just want to toss her screaming, throwing things self into her room until she can "behave", because my head says that is what should be done since so many people raise amazing kids and have implemented this, I try to always let my heart get a say in . Because my heart says to hold her, to talk to her and sing to her, even if this only enrages her more at first, and takes her three times as long to calm down as opposed to just putting her in her room. I want her to know that her feelings are valid. That even while tantruming I love her and I am there for her. That I realize that she is oh-so little and needn't be left alone to deal with such big feelings all on her own.

Granted, I'm not perfect. I don't always react this way.

But still.

I've learned that so much of parenting is a constant battle between your head and your heart. I've always been a very practical, reasonable, and logical individual. Not necessarily when it comes to my babes though.

My head has always said that babies should sleep in their cribs from day one, to help prevent "sleep issues" down the road. My heart has never let me part with my babes during slumber.

My head says a 2 year old does not need to breastfeed. My heart says she does, even if for only emotional needs.

You see, it's an interesting difference in viewpoint that the head and the heart can have. For some, we make all choices, parenting and non, with our head. For others, it's with our heart. And for some it's a mix.

I'm definitely a mixer kind of momma, but any way works. Any way is right.

Wednesday, June 13, 2012

I wish I weren't such a freak

Really and truly I do.

I wish I could leave my kids for an hour, an evening, or even a whole day, and not freak out. But I can't even do it theoretically in my head, so in reality, not so much.

Today is the first day our new sitter took the kids as a "trial run" before she has to watch them next week while I attend pilates. She took them to the park for one hour. She's two blocks away, and we both have phones. And yet I'm still sick to my stomach paranoid. And she really is a terrific girl!

J and I have talked/fantasized about taking a vacation kid-free once they've weaned...so you know, in like ten years...

But then after we've daydreamed about where we'd go, it always boils down to me saying, "Well, it's a nice thought. But who'd keep the kids? Never gonna happen..."

And then the bubble is burst.

Sane, rational, loving parents leave their children all the time. And it's okay! So why can I not get on that bandwagon, too? Especially when I want to.
Why do I, instead, just focus in on all the ways someone might treat my children differently than I would? Sure, they probably would. But J treats them differently than I do, and I have no issues with that. But then again, we are the same page, we just do the smaller bits differently. And to be honest, if someone "messes up" in our parenting style/beliefs, it's me.

I'm the one who has lost my cool a few times and yelled at Miss H. I'm the one who's taken her and tossed her in her room because I didn't want to hear her scream. I'm the one who has put her in front of the TV for an hour just so that she'd be quiet and baby B could nap.

Has J ever done any of that? No. Never.

So why am I so afraid of someone else performing my parenting mistakes on my kids?

I irrationally worry that someone will take H to the park and tell her she's not allowed to go on the big slide all by herself, or try climbing up anything, or that she cannot swing on the swings Superman-style. Or, God forbid, that she cannot climb up the slide. (Don't worry, I drilled it into the sitter that these were all acceptable!)

I'm afraid that someone will lose their cool and yell at her. Or worse, hit her.

I'm afraid someone will insist she not wear her clothes backwards after she has worked so hard to do it herself.

I'm afraid someone will let her watch TV for 3 hours straight. Or to make it worse, it'd be something that I'm not okay with her watching. Something with sassy kids or violence.

I'm afraid someone will feed her nothing but processed food and not realize that Kraft mac n cheese has food coloring in it and now she has diarrhea. Which of course would likely lead to lots of accidents, and she dislikes being in a diaper, so I can only envision the hysterics if someone tried to put her in one because they didn't want to clean up the accidents, which would lead to a battle of wills, and then maybe H would be punished, and all ready my heart aches for her mistreatment and it's never even happened.

I'm terrified someone would leave them to cry alone if they woke up at night. 

I'm afraid they'd be forced to eat certain foods at certain times, when they are always allowed to mostly eat when they want and how much they want.

I'm afraid they'd be forced to clean up all the toys, when that's not a requirement we have of them (though we encourage them to help!).

I'm afraid, in general, that situations would just not be handled the way I would handle them.

Which is silly. Because as I have no qualms admitting, I'm not perfect. I make plenty of mistakes, nearly on a daily basis. So how in the world could I expect someone else to live up to my impossible expectations?

Yeah, I really am a freak. I get it. I truly hope I can get over it at some point in my life. Because that weaning vacation sounds fabulous...and there are plenty of people who love my babes and they'd be perfectly fine with.

Of course, most of those people leave far away. I keep telling J that we are going to have to face the fact that we will eventually have to end up out West to be near his family and friends who might lend a hand every now and then.

And hell, it's possible my kiddos might even have fun without me!

Nah...baby steps...freaks need to take baby steps...

Monday, June 11, 2012

"Open it for you"

Pretty much my kids are amazing. I say this every day.

The three of us, baby B, Miss H, and I, were laying in bed. They'd woken up and were just regrouping before actually getting up. Well, baby B crawls over me and picks up Miss H's sippy cup.

She looks at him and says, "That's miiiiiine!"

But she doesn't move for it. Then after a second of watching him struggle with the cup, as the lid was closed, she says, "Open it for you. Open it for you. Momma, open it for him?"

"Yes," I tell her. "You may open it for him."

So she does, and then holds the cup for him to drink from it until he takes it back in his hands.

"Sharing," Miss H says. "Very good sharing."

"That was good sharing," I tell her.

"My turn," she says to baby B, directing the straw to her mouth. "Okay, your turn!" and she gives it back to him.

Yeah...that's good sharing. And I've never forced her to share anything in her life. So at least I know that the countless times I've said things like, "Does your brother look happy that you won't share that with him?" or "Little Sally has a sad face because you won't share that toy with her" has actually paid off. She "gets" sharing...and did so happily!

Preschool was traumatizing

For me anyway. Though, I'm pretty sure it was for Miss H, too.

I desperately wanted Miss H in preschool after I had baby B. I didn't realize it at the time, but it was mostly because of the PPD. I just thought for some crazy-ass reason I'd be happier if she were gone for a bit during the days. I was wrong.

Of course.

Miss H attended preschool for all of 6 weeks. They may very well be the most traumatic 6 weeks of my life to date, and, well, I've been through some pretty traumatic stuff in my life, so that's saying a lot.

She would scream and cry and beg me to stay and not to leave her every morning I dropped her off. And then I would stand outside in the hall, or sit in the car, and just bawl like a baby. Sometimes I'd call J and tell him that I knew what I was doing was wrong, and yet there I was, still doing it. Not going to lie, he wasn't terribly supportive. At least, not in the way I was hoping he'd be.

I kept hoping he'd tell me that it was all for the best and she'd be fine. Instead he always told me that I should go back and get her then. I never did. Instead I just cried, ignoring all of my mommy-instincts, and drove around until it was time to pick her up again, instead of going home. I felt like the worst mother in the world during those weeks. And they were some of the lowest weeks of my life.

Then one day I went to take her to preschool and she started screaming in the parking lot. I just looked at her, my perfect, wonderful little girl. She wanted so desperately to be with me. As flawed and imperfect as I was. As much as I'd been snapping lately. Although I spent too much time holding the baby and not nearly enough time playing with her. She still just wanted to be with me. So I had to be doing something right.

So I scooped her up and smothered her in my arms and kissed her until she was calm. Then I asked her, "Do you want to go home, or do you want to go play with your friends?"

"Home," she answered. "Go home."

So we did.

And I had begun to think she'd completely forgotten about those traumatic weeks.

Until today while we were eating lunch and she was looking at a painting hanging on our wall that she had done at preschool all those months ago. And she turned to me and said, "H went to school. Momma come right back. But I cry and cry. It's okay baby, Momma sorry. I so sorry. But then Momma go bye-bye again and I cry and cry."

It took everything in me not to burst into tears as I listened to my 26-month-old recount her memories of that time. She remembered being in distress. She remembered me just leaving her. She remembered me apologizing when I came back, and then doing it all over again the next day.

It's heartbreaking.

And it's eye-opening.

I try my best to teach her that we only say "sorry" when we truly are. If we have done something that is wrong, and we plan to do our best not to do it again.

Yet I told her sorry every day that I picked her up, with every intention of doing the same thing the next day. What a hypocrite.

This is definitely a learning experience for the books. Probably one of those things that I will feel guilty about forever, especially now that I'm in a very clear state of mind and can look back on the situation. I'm appalled that it ever happened, to be honest. But I guess we don't do things we legitimately regret and then look back on those memories fondly.

I hope she forgets about those weeks, to be honest. I hope it's something she never asks about when she's older. I hope it's not something she ever has a vague memory of. It doesn't appear to be going that way, though. So if she ever asks, I'll answer her truthfully. And hopefully I've raised her to be the kind of person who can forgive another for their mistakes and misgivings.

Sunday, June 10, 2012

Miss H's fantasmic raspberry white-chocolate (gluten free!) cookies

Miss H woke up in a much better mood than she'd been in before her nap. Hallelujah!

The first thing she asked was if we could make cookies. I told her yes, because 1.) I wanted to keep her quiet and away from J and baby B who were napping and 2.) who doesn't love cookies?

Typically when we make "cookies" they are almond butter date nut cookies (betcha can't guess what's in those!). But we had tons of fresh berries, so I suggested we make some blueberry cookies (and I'd seen a promising looking recipe on Pinterest). But...my computer was too slow and she was getting antsy, so I decided we'd come up with our own cookie recipe.

And it turned out mighty magnificent! Oh, and we totally did not use blueberries. She decided, right before she was to dump them into the mix, that she wanted raspberries instead. So that's what we went with.

But I'll share our kick-butt recipe, because they are seriously addictive! Even J ate handfuls of them, and he rarely does that with treats.

Ingredients:
1 cup room temperature butter
1 cup turbando sugar (I am sure brown sugar could easily be substituted, and white sugar probably would be fine. I'd avoid liquid sweeteners [honey, agave, etc.] as it will make the batter much too sticky, as it is all ready sticky as is.)
3-4tbsp of lemon juice (we didn't actually measure this, just winged it)
2 duck eggs (chicken will obviously work too! You might need to do 2 eggs + 1 yolk...)
3 cups of gluten-free baking flour
1/2 tsp of baking soda
1/2 tsp of baking powder
1 tsp kosher salt
1 package of white chocolate chips
6 oz of raspberries

Directions:
1.) Preheat oven to 350 degree.
2.) Cream sugar and butter in bowl. Then add lemon juice and eggs.
3.) In separate bowl mix flour, baking soda, baking powder, and salt.
4.) Add dry mixture to wet mixture. Mix thoroughly.
5.) Add white chocolate chips and raspberries. Mix with spoon so as to not completely crush all the berries.
6.) Lightly grease cookie sheet (though it may not need to be greased, I just always do this).
7.) Cookie dough is pretty sticky. You can either try to make it into cookie balls as is, or let the dough chill in the fridge for a bit (we did both, and both turned out equally yummy!).
8.) Cook 12-15 mins. Until lightly browned.
9.) Eat 'em all!

Seriously, best cookies ever!

She loves me, she loves me not...

That's how I've been feeling about my 2 year old all week.

Typically, she's a really good kid. She listens pretty well (for a 2 year old), follows directions, has nice manners, etc.

But this past week, and most especially today, she's just pushing all of my buttons. One second she is sweet, the next I am fairly certain she's trying to kill me in one way or another.

I have tried over and over to figure out what the problem is. Is she not getting enough attention? Does she need more Momma time? Does she need more Papa time? Is she teething or feel unwell? Does she need more sleep. Is she hugry?

I feel like I've tried nearly everything. When she is grabbing baby B by the neck for the umpteenth time, I've tried giving him all the attention. Coddling him and playing it up, so she can see she doesn't get attention for bad behaviour. I've tried putting her in time-out, but that's a joke. Time-out generally doesn't phase her. On rare occasions it does, so it seems I still try to utilize it. But she is pretty content to have to go sit somewhere all by herself. Or occassionally she will get up 50 times, which just driving me nucking futs, so I try to avoid it for my own sanity. So generally I only use "time-out" when she's hysterical and screaming, and in the way of I just put her in her bedroom until she's calmed down.

But still, it feels like there has to be something that works. I, admittedly, hate the idea of being a "mean" parent. As in, my child fears me. But to be honest, I hate the idea of having a hellion even more. So I'm just stuck in this place where I don't know what to do with her sometimes.

I want her to be nice and to obey because she wants to. Not because she is afraid of the consequence if she does not. Unfortunately, I don't know how to make that work. It's a lovely idea, an idea I strongly believe in, in fact, just not one I know how to carry out.

The only minor comfort I have is that we have been around a lot of kids in the past few weeks who are heavy-handed disciplined, and I can honestly say that on her very worst days, my little rascal still looks like a saint compared to most of these kids.

But, in reality, I don't care how other kids behave. I care about how my children behave. They are all I have to worry about at the end of the day.

And right now, my eldest child is trying to push me into an early grave with this defiant streak and apparent loss of her "listening ears."

I guess for now I'll just hope tomorrow is a better day...mostly because J works and I don't think Miss H and I will get along very well if she doesn't change her tune...or I change mine, I suppose...

Saturday, June 9, 2012

We don't say "no" to our kids

Okay, that's totally a lie! You are probably thinking "WTF?", right?

But really, we try really hard not to say "no." Obviously, we say it. A lot. More than I wish we did some days. But we try to give as many "yes" options as possible.

If Miss H is coloring and suddenly she starts wandering toward a wall or something, instead of saying "Don't color on the walls!" I say "You can color on the paper or in a coloring book. Otherwise, Mommy is putting the crayons up." I try my best to give her better options, and to also clearly let her know what the consequence is if she can't make a better decision.

Now, I'm not perfect. Sometimes I just say "no." Sometimes I'm just too annoyed or spent, and just plain out say "no" with no explanation, no choices. Nothing. And then I typically feel bad about it later. Especially when it's like "Stop kicking me!" (Don't worry, she isn't Satan. She doesn't just randomly kick me. But when she gets into a good tantrum and I get close enough, I'd be a liar if I said it never happened.) More often than I'd like to admit, I probably yell this too. Not scream it, but say it way louder than ever necessary. And quite frankly, I've learned that the louder I am, the less she listens. So you'd think I'd have learned by now...

I truly hate when other people just flat out tell my children "no" for something. With no explanation. With no other option. And without clearly telling them at the very least what the consequence is if they continue doing x (because I really do not believe in consequences with some kind of warning for the most part).

Yep, I'm a crazy, hokey parent. I'm okay with that. Occasionally my children act out. They do not always listen (which, admittedly, drives me insane!). They're not perfect. They certainly have their moments.

But for the most part, they are extremely well-behaved. We are complimented on a nearly daily basis on how well-behaved our children be, whether it be at church or a restaurant. Just today while we were at the fire station looking at the trucks, the fireman was amazed that Miss H was only 2. He kept saying, "She is so well-mannered. She speaks so well." She said her "pleases" and "thank yous" appropriately.

Sure, sometimes she forgets her manners. But it's pretty rare. And her meltdowns and slip-ups tend to be when we are with a lot of people, especially people she does not know well.

But that's okay.

Miss H is 2. She is a child, who with time, will learn. I will not train her like a puppy as I've heard of some people doing. I do not expect her to do as I say all the time, she's got her own agenda! And if we're being honest, I don't want her to be the kind of person you tell to jump and they reply with "How high?"

Sure, my job as a mom might be a bit more difficult, but I hope she questions everything, and continuously. I hope she refuses to be a follower, even if raising a leader kills me. Or makes me go prematurely gray.

So I'll keep my house a fairly "no-free" zone, and try my best to let her do what she wants (within reason...Jaime about died when I let her wander half way across a school carnival without me today. I could see her at all times, and she was fine.) And let's face it, my expectations of my children in some ways may significantly higher than yours (general "you"), and in others may be significantly lower.

So, although I try hard to never say "no", I certainly do. But I will keep trying not to, even if others think that makes me crazy. But really, unless I told you that we try not to say no, would you have even known?

Friday, June 8, 2012

What's this thing you call an iron?

I don't iron. Ever.

If I come across an article of clothing that needs to be ironed, I throw it in the laundry basket and hope it makes it's way through the laundry cycle and ends up unwrinkled. For real.

It drives J a bit insane, I think. He doesn't say anything, but he does tend to just kind of roll his eyes. So after I let a basket of clean clothes sit a bit too long...and they all needed re-washed...err...ironed, I decided to give it a go.

J asked me if I was sure I knew what I was doing while I battled opening the ironing board (after I had to ask him where to even find the ironing board and iron...) I told him, "Of course!" He just watched, amused, while I tried everything to get the stupid thing opened and set up. I'm kind of a know-it-all. Okay, I'm really a know-it-all, so after insisting I knew how to set it up, I was not going to ask for help.

And I didn't. After a good five minutes I got it opened.

And then on to the iron.

It wasn't until after everything was ironed well enough that we'd wear the clothes (though still a bit wrinkly), and after I complained that our iron sucked, that J informed me that it helps if you put water in the iron so as to steam the clothes.

WTF?

I guess I'll know for next time.

Or I'll just wash the clothes again. So much easier!

Thursday, June 7, 2012

To wean or not to wean

That is the question.

I feel pretty strongly about child-lead weaning, for me, personally. I completely understand that it's not for everyone, and that's a-okay!

But that sure doesn't mean that I don't have days where I fantasize about Miss H weaning. A lot.

I love breastfeeding her, just as I love breastfeeding baby B. I love how sweet they look, how perfectly they fit in my arms. How they get this sense of calm and relaxation about them that only comes when they're at the breast. I love the way it connects us. The way it comforts and makes my children feel secure. I honestly just think breastfeeding is a beautiful, wonderful, amazing thing. Lynch me if you wish.

That being said, and as strongly as I feel about child-lead weaning, I've definitely imposed some mommy-lead weaning on Miss H. Although I don't tell her "no", I do offer her other things first. When she does breastfeed, I always put a time limit on it, and she's pretty good with that.

If she weaned tomorrow, I'd be more than 100% okay with that. Though I certainly wouldn't force her. I realize that it gives her comfort. I realize that when we've had a tough day, or she's feeling like she hasn't gotten enough attention, it's the best way to make her feel connected and loved. I get that.

She is night weaned though. That was completely mommy-lead. I have a lot of negative feelings associated with that. I have a lot of excuses for why I did it too, but at the end of the day no one held a gun to my head and forced me to do it, so I have no one to blame but myself. It's done. It is what it is, I suppose.

But because I felt so badly about this decision, I swore I'd let baby B 100% self-wean, both daytime and nighttime. And I felt very strongly about this.

That is until about a month ago. Then I said no way, this is ridiculous, and chose this very evening as the night we start night-weaning. I don't mind nursing him at night. What drives me insane is that he can't sleep more than 30 minutes without a boob in his mouth. It doesn't matter if it's for nap or at night, in bed or in my arms.

Maybe this makes me extremely selfish. I don't really want to have to hold him or lay down beside him for 12+ hours a day while he sleeps. I get. I'm a bad mom because I want to put my own needs before his. Mostly, I'm okay with this. Or at least I'd like to say that I am. But I do feel badly that I cannot live up to my own beliefs and expectations. At least not happily. And I feel badly admitting that sometimes breastfeeding my child 24/7 makes me unhappy. Not all the time. Not even most of the time. But definitely some of the time.

So we've been building up to this day, mentally and emotionally preparing for it. It's not something I can do alone, that's for sure! And then three days ago J told me he was having second thoughts. Maybe this wasn't a good idea. What if baby B doesn't get enough food if we cut night feedings? How can we put his health at risk like that? What if he just screams inconsolably? How is that any different than cry-it-out, which he feels even more strongly against than I do?

Really, he just voiced all of my concerns. And made me start doubting things, too.

This is definitely one of those times where I wish I had a good non-judgemental friend who I could vent this too, and then s/he could give me a 3rd party outsider view. Someone who can tell me that my child will not be scarred for life if I night wean him (I'm not fully convinced Miss H's scary, awful night talking/screaming/crying is not somehow related to forcible night-weaning...).

I have a lot of expectations for myself as a momma. I think it's just natural, as other people always had very high expectations for me throughout my life. I naturally imposed them on myself. Sometimes I just wonder if I expect too much from myself. Then, of course, I immediately think of all the people I know who give even more of themselves to their children than I do, and then it seems crazy to think my own expectations are too high, you know?

So yeah...we are like four hours from Project Night Wean Baby B and I still can't decide if it's a go...

Wednesday, June 6, 2012

I have a dream...

That one day, I will go to the grocery store and my toddler won't throw a tantrum.

Okay, that's a bit dramatic. 99 out of 100 times she is perfectly behaved while shopping. It just seems that when she isn't, it really gets to me.

I guess my real dream, or goal, whatever, is to appreciate Miss H more. To take note of the 99 times she is behaving nicely in the grocery store, or says "excuse me" to get my attention instead of screaming, or uses gentle hands even though she's clearly upset, etc.

Her big things lately is jumping. I have been making a conscious effort to tell her "Thank you for jumping on the floor" or "You have great listening skills and I appreciate that you're jumping on the floor like Mommy said" as opposed to waiting for her to jump on furniture and then saying, "Miss H, where do we jump? Are we supposed to jump on the furniture?" I'm trying very, very hard to focus on the good behaviour, and not necessarily ignore the "bad" behaviour, (I really hate the word "bad:, I need to find something that doesn't make my skin crawl), but to at least not focus on it very much.

Really, Miss H is such a good girl. I want her to know that, each and every day. I want her to never doubt how proud I am of her, and to know without a doubt, that even if she is behaving in a manner that doesn't make me want to praise her, I love her. Unconditionally. She is my child.

And even if she is tantruming in the middle of the grocery store, I'll still proudly claim her. Because let's face it, she throws a pretty damn good tantrum, too!

Tuesday, June 5, 2012

You don't fight?

J and I don't fight.

A friend once asked me, "How in the world do you and J never fight!?"

I don't know. I guess for me, it's like, how in the world could we? I love him too much to want to hurt him in any way, which would include fighting.

Don't get me wrong, we've certainly had disagreements. I've been annoyed and sighed a little too loudly or rolled my eyes. But we've never raised our voices to one another.We've never gone to bed unhappy with the other.

We just don't. There's no secret or magic to it all. We're just on the same page for all the important stuff (and some of it took some give and take from each of us to get there). And all the little stuff, well, it's just not important.

We respect each other. We love each other. Which makes it all easy. I mean, if he says x, and I say y, we can typically conclude with z and both be happy. But if not, if x is really important to him, and y isn't really at all important to me, then we go with x, and vice versa.

For instance on a very minor level, it's super important to me that we purchase free-range chicken and grass-fed beef, and preferably local. J doesn't care what kind of meat we eat. So obviously we go with what I want. I prefer gluten-free tortillas, though occasionally I'll go with sprouted whole grain. But if we are making chicken enchiladas, we have corn tortillas because J just won't budge on that one. And that's okay. We compromise in some areas. But really, the areas we are making compromises are the small things, so it just doesn't seem like a big deal.

I don't know. It's funny. The adults around me were always fighting while I was growing up. People yelling was the norm. I figured that's how I'd end up too if I were ever in a relationship. But I'm not. J is just so freaking calm, it's hard not to be as calm and stress-free as him. He doesn't sweat the small things, and I've definitely benefited from taking a page from that book.

So unless it's something that I can seriously say will make an impact on our lives 20 years from now, or be extremely important to us 20 years from now, I let it go. It's just not worth the fight.

Monday, June 4, 2012

Just a Momma

So, back to the getting accepted to Law School but not going...

Someone asked me "why?". Why bother to go through the effort of applying (and to anyone who has ever applied knows it's a bit of a pain in the ass) when I'm not even going to attend after being accepted?

Well...I didn't apply with the intention of not going. At the time, I did intend to. But then once accepted, I just had to be completely honest with myself.

I have zero desire to go to Law School. No wish to ever practice law (which, when put like that, who would want a career that they could never be proficient in???).

So why did I even apply to Law School?

1.) I've always said I would eventually go. I have no great passion, no career or job that I see myself someday loving, so why not Law?

2.) I was feeling a bit worthless when I applied. I was experiencing PPD, I felt inadequate as a mother, as a wife, as a human being in general, and I thought that maybe if I "did something with my life" I would feel better.

3.) I sincerely believed I would not be accepted, but then in 10 years from now I could at least say I "tried."

4.) I figured on the very slight possibility of acceptance, then I would go. Hands down.

But now I know better. Now I know I will not go. Perhaps I will never go. And I'm very happy with this decision.

It's okay to be "just a mom." I am still an extremely intelligent human being. My intelligence does not cease simply because I am no longer in some sort of school.

I am enough. Just as I am, a stay at home mom, I am enough. My husband loves me. My children love me. They are happy with me just as I am. And I am happy with me.

There was a time in my life when I thought for sure I would never get married. I would  never have children, and I would only be a successful career woman. But then I met J, we said "I do", decided to have children, and voila! (Okay, so if we are being honest, it might not have happened in that exact order...)

I wouldn't change my life. Not for one single solitary second. Sometimes it's hard. Sometimes I am so pissy because everyone is clingy and whiny. Miss H wants to nurse all freaking day and she has a crappy toddler latch and B is so exhausted that all he does is cry if I put him down for a second, but God forbid he actually sleep ANYWHERE other than in the Ergo on me. So of course that means that the house is trashed and the dinner I had meant to prepare is now going to be replaced by pizza (but aren't I eating Paleo? And don't I know the dangers of fast food and processed food...and now I'm putting that into our bodies!?) Agh! It's so freaking exhausting and difficult and all I want to do is take a hot shower. Alone. And I know it will never happen.

How could I not want to trade all of that in for a nice classroom and some peace and quiet? Because, those are my babies. Because H eventually looks up at me with a milky grin and says "I love you, Momma! Yummy milk! Let's read "Hickory Dickory" now." And I am so amazed that my barely two year old baby girl can speak in full sentences and I love that she cuddles and reads with me. And then the baby does fall asleep and his head is resting on my chest and he is the most peaceful, beautiful thing I've ever witnessed. And I cannot stop inhaling his scent, which I've finally figured out. It's love. The beautiful, untainted smell of love.

And when it's put like that, how could I want to do anything other than be home with them? They are the first, and thus far, only thing in my life that I've ever been so truly passionate about. They make me happy, every single second of my life, even when I think I'm losing my mind. They are the reason I try every day to better myself, to learn new things outside of my comfort zone.

Maybe if I had something else I was passionate about. Maybe if I'd had a career before having children. Maybe, maybe, maybe. Maybe then I would feel differently. But for now, I just want to be their momma.

They won't be little forever. I know that. They will be grown some day and gone. And it will happen before I blink again. So maybe then I will go to Law School. Or maybe not. I'm blessed not to have to know right now.  I can be just a mom.

So instead of worrying about the future and what I may or may not be and do someday, I'll worry about today. Where I am "just a momma." And all I do is "take care of kids." And I will hold my milky babies and pray that I don't take a second of our sweet time for granted.

Don't worry, they wash

It astounds me each and every day how may people are afraid to let their kids get dirty.

Really? They're kids. That's their job!

I'm pretty sure I horrify a lot of people on a pretty common basis. Miss H wants to jump in mud puddles? Go for it! She's wearing a nice, expensive dress? It'll wash - just like her!

Just today while at the park it began to rain, so we, along with a few other moms and kids, moved under the shelter and had an impromptu snack time. Was Miss H bothered by the rain? No! She ran laps while the heaves spit at her. She swung on her belly and bear crawled over the pavement. The other children mostly stayed put and stayed dry.

But H had fun. And when we got home her wet, dirty clothes came off and she dried quite quickly. So why not let her play?

One of her and baby B's favorite thins to do is play in mud. Dirt is nice, but it doesn't smear like mud does. Miss H will happily make mud when our yard seems to be out of it. But it's okay, they really do wash!

With the exception of them being ready to go to church or for photos, they're allowed to get dirty. So yes, that means they often have on dirty clothes if they've found something out and about to get into. Or, when it's warm, they sometimes don't have any clothes on. I'm okay with that. They're small.

This often means I've also got dirty clothes on, from handling dirt-covered or food-covered babes. It doesn't phase me. I'm might not look like June Cleaver, but that's okay, because she isn't really who I want to be anyway.

I want to be the mom who said "yes" because the only reason to say "no" was silly.

So before you freak out over dirty hands or clothes, check yourself, and remember they will wash! Let them play and enjoy!!

Sunday, June 3, 2012

Can I help you?

It never fails. Just when things start getting a little boring around here, something happens to make it all interesting again.

This morning while the babes and I were playing out in the backyard, and Jaime was in the front doing yard work, a girl who I presume younger than I, came waltzing down our side street, completely out of it. She walked in between our parked cars and into our yard.

Odd, I thought, even if she were coming to ask for something, that she would not either use our walk way or at least say something to me before walking through our yard.

"Hi," I said, trying to balance baby B on the baby slide.

She looked at me, then toward the house and walked right by.

"Can I help you with something?" I asked as she reached for the handle to our mud room door.

Again, she said nothing, dropped something from her hand, and walked into our mud room.

My mind was completely boggled as I watched her proceed to push through our back door and into our house. I scooped up both babes football-style, while Miss H too this time to announce, "I need to go poopy!"

"You're going to have to wait," I said, running down our side street like a crazy lady (the quickest way to get to J out front).

Shaking my head like crazy, both kids still in tow, and laughing because Momma is running, I yelled, but calmly, to J, "Someone just went into our house!"

"What?" he asked, confused.

"Someone just walked right by us, ignored me, and went into our house!"

J immediately neglected what he was doing and raced to the back, while the kids and I stood in the middle of the road.

At this point, I started to panic a little. I didn't have my phone on me, I wasn't sure what to do. I didn't know if this girl was crazy and had found a knife and was dicing my husband into pieces (yes, dramatic, but my head went there). And to make it better, Miss H was pooping in her pants. Not that it was her fault, by any means.

Just then, the man who lived across the street from the house behind us came walking down the street.

"Having a good morning?" he asked.

"Um, I was. But now there is a strange girl in my house. And J just went in there."

"Oh, she came to your house?" he asked, clearly not as thrown off by this whole ordeal as me. "She came into ours a bit of go. T (his wife) is calling the cops. She didn't seem threatening, but we want to make sure she's okay."

You want to make sure she's okay? I was thinking. She just walked into my house! J is in there with her. I want to know that J okay, not this random person who just technically broke into my home!

And then came T, still on the phone with the cops.

She told me how the girl had come into their house, likely through the back door. They had assumed it was their son, but when their dog didn't stop barking they left their bedroom to see who it was. When they noticed the girl they asked her name. She was clearly confused and out of it, and said she wanted to lay down. They asked her where she lived, and she told them "Here." When the girl realized she was not in her home, she got scared and left.

They were totally content to let her stay there and sleep. They are far kinder human beings than me. I wanted her out of my house!

By this point three cop cars had showed up and they had all gone inside where J and the girl were.

My neighbor picked up whatever she dropped, when I told him about it. He said it was a handkerchief and cigarettes, but I really have no idea. I never got close enough to check.

After what seemed like forever two of the cops came out with the girl in handcuffs, telling her that they were going to take her to the hospital because she was really confused and needed some help.

T, nearly in tears, said "Oh, that poor girl! Why did they have to put her in handcuffs? That's unnecessary."

I just shook my head. Maybe she didn't seem like a threat, hell, maybe she wasn't a threat, but she was high as a kite, clearly. And if she had no problems walking into random houses, who knew what else she could do? Whether it be to someone else or to herself?

After talking a bit to the third cop who came out shortly after, followed by J, the cops left and that was that.

J said when he walked into the house she was sitting on our couch. He asked her what she was doing, and she replied, "Waiting for someone."

"Not here, you're not. You don't know anyone who comes to our house," he told her.

The girl said nothing, so J suggested she go outside. The girl said "no" and then stood up and went upstairs to our bedroom and laid down on our bed (that was bare and full of baking soda as I was cleaning the mattress). And apparently that's where she stayed until the cops made her leave.

And to think, sometimes I feel like things aren't exciting around here. I will try to refrain thinking that from now on!

Saturday, June 2, 2012

Yes, I actually enjoy mowing the lawn

Call me crazy, but I do. It's pretty much the only "me time" I get. Since having Miss H I haven't so much as gotten to take a shower or use the bathroom by myself. And that's okay. I knew what I was signing up for. And besides, pooping in privacy is totally overrated.

It never seems to fail that whenever I'm mowing the lawn, someone stops to ask me if I'd like some help. Now, I suppose I should be grateful that I live in a really awesome neighborhood where the people I rarely ever speak to are nice enough to offer to mow my lawn (some for a fee, of course...) but really, it annoys the hell out of me.

I'm totally competent and can mow a freaking lawn. Yes, there were times when J was on travel before baby B was born, and I'd be wearing Miss H and mowing with the motor -ess push mower, and I can kind of understand the offer. I'm sure I looked a bit ridiculous wearing a baby and mowing the lawn in flip flops (sue me, you will NOT get tennis shoes on my feet unless I'm working out. Period.). And during those times, I guess I'll give all the nice people some slack and not be too annoyed.

But otherwise, I'm mowing the lawn. I can do it on my own, although it may be surprising (thought I don't know why!). It's the only time I get to really think without worrying about anything else. It's fun. It's relaxing. It gives me some "me time."

And really, if I'm not going to be allowed to shower in peace, please let me mow my lawn in peace.

Friday, June 1, 2012

No one is judging you

Being a mom is hard. Like pretty much the hardest thing you'll ever do. For real.

When I started this amazing, yet incredibly daunting journey of motherhood, I felt like everyone was judging me. For every single little thing.

Admittedly, I didn't know what I was doing. Sure, I had a shit ton of experience with kids and babies. But when it's your own baby, it is a whole new playing field. Other people's kids, other people's rules. I was always good at following rules. So if they said baby was on a schedule, feed him at x time, or baby goes into the crib at x time, and let him cry until he's asleep, I was just kind of like, "Okay, it's your kid." I never thought twice about it, and certainly never judged how any parent raised their kid. Wasn't my place.

And yet, I felt judged all the time after I had Miss H. Before I became pregnant, I thought I knew exactly what kind of parent I would be. Turns out, I'm pretty much the opposite of everything I thought I'd be. And that's okay. But it made things terrifying and difficult, because I really didn't know anyone who shared my "crazy" parenting beliefs. I thought for sure that anyone who put their child to sleep in a crib judged me as being a horrible mother for sleeping with my baby. Anyone who fed their baby on a schedule thought I was awful for feeding on demand. As she got a bit old, anyone who saw her throw a tantrum and me wholly ignore it, other than to maybe say "You're mad and have the right to express your feelings. Let me know when you're done" instead of punsihing her thought I was entirely permissive.

And then it hit me. Why would they be judging me? Maybe I'm naive, that could totally be, but I'm not judging these other people for doing things differently than me. Not even a little bit. So why would they judge me for being different?

I mean, we are all just doing what we believe is best for our babes. For different families, and even for different children, different methods work best. I get that. I have two babes who are night and day different. I all ready do some things differently with them because that is just what works best for them. I get that.

But it's hard, I know, when someone does something differently, not to feel judged. I have zero issues sharing information on the different crazy beliefs I have. I will probably do that forever. A lot of people have told me "thank you" because they didn't realize there was another way of doing xyz, and now they do and that way works better for them.

Trust me, for a lot of things I didn't know there was another way. I learned because someone shared that info with me. Or because, while sleep-deprived and desperate, I just went with my gut instincts.

And then the really fun thing is when you change your beliefs. Yeah, it happens. One day you think that this is the best way to do things, you're pretty stuck in that belief, and then wham! You're like, "Hm, maybe this wasn't the best choice here. Maybe I should try this instead." Trust me, I've been there. It's hard sometimes, to even try that new option, because a part of you feels like that by doing something different you're admitting you were wrong before.

But that's not true. One thing might have worked previously. Now it isn't. So you're changing. Or maybe it didn't work from the get-go, but now you're armed with new resources. And that's okay! You weren't wrong before, you aren't wrong now. You're learning. We all do it.

I said I'd never give my kids pureed food. Miss H made it easy, she never liked it. But baby B...yeah, he eatsit. In fact, since he has started eating it (out of those dang squeezy pouches!) Miss H has decided that she wants them too! Only giving Miss H regular food as a baby worked with her. Although baby B will eat regular food too, he likes his purees. And so what? Different kids, different methods. And I've given myself a break and realized that I will not in fact go to Mommy hell for feeding my kid store-bought purees from a pouch.

Which really, is my biggest point here. I felt bad for doing xyz. I felt judged. But no one is judging me, other than me. (Okay, so maybe people are, I don't know. But in my happy bubble, people are more like me and pretty open-minded). I know I'm not judging others for being different and doing things differently, so I'm pretty sure they aren't judging me.

And besides, doing things differently is what makes this all fun! It'd be boring if we did everything the same. And if everything could only be done one way, we'd be royally screwed if that one way just didn't work for our particular family or our particular child. Then what would happen? Yeah...

So trust me, whether you choose wear your baby or put her in a stroller; feed your child only organic food or allow them free-reign of the Twinkies; use disposable diapers or cloth diapers; home school, public school or private school; or any of the other bazillion things I was once certain others were judging me for, they aren't.

No one if judging you. I promise.

Except for maybe yourself, but we are always our own worst critic.