And tell me everything is gonna be alright

My clean house lasted all until my sweet babes woke up this a.m. I knew I should have asked the health and environmental people to come over at 6am. That way my kiddos wouldn't have a chance to destroy. But alas, there was shredded cheese in every room by the time the nurse from the health department, her intern, and the environmentalist from the environmental department, as well as his intern, finally arrived at 10.

Luckily, they were all super nice and at least pretended not to notice it. They asked a million questions for paperwork. Asked about our daily lives, what we eat, where the kids spend time, etc., etc. On paper anyway, we are pretty amazing, I must admit.

The nurse made me laugh. She was all, "So what does he eat? Does he eat meat to get protein?"

I told her, "Yes. Mostly he eats meat, fish, fruit, and spinach and kale. He does eat other veggies too, but not to the same extent as the other foods."

To which she replied, "Oh, he doesn't like sweet sugary snacks? That's good!"

I kind of laughed, probably totally inappropriate, and said, "He loves chocolate. He'd eat it for every meal. But we try to keep that stuff out of the house, so it's not something he has every day."

"Wow, I wish I could get my kids to think sugary snacks weren't an every day occurrence."

I didn't say a word, no need to go there.

She tested H and my lead levels, promising to have the results in two weeks. I guess that's what you get when it's free medical health care. If I'd realized it would take that long I'd have just gone to the doctor and gotten the results in five minutes. But as is life.

The nurse was nice enough, but in a not overly obvious way made it really sound like this is all our fault. She gave me a lot of information sheets. One of which says that at this point it is unlikely that we "can prevent a lifetime spoiled by the irreversible damage caused by lead poisoning." As if I didn't all ready feel like shit. Whoever wrote that informational sheet claiming that my son's life has been "spoiled" should be shot. Just saying (obviously I'm not for gun control...)

After she left the environmentalist toured the house and took lots of samples, asked lots of "does he play with this?" "does he put x in his mouth?" questions. But in the end, he kind of looked at me all apologetic and said, "There really just aren't any red flags. You live in an old house, but everything I'd tell someone to do to prevent this, you've all ready done."

So we wrote down a long list of what is may possibly could sort of maybe be:
1.) door knobs
2.) register vent coverings
3.) knobs on the windows
4.) plaster on the walls?
5.) trim in the house
6.) wall paper
7.) bathtub
8.) dirt in house plants
9.) car seat

And then he also swipe tested a bunch of other things as well. Because he wasn't convinced with any from the list.

Who knows?

We should have results from the lab in roughly three weeks. Until then I can suspect everything in my house is spoiling my son's life.

But he was insanely nice and helpful, so I give him about a million and three brownie points for being super sympathetic and not making feel poorly about this whole thing.

After they left Miss H asked if we could go out for lunch and get ice cream. So I piled them into the car, drove to our local health food store which also serves meals, fed us all, did our grocery shopping, which the kiddos super love because they get to each get one peanut butter cup from the bulk bin section (see, they loooove sugar!!).

When I piled them into the car and started the engine, "Danny's Song" was playing on the radio. Immediately I turned it up. And really, it's such an appropriate place for this to end.

"People smile and tell me I'm the lucky one,
And we've only just begun.
Think I'm gonna have a son.
He will be like she and me, as free as a dove,
Conceived in love.
Sun is gonna shine above.

And even though we ain't got money,
I'm so in love with you, honey,
And everything will bring a chain of love.
And in the morning, when I rise,
You bring a tear of joy to my eyes
And tell me everything is gonna be alright."

You want a ridiculously clean house? Invite the health department and enviromental department over for an inspection.

Seriously, I'm like the queen of mess. If you're looking for a house free of toys strewn in every room, laundry baskets of clean clothes not yet put away sitting in bedrooms and on the couch, toilet paper not pulled off the roll and tossed on the shelf, desks and tables clear of clutter, look elsewhere. Because mi casa is not where you will find it.

But if you want a clean house, I'm typically your girl. I clean the bathrooms each and every day (toilets, sink). I vacuum daily. Wipe down the table and counters and do the dishes every evening. Clean the baseboards and doors at least once a month, if not more.

I even do go through purging spells. And organization spells. De-cluttering spells. It helps briefly.

Until it doesn't.

But I pretty much never manage to clean everything and have everything picked up and organized at the same time. I have two wild tornadoes who basically walk behind me and un-do everything I do. And I don't have the energy to do that much work after they are in bed.

Until today.

Today those babies helped me wash baseboards and dust everything. We put all the laundry away. Organized books and diapers. Washed the floors by hand (because I have no idea where our mop is...I just know we own one that J uses every other week...).

Why? Why is my house as immaculate as it will likely ever get?

Because I invited both the health department and the environmental department over to do an inspection tomorrow.

Yep, I invited them. I asked them to come.

And I didn't want them to be jotting down notes like "be sure to call CPS on her because there is chocolate hand prints on the windows and dust on the stairs."

They are coming to test everything in our house. And I mean everything. They're not allowed to leave until they tell me what is making my baby sick.

Well, I guess they are allowed to leave because I don't want to add, "Call CPS because she's mentally unstable and holds hostages" to the notes either, but I'm determined that we figure this out all ready.

Regardless of what they tell me though, it will all work out.

And in the meantime, we've got a kick-ass awesomely clean, orderly house.

For a night anyway.

I really think B isn't a fan of the un-messy house though. He was constantly walking behind me, shredding pieces of paper, spitting blueberries and almonds on the floor, and dispersing shoes into each room.

We can't win them all.

Ma'am and Sir

H has been using "ma'am" and "sir" a lot lately. I have super mixed feelings about this.

On the one hand. I figure it's one of those things like "please," "thank you," and "I'm sorry" that we've never forced her or B to say, but we've modeled it exponentially that we've got naturally courteous children (most of the time) that genuinely mean their words instead of parroting them because someone told them they have to (in which case all the "please," "thank yous," and "sorrys," mean, oh, nothing).

I know a lot of people teach their children to say "ma'am" and "sir" - especially in the south - because they believe it to be courteous and respectful. I said it often as a child, although I remember no one ever telling me to do so. I said it more as a teenager and adult when I found it fitting to the situation.

J says it often on the phone to his "superiors," and I know that H hears that. And I jokingly call her "ma'am" occassionally, and use "sir" sarcastically with J. And I think Daniel Tiger might say it on TV...

And although she's picked up on it naturally, something I'd typically rejoice in when it comes to the manners department, it still rubs me the wrong way.

Mostly because I know the history of those words. I know how they were used to separate people and classes. And my children are not inferior to anyone, nor should they ever feel so. I may be older and wiser (debatable), but I'm not better than my children (and neither is anyone else).

And so H addressing me, or anyone as such, feels strange.

Wrong, even.

I said J and I both have, and continue, to use it. But I just feel like that is so much different. We both fully understand the meaning and history of those words (and subsequently, J uses it much less frequently now than he did before I sat him down for a history lesson). We are able to both connect and disconnect those words to their true meaning.

H cannot.

For now I've just been ignoring her use of them. J flat out told her it wasn't necessary. I don't know.

As I said, on the one hand, she's come by it naturally, so I feel like it'd be wrong to discourage, but at the same time, I'm not sure I agree enough with it to encourage it either.

I cried today.

(Two posts in one day, lucky you!)

I cried today. I never cry. Ever. Not once since I've had my children have I shed a tear.

It's strange, because I cried all. the. time. as a kid. Seriously. I was just one pile of weeping emotions. From the ages of about 8-18, if I were in the shower, you could bet good money I was sobbing my heart out for one reason or another.

And then it was like one day a switch went off and that was that. No more tears. I was stoic and solid and ready to face the world.

Whenever my lack of tears gets brought up J likes to remind me that I shed one single tear when we watched that movie with the dog Marley (maybe it was called "Marley"?) while in England. Mostly he uses it as his case for why we need a dog, but I digress. Other than that, I've never cried around J, if that even counts as crying.

Today I messed up. Badly.

I wasn't going to mention it. I was going to hope it all went away and would be forgotten. But I figured that it wouldn't be fair to make it all sunshine and roses on a blog about parenting.

Because mess-ups happen.

I could blame it on so many things. I want to blame it on so many things - like the the stress of B's lead issues and how draining it is to be parenting solo so much. The fact that my children have learned to fight and bicker and nag each other and all they were doing was fighting and whining. I want to blame it on that. But I won't.

Because in the end I didn't mess up because of any of that. I messed up because I'm human.

I have my own short comings.

After playing "throw the blue berries and stomp on them" and dumping an entire house plant (tree) out of the pot, and then running around screaming about God knows what and then running smack into me as I'm trying to clean up after them and getting a mechanical pencil jabbed into my leg - lead sticking out of my skin and bleeding - the whole 9 yards, I kind of lost it. I screamed. I don't even know what I said exactly to be honest. Something along the lines of "Mommy is losing her freaking mind and I just want everyone to stop destroying everything and just be quiet for five minutes!"

They cried. I never yell, so they sobbed.

And it broke my heart.

And H grabbed B by the hand, dragging him to the playroom saying, "Mommy's really angry."

If your heart could shatter, I'm sure mine did.

Because I knew I'd failed them on so many levels.

They're just babies.

And I legitimately screamed at them. I shattered their beautiful, happy worlds.

When I was reading Miss H her bedtime stories, several hours later, she asked me, "Are you still mad, Momma?"

I told her no. And I apologized for screaming and I told her it wasn't nice of me and I shouldn't have acted that way. She nodded and hugged me, which really only made it that much worse.

I don't want her to be me. Not in that area. I don't want her to let people treat her badly and rip her to pieces and then just forgive them so easily.

Because she deserves better.

And B deserves better.

So, so much better.

Sometimes I'm afraid that I need things to be so good, so perfect for them, that there is no margin for error. And then on those extremely rare occasions that things fall outside the margins of what I find acceptable, it makes it all just that much more devastating.

People yell all the time. I know that. But I don't. I can count on roughly three fingers how many times I've ever raised my voice at my children. J never has.

After I tucked them sweetly in bed and went about cleaning up my house that I'm fairly certain a hurricane struck (not only is everything destroyed, there is suspicious wet stuff all over the floors), I cried.

I probably could have sobbed, but I told myself to suck it up. I'm not a kid.

I'm a mom.

It's so easy to accept and forgive that other people have imperfections. Other people mess up. And we as human beings are so incredibly resilient that these little "hiccups" typically don't have any real impact on the grand scheme of things.

And yet I expect so much more from myself.

Demand it.

I will take it as a learning lesson. A sad one. One I hope to never repeat because I don't think I could ever deal with seeing my children so distraught because Mommy can't keep her shit together.

So there you go, I preach a lot, I practice more, and I fuck up on occasion, too.

A beautiful rut

Sometimes I get stuck in a rut. You know, where I wonder how in the world I ended up here because it’s not as glamorous as I fantasized.

These days typically occur when my babes are having especially difficult days, or Miss H pulls out the photos of my life post-high school but pre-J and kids (all 3 years!).

It should go without saying that I adore my children and husband and the life we have together. I honestly would not change a single thing. I wouldn’t do anything sooner or later or not at all or differently or anything. I am exactly at the place in my beautiful life where I should be and I want to be.  

But it doesn’t mean that some days, I’m not just like “WTF?”

Before kids and J I did live a glamorous, adventurous life there for a short bit. I attended university on full scholarship, which allowed me to put my hard earned money toward traveling the world and creating memorable life experiences. I have been places, seen things, done things that most people will only ever read about in books and magazines or see on television, and that’s if they’re lucky.

I’ve been incredibly fortunate.

Even that brief time together that J and I had pre-baby we were constantly doing without worrying about anything or anyone else. We backpacked through Spain, spent weekends in Maine eating lobster and in Sicily devouring canoli. We went parasailing in Aruba and spent too much time in Paris drinking. We wandered through the streets of Dublin and London. We had the luxury of eating without anyone else demanding our food. We could spend hours in a restaurant talking about everything and nothing without small people whining and needing entertainment, or having to rush home before their bedtimes. Quite frankly, we could have sex wherever and whenever we wanted instead of having to schedule it strategically during naptime or after small people were in bed, hoping that they didn’t wake up and, of course, actually having the energy to do it.

During those years I envisioned a wholly different life. My application was filled out and just one click away from being submitted to join the Peace Corps only weeks before J got down on one knee. I was going to change the world. Save it, maybe.

I was going to be “successful.” You know, I was going to have a real career and make lots of money and continue on with the same “me me me” lifestyle I had fallen into greedily with the freedom of being a young adult who, for the first time in her life, had no other responsibilities other than herself and the ones she had chosen on her own.

And then things changed. I learned that a thing called “love” was real, not just in fairy tales and romantic comedies, but in real life too. And despite all my preconceived beliefs, I allowed myself to succumb to it. And I found myself romantically planning a little family. And changing gears from academia and career to wife and momma. With the real kicker being when I held the acceptance letters to two Law Schools in my hands and then very confidently said, “No.”

And despite choosing this all, and loving it, I sometimes fantasize and recollect those very brief years my life was centered on me. Where I could do what I want when I wanted. And there were no repercussions for anyone but myself.

But I am so thankful for that time. It allowed for me to grow and blossom as a human being. It allowed me to expand in ways I didn’t know were possible or even necessary. I spent my childhood learning how to be responsible. How to cook and clean and care for children and myself. And it turns out it was, in fact, preparing me for my life. But I got to spend those few years on my own learning what it means to be responsible only for yourself. Not having anyone tell you what to do. No one chastising you to load the dishwasher or put your shoes away. And it was phenomenal.

Of course, no one tells me what to do now, either. But I’m a wife. A mother. I have responsibilities. Responsibilities far greater than just taking care of myself. And yet, taking care of myself may be the greatest responsibility of all.

You cannot properly raise children in a healthy manner if you don’t first care for yourself. And getting that time to focus on myself taught me that. You can’t be a good wife if you aren’t good to yourself.

So when my babes are screaming at me, or fighting, or it’s been a week or more since I last saw my husband and I feel like things are just too much, I let myself think of those sweet memories that allowed me to be ready for this. All that time that allowed me to figure out who I am and what I want from my life, not who others expect me to be or what they wanted for my life.

And it’s a beautiful thing. I licked Roman ruins which gives me the strength to just turn away when my son picks up a straw from the bathroom floor and starts licking it. I peed all over myself in Pisa while a train passed by so I know I can handle my toddler’s warm urine running down the side of my shirt in Target. I scuba dived with giant sea turtles in Hawaii, so swimming with two babies solo is a piece of pie. I spent a week eating nothing but cheese and nutella, so I know that if we just eat smoothies and nachos two days in a row, we’ll survive.

I have a lot of life experiences. Good. Bad. Beautiful. Ugly. They’ve all brought me right here. Right now.

So when I get in a rut I just remember it all. I'm thankful for it all.

And I remind myself that though it was all amazing, none of it was half as amazing as the family I have. Not one thing in my life has ever happened that was more phenomenal than hearing two beautiful children say “Momma” and knowing that they think I’m the greatest thing in the world (for now) or having a husband who loves me unconditionally and is always on my team.

Yeah, sometimes I get in a rut. And then I remember a beautiful life I once had. And the life I have now, that is more beautiful than words could ever describe.

"My husband won't LET me..."

Seriously women, we live in 21st century America. Hearing grown women say things like "My husband won't let me" (etc.) makes me both incredibly sad and extremely furious.

Sad that people still have relationships like that. Furious that women allow themselves to have relationship like that.

I'm not some crazy feminist. Obviously, I stay home with my children. I'm pretty sure that is the greatest cardinal sin for ultra-feminists. But I do believe in the independent, strong woman.

J and I have very much a partnership. We are equals.

That means we don't ask "permission" to do things or buy things, etc. Sure, we may discuss things beforehand. Like big purchases or if we are making plans we confer with one another first. That's just mutual respect and a good relationship.

But there is no, "Well, I can't buy H this dress because J might get mad" or "I can't go out tonight because J won't allow me."

Not that I go out.

But that has nothing to do with J.

But I feel like I hear on a regular basis women saying things like, "Oh, I could never buy little Sara this dress I love because my husband would never allow me to spend $30 on a dress!" (And I'm not talking about people who just can't afford it, that's obviously a different story.)

Or, "I would love to go out with my friends, but my husband would never let me go out without him and leave him home to babysit the kids."

So many things wrong with that one. Husband not "letting" them go. Or using the word "babysit" with your spouse...um, it's not babysitting when it's your own kid.

I just couldn't imagine J ever telling me that I could or could not do something. That I could or could not buy something. Etc. It just seems so backwards and insane to me.

It just seems like such a blatant lack of respect to the person being controlled. I mean, they are being controlled. Obviously that is disrespectful.

Sometimes when I'm talking to women I seriously want to shake them when I hear them say such things.

Maybe because I don't get it. Maybe because I wouldn't tolerate that in my relationship. Maybe it works for other people. Maybe they enjoy it.

I don't know.

But I feel like we have come too far as women to let that be okay in any relationship.

And the levels just go up

In some ways I guess I find it amusing.

In some aspects of my/my children's lives I'm so incredibly lax that it freaks people out. The word "complacent" has been used before by others. Though I wouldn't go that far.

Germs don't bother me. My kids eat food they've dropped on the ground, they roll in mud, they share sippy cups with their friends. Heck, they both were on airplanes by two weeks old.

I let them push their physical boundaries and rarely say "be careful." They stack chairs on top of their tables and stand on top of them. Of course, I'm cringing inside and want to quickly put them down on safe ground, but I always push my fears down and let them figure out what they are capable of and try my best not to limit them.

But then in other aspects I'm so far "safe" it also freaks people out. I'm so paranoid about pesticides and chemicals going in and on their little bodies.

Illnesses I cannot prevent terrify me.

On one hand, it isn't surprising my son has knocked himself unconscious or that I've rushed my daughter to the doctor for putting a tooth through her chin, amongst other things. Scary situation for sure, but also situations many children encounter whether they are kept "safe" or not. Kids are kids.

But on the other hand, I am surprised my son has lead poisoning. Because I'm so careful. And I'm even more surprised that his levels have gone up. A lot.

We've done so much to get rid of all things lead it seems nearly ridiculous. We purged all of their toys. We left the house for a week while J completely replaced our stair case. We took several of our doors and had them completely stripped of all paint. I even goodwilled our Christmas tree and lights, after the fact though, upon discovering they too carry lead.

So what's next?

I feel so defeated. I feel like I've tried so hard to give them freedom in every aspect, while also trying my best to keep their little bodies healthy the best I know how, and yet it's not been enough. Something hasn't worked. Somewhere I went wrong.

I'm trying really hard not to feel sorry for myself. Because this isn't about me. At all.

And yet I still can't help but feel I have failed that sweet boy yet again as his mother. It's my job to protect him and keep him healthy. And I can't seem to do that.

But my little girl spoke words of wisdom to me today, Her small hands cradling my face in the deli section of the grocery store, she said to me, "You're the best mommy in the world. It's all gonna be okay."

I hope she's right.

Okay, I know she's right.

To some extent.

I know I'm the best mom for them. And I know that it will all be okay, one way or another, things work out how they are supposed to.

But sweet damn, I don't feel like this should be happening to a baby boy. The idea of me having to take them to stay somewhere else for several weeks, maybe even months, until this has all been sorted and the house has been made safe, as well as everything in it, seems so unfair to those kids who love their papa so. It seems wrong to separate them.

And yet at the end of the day it might be our only option if we discover it is something in our home.

We've tested the big things, but now we get to test literally everything. Good times all around.

But a freshly bathed naked bird just came and crawled on my lap, so I'm off to love him up.

Because in the end, all I can really guarantee him is my love.

DIY: Cheap, green, chemical-free laundry detergent

This is not really a DIY blog by any means, but this has just been too good for me this past month to not share it with you all!

So I've been on a quest to make my own laundry detergent since...well, ever. Ever since I started buying my own laundry detergent anyway.

My first and foremost desire in laundry detergent is that it be chemical-free. And by that I mean, not have weird stuff in it I can't pronounce. So that's left us with detergents like 7th Generation and Mrs. Meyers, and to be honest, I still don't really know what is in those and if they're legit (because, surprise, surprise, laundry detergents don't have to tell you what is in it!).

Secondly, I want something cheap! Most of us aren't made of money, so spending $10-$17 on a bottle of detergent just breaks the bank. (I wish I were kidding about the cost...)

And third, being kind to Mother Earth is always an added bonus, and a bi-product of it being chemical-free and safe for us!

So I took off on a google quest, and later Pinterest search, trying to find a good recipe that fit my needs.

Pretty much everything I found included Borax and/or Fels Napa soap. And those do not meet my requirements. So finally I just decided to do my own thing. And surprisingly, it works!

And it's easy. And relatively inexpensive (and very inexpensive compared to the store bought detergent).

Are you ready for this? It's so easy it will blow your socks off!

1 cup of washing soda.
1 cup of liquid castille soap (I currently am using Dr. Bronners Unscented)
Water
And if your soap is unscented, you can add some essential oils, such as lavender, to spruce it up a bit, but totally not necessary.

I just heat up 3 cups of water on the stove, not quite to boiling, pour the washing soda in and stir until it dissolves. Add the cup of soap. Stir. It will be a liquidy gel-type consistency. Pour it into your container (I use an empty 7th Generation detergent container - it's 100 fl oz.). Fill with more water to the top and shake before use.

It's awesome, gentle, chemical-free, all around green, gets things clean, and is CHEAP. (And works in a HE washer).

And it beats the diaper test. That means, it cleans out cloth diapers amazingly, and doesn't leave build up (or hasn't yet...).

So go make some! You know you want to.

What to do when they're "bad"

So a few different friends inquired what you do when your kid has been "bad." Because non-punitive parenting means not using punishments either, not just the lack of bribes and threats.

Again, I'm not perfect. So I don't have this all down perfectly by any means. There are a lot of bumps while I navigate this world.

Let me start by stating that I don't believe in "bad" or "naughty" or any other such word that describes a child's behavior. I would never in a million years tell my children they are being "bad." They're not. They're kids. They are inherently good.

But yes, they make mistakes. Often. It's part of learning. We all do it.

Last summer H colored on my walls. I was annoyed, but that was the extent of it. I didn't get mad at her or punish her. How could I? She's two. She didn't know she wasn't allowed to color on the walls. I had never explicitly said, "H, do not color on the walls." And when you're a kid, if no one has told you explicitly that something is not allowed, well, then it is. Presumably. I did make it explicitly clear after the incident, however, that coloring is only to be done on paper or other materials Momma approves of first. Never on the walls.

And she understood and that was that. We had no more issues.

Until last Friday when B colored on the walls. So then H did, too. Again, I didn't get mad or punish, per se. I reminded H that we only color on paper, never walls. I asked her if she understood that. She said "yes." I then explained to her that Momma couldn't play with her and B until after I washed off the crayon. She then volunteered, "Well, I can help you." After about a minute of scrubbing she told me, "This isn't very fun." I said, "No, it's not fun for me either. But this is what happens when you color the walls." She never stopped helping me until I told her that she could go play again, but at the same time I never forced her to do it.

So was it punishment? You decide.

Will that always work?

Probably not.

It certainly wouldn't work with B. He's still hitting and biting. There is no cure for that. Other than consistency and lots of words and gentle touches. He'll get there.

To be honest, I don't know what they right answer is for when kids directly disobey you and do something destructive or hurt you or others.

I know when my little boy hits or bites, I block the hit if possible and tell him very firmly, "I can't let you hurt Momma/H/etc." If the hit or bite has been done and I couldn't prevent it, I then say, "No, biting/hitting hurts. You can bite/hit this." And give him something appropriate to carry the action out on.

I can't really imagine a scenario at this point that would "require" punishment. My children are far from perfect angels, but they seem to get more out of calm, reasonable mommy who is displeased with their choices than a scolding or yelling mommy who is admonishing and making them feel little.

I think I agree with natural consequences, I just don't really know where they would apply, much like pure punishment. I guess destroying the playroom in a tantrum, the natural consequence would be cleaning it up? But I'd be more concerned as to why they were tantruming in such a rage, so maybe that's a bad example.

And a lot of situations I just ask myself if I would treat J the same way. If he said he wasn't hungry during lunch, but then was hungry an hour later, would I tell him, "Too bad. Lunchtime was an hour ago." Um, no. And I'd be pissed if he were to say that to me. So why would I do that to my kid?

Now, if you expect your children to be, say, like the woman's we saw today who made it clear that her children are to obey the second she says something, and anything less than immediate compliance is intolerable - even questioning after immediate obedience is followed out is punishable because it's not a child's right - well, then this kind of parenting isn't for you. And you probably need some help, because there are too many resources out that there that prove you're a nut, but I digress.

What will I do when they're rebellious teenagers?

I'm not sure. Pray they aren't. Hope to God that we've built a strong foundation of respect for our relationship that we are able to discuss things, see each others point of views, and come to an acceptable compromise on what's "right" amongst all of us.

I guess, really, kids don't seem to behave "badly" when their needs are met and they feel safe and secure. Yes, H may scream and cry not to leave the park. But that's not being "bad." That's expressing her feelings. And as a parent, I listen to those feelings, and I explain that I hear them and I understand she wants to stay and play, but we still have to go home for xyz reason and it is up to her to decide if she'd like to go home by walking or by Mommy carrying her, etc. Yes, perhaps B will hit someone, but again, it's not because he's "bad." It's because he has emotions he doesn't yet know how to deal with or properly express. And it's my job to convey to him that hitting isn't the solution and help him find alternative mechanisms to deal with such feelings.

So I guess, when you stop making "obedience" the goal with your children, then the "bad" disappears. The "need" for punishments seem to be non-existent.

How to get children to do things without bribes or threats...is it possible?

A good friend recently asked me, intrigued by our style of parenting, how in the world we get our children to do things without resorting to threats or bribes.

Let me preface this all by first saying that there are times we do threaten/bribe for whatever reason: we're tired, we're exasperated, we are in a hurry, we're human. Whatever the reason, it does happen. In a perfect world it would never happen, but it does. But I shall continue.

Firstly, we don't request/demand a million and two things from our children each day. So typically, something simple such as, "H, can you help Mommy pick up these toys," etc., is most often immediately done so without question. This is because we don't ask too much of them. (Though, when we first began moving to a less punitive parenting style, this took some time during the transition. So if this isn't your normal parenting style, you have to give it time!)

Also, most of it is routine. We routinely hang our coats up upon entering the house. We routinely take our dishes to sink. We routinely put our shoes on the shelf by the door. We routinely pick up toys before bed time. You get the point. Everyone does it. Momma, Papa, kiddos. So it's not like we are asking them to do something outrageous.

In situations where I normally used to incorporate bribes or threats, we've changed into simply making them a routine. Such as getting in the car. My kiddos despise being in the car. With B it's more challenging, and I'll address this in a moment, but I will cover H first. As soon as she was physically able to keep herself from getting into her seat, it became a struggle for us. It was bad enough we'd have to spend the entire car trip - 10 minutes or 10 hours - listening to her scream, now we had to fight to get her in.

Until we made it a routine. There is literally no more coercing her into her seat. H gets to watch TV in the car (sue me). She rarely watches TV at home. She knows that the DVD player does not get turned on until she (and everyone else) is in her seat and Momma has fastened her securely. There is no bribing her with TV (If you get in your seat you can watch Curious George.). There is no threatening her with the TV (If you don't get into the seat you can't watch Curious George.). There is simply routine (Remember, Momma will turn Curious George on after everyone is safely secured in their seats). It's just a part of our routine. I'm sure some people would say there is no difference between any of the aforementioned scenarios, but for us at least, there is. And it's drastically noticeable in how our children react.

We distinguish important things from those that are not. So if I have asked H to pick up a book or whatever and she seems less than interested, I have to decide if it's really that big of a deal. Do I always return a book to the exact place I got it? Is it something worth forcing my child to do? In the grand scheme of things, is something this trivial worth dampening our parent/child relationship?

I mean, of course, no relationship has been ruined (that I know of) over picking up a book. But is it worth putting your child into emotional distress by making the situation a stressful altercation for both of you?

I've also had to re-evaluate "bigger" situations. Like, it's 20 degrees outside, is it really important that she put her coat on? I want to say yes, but the truth is no. So I won't argue about it. I just take the coat with until she changes her mind. Or, her hair looks like rat's nest. Is it really necessary that we brush it if she insists she doesn't want it touched? No, no it's not (though society may say otherwise, I just say screw society in that case!). And so we just move on.

Also, when one of my children is less than compliant, I step back and ask if I'm asking something reasonable and age appropriate of them. Is it reasonable to expect a two year old to pick up toys all by herself? Maybe. But likely not.

Always be willing to listen to your child. Does H not want to pick up the book because she is playing with her kitchen at the moment? Does she have some fundamental opposition to picking up books? I won't know unless I ask and listen. And even if it seems silly to me, it doesn't mean it is. It's important to validate their thoughts, feelings, and opinions. Even if you don't share or agree with them.

One of the most difficult things is constantly reminding myself that just because I'm the adult does not mean I'm always right. Might doesn't make right. At least not in this house. And my kids know that. Mommy makes mistakes. Mommy says she's sorry. And that's okay.

But there times when they have to do things they don't want to, you're thinking. Yes, there are. Rather we like it or not, regardless of how you choose to handle such situations, they always come up. No matter your parenting style. And that's just part of having children with their own minds. It's a beautiful thing.

And what do you do in those situations? For me, it depends on the situation. Firstly, for these scenarios, it's important for me to know what situations are non-negotiable. We really only have two - car seats and teeth brushing. Maybe for you it is wearing shoes or always clearing your dishes. Maybe you don't have any, maybe you have 50. Regardless, know what they are and don't waiver for them. Consistency is so important.

I mentioned previously that B hates getting into his car seat. He's starting to understand the car routine, but that doesn't mean he's always okay with it or is a willing participant at following it. He does a great job of stiffening up his little body so he can't be folded into his car seat. 9 times out of 10 I can just gobble his tummy playfully, which distracts him momentarily and allows me to simultaneously slip the straps over his arms and get him buckled in. Other times I just hand him my phone to distract him long enough. So yes, for this situation it is all about distractions.

The only situation I think we've ever truly had to use physical force is in teeth brushing. Most of the time they love to brush their teeth. But on occasion the moon turns blue and they just decide it's not for them. If offering to brush teeth together doesn't work, or saying they can brush first or brush mine, then I resort to just physically doing it. Yes, they scream. Yes, I hate it. But brushing teeth is just one of those non-negotiable things in life. Sorry. Fortunately, it happens less than once a month. So I can live with that.

So see, it actually is fairly simple to parent without bribes or threats, rewards or punishments. The key to it all is have a relationship where your children know that they are respected. That their voice will always be heard, even if it is disagreeing or challenging your own. A relationship where the children know they are just as important. It doesn't mean that things always go their way or that they get what/to do what they want all the time, it just means they know they are being listened to.

It's hard. It's a hard way to parent. Mostly because for the majority of us it is not how we were parented ourselves, so we must break through all the years of what was ingrained into us. And that's hard. And we also have to rebuke societies views of children, where people believe that compliance and obedience is a good thing. Compliance and obedience was a good thing for Hitler in Nazi Germany. It's really not a good thing for a child whom you wish to grow up strong and independent; a child you wish to be a leader and not a follower.

In summary: Establish simple routines. Don't be afraid to question if you're asking something reasonable and age appropriate. Accept that you are not always right. Listen to your child, even when they disagree (maybe, most especially when they disagree). Know beforehand which situations are non-negotiable (car seats and teeth brushing for us). And most importantly, give your children the same respect you wish for them to give you!

Welcome to Parenthood

I climbed out of bed this morning and told J I felt like I was going to collapse. "My body is sore," I whined, "And I haven't even been to the gym all week. I feel like I'm just going to fall down."

"That, my dear, is what we call exhaustion. Welcome to parenthood."

Yeah. Fun stuff. Though honestly, I wouldn't trade it in for the world.

For the past week B has been doing this super fun wake up between 330-4am and then screaming and crying until 530-6am.

It's awful. And not because of the lack of sleep. Because my baby is literally sobbing and there is nothing that I do that helps. He flings himself all over the bed, eventually onto the floor and just sobs. When I try to hold him or talk to him he screams at me (which admittedly, in a different situation would be funny, because he is so clearly screaming at me).

These huge, fat, wet tears drip down his face and there is nothing I can do to comfort him. He doesn't want me to hold him or touch him or nurse him or anything. And I don't know why.

I'd imagine this is what it feels like to let your child cry it out. But without that utter feeling of helplessness, since the point is to let your baby cry themselves to sleep. I'm finding it to be completely horrific to be honest. I couldn't imagine doing this to my babe on purpose. I hate not having the ability to help him, I couldn't imagine choosing not to.

But I digress. He ends up cuddling with me when he is so far gone exhausted I can pull him close and he no longer has the energy to fight. We either sing our "I love you" song (which is literally, "I love you, I love you, I love you so much) and he'll sing with me until he falls asleep, or he'll give in and nurse back to sleep.

Ay carumba! I wish I had the slightest idea as to what is causing this. The timing is the same each night. I don't know what to do for him. Maybe he's heard J and I discussing his "big boy room" and he's utterly freaked out. I don't know.

All I know is that this poor baby is exhausted when his sister wakes him up at 7am and I am too. And neither one of us are happy when he's sobbing and Mommy can't figure out what's wrong.

I know, I know.

Welcome to Parenthood.

Did you know snakes...?

I learned something new today.

We were at the zoo (gotta love zoo passes!), in the Desert area checking out the snakes. I'm not a fan of snakes, not even a little bit, but I really don't want to pass on my biases to my kids, so I've never verbalized that around them. They love all animals. They are fascinated and enthralled by all things with flippers or legs or feathers or hair or scales. They smile and squeal with delight. B shrieks "woah!" at pretty much any movement.

So there we are at the snakes, watching a viper slither to his water when B insisted we go to the lit part of the snake exhibit. I happily obliged him as I find that part a bit less creepy. I was looking at some blown up photos of snakes hatching from eggs while B shook some giant (fake) vertebrae. And there was this awesome picture of  a snake with two tails.

Except it wasn't.

Upon further observation and reading the caption, I quickly realized it was in fact a snake giving birth. I was fascinated. And enlightened. I had no idea that some species of snakes actually gave birth as opposed to laying eggs.

Who knew I could ever find sone strangely natural common ground with a creature I detest? And yet there it is.

And what did Miss H learn while at the zoo today? Dolphins play chase just like her and B, and baby dolphins nurse.

Living is learning. And learning is living. They are interchangeable, my friends. They are the same thing.

The Purple Dress

I'm not really a sentimental person. I've said that before. Especially with clothes.

Well, I am to an extent with my babes. I have the first little hats ever put on their heads. Their first shoes. Their baptismal outfits. And a few sleepers that I just adored. And I will cherish those things forever.

But for myself - no. The only reason I still have my wedding dress hanging in a closet is because, before my first big purge, I read about a cool idea of using the fabric from it to make my daughter's confirmation dress. So I'm keeping it for that because I think it'd be kind of neat.

Otherwise, clothes, sentimental? No way, Jose.

Except.

Except, except, except.

There is always an exception right?

I have this purple dress. Every time I go through a purge, I always bypass it. I never even considered tossing it.

Until today.

I don't know what makes today different. Because the dress is still the same. The memories are still there. And yet, today I pulled that dress right out of the closet, looked at it, thought about the boy it was associated with, and finally said adieu.

Before your mind even goes there, I'm not hanging on to lost love or anything. It was something far more innocent than that. But I was still hanging onto it.

I went to a school where everyone knew everyone. It was one school, k-12, for the whole town. Good, bad, it was what it was. And the people were who they were.

Simply by default, you were friends with everyone. Some more than others, but nonetheless.

There was a boy. We'll call him C. He helped me with my math. A lot. He was going to be the next Bill Gates. He agreed to be my 1st husband so I could have half of his worth someday. This was a lifetime ago before I realized that people married for love, not for finances. A time before I even knew that there was such thing as love.

He was the first boy who ever told me I was beautiful, and not with the intent of gaining something more from me. He was the first boy who ever told me I was smart.

He asked me to the military ball, and I attended, shortly before I moved away during my freshman year of high school. I wore the purple dress. I loved the purple dress. And I loved that night. And I loved how genuinely good C treated me, for no reason other than he was a genuinely good person.

But I left just a few short weeks after that dance. We weren't close enough where we ever talked again.

And then at the beginning of my senior year I got a phone call from a friend that C had committed suicide.

For some reason, it hit hard. This boy who had become nothing more than a memory at that point of my life, was gone. Forever. And by his own hand.

I battled some pretty severe depression the months following that. A good chunk of my senior year I don't even really remember. It was like a foggy haze.

And all because a boy who had once told me I was smart and beautiful had chosen to end his own life.

So the dress stayed. I never paid it much attention, but I was never willing to get rid of it either.

I don't know why. I'm sure a therapist could have a field day psychoanalyzing this, for sure!

All I know is that today when I looked at that dress, I knew it was finally time to let it go.

So I am.

TV and I are going to go at it pretty soon

I swear I'm on the verge of banning TV. And not for the "Kids shouldn't watch x amount or certain tv" reasons either.

The shit my kids picks up from television infuriates me. Absolutely infuriates me.

The other day she is telling me she's bad, which we've never said to her or anyone else before. It broke my heart.

Then she told me that I was going to yell at her and ground her if she didn't do her chores. Um, she doesn't even have chores. And I know exactly which show this came from (Anne of Green Gables). I told her I would never yell at her, even if she didn't do something I asked, because that's not how mommies treat their kids. Mommies treat their children with the same love, respect, compassion and kindness that they expect to be treated with. And yelling just doens't make that list.

And then today. Oh, for the love of God, today. H is playing with B and suddenly she looks up to where I'm folding laundry on the couch and says to me, "I'm so sorry, Momma. I'm so sorry I make mess." They were playing for goodness sakes!

I told her, "You don't have to apologize for making a mess, H P. It's part of playing and being a kid. There is nothing wrong with that." But she only reapeated, "I'm sorry I make mess, Momma."

So then I asked her where in the world she hear that and she responded with, "Um, Jake, the little boy on TV. He made a mess and his Mommy got mad."

"Well," I told her, "your mommy won't get mad about a mess. That's just silly. Messes happen."

Yeah. She apologized again.

I hate TV.

The sickies came to our house

The sickies have finally made their way to my babes. Well, to one of them anyway.

We've been incredibly fortunate that our kids haven't really been sick. H had a UTI at around 18 mos that was caused by diarrhea that was caused by teething...and they each had a minor cold this past fall. And H has my awesome sinuses. But that's it, luckily.

And then B vomited. Projectile vomited all over me and the library in our house. The floor was covered. In cheese and watermelon. Lovely visual, eh?

But he never broke a fever and he acted perfectly normal in between. Playing and running about, just coming back to me every 20-30 minutes in order to vomit in my lap. Classy, right? And four hours later the pukes stopped and that was that.

I called his pediatrician twice during this time. Yep, can you tell I worry much and truly had no idea what to do? He was puking bile apparently, and I was about to freak the flip out because I didn't know what this extreme yellow, thick stuff was that kept coming up was and Jaime was in-transit and I had no idea who else to call and ask who wouldn't think I was completely off my rocker or maybe under qualified to be a mom, so I just called the pediatrician.

And then called them again when they were all "Well, if he pukes more than 8x in 12 hours then call us back because that's more worrisome." Of course, when I did tell them he'd puked 8x in less than 4 hours all they said was to stop nursing him and giving him liquids. Yeah...I'm only going to assume that that nurse never had a hungry/thirsty toddler before. But it's cool, because he didn't vomit again after that.

So I'm not sure if I'm convinced it was a bug or from eating the cheese. He couldn't even tolerate me drinking milk or eating cheese and getting it through my breast milk as a small babe, so maybe he really just cannot deal well with it. We've not really tried until today. I mean, he's had milk that's cooked into things and whatnot, but today he downed two cheese sticks. That's the most dairy he's ever had at once.

Who knows? I'm not going to do an experiment to find out, that's for sure!

But what a sweet little girl I have, who loved on her brother and waited so patiently for her papa to get home early so that he could hold B while we made her "banana treat" (two frozen bananas, cocoa powder and coconut milk blended - like chocobanana ice cream!) that she wanted to so badly. She waited for two hours without whining!

Anyway, the only real downside to not knowing if it was a bug or cheese is that I then feel obligated to keep him home for 24 hours, so as not to pass on our potential germs to unsuspecting folks. And we are not stay at home all day people. At all.

Kids aren't adults. They should have fun.

My kids are wild. Like crazy wild. Probably because Miss H's middle name is Wilde so it simply set the stage for her and bled down to her brother.

My kids are loud. They voice their opinions, even at times when I'd rather they not - say, the middle of the super market or during mass. And they haven't yet developed class, so people look. They stare. Their mouths gape open. They're appalled.

But I'm cool with it. Because as wild as they are, they're mostly normal. And they're sweet and awesome and wonderful and everything I could ever hope to be.

And because of their loud and rowdy ways it never ceases to amaze me how well they sit down, sit still, and pay attention during story time. How well they participate in circle time and stretches at gymnastics. How very focused and how well Miss H follows directions during dance class and piano lessons.

During these moments, it's like my children are possessed. Some may say I have it backwards, these mellow, quiet, following-direction times should be "normal" and the rest of their lives the possession. But it's not. And that's okay.

Even Mr. B sits right down for circle time and makes his butterfly legs. He makes pizza with his gymnastic instructor and loudly belts out the welcome song (incoherently of course!). Both B and H do these things while other kids are typically running around the gym or story time, unable to sit and focus.

I don't think there is anything wrong with these other kids. I think they've got an agenda of their own, and that's a-okay. If it were H or B, I'd let 'em go run their bit. It's harmless and they are just babes. They're not meant to sit and follow directions at such a young age unless they want to.

Except other people don't seem to agree.

Oftentimes the other parents are "whispering" (you know, that whisper that is as loud as a yell) vehemently to their children to "sit down on their bottoms" or "get over here right now" and even "you will regret this later." It makes me so sad for those kids. They are doing what is innately natural to them, and they are being told that they are wrong or bad for simply being a small child.

I don't know why my kids participate so well in activities. H's BFF has a very similar personality and temperament as H. But she doesn't sit still during story time. And her momma is just fine with that. I don't know why H does. I don't know why B does.

But I know I've never yelled, screamed, threatened, coerced or bribed them to do so. And I never will.

Quite frankly, at this young of an age it's all fun and games. They don't have to follow directions. H just graduated up to the big kids gymnastics class (but she still gets to do toddler gym too - whew!). There she is expected to follow directions. And in that situation, if she chooses not to, I'd never make her feel bad about it. It would be her making it clear to me that either she is not ready to be in that kind of position or that she doesn't enjoy gymnastics. And I'd never make her do an extracurricular she didn't enjoy. That's just dumb.

So please, don't expect your kids to be little adults. They don't have the same patience we have(okay, that many of us have or at the very least pretend to have). They can't sit still like we can. And they like to have fun. Let them!

And fun is different for all kids. Don't expect your kids "fun" to be what you think it should be. You might think that collecting the most Easter eggs during and Easter egg hunt is fun. Your kid might think that picking dandelions is more fun. And that's fine.

Let them be little!

Captain Destruct-O melts my heart.

This week Mr. B has been Captain Destruct-O. He's removed the letters off the keyboard to my laptop - and not in a just pop them back on type of way. A few glasses and bowls have perished. And then my blender, my most essential kitchen item that I use every single day, that is fairly heavy and I never even dreamed he could lift, he threw off the counter and it shattered into 100s of pieces.

He thought it was absolutely fantastic!

I was super nice and calm about and it just swept it up (I mean, I'm the one who put him on the counter), but admittedly was less than impressed.

After a week of extreme clean-up because he just destroys everything, I was spent.

Then I got onto my computer to continue organizing my photos while B slept on my lap and H helped J prepare seeds for planting, and my heart just melted at what I saw.

A tiny B fresh out of the womb lying across my chest. Only a few hours old and his sister helping him to defiantly give the bird to the world (and I only just noticed this today!). Him sitting in his bumbo, bald, his ears sticking out of his head while we put up his first Christmas tree.

And sweet Jesus, he's perfect. He is my biggest surprise. My best surprise. Such a sweet, loving, curious little boy. He makes my heart stop. He's making me prematurely gray. He makes me laugh until I cry. He makes my heart swell so big with love I think it might explode.

Sometimes I am so overwhelmed by how much I love him (and H, too, of course!). I'm usually awesome with words, and the fact that I can look at him and be at an absolute loss for words, speaks volumes.

I fantasized about having a little girl my entire life. But I never once imagined what it would be like to have a boy. And I never could have imagined it to be so awesome.

So destroy away, my sweet treasure. You are only little once. You only get to learn these things once. And I only get to keep you here as mine for such a short amount of time before you are off on your own in this great big world. So even if I have to buy a new blinder, I will do it with a smile on my face.

Because I was blessed with you, sweet B. And there are no words to explain the awesomeness of that.

R-E-S-P-E-C-T

When my little sister was a babe, she used to belt out Aretha Franklin's "Respect." She totally owned it. These past few days I've really felt like belting it out myself. And singing it directly at my daughter.

We're so laid back about most things, but I have a really hard time being laid back about respect.

Ridiculous, right? I don't expect my children to apologize if they don't genuinely mean it. I don't want them to even confuse fear for respect. I want for others (and myself and J) to earn their respect the same way that we'd expect any adult to earn it. Just because they are little, doesn't mean that any person automatically deserves to be respected by my children, no matter their age, race, or socio-economic status. If they haven't earned it, they don't deserve it.

And yet it drives me frakking insane.

Because I would like them to be respectful always. To everyone.

Typically H is very respectful. Of me, of J, of all others. But these past few days have been really trying in the ways of setting an example, as opposed to simply forcing her to behave and respond in a certain way. Suddenly my well-mannered child is rolling her eyes and sighing "I don't know" and "I don't care" or wholly and blatantly ignoring J and I. And the screaming at us or telling us what we can or cannot do. Agh!

It drives me insane. A part of me genuinely wants to put my foot down and say this is how you will speak to me because I'm your mom. But I know that won't work. I mean, sure, I could enforce it with some dire punishment that would compel her to obey, but then that's fear, my friends. Not respect.

And that's not what I want.

Doing this whole peaceful, gentle, parenting stuff is hard. It yields the results the world wants, and I see that. But it doesn't happen until I have to overcome my own upbringing and not react the way I was reacted to as a kid. It's hard.

I just keep reminding myself that so long as I continue speaking to her kindly, continue making it clear that rolling our eyes at people is not kind, continue making it clear that yelling at people is not acceptable and no one will listen to her until she has the same pleasant tone we do, she will outgrow this phase, too. I know she will.

But why does every "phase" seem to last forever (though typically rarely more than week) and always seem like the most difficult parenting challenge I've had yet?

She's not even 3 yet. I sometimes wonder how I'll handle the next 15+ years.

Connected?

While driving home from the Y yesterday we drove passed a video rental store.

You know what I'm talking about. One of those stores, where as a kid, you'd eagerly walk down row after row of VHS tapes, prudently choosing what brand new (to you anyway) movie you would take home with you. What movie would magically become yours for 5 whole days.

You'd eat popcorn and zebra cakes (do those even still exist??) while huddled under blankets in the living room, watching the video that you so carefully chose. And when it was over, you always followed the instructions plastered to the case of the VHS that read: Be kind, rewind.

I haven't thought about a video rental store, well, in my entire adult life, I suppose. Netflix, red box, sure. But actually going to a store and renting a movie? No.

It's something that is certainly dying in our extremely connected, Internet-loving society these days.

I suppose it's far more convenient to rent a movie with the swift click of your remote control and instantly have it on your screen, but man, I have some pretty good memories from renting movies.

Mostly because I've always been a movie junkie. If they're B level movies, even better. If I never heard of them. Score!

To realize that this is an experience my kids will likely never have is a bit sad. Silly, I know, to be sad that they'll never rent a video from a video rental store, but still. Sometimes I forget how far removed we've come in just a few short years to actual human interaction.

I mean, before, you had to go to a store to rent a movie. You had to interact with the person working the register. I think it was nearly impossible to not run into someone who you knew while renting a video. It was a big event. A social event, even.

And yet slowly but surely with seemingly harmless, and for the most part "better" technology, we are cutting these things out of our lives.

The more technology advances, the more "connected" we all are; the less connected we are.

I mean, when is the last time you had a real phone conversation with a friend? Like, a real conversation? And texts don't count. I couldn't tell you, to be honest. When I was younger I could talk to my friends on the phones for hours. Even after having spent all day at school with them.

Now everything is through facebook or text messages, even email seems to be going out the window these days. No one sends emails anymore.

Then again, we have more "friends" these days too. Once upon a time my friends were all people who I knew and spoke to on a regular basis. Now that doesn't necessarily constitute a friend. I've got friends on facebook who have THOUSANDS of "friends." I'm not even sure if I know thousands of people.

I see all the benefits of technology and being connected and what not, but at the same time. I don't. I just don't.

I feel more isolated than I did as a kid. More disconnected. Maybe it's age. Maybe it's just me. Likely it's just me.

I love that my children are growing up in a techno-filled world. I love that Peek-a-boo Barn is always to my rescue when I need to wrangle B for a diaper change, and allowing H to watch home movies on my iPhone gives me those last 2 minutes I need to get dinner on the table. But I don't love that they will likely never have their friends phone numbers memorized. That they won't really know that snail mail used to exist outside of birthday cards, and it was freaking amazing.

We are just so connected.

But we're not.

Night weaning will never happen

I swear it was just two days ago that I was all, "Oh, I'm night weaning B and he's doing great!" And by "great" I meant he'd given up nursing for the first 3-4 hours of the night. Which for us is like a tremendous "improvement." And he'd given that up without so much as a fuss.

The rest of it.

Nope.

He's still attached all. night. long. The alternative is he cries all. night. long.

And I'm just not okay with that.

I keep telling myself he'll night wean before he's like 10. Right?

Surely.

I can do just about anything if I know there is an end in sight.

Even if that end is not for another 5 years. (No, I have zero intentions of nursing a 6 year old. To each their own, it's just not for me. Then again, I had zero intentions of nursing an almost 3 year old, so I should probably shut my mouth).

I just keep reminding myself that for one reason or another, emotionally, physically, who knows, he needs this right now. I know this because he goes in spurts. He's not been this attached at night in a long time. We went from waking 1-2 times a night to attached all night to waking 1-2 and then to attached and so on.

But during the phases where it is all night long, I seem to start losing my clarity. And sanity.

And I must keep my sanity. Especially now that I pulled the lovely Miss H out of preschool (flaky mom of the year award right here!).

Alas, just like the the Little Engine that Could, I will repeat a mantra over and over until it happens. And my mantra shall be, "I know he will eventually. I know he will eventually."

And the world can laugh at me when eventually turns to never.

Toys, toys, and more toys!

H and B have a ridiculous amount of toys. And it's crazy, because 3 months ago we literally got rid of pretty much everything, with the exception of wooden blocks, puzzles, and few other miscellaneous things. And in the three months since, we've managed to accumulate even more than what they previous had.

Certainly the holidays and amazing well-loving family and friends have helped. And it's, of course, greatly appreciated. But J and I also have a problem buying our kids things.

To the extreme.

We're not big holiday gift-givers. For some reason it just seems to not be our thing. We buy gifts for our friends and families, but not really for each other or the kids.

But we do buy year round. We haven't yet gotten to the ages where our kids really ask for things. But we still buy them things.

All the time.

When we feel like it.

When we see something we like.

When we see something we think they would like.

When it's appropriate and a decent price.

All the time.

A huge part of it is simply from our childhoods. J grew up poor. He basically had no toys.

I certainly had toys, but not to the same extent as a lot of kids, and not when I was really small.

Neither one of us begrudge our childhoods for their lack of toys.

And yet we want to give, give, give to our kids. We give them incredible amounts of time and attention, too, which we weren't terribly privy to as kids. So it's not like we just buy them things and expect them to go away. I spend the majority of my day playing with our kids. Other than when B takes his 45 minute nap which currently = quiet TV time for H (she loves that TV is being allowed inside during this time instead of solely in the car) when I take time to do chores and blog, as well as the hour I spend at the gym each day while the kids play at the play 'n learn center (which they love), I'm playing with them all. day. long. So trust me, they're not deprived of attention.

And pretty much every awake moment that J is home for is dedicated to the kids. He's playing with them from the second he gets home, before he has a chance to put down his bags or take off his shoes.

And logically, even academically, I know this all that they need. In fact, it's probably a bit too much and we should encourage them to play more on their own. But we like playing with them. It's why we had them, we say.

The toys, they are all just extra.

A lot of times I think they would be better off with fewer toys. That they don't really need our entire dining room turned play room, as well as our living room, full of stuff. But then when I think, "What would I get rid?" I just can't. In my defense, they really do play with it all.

I read the book "Simplicity Parenting" about a year ago and I really love it. Mostly because I would love to be a minimalist, and the book is about minimalist parenting. Love it.

But it will never happen. I'm great at getting rid of my stuff, but not the kids. I've done a lot of purging this past year. I condensed my books to two bookshelves when it was once three overflowing bookshelves. So now one book case holds the kids' games and "educational" materials.

I have less clothes than my husband! How many women can say that? My clothes take up about 1/4 of our closet space. But I really only have about 7 "fall/winter" tops. And 3 pairs of jeans. I have quite a few other shirts floating in there, many that I should pitch still, as I haven't worn them despite thinking I would. Last summer I had two pairs of shorts.

Now you want to talk swim suits it's a different ball game. It's pretty much the only thing I have more than J of. Because I have a weird obsession with them. But even there I've purged a lot.

Although they have way more clothes than me, I easily get rid of the kids' clothes as they outgrow them.

But toys. Oh, no! I just cannot part with those.

So I'm just going to hope that having so many toys isn't somehow damaging. I mean, I've read plenty of things that say with so many toys babes don't play with them all. They don't use their imaginations as much. They don't have the "gift of boredom."

But they do play with them. They do have amazing imaginations. And they even do tell me they're bored on occasion.

Or maybe that's just me justifying my own need to give, give, give to them.

Mod Podge is made by the devil himself

So I finally bought some Mod Podge because I have like a million DIY project pinned and figured, you know, I should actually do some of them.

I bought some canvases to make this wedding song lyric thing (great explanation, right?). And while I was browsing through canvas I kept thinking, "This would probably work better and be easier on wood." But since I've never done a anything involving Mod Podge, I figured my own input was worth nil. And because I'm cheap, and canvas is waaaay cheaper than wood, I went with it.

Um, it worked. I'll hang the finished product in my room. I think.

But holy cow! Mod Podge is made by devil.

There are like 10 different kinds to choose from. And I swear they are all the exact same thing. So I have no idea how you choose. I just ended up picking randomly and blindly.

There are all different sized bottles. Which now having used it, seems like a joke. What could you even do with the small bottle? Attach thumbnail picture to a quarter-sized magnet? Or maybe I'm just doing it wrong.

That's probably it.

Also, it's glue. Which annoys me. I swear it's just Elmer's glue in a round bottle with a Mod Podge label. I wouldn't be surprised. At all.

Canvas isn't flat. I mean, it is, but it isn't. It's not solid flat. Like would would be. So the paper ends up with bubbles in it no matter how many times you pulls it up and re-flatten it. I finally just had to accept it would be less than perfect. That is not an easy feat for me.

And because Mod Podge is just like Elmer's glue, my kids want to eat. Because it's glue. And something about glue makes kids hungry.

Needless to say, I'm less than impressed with Mod Podge. Don't get me wrong, now that I have it I'll have to at least try the other 12321 projects I have pinned, because I don't have a good reason not to.

And other people seem to have had great success with it. My little sister made us awesome ornaments of the kids using it. My friend B made us the best tea light vases with pictures of the kids that are so cute they are to die for! So others can definitely figure out.

Maybe it's all just user error.

Either way, Mod Podge is over-priced Elmer's glue made by the devil.

And all the people on Pinterest using it canvas probably never actually tried it. Just sayin'.

Curly hair is a beast!

When I was a little girl I wanted curly hair. I prayed for it. I made bargains with God for it. I literally cried for it. And when my Mom told me that the crust on bread would give me curly hair, I ate crusts like they were going out of style.

But I never got curly hair.

My daughter did.

It's lovely, beautiful brown, soft, shiny hair.

But she got my ridiculously fine baby hair. That means it tangles like a beast.

And she got her papa's curly/wavy locks.

On day one, fresh from a shower, it's some pretty serious curls. The subsequent days it turns to more wave with curls on the ends.

It's perfect. It's beautiful.

It's a beast to manage.

I don't know what to do with it most of the time. All I know how to deal with is dead straight locks. That's what I have. I don't know how to make hers look decent.

I don't know what kind of shampoo or conditioner to use. Or which ones not to. I've tried about 110 with little to no luck. I've tried detangler out the wazoo.

For the most part, I feel like I need a class in managing baby fine curly hair. J is no help, because he doesn't do much with his hair. And it's not baby fine, so he doesn't understand that aspect.

I've asked a million people at hair salons and in the shampoo department, etc. No one is really very helpful. "Oh, try this shampoo," they say, and then you can cue blood curdling screams of "Oh my goodness! It's burning my eyes!" or "Try this, I love it!" and suddenly her hair is an oil slick or the driest most horrid frizz ball.

I feel like hair shouldn't be this hard. Especially when you're not even three.

For the most part I just let it go. I tame it with lots of detangler, try to pin the hair out of her eyes if I can wrangle her long enough, and hope for the best.

I wouldn't change a thing about H. Not even her hair.

But I also understand why God didn't give me curly hair. It would not have been a pretty thing.

The truth about me and Paleo

I've written and deleted this a few times. Because I'm a bit conflicted about it. Mostly because I believe pretty strongly in "When you know better, you do better" and am always so damn confused when people know better, but still don't choose to do better.

I don't get it.

And yet that's me.

I feel at my very best - mentally, physically, etc - when I eat 100% Paleo. Like, I feel like I could move mountains and go skydiving off the moon amazing! So I know, without a doubt, that there is so much truth in the Paleo lifestyle. For me anyway.

But even as gung-ho as I am about health and nutrition, I would have never come to the Paleo lifestyle willingly. Even understanding it. Believing it. I only ended up there because I had a very sick little boy and it was my last hope before him undergoing some very invasive GI procedures.

And it worked. So that of course sold me.

Once B was around 8 months old I lightened up on Paleo. A lot. I started eating ice cream again. OMFG. There are no words. I ate cheese. And crackers. And coffee and wine.

And now, since the week before Christmas, I've thrown Paleo out the door in lieu of Christmasy good things I was fantasizing about. Peanut butter fudge. Egg nog. Tres leches cake. Tamales. Cinnamon rolls. The list is endless. In two weeks I managed to gain 5 pounds. That takes a special kind of eating, I tell you!

A few days ago I sat J down and told him I needed to go back hardcore Paleo. I needed to take control of my eating. Because I didn't want to outgrow my jeans. He looked at me like I had ten heads. "You're 125 fucking pounds," he told me (yes, I just admitted my weight to the world). "I hope you're joking, otherwise you need some serious therapy."

Well, J never drops the f-bomb in correlation to me. And he never tells me flat out that I'm crazy.

So it made me think.

And he's right.

I have a deeply skewed perception of health. It's there for so many different reasons. Reasons I know and understand. Reasons I don't fully know how to overcome. But I'm trying.

J is totally supportive of all my decisions, whether it be health, kids, financial, whatever. He always has my back, even if he doesn't get it. And he's been so genuinely supportive of us being Paleo for the past year because he witnessed firsthand our very sick baby and what a scary situation that was. And all because of food.

But he is also my reality check. He's the guy who told me I was beautiful before, during, and after pregnancies. He is the person who questions me to be sure I've questioned myself first. He's the one who when I'm not thinking clearly helps me out. Because he knows me better than anyone else in the world.

So after a loooong discussion (I mean, I didn't get to bed til 11pm that night!) I've come to the conclusion that I will always live a loosely Paleo lifestyle. There will always be more fruits and veggies and nuts/seeds for snacking around my house than granola bars and "fruit snacks". Meat/fish and vegetables will be the primary foods in our meals. And I know we are all far healthier for it.

But dude. There are just some things I cannot live without. Ice cream. Chocolate. Cheese. Crusty bread. Chocolate. Wine. Coffee. Chocolate popcorn. Tortillas. Chocolate.

It's just not going to happen. And it's super hard admitting that. Because I know better. I feel that by not doing better for myself, and for my family, I'm failing in some way. And I'm pretty much the least graceful person when it comes to failure. I was always told that failing wasn't acceptable.

But this time I have to.

This time failure might really be success.

Success at knowing and understanding health. At embracing it. By letting my extremely OCD and deeply disturbing health belief system be infiltrated my a dose of reality. Because although it's important to be healthy, it's important to be healthy about health.

I'll still make most things from scratch and by few processed things and when I do I will read labels. But man, I just have to let some things go. I'm not going to die if I eat three tortillas. My kids are going to be just fine if someone gives them a bowl of cheerios.

And I will tell myself that until I believe it.

Project 356: 2

 

I took some really good photos of Miss H today. That's hard to do these days because if she sees a camera she either hams it up to the extreme or hides. So just cute, natural shots are nearly impossible. But I caught some! And I was excited to be able to post a good photo today.

 

And then J came home. And the camera was next to me and H was all lovey on him and I took a few photos with terrible lighting and said, "Whelp, this is it. This terrible lighting, mostly crappy picture from an 'artists' point of view."

 

Because it's J and H. And they're beautiful And have this beautiful, pure love.

 

Even in bad lighting.

 

 

 

 

"I'll love you forever"

Miss H is really into the book "Love you forever" right now. Like, we read it 123049729837x a day. And that's not quite enough. She has it memorized word for word and is quick to correct me if I get jumbled up after reading it a bazillion times.

Well, H doesn't nap anymore. On the rare occasion she may, but we've been going napless for almost a solid year now. And most days it's okay. But I always have her lay down in her bed while I get B to sleep. Then I go back to her. If she's asleep, I let her be. If she's almost asleep, I just lay down with her until she's out. And, most days, she's still wide awake so then I tell her she can come back downstairs and play quietly while Mommy does chores (or blogs...).

Today when I took her up to her room she said, "Momma, I need you to rock me just like the baby. And sing me the song." So we sat on her bed while B found destructive things to entertain himself and I rocked her just like I did when she was oh-so tiny, singing "I'll love you forever, I'll like you for always. As long as you're living my baby you'll be." When I laid her down with her head upon her pillow she looked at me and said, "As long as your living my Momma you'll be." I kissed her nose and she told me, "I'll love you for always because you're my hero."

She tells me I'm her hero a lot. But today it melted my heart just that much more.

In case I haven't mentioned it lately, I freaking love my job. I love being a mom. And I love those two tiny blessings more than anything else in this galaxy.

Project 365: Day 1

So I am going to attempt to do a Project 365. I use the word attempt because I'm not certain I can committ to keeping up with it. If we're being honest, I can't really completely committ to doing anything every day other than feeding my kids. And some days...

I will preface this project by stating that I'm not a professional photographer (trust me, it's obvious!). I do NOT photo shop or edit my photos ever. I personally think it takes away from the "art" of photography, but to each their own. So don't expect any masterpieces here. I also hate photos of scenery and stuff unless there are people in them, so it will probably just be a 365 photos of H and B.

So here is 1/365. My dear sweet B, wearing his sister's Uggs that he refuses to part with, and adorned with a tutu courtesy of H so he can dance with her "like Angelina." Personally, I think he rocks the look like a rock star!