Monday, January 27, 2014

Preschool and I are not friends. The end.

I'm not really "for" school in general for my kids. Like, just thinking about sending them off to school or preschool gives me anxiety.

But H wants it. Sooooo badly she wants it.

So I made J look at preschools with me. And if H goes, B wants to go, too, of course. Cool.

I thought we found the one. Other than plastic toys, there wasn't much to object to or not like.

And then I realized that their "3 by August 1" deadline was non-budging. Never mind B turns 3 in August, there is no allowance. At all.

Well, F that. I'm not sending one kid to one school and the other to a different one. Geez, how hard do they think I'm going to make this on myself?

So I think the universe is telling me to go with my gut. No school.

But then H says differently.

So I don't know what the fuck I'm supposed to do.

Universe? God? H?

Someone else needs to figure this stuff out, because I'm exhausted and exasperated. And I'm done searching and touring and questioning and investing.

This should be easier.

I mean, duh. Everything about parenting should be easier.

You're laughing now, eh? I know, I know.

But seriously, preschool is the devil. It's out to get me and deprive me of what little sleep I get.

Dear Preschool, We are not friends. The end.

Sunday, January 26, 2014

The end of a breastfeeding relationship

If breastfeeding or pictures of it bother you, move along. You won't want to read this. :-)



H and B are weaned.

Officially.

Done.

All gone.

No more milk. (Okay, it's still technically there, but it's drying up slowly but surely).

They weaned in December. Sometime right before Christmas.

But it's taken me this long to write about it.

It was a lot easier for them to wean than I anticipated. A complete breeze for them.

I was an utter hormonal mess.

H self-weaned. I knew it was coming. It has been a slow self-weaning process for her since last April. That was when she suddenly significantly reduced her nursing to not even 1x a day every day. She'd go days in between without asking. I knew it was coming.

But it always seemed that just when I thought, "Oh, maybe she's done," she'd ask to breastfeed again. But then by October when she was asking, she was literally breastfeeding for less than five seconds at a time. I knew those moments were fleeting. That she was nearly done.

And then it just puckered out. By the time Christmas Day rolled around I'd realized that she hadn't asked since the very beginning of December. She was done.

And so was B at that point.

I made the conscious decision to cut down breastfeeding sessions with B after his second birthday. I needed it. For my sanity. He was nursing 6-8x a day, sometimes for over an hour.

So first I lessened the length of time. Then how many times he could nurse.

It was hard. I felt so mean. He'd cry and I'd hold him and offer him anything under the sun except for the one thing he wanted, and then I'd want to cry with him, because I knew I could stop the tears if I just nursed him, but I just didn't want to. I mean, I did. I wasn't trying to wean him at that point. I just wanted the breastfeeding to happen less.

And once it started, I'd put the ball in motion and he weaned right along with his sister. It was done and over with before I'd realized what had happened.

Truthfully, I was ready to be done. So ready to be done.

But then again, I wasn't. Not even remotely. I totally could have been that mom still breastfeeding her 6 year old. I wouldn't have cared. Because I wanted it to be on his terms. So I feel a bit bad that I kind of forced it along instead of letting him self-wean like his sister. I'm sorry his sister got nearly 4 years of awesome momma milk and he only got 2 years and 4 months. Not like I counted or anything.

So long as he wasn't, you know, nursing 6-8x a day we'd have been good.

But B is kind of an all or nothing kind of guy.

So now it's nothing.

But I'm glad we're done. I'm fantasizing about buying a REAL bra. I bought a few spring/summer dresses (because it will get warm again some day, right!?) without thinking about being able to nurse in them (although my subconscious clearly was, because they're all totally compatible. Alas!).

I'm glad I don't have enough milk to let down when I hear another baby cry (for real, that happened all the freaking time).

I'm glad that I had the ability to nourish and sustain two healthy, strong babies. That I could tandem nurse them. That I could breastfeed H while pregnant with B. That I had an overabundance of milk and their tummies were always full.w


I'm grateful that I was able to connect with my children in this way. That we were able to share so many beautiful moments together.

I'm grateful that weaning wasn't traumatizing for them.

I didn't know what to expect when they weaned. My hormones were a mess. I'd be chopping vegetables and I'd burst into tears. And not because I was sad they had weaned. Just because I suddenly felt compelled to cry.

I cried in the supermarket once when reading a box of cereal.

I'd watch something on TV and something ridiculous like a lion hunting a zebra would bring on the waterworks.

It was a tumultuous few weeks. I'm glad those hormones have figured themselves out.

I believe in breastfeeding. I believe it is the best thing for all babes.

Although I'd encourage anyone to breastfeed to a minimum of 2 years, I'd mostly encourage everyone to do it for a day. A week. A month. As long as you feel you possibly can. Because every drop is awesomeness for your babe.

But this relationship with my children is now over. It was beautiful and fantastic. And some days made me want to pull my hair out. But I'm glad I was able to do it for them.

And on a closing note, here are some booby pictures. ;-) It's certainly been a good run!


Newborn Miss H. Look at that nose! I just love it.

 Taking a break from the beach and sun.

 
The day B was born. Fist tandem nursing.

Newborn Mr. B
 
B needs in on this milk on the beach thing, too!
 
 
 
I'm so glad to have this picture that one of my dear friends took for me. 

My heart is full.
 
 
P.S. Sorry if this is all discombobulated. My emotions and thoughts are kind of all over the place on this still. 

Thursday, January 23, 2014

Yellow, yellow, yellow.

I won't lie. I do not engage my kids in planned out, school-like activities on a daily basis. Or even on a weekly basis.

But on the occasion that I do, you can bet your bottom that all the magic happens before 9am and without pants.

Okay, H typically has pants. She's a lady.

But I do try. To an extent.

Sometimes.

Really, they learn so much through playing that I don't do that much.

But then sometimes I feel like I need to do something just to get them to chill out. So I throw out a bunch of stuff and see if they are interested.

Some days they are.

Other days. Not so much.

Today they were.

So I tossed some yellow puff balls into a dish. Some yellow (or as H corrected me - "gold") sequins into another dish. Another got some yellow fabric flowers, and the last was filled yellow puff stickers. I whipped up some yellow shaving cream paint and gave them a small cup of glue with paint brushes. An assortment of yellow crayons and few yellow piper cleaners.

I taped two pieces of paper down to their craft table and told them they could do whatever they wanted. They immediately went to work.
 
 
And their end result was this awesomeness.
 
Yes, I made B hole that picture right there. Remember...no pants... 
 
But they were on a roll and wanted to do something different, but more. So I printed off this "yellow" sheet for them and put some yellow finger paint on a plate. They squeeze 1/4 a lemon into each of their finger paints. Because you know, lemons are yellow and they smell good. And I bought a whole bag and dont' know what to do with them now...
 
The kids thought it was a great project!

 
 

 But then they still wanted to do something else.

It was hitting 8:45a.m. and my morning rush was wearing out. But I pushed on.

And pulled out the gardening stuff.

Yep, it's roughly -123454356 degrees out, but we decided to plant flowers inside.

Why not?

So we planted yellow sunflowers into two tiny pots - one for each kid.

Have you caught on that we were having a yellow theme today?

After the seeds were planted each kid wrote their name on their pot.

Okay, H actually wrote her name. B very meticulously wrote...something.

 You can't really tell, but this really is H's name. It wraps around the whole pot.
 
 B's name. Obviously.

And now my awesomeness is shot. I do not know how those amazing, crafty, put together mommas come up with their own crafty things to do every day, and actually spend the whole day doing planned stuff. And then you know, they blog about it so I can drool over it, pin it, tell myself we'll spend a day like that, and then never actually do that. Because that's just too hard. And my kids don't have that kind of focus.

Okay, okay. B doesn't have that kind of focus.

It's fun for like 45 minutes. But that's our limit.

So if the snow and ridiculous weather could go away so we can live at the park again, that'd be super awesome. Until then, thank God for the library and Children's Museum. Because this put-together stuff is for the bees.
 
Oh, and if you're wondering. B is certain we covered "blue, red, and green" today. So I think it's safe to say he knows nothing about the color yellow. Ha.






Wednesday, January 22, 2014

Love Marks

Today was the first time my children noticed my stretch marks.

Or at least the first time they commented on them.

"You got owie?" B asked, pointing at the marks on my hips this morning.

"Nope. Not owie. That's just a part of me," I told him.

"How dat happen?" he asked.

"I got them from being pregnant with you and H," I answered.

"Oh."

"What are they?" H piped in.

"They're my...love marks."

"Love marks? You get those from having babies?"

"Yep," I nodded. "My whole body just loved being pregnant with you that it made special marks to remember it forever."

H smiled. "That's really neat. Will I get them when I have babies, too?

I nodded. "Probably."

"Yes! I can't wait!"

And that is how you love your "imperfections."

Monday, January 20, 2014

Just when I think it is time to call in the exorcist

The last couple of weeks have been - Oh Lordy...rough. With H.

All the qualities in her that I so freaking adore, are also qualities that at times make it difficult to parent her.

She is vivacious. Spirited and stubborn. She questions everything. It's her way or the high way, baby. No negotiating. And you'd best have a damn good reason why you'd ask her to do anything.

Truthfully, I love that she is this kind of girl. She will grow up to question authority. She will demand respect if you anticipate it in return. She won't take anything at face value. And quite frankly, she'll always be one step ahead of you. And the world needs more people like that. More people who are curious. People who challenge everything. People who don't follow blindly. And she will be one of those few. And she'll be amazing.

Just like she is now.

Except for now, she's just shy of 4, and sometimes hella difficult.

Typically, she's pretty easy to work with. You just have to realize that you only get respect if you give it with her. Good! You best have a reason for anything you do. Good! And sometimes, she's just 3.5 and so she's slightly possessed for reasons I will never know. Not so good!

A good friend pointed out that maybe it was partly due from weaning that she was having such a rough time lately. I hadn't thought too much about it before then, but realized it surely played a part in it.

My own hormones were all over the place. I was a complete and utter mess. I'd be chopping vegetables and couldn't hold myself together. Dust pissed me off. Coffee looked at me cross-eyed. Everything I ate tasted like soap.

And that was just me.

Sure, she doesn't have those same hormones surging through her body, but breastfeeding is a very emotional thing. That bond is crazy strong. So it would make sense that when it ended she'd be feeling it, too.

So we focused on a lot more closeness. My crazy OCD Type A personality began to come out again during my hormone meltdown. I've done really, really awesome suppressing that part of myself in mothering, but then there it was. Bam! And that made things more challenging, too.

Little things that I never cared about before, started to become battles. I started insisting on a clean playroom, I was lacking in mutual respect. When I'd request something of her and she'd question why my answer was "Because I'm your mom." Thank God she had sense in her brain to stop right in her tracks and tell me flatly, "That's a really terrible reason. I think you need some time to think."

As I said, I freaking adore this girl.

But I was losing my mind!

So much so that I finally broke down and called J Friday and told him I desperately needed him to come home from work early so that I didn't go all ape shit crazy on this sweet girl. Sometimes the desire to yell is a strong urge to choke back.

He obliged.

I took a bubble bath.

J and H had a good talk.

Saturday sucked.

Sunday was...eh, okay.

Today this girl woke up and had been exorcised. Or maybe I had been. Or maybe both of us.

Whatever the case, I'll take it.

Because she is sweet. And she happily got herself dressed, and then she helped to get her brother dressed. She put on her shoes when asked. She didn't act like I was trying to poison her when I put breakfast in front of her without consulting her first. When I told her it was time to leave the play center after lunch there was no fuss. She helped corral her brother.

Thank God.

My sweet girl is back.

I'm hoping that's what everyone was talking about when they said 3 was worse than 2. (And 2 was a breeze!). I hope it's over. I hope it's clear sailing here on out.

I mean, a momma can dream, right?

Thursday, January 16, 2014

Sometimes I feel like a fraud.

When J discovered I had decided to shut down my blog for awhile, he asked "Why?"

"I don't know," I shrugged. "I feel overwhelmed. A little unauthentic."

"You? You're the most straightforward, brutally honest person I know."

Yeah, maybe.

Or maybe not.

It's true.

I don't/can't lie. So I haven't.

But I'm certainly not living up to my own expectations and beliefs.

It's like I have so many grandiose ideas. I have some extremely strong beliefs.

But I suck at thoroughly carrying them out. And then I just feel like a fraud.

For example, I feel quite strongly about organic, whole foods eating. More specifically, Paleo eating. But do I carry that out perfectly?

Hell no.

I like my ice cream too damn much. And my tortillas.

Sure, sure, I've bought almond milk and coconut milk ice cream. And I've even made my own. And truthfully, I actually like coconut milk ice cream more than cow's milk ice cream. But holy cow! Do you know how much that shit costs!? $6 for a dinky little container. Um, no thank you. Not with my ice cream habit. We'll go broke, because Lord knows I will never be able to give up ice cream.

And I'm okay with that.

My fridge is full of enough fruit to feed a small army, and I'm on our second fruit run this week! But my kids have recently decided to become unofficial fruitarians it seems. That's cool. I can't complain about eating fruit. But um...do you know how much organic fruit costs? Don't get me wrong, we buy a ton that is organic. Maybe even the majority most of the time. But sometimes, no. Just no. B ate THREE cartons of strawberries yesterday. Strawberries ain't in season, sister. Those were for sure full of pesticides because I cannot afford $8 a carton for organic strawberries right now. Just isn't going to happen. If I was only buying one carton a week, yeah, probably. But when I'm buying more than 5 a week right now. Nope.

We don't have much "processed" food in our house, for sure. My kids think Lara Bars are candy bars (they're not organic!). But yeah, we have mayo and mustard and ketchup. We have a box of gluten-free graham crackers and two packages of gluten-free pasta. As well as a few cans of veggie soup and a loaf of GF bread and tortillas. And ice-cream. Of course, we have ice cream.

And maybe that's not really so bad, I don't know. I mean, we don't have crackers and granola bars and pudding packs and hamburger helper or other instant meals. But it's still processed. It's still here. We still eat it. And I still don't believe in it. So...? Unauthentic? I think so.

And don't even get me started on fast food. I'm pretty sure it's created by the devil. Just thinking about it gives me the willies. And yet I feed my kids a Wendy's hamburger for dinner every time we go to the children's museum (2-3x a MONTH) because I can pack a lunch, but dude, I don't have the patience to lug dinner around, too.

They get a Starbucks every. single. week. Seriously. Every Wednesday at story time they get a pizza pretzel and I get a cup o' sugar death, a.k.a. "a coffee-like drink."

And that's just food!

You want to talk parenting?

Hold on to your chonies, this might be a doozie.

I believe in peaceful and gentle parenting. Maybe to a vice. I believe in non-punitive parenting without a doubt.

But I have smacked my children in moments I'm not proud of. H was much younger, it happened twice, it has been nearly two years since those moments. B was this month. :-/ He bit his sister so hard on the back there was blood pouring out. It was a completely inappropriate response. It was fueled by a lot of terrible memories of being harmed by my siblings as a kid and no one even pretending to care. But it was not okay. I smacked his little bum before attending to his injured sister. It was wrong. I should have paid him no attention. I should have cared for H. When she was better, I should have talked to B about what had happened. Woulda, shoulda, coulda. I handled it wrong. It was not gentle, it was not peaceful. In fact, it was a harmful as I could have handled such a situation. But I did it anyway. Without thinking. I reacted.

Truth is, I rarely yell. But that doesn't mean I'm always kind or gentle. Sometimes I get snappy. Sometimes when they're fighting I tell them I don't care, I just want them to stop. Not okay. Not appropriate. Not gentle or thoughtful or respectful. But I do it. I'm not proud.

I don't believe in bribes, threats, or punishments. But that doesn't mean I haven't used them

Sometimes, when it's time for us to leave someplace, and I can tell it's going to be a struggle, I will say something like, "Oh, it's time to leave. If we hurry we'll have time to stop by and pick up a donut." Maybe not an outright bribe like, "If you do x, I'll give you y." But it's there. The implication is obvious.

When my patience is spent I sometimes tell H that if she cannot listen, speak kindly, etc., she can play alone in her room. Threat/punishment? I think so.

We are co-sleepers. Not 100% by choice, but it's where we are at, and have been since the birth of number 1. Mostly, I enjoy it actually. Except when they both have to sandwich me to point of suffocation and I get stuck in an uncomfortable position, but it's after 4am and I know I risk waking B up for good if I move, and I have to gamble if it's worth it.

I love waking up to those two babes every morning. I really and truly do. But I still put them in their own beds each night at bedtime. I still pray that they will sleep through the night and I will wake up before them, and with each of them in their own beds. I would love to go to bed myself at night, and not immediately hear the pitter-patter of little feet coming to join us on cue. Mostly because I'd like to have sex in actual bed for a change. Just sayin'.

But to admit that I want them to sleep on their own makes me feel like I'm admitting something terrible. Like I want them to walk over thorns and slay a dastardly dragon, all while playing the harmonica, just so I can get some bedroom action in the bedroom. And I want to say, "No, it's obviously not like that at all." But it is. A little bit.

I talk a lot about self-love, especially with your body. I didn't have fantastic role models who loved their bodies growing up. I didn't even know it was okay for me to love my body until I was pregnant with H and just couldn't make myself not love it.

And I do love it. Like really and truly. I love the map of stretchmarks on my tummy, hips, and thighs. I love my beefy, muscular, strong legs and thighs. I love my bushy eyebrows and the way my tummy has always been round and poochy - it's never been flat. I've even learned to love and embrace my oversized tatas, even though they were never something I was encouraged to celebrate when I was younger. I don't see them as something sexual, but instead as something beautiful that have a fantastic purpose. And I'm glad they served their purpose, even if they're ginormous. I love my awesome widespread hips that made bringing babies into this world a breeze.

But...yes, there's a but. I have this small section, right below my hips that I can't stand. It's this nice hunk of rolly fat and it drives me insane. Even at my thinnest, it has always existed since puberty. I've done every single thing in the book, and then a whole lot of more crazier things to make it go away. It just won't. I will have it forever. And I don't think I can ever love it. I just can't.

But J loves me, regardless of size. In fact, he told me that he didn't realize how much thinner I am now than right before we got married. Yes, I'm a freak of nature. Almost 5 years of marriage and 2 babies later, and I'm more fit now than I was then. J just smiles and says that he doesn't care how I look - he didn't fall in love with my body. He fell in love with my magnificent brain and sometimes oversized and bleeding heart. Mostly, I think he just know the right things to say. ;-)

J and I have a picture book marriage, yeah? Yeah. We do. We don't fight or yell. We talk daily and still have sex like honeymooners. But you want to know a secret?

We've had a rough patch. A really rough patch. For like a month we hardly spoke. When we did we'd end up walking away from each other because we didn't want to fight. We were constantly annoyed with one another. I felt so broken.

We fixed it, obviously. It was the most ridiculous miscommunication issue of the world. We each had unrealistic fears, and once we put them out on the table we were able to see how silly the entire situation was. And we vowed never to hold back like that again. Because that was a very, very miserable month.

So we're not so picturesque. Not really.

I've not been quiet on my views of education. It doesn't mean I didn't try to get my daughter to do preschool long before she was even ready to be parted by my side. It doesn't mean that as she keeps pestering me about school now, I don't consider it. As much as I truly hope my children choose to be home and free to learn as they choose, a part of me loves the idea of them being off each morning and having the ability to get things done and not have to come up with a million and two ways to entertain them. And not to hear them fight. Dear Lord. As fiercely as they love each other, they sure can fight!

Granted, I'm well aware I'd only really even enjoy it for like two days. But still, I fantasize about it on occasion.

And breastfeeding. I'm obviously pro-breastfeeding. To the max. I don't think formula is evil. I don't think people who choose not to breastfeed are bad. But I do believe that breast is best and everyone should at least give it a go for the first few weeks if nothing more.

I loved breastfeeding my children. Those are sweet moments I cherish deeply, and I am so glad that a good friend of mine was able to capture some gorgeous moments on camera of me breastfeeding and tandem breastfeeding my babes at the beginning of last summer. Those photos hang on canvas in my bedroom and sometimes bring tears to my eyes. I fed my children with my body. For the first six months, they sustained on absolutely nothing but what my body created. Holy fucking shit! Can we just take a moment to acknowledge how freaking awesome that is!? And of course, they continued to breastfeed long past that.

But you know what, as much as I loved breastfeeding my children, there were days where I genuinely despised it. I had terrible nursing aversion while I was pregnant with B. I'd literally have to hold my breath and clench a blanket in my hands while H nursed sometimes because I'd want to throw her across the room to get her off of me. Of course, I was sane, and would have never done it, but the feeling was scary and powerful. I totally did not love breastfeeding during those moments.

And breastfeeding at night. Goodness. After about age 1 I didn't like nursing B at night at all. Not even remotely.

So yes. Although I can say and look back and say I freaking loved nursing my kids, and I am so insanely proud of myself for having done it - some of it sucked. Really, really sucked.

And so here I am. Mostly a fraud with amazing ideas. Trying desperately to get it right. Never quite close enough. Always grasping at straws. Falling short with Wendy's hamburgers and conventional strawberries, never obtaining quite enough patience to make it through the week without speaking too curtly. Sometimes my rose colored glasses are just a little too rose colored, and my ideas are too grandiose. and yet it doesn't keep me from trying. For pushing along, hoping that tomorrow I will do better.

Hoping that even if I'm not perfectly authentic, my children will know I worked my ass off to do better for them. I didn't settle for my own "good enough." I strove for the best for them: the best of my own abilities and capabilities.

So maybe in the end it won't be good enough, who knows? But it sure as hell will be my best. And they'll get the most authentic version of me. Because that's all I have to offer them as their momma.

And I'm not certain what will become of this blog at the moment. I enjoy writing. I love having this collection of my thoughts and my kids lives right at my fingertips. So it will likely keep going.

Because I need something that keeps me honest. Keeps me authentic.