As part of my regular job at the newspaper, I write a weekly column. It's a way to talk to our readers and to share good news that doesn't always make the front page. I joke and say it's just a Pollyanna-ish little thing, but really, at heart, I'm a bit of a Pollyanna.
I wrote last week in that column about how much I hated August. I do. I hate this month. I hated it growing up, when all I really wanted to do was get back to school and instead had to spend long days bored at home. I hated it in the D.C.-Virginia area, where I worked after college, when the humidity made you sweat the minute you walked out of the shower. And I hate it here, when the mosquitoes and hurricanes threaten to take back Florida. Of course, in my column, I made sure to turn my frown upside down and ended the column talking about the few things I love about the Treasure Coast, despite August. (And really, it's lovely. You should visit -- in February or March.)
But I still was struggling. The last month has been busy, and then Tropical Storm Isaac trapped us in the house over the weekend -- while I was struck with what I think was food poisoning. Cooped up, the boys were crazy and the dog was crazier.
Monday, we all were grateful to leave the house -- until a rogue storm band settled over our area all day, delivering 7 inches of rain in less than three hours and causing tornadoes and thunderstorms and worry from parents everywhere over their kids at school. The schools couldn't have predicted the deluge, but parents still wailed about the bad decision. Defensive, the schools closed on Tuesday when there was no major weather event and mostly blue skies.
I was annoyed. I had wanted a mental health day, but did not think another day with the kids after our stir-crazy weekend was going to fill that bill. Plus, I had work to do.
Yesterday turned out to be the best day I've had all summer.
The boys and I went into work in the morning. They sat in my office and drew pictures, looked at books, watched cartoons and ate leftover Girl Scout cookies while I handled almost everything on my to-do list. We were out the door by 11 a.m. and headed to a nearby restaurant for lunch. The Lad demanded BACON and EGGS and TOAST and The Boy had a chocolate chip pancake he deemed "candy for lunch!" They behaved so well, an elderly man sitting next to us praised their behavior on his way out. After, we went to the mall to get them the new shoes they've needed desperately for at least a month and bought cute tiny little girl clothes for my new NIECE (!!!!!!) arriving in January. (First girl in the family! Whoo-hoo!)
At home, The Lad napped for three hours while The Boy and I played three games of Chutes and Ladders and shared a bowl of the best chips ever and a cherry pop. When Beastie finally woke up -- after he hugged me and told me, "You're the best momma ever, ever" -- we went to the beach where I watched them play in the surf, together, without fighting, for more than an hour.
It might be a Pollyanna-ish thing to say, but sometimes the universe delivers to you the very thing you need.
Wednesday, August 29, 2012
Sunday, August 26, 2012
Anyone want to buy a house?
The past week has been a bit exciting in our house.
I got a new job.
It's the job I've wanted for a very long time. The job at a newspaper that I've wanted to work at since I was in high school. The same newspaper where my husband works. And now we can move to where we want to raise the girls, be minutes away from my parents and closer to his.
It has been a holy shit kind of week.
This past year has been difficult for us as a couple. The husband started his new job almost exactly a year ago. He's been driving 50 minutes one way while I drive about 35 in the other direction. All the while, we've been hoping that I would get a new job. We've had a few ups and downs and have been living in limbo the entire time. I don't do well with limbo. It stresses me out. And just when I thought I might have to look for a job outside of newspapers, it happened.
This is an amazing opportunity for me both personally and professionally. The job itself will be challenging and exciting. And for our family, we get to live where we want to live. To be honest, it really hasn't set in yet. Everything we've hoped for is starting to happen.
Now we just have to sell our house. (It's lovely. Really. Anyone want to buy it?) It's not going to be easy but after going through the past year, I realize what the husband and I are capable of if we stick together and work as a team. I've already put myself in the mindset that we aren't going anywhere for a year. We have to be realistic about our prospects.
But, when the house sells, we will get to move. Our office is downtown Columbus. When I was there last week at lunch time, there was a farmers market with fresh food, jewelry and clothes, food trucks and even a band playing on grounds of the statehouse.
I'm leaving behind a great company with some wonderful people and mentors who gave me incredible learning opportunities that led me to this new job. It wasn't an easy decision for us to leave here but ultimately we wanted to live Columbus.
Relief doesn't even begin to describe my feeling. We've been looking at houses and are narrowing down exactly what part of the area in which we want to live. We've even looked in the same neighborhood where I grew up, rode bikes with my friends to the pool, walked to school, and ran through backyards to get to my friends' houses.
Almost 12 years ago, I wrote my first article for this newspaper as an intern. It was about the world's oldest black rhino at the local zoo. (Sadly it died weeks later.) My sister had the article framed for me and it is hanging in our basement.
Now, I'm returning to that same paper.
We are so, so lucky that this is happening and I truly could not be happier.
I got a new job.
It's the job I've wanted for a very long time. The job at a newspaper that I've wanted to work at since I was in high school. The same newspaper where my husband works. And now we can move to where we want to raise the girls, be minutes away from my parents and closer to his.
It has been a holy shit kind of week.
This past year has been difficult for us as a couple. The husband started his new job almost exactly a year ago. He's been driving 50 minutes one way while I drive about 35 in the other direction. All the while, we've been hoping that I would get a new job. We've had a few ups and downs and have been living in limbo the entire time. I don't do well with limbo. It stresses me out. And just when I thought I might have to look for a job outside of newspapers, it happened.
This is an amazing opportunity for me both personally and professionally. The job itself will be challenging and exciting. And for our family, we get to live where we want to live. To be honest, it really hasn't set in yet. Everything we've hoped for is starting to happen.
Now we just have to sell our house. (It's lovely. Really. Anyone want to buy it?) It's not going to be easy but after going through the past year, I realize what the husband and I are capable of if we stick together and work as a team. I've already put myself in the mindset that we aren't going anywhere for a year. We have to be realistic about our prospects.
But, when the house sells, we will get to move. Our office is downtown Columbus. When I was there last week at lunch time, there was a farmers market with fresh food, jewelry and clothes, food trucks and even a band playing on grounds of the statehouse.
I'm leaving behind a great company with some wonderful people and mentors who gave me incredible learning opportunities that led me to this new job. It wasn't an easy decision for us to leave here but ultimately we wanted to live Columbus.
Relief doesn't even begin to describe my feeling. We've been looking at houses and are narrowing down exactly what part of the area in which we want to live. We've even looked in the same neighborhood where I grew up, rode bikes with my friends to the pool, walked to school, and ran through backyards to get to my friends' houses.
Almost 12 years ago, I wrote my first article for this newspaper as an intern. It was about the world's oldest black rhino at the local zoo. (Sadly it died weeks later.) My sister had the article framed for me and it is hanging in our basement.
Now, I'm returning to that same paper.
We are so, so lucky that this is happening and I truly could not be happier.
Friday, August 24, 2012
Me, in four paragraphs
Do you remember when I explained that in our house, thanks to a potty-mouthed Tinker Bell in the original book by J.M. Barrie, curse words are known as fairy words?
Well, I'm wearing cropped purple pants today, flats and a striped shirt. I have to admit, I felt a little Audrey Hepburn-esque when I put on the outfit, especially with my short hair. It's all very "Funny Face" or "Sabrina." A woman at work saw me and exclaimed, "What a little PIXIE you are!"
And not five minutes later I was telling one of my reporters not to let a source push her around. "That's BULLSHIT!" I declared.
Apparently, I am the fairy your mother warned you about.
Well, I'm wearing cropped purple pants today, flats and a striped shirt. I have to admit, I felt a little Audrey Hepburn-esque when I put on the outfit, especially with my short hair. It's all very "Funny Face" or "Sabrina." A woman at work saw me and exclaimed, "What a little PIXIE you are!"
And not five minutes later I was telling one of my reporters not to let a source push her around. "That's BULLSHIT!" I declared.
Apparently, I am the fairy your mother warned you about.
Tuesday, August 21, 2012
Odds and ends: boy edition
Beastie wakes up at 6 almost every morning, if not before. He runs across the house and comes into the bedroom and gets right into my face.
"Is it wake-up time, Momma?"
No, I say, and tell him he can either go back to bed or get in and snuggle with me. He nearly always picks snuggling. Some days, he skips the first question and gets right to the point: "Can I snuggle with you, Momma?"
That's what he did the other morning and then, amazingly enough, he actually snuggled. Normally, he flails and kicks and pokes me in the eye and sings and tells story. But this morning, he scooted his little body right against mine and nuzzled his head under my chin. I thought he was asleep, so I was surprised when I felt him lift his head up and press it close against mine.
"Momma," he whispered, "I love you."
And this is why this headstrong, crazy child has not been sold to gypsies yet despite his best attempts.
---
The Boy is officially in pre-kindergarten. They call it VPK down here (voluntary pre-kindergarten) and he had worked up VPK to be the next thing to heaven in his mind. He would get to play on the big-kid playground. He would get to eat in the cafeteria. He would be LEARNING all the time, and let me tell you, those caps are all his.
Well, they moved the classes up a couple weeks ago, though the first day of school wasn't until Monday. I love our daycare/preschool very much, but they seem to be a little distracted this year. They're rebuilding a playground area, so that might have something to do with it, but communication was lacking. I didn't know what was going on, so I didn't warn The Boy that classes wouldn't start immediately. The second day after the move-up, The Boy's disappointment was palpable. When I asked him how his day was he heaved a huge sigh.
"OK -- but we're not LEARNING anything. We're just playing all day," he said, huffing.
After his first day of "real classes," this was his response: "Yeah, it's good. But we're just learning how the classroom works this week. We won't do REAL LEARNING until next month."
This same child has determined he is too old to be read to. He'd rather LEARN on his own. He retreats to his bunk bed with his LEARNING supplies: a journal, a magazine, a pencil and a couple books. My heart broke a little. I've brokered a deal that allows me to read him one book a night.
---
The Boy also is officially enrolled in teeball. I don't know who's more excited: him or my husband.
Meanwhile, The Lad is trying to determine if he wants to give up diapers. His new teacher is the potty whisperer who helped us train The Boy. I'm hoping she'll have similar success with Beastie, because I certainly have no idea what I'm doing.
"Is it wake-up time, Momma?"
No, I say, and tell him he can either go back to bed or get in and snuggle with me. He nearly always picks snuggling. Some days, he skips the first question and gets right to the point: "Can I snuggle with you, Momma?"
That's what he did the other morning and then, amazingly enough, he actually snuggled. Normally, he flails and kicks and pokes me in the eye and sings and tells story. But this morning, he scooted his little body right against mine and nuzzled his head under my chin. I thought he was asleep, so I was surprised when I felt him lift his head up and press it close against mine.
"Momma," he whispered, "I love you."
And this is why this headstrong, crazy child has not been sold to gypsies yet despite his best attempts.
---
The Boy is officially in pre-kindergarten. They call it VPK down here (voluntary pre-kindergarten) and he had worked up VPK to be the next thing to heaven in his mind. He would get to play on the big-kid playground. He would get to eat in the cafeteria. He would be LEARNING all the time, and let me tell you, those caps are all his.
Well, they moved the classes up a couple weeks ago, though the first day of school wasn't until Monday. I love our daycare/preschool very much, but they seem to be a little distracted this year. They're rebuilding a playground area, so that might have something to do with it, but communication was lacking. I didn't know what was going on, so I didn't warn The Boy that classes wouldn't start immediately. The second day after the move-up, The Boy's disappointment was palpable. When I asked him how his day was he heaved a huge sigh.
"OK -- but we're not LEARNING anything. We're just playing all day," he said, huffing.
After his first day of "real classes," this was his response: "Yeah, it's good. But we're just learning how the classroom works this week. We won't do REAL LEARNING until next month."
This same child has determined he is too old to be read to. He'd rather LEARN on his own. He retreats to his bunk bed with his LEARNING supplies: a journal, a magazine, a pencil and a couple books. My heart broke a little. I've brokered a deal that allows me to read him one book a night.
---
The Boy also is officially enrolled in teeball. I don't know who's more excited: him or my husband.
Meanwhile, The Lad is trying to determine if he wants to give up diapers. His new teacher is the potty whisperer who helped us train The Boy. I'm hoping she'll have similar success with Beastie, because I certainly have no idea what I'm doing.
Monday, August 20, 2012
Happenings
So last week, I wrote about how Peanut said she didn't want to snuggle with us anymore. That did not last long. In fact, it didn't happen at all.
I claim full responsibility for it not happening. And I'm proud of it.
Peanut was helping me sort through her old clothes to see what we had for her little sister. While we sat in her room folding clothes, I said, "You know, you can snuggle with momma and daddy anytime you want."
"I know," she said.
The husband says that I sabotaged her by planting this seed in her head.
I don't even care. She can snuggle with me anytime she wants. ANYTIME, Peanut. Do you hear me?
So we are still snuggling. Although, I'm trying to keep it shorter and more to the point. But still snuggling.
*******
We had our first soccer game this weekend. Four, 10 minute quarters, which is a lifetime for a bunch of preschoolers. At halftime, half of them, including Peanut, wanted to be done. After the third quarter, all of them did. They just wanted their damn snacks and to go home.
The entire game was basically a scrum of rugrats with a few scragglers sitting in the grass or kicking dirt. During the fourth quarter, Peanut was so over it that when the ball hit her in her legs, she didn't react. Just stood there. Also, she is about a head shorter than many of her teammates, hence why we call her Peanut.
She did sleep for three hours Saturday afternoon so there is that.
*******
In other news, Gizmo turned 5 and grew three feet, or at least it looks like that in this picture:
I claim full responsibility for it not happening. And I'm proud of it.
Peanut was helping me sort through her old clothes to see what we had for her little sister. While we sat in her room folding clothes, I said, "You know, you can snuggle with momma and daddy anytime you want."
"I know," she said.
The husband says that I sabotaged her by planting this seed in her head.
I don't even care. She can snuggle with me anytime she wants. ANYTIME, Peanut. Do you hear me?
So we are still snuggling. Although, I'm trying to keep it shorter and more to the point. But still snuggling.
*******
We had our first soccer game this weekend. Four, 10 minute quarters, which is a lifetime for a bunch of preschoolers. At halftime, half of them, including Peanut, wanted to be done. After the third quarter, all of them did. They just wanted their damn snacks and to go home.
The entire game was basically a scrum of rugrats with a few scragglers sitting in the grass or kicking dirt. During the fourth quarter, Peanut was so over it that when the ball hit her in her legs, she didn't react. Just stood there. Also, she is about a head shorter than many of her teammates, hence why we call her Peanut.
 |
| Pre-game. Cheesin' it. |
 |
| Her shorts, even rolled at the waist, fell below her knees. Her short-sleeved jersey came to her wrists and I had to pull it back with a hair band to keep it from looking like a dress on her. |
*******
In other news, Gizmo turned 5 and grew three feet, or at least it looks like that in this picture:
 |
| Seriously. Someone tell me when she got this big. |
Wednesday, August 15, 2012
4-year-old logic
The boys were fighting in the car, arguing over what movie they would watch when the babysitter comes. The Lad wanted to watch "that dine-o-sore movie, the funniest dine-o-sores ever," and The Boy wanted to watch "Rudy," because, you know, he's too big for kid movies. Back and forth, back and forth they argued, neither budging from their stance. Finally, The Lad just screeched, "NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!" The Boy growled in frustration and hit The Lad's car seat.
"We do not hit."
"Well, I didn't hit him. I hit his carseat."
"You threatened him and that's not kind. Enough. ... If you boys can't agree, Momma and Daddy will just pick the movie."
"Yeah. I wanna watch the funniest dine-o-sore movie ever," The Lad piped up, starting the argument anew. I let them go on, their circular logic making me giggle, until The Lad screeched again.
"OK, OK. Enough. We don't need to argue."
"Well," The Boy said, "he does NOT like to listen to me, so that's why I was trying to CONFUSE him."
Somewhere in Ohio, my mother is cackling right now. For the record, I have no idea where The Boy gets it. None.
"We do not hit."
"Well, I didn't hit him. I hit his carseat."
"You threatened him and that's not kind. Enough. ... If you boys can't agree, Momma and Daddy will just pick the movie."
"Yeah. I wanna watch the funniest dine-o-sore movie ever," The Lad piped up, starting the argument anew. I let them go on, their circular logic making me giggle, until The Lad screeched again.
"OK, OK. Enough. We don't need to argue."
"Well," The Boy said, "he does NOT like to listen to me, so that's why I was trying to CONFUSE him."
Somewhere in Ohio, my mother is cackling right now. For the record, I have no idea where The Boy gets it. None.
Tuesday, August 14, 2012
1,000 posts and what do we get?
I mentioned the blog recently to someone at work. This is not something I do regularly, but we were talking about internetty things -- trends and the future of media and the usual fretting and speculating -- and so I mentioned that I blog, that I have an "online community" -- you know, you guys -- and felt just a little bit sheepish doing it. For people older than me, blogging is weird. Some stranger surely will lure me away from home for nefarious purposes or steal my identity to run up millions in credit card debt. To people younger than me, blogging is so five years ago. Why don't we have a tumblr account?
Anyway, this person was genuinely interested, partly because it's her job to be interested in the internet.
"If you don't mind me asking, could you make a living doing that?"
I tried not to laugh.
Michelle published the 1,000th post yesterday. We've been writing here for nearly four years. We make no money from this site. We don't have ads. We don't do sponsors. Considering that we've done a handful of "giveaways" and I've bought our domain name (not that I've done anything with it yet), we're actually in the red on this little venture, financially speaking.
If we're being honest, I think Michelle and I each thought when we started that maybe we could earn a little from the blog. Just a tiny bit. Maybe. When we started, we were brand-new moms struggling to figure out the balance between wanting and needing to work and wanting and needing to snuggle our babies all day. We each had romanticized visions of being freelancers and working from home. The blog would be a way to market ourselves, if nothing else. (Neither of us had worked much from home with a small child at that point and we still thought powering through nap time would be sufficient ... and that naps would come everyday. We were naive.)
We quickly realized neither of us had the kind of time -- or even, really, the desire -- required to make the blog profitable. We really liked our jobs at the newspapers where we worked, and that work combined with caring for our families, a juggling act we since have figured out -- even if we're not always graceful doing it -- ate up most of our time and available mental resources.
That's not to say we didn't love the blog. We did. We do. We never bothered putting ads up (out of sheer laziness), but we did make a point of checking out the sites of our commenters. We made friends, really good friends despite the fact we'd never met them in person. We each had another baby and blogged through our pregnancies. We started a twitter account, which is now just Michelle's account, and a facebook page. Last year, we ventured to a gathering of bloggers. Sometimes, we've rushed to post something -- the cute thing the kids said, the latest horrible parenting fail, the happy news of a birth -- and other times we've posted out of obligation.
We do not make a living doing this, but we keep blogging because of the other things we get out of it.
The people I talk to regularly: my husband, my mom, my sister, Michelle. I'm not sure that would be true without the blog because it's so easy to let a friendship lapse when you're busy with work and kids and life.
We live 1,000 miles away from our families. I was raised in a small town, surrounded by family. I was the first to have a baby in our group of friends here; I felt like a science experiment. Blogs made me feel normal. I'm not the only one who wants to lock up her children some days and other days feels like she could just do nothing but snuggle up and sniff their necks. None of that is weird -- or at least, I've found many women for whom it's normal, too.
And blogging also has been a help professionally. Media is in a state of flux. The news industry doesn't quite know how to handle the internet. As I've read through and listened to opinions from consultants and social media experts about "new media," I've had practical experience of what an online community is like, what kind of sway the blogging celebrities really have. That's incredibly useful knowledge.
So, no. We're not going to make a living doing this.
But it's worth it.
Thanks for reading.
Anyway, this person was genuinely interested, partly because it's her job to be interested in the internet.
"If you don't mind me asking, could you make a living doing that?"
I tried not to laugh.
Michelle published the 1,000th post yesterday. We've been writing here for nearly four years. We make no money from this site. We don't have ads. We don't do sponsors. Considering that we've done a handful of "giveaways" and I've bought our domain name (not that I've done anything with it yet), we're actually in the red on this little venture, financially speaking.
If we're being honest, I think Michelle and I each thought when we started that maybe we could earn a little from the blog. Just a tiny bit. Maybe. When we started, we were brand-new moms struggling to figure out the balance between wanting and needing to work and wanting and needing to snuggle our babies all day. We each had romanticized visions of being freelancers and working from home. The blog would be a way to market ourselves, if nothing else. (Neither of us had worked much from home with a small child at that point and we still thought powering through nap time would be sufficient ... and that naps would come everyday. We were naive.)
We quickly realized neither of us had the kind of time -- or even, really, the desire -- required to make the blog profitable. We really liked our jobs at the newspapers where we worked, and that work combined with caring for our families, a juggling act we since have figured out -- even if we're not always graceful doing it -- ate up most of our time and available mental resources.
That's not to say we didn't love the blog. We did. We do. We never bothered putting ads up (out of sheer laziness), but we did make a point of checking out the sites of our commenters. We made friends, really good friends despite the fact we'd never met them in person. We each had another baby and blogged through our pregnancies. We started a twitter account, which is now just Michelle's account, and a facebook page. Last year, we ventured to a gathering of bloggers. Sometimes, we've rushed to post something -- the cute thing the kids said, the latest horrible parenting fail, the happy news of a birth -- and other times we've posted out of obligation.
We do not make a living doing this, but we keep blogging because of the other things we get out of it.
The people I talk to regularly: my husband, my mom, my sister, Michelle. I'm not sure that would be true without the blog because it's so easy to let a friendship lapse when you're busy with work and kids and life.
We live 1,000 miles away from our families. I was raised in a small town, surrounded by family. I was the first to have a baby in our group of friends here; I felt like a science experiment. Blogs made me feel normal. I'm not the only one who wants to lock up her children some days and other days feels like she could just do nothing but snuggle up and sniff their necks. None of that is weird -- or at least, I've found many women for whom it's normal, too.
And blogging also has been a help professionally. Media is in a state of flux. The news industry doesn't quite know how to handle the internet. As I've read through and listened to opinions from consultants and social media experts about "new media," I've had practical experience of what an online community is like, what kind of sway the blogging celebrities really have. That's incredibly useful knowledge.
So, no. We're not going to make a living doing this.
But it's worth it.
Thanks for reading.
Monday, August 13, 2012
She'll do it when she is ready (and I'm not ready)
Peanut has always been a cautious child. She's a shy child until she gets to know you and then she will be your best friend. When she's in trouble, she cries and immediately says she's sorry. She frets over her sister constantly (which given Gizmo's propensity for disregarding her own personal safety, it takes two adults and a preschooler to keep her out of trouble.)
If there is anything that I've learned about Peanut it is this: she won't do anything until she wants to. But when she's ready, she's ready and you better not stand in her way.
No matter how we tried to get her to potty train, she wasn't going to do it until she decided to. After months of coaxing and bribing with no results, she started using the potty just like that.
I worried about her first day of preschool last fall. I convinced myself she wouldn't adjust well and we'd have weeks of crying when I dropped her off. Instead, she pushed me out the door, telling me I needed to leave and I cried all the way to work.
After months of internally fretting about whether she would give up her pacifiers, she decided on her own that the Easter bunny could have them to give to other babies. And just like that, no more pacifiers.
And this morning, she announced to us that she no longer needs to snuggle with us before going to bed. Unprompted and out of the blue.
Our evening routine consists of bath, pajamas, brushing teeth and everyone piling into our bed for book reading and a Disney show. Gizmo is whisked off to bed at some point and Peanut is left with the husband and me. It's her time to get our undivided attention. We talk about what we are thankful for. We sing and giggle. She gives me kisses and the husband carries her to bed. She kisses and hugs him 10 times (really, she counts it), asks him where the cat is (she doesn't want the cat in her room) and reminds him to shut the door tightly. This is what we do every single night.
And now, she's decided she's too big for this. She said she will walk to her room on her own. No more snuggling.
I can't even tell you how heartbroken I am over this. I can't write about this without tearing up.
It seems silly to be so upset about this. It's good that she is maturing and making decisions on her own. I know that I need to let her make this decision.
But.
I'm not ready for this and I not-so-secretly hope she still wants to snuggle tonight.
Because she's growing up too damn fast.
If there is anything that I've learned about Peanut it is this: she won't do anything until she wants to. But when she's ready, she's ready and you better not stand in her way.
No matter how we tried to get her to potty train, she wasn't going to do it until she decided to. After months of coaxing and bribing with no results, she started using the potty just like that.
I worried about her first day of preschool last fall. I convinced myself she wouldn't adjust well and we'd have weeks of crying when I dropped her off. Instead, she pushed me out the door, telling me I needed to leave and I cried all the way to work.
After months of internally fretting about whether she would give up her pacifiers, she decided on her own that the Easter bunny could have them to give to other babies. And just like that, no more pacifiers.
And this morning, she announced to us that she no longer needs to snuggle with us before going to bed. Unprompted and out of the blue.
Our evening routine consists of bath, pajamas, brushing teeth and everyone piling into our bed for book reading and a Disney show. Gizmo is whisked off to bed at some point and Peanut is left with the husband and me. It's her time to get our undivided attention. We talk about what we are thankful for. We sing and giggle. She gives me kisses and the husband carries her to bed. She kisses and hugs him 10 times (really, she counts it), asks him where the cat is (she doesn't want the cat in her room) and reminds him to shut the door tightly. This is what we do every single night.
And now, she's decided she's too big for this. She said she will walk to her room on her own. No more snuggling.
I can't even tell you how heartbroken I am over this. I can't write about this without tearing up.
It seems silly to be so upset about this. It's good that she is maturing and making decisions on her own. I know that I need to let her make this decision.
But.
I'm not ready for this and I not-so-secretly hope she still wants to snuggle tonight.
Because she's growing up too damn fast.
 |
| Wearing her "ball gown" and workin' it for the camera. |
 |
| "Momma, I need to see that paper." |
Tuesday, August 7, 2012
What's mine is mine
You know how one little incident can send you down a spiral of internal debate on your philosophy of parenting? (No, just me?) Well I had one last night. It went something like this:
Gizmo and the husband were on our bed playing before bedtime. She had a belt I just bought. This is not a fancy belt. It was not an expensive belt but it was a brand new belt that I've worn once. This kid is not gentle on items and has found new ways to mess things up (mainly by chewing on them). I took the belt away from her at which point she started to cry.
The husband said, "It's just a belt."
I felt childish but in my head I thought, "But it's my belt."
So in the 24 hours since this incident, I've thought a lot about my possessions and how my kids have impacted them.
Our couches and carpets were a mess before we had them cleaned a couple weekends ago, smeared by dirty little hands and crumbs ground into them. I can't wear a piece of clothing without risking it being stained in some way.
I can't tell you the amount of times I've climbed into my bed only to be greeted by a hard plastic toy, a doll. Or the amount of times I've tripped over toys in the middle of the night trying to go to the bathroom in the my room.
Hell my body is messed up because of my kids.
Some of you are probably thinking, duh, Michelle. Didn't you know this was going to happen?
Yes, yes I did.
That's not the point. I love my kids. I love the beautiful mess that comes with them. I remind myself that we are lucky to be able to afford toys that I can trip over and family members who lovingly give them gifts. I remind myself that my kids are happy and healthy. All of the things you tell yourself when you are trying to steer clear of being a negative ninny.
But. I'm also human. So much of what we do as parents is focused on our children. Our daily existence revolves around them - how we eat, our schedules, our (lack of) free time, our ability to do things for ourselves, our personal space. Whether you are a parent who puts your kids at the center of your universe or a parent who believes kids should adapt to you, you are still a parent and every decision you make is impacted some way by your kids.
Sometimes I just want something of my own. Sometimes I want my room to look like an adult room and not littered with toys. Sometimes I just want my belt to be my belt and not something for a toddler to chew on.
Gizmo and the husband were on our bed playing before bedtime. She had a belt I just bought. This is not a fancy belt. It was not an expensive belt but it was a brand new belt that I've worn once. This kid is not gentle on items and has found new ways to mess things up (mainly by chewing on them). I took the belt away from her at which point she started to cry.
The husband said, "It's just a belt."
I felt childish but in my head I thought, "But it's my belt."
So in the 24 hours since this incident, I've thought a lot about my possessions and how my kids have impacted them.
Our couches and carpets were a mess before we had them cleaned a couple weekends ago, smeared by dirty little hands and crumbs ground into them. I can't wear a piece of clothing without risking it being stained in some way.
I can't tell you the amount of times I've climbed into my bed only to be greeted by a hard plastic toy, a doll. Or the amount of times I've tripped over toys in the middle of the night trying to go to the bathroom in the my room.
Hell my body is messed up because of my kids.
Some of you are probably thinking, duh, Michelle. Didn't you know this was going to happen?
Yes, yes I did.
That's not the point. I love my kids. I love the beautiful mess that comes with them. I remind myself that we are lucky to be able to afford toys that I can trip over and family members who lovingly give them gifts. I remind myself that my kids are happy and healthy. All of the things you tell yourself when you are trying to steer clear of being a negative ninny.
But. I'm also human. So much of what we do as parents is focused on our children. Our daily existence revolves around them - how we eat, our schedules, our (lack of) free time, our ability to do things for ourselves, our personal space. Whether you are a parent who puts your kids at the center of your universe or a parent who believes kids should adapt to you, you are still a parent and every decision you make is impacted some way by your kids.
Sometimes I just want something of my own. Sometimes I want my room to look like an adult room and not littered with toys. Sometimes I just want my belt to be my belt and not something for a toddler to chew on.
Sunday, August 5, 2012
Home again, home again
I was away for a week to Cincinnati for work. It was a busy and productive week. In addition to work, I had dinner with a friend and then, just before I left, Michelle was kind enough to drive into town for dinner and drinks and gabbing. We had cheese whiz foam. It was fancy. (And there is no sarcasm there. If you have a chance to go to Local 127 on Vine, you should.)
I came home late Friday afternoon and waited happily in my favorite chair for my favorite boys.
They came home with big smiles and even bigger hugs for me. Being the one they come home to, as opposed to the one herding them in the door, is lovely. The Lad threw his arms around my neck and patted my back with his little hands. He mussed my hair and squeezed my cheeks and kissed my face, just like I do his. "I love you, Momma."
And then, The Boy gave me the pictures they made for me. I already had discovered them -- and bawled with pride when I did -- but I let him "surprise" me with them all the same. The only thing better than the notes was the pride on his face showing them to me. One said, "FROM RHYS MAMA LOVE." Then, there was this one.
I came home late Friday afternoon and waited happily in my favorite chair for my favorite boys.
They came home with big smiles and even bigger hugs for me. Being the one they come home to, as opposed to the one herding them in the door, is lovely. The Lad threw his arms around my neck and patted my back with his little hands. He mussed my hair and squeezed my cheeks and kissed my face, just like I do his. "I love you, Momma."
And then, The Boy gave me the pictures they made for me. I already had discovered them -- and bawled with pride when I did -- but I let him "surprise" me with them all the same. The only thing better than the notes was the pride on his face showing them to me. One said, "FROM RHYS MAMA LOVE." Then, there was this one.
"MAMA YOU R GREAT I MISSED YOU LOVE RHYS"
The husband helped him with the spelling, but said The Boy knew exactly what he wanted to say. That thing underneath the words is my hotel, The Boy said.
We had a lazy weekend with beer and wine and new dinner recipes from "Dinner: A Love Story," which is one of my very favorite blogs and now is quickly becoming my favorite cookbook. I bought a new purse because loading mine up for pack-muling for airline travel destroyed it and played baseball with the boys. The husband stayed up watching the baseball game Saturday night and just before we went to bed, in the bottom of the ninth, Sleepwalking Beastie showed up.
Ignore my extra chins and lovely expression. It was nearly bedtime and I was laughing so hard I was crying. He didn't respond to anything until 30 seconds after the Reds won and they shot off fireworks. In a much delayed reaction he said, "OH! Fireworks." And then we bundled him back to bed.
Lest you think it was all sunshine and lollipops around here, let me tell you I've done half a dozen loads of laundry and cleaned up the playroom at least that many times. And that same little Beastie went to bed before 7 p.m. tonight after throwing toys, yelling and trying to bite me when I chided him for his tantrum.
Still, it's pretty nice to be home.
Wednesday, August 1, 2012
Things I want to remember
The way Gizmo thrusts her blanket at us when we get her out of her crib. She has four beautiful quilts that the husband's Nana made (Peanut does too). There is a baby one, a Fourth of July one, an Easter one and a Christmas one. Everybody in the family gets a quilt from Nana.
Gizmo has taken a shine to hers. She must sleep with at least one of them. When she gets up, she calls for us "MOM! DAD!" One of us will go in and she practically throws a quilt at us then holds her arms out to be picked up. We snuggle for a few minutes until she gets her bearings. When she is over the snuggling, she signs "eat" and takes off for the stairs. The kid knows what she wants and isn't afraid to tell us.
****
While watching synchronized diving on the Olympics last night, Gizmo would GASP every time the divers hit the water. Every. Single. Time. Even on the replay. Her awe and excitement made me so happy.
****
This. I present to you one of Peanut's songs that she made up on the spot. She does this frequently, borrowing from other songs she's heard, making up her own words and mashing them all together. This is one of my favorites. She insists that I "becord" her or take "bideo" of her and I refuse to correct her.
Gizmo has taken a shine to hers. She must sleep with at least one of them. When she gets up, she calls for us "MOM! DAD!" One of us will go in and she practically throws a quilt at us then holds her arms out to be picked up. We snuggle for a few minutes until she gets her bearings. When she is over the snuggling, she signs "eat" and takes off for the stairs. The kid knows what she wants and isn't afraid to tell us.
****
While watching synchronized diving on the Olympics last night, Gizmo would GASP every time the divers hit the water. Every. Single. Time. Even on the replay. Her awe and excitement made me so happy.
****
This. I present to you one of Peanut's songs that she made up on the spot. She does this frequently, borrowing from other songs she's heard, making up her own words and mashing them all together. This is one of my favorites. She insists that I "becord" her or take "bideo" of her and I refuse to correct her.
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