Attn Kids: Four Things to Know About Our Home

To the small, technologically savvy people living in my house,

I know that this is 2016, and your generation is all about the screens, electronics, and instant gratification. I have no idea what your world will look like when you are my age, but for now, I want to point out a few things about our home that you may not have known about simply because they are not "high tech".

The handle on the toilet
You know that specifically placed, little handle that you pressed down ad nauseam (that means a lot) before you were potty trained? You know, the one that makes the water in the toilet spin around and gently disappear into the hole at the bottom of the bowl?


Well, I'm about to rock your world. That special lever does more that make me yell at you that you are wasting water. You'd think you'd know this given how upset you were when the potty "ate your poopy," and I gave you M & M's to make it better while we did the potty dance.


It seems though, that as you mastered the skill of the potty and wiping yourself (most of the time), you have forgotten about that very important lever. So, to refresh your memory, the lever makes your pee-pee and poopy – I won't stop calling them that until you start using the lever – go away. When you use it, our guests don't have to be surprised when they visit the guest bathroom, your dad and I won't have to listen to the bickering when you both tell on each other, and I won't have to be doubly disgusted when the dog drinks out of it.

It's called flushing. You should do it after "number 1" or "number 2", or hey, both! I'm sorry, no "swipe right" for that. It's just a quick push down and then watch your elimination sail away. I'll even bring back the potty dance if that'll help.

Lights
It's funny, because my experience with you both is that you love to push any button, flip any switch, and turn any dial when you don't know what they do. Well, guess what's just as much fun... doing any of those things when you know what's going to happen. And get this, the tiny switch on your wall in your rooms right inside the door turns the lights in your rooms on and off. 

On. and. Off. 


No technology needed. Not even a clap. Just, flip! and you can see the chaos that is your room. 

Now I realize that you might be confused about when they should be on or off.

Here's a good rule of thumb: if you aren't in the room, they should be off.
In the room and awake? On.
In fact, if you do that much, I'm happy to troubleshoot the rest of the options with you.

Doors
So, you know how they open and close?
Oh, you do? Hmmm. Ok. 

Laundry Baskets
I bet you were wondering what that large fabric basket in the corner of your room is that isn't the garbage. Have you seen it? It's so cool. You can put your dirty laundry into it INSTEAD of the floor. What??? I know. Mind. Blown.

Of course it doesn't take care of the cars and legos I gouge my foot on when I go in to lovingly pull the covers up over your sleeping body, but hey, I'm picking my battles.

Wait, are you wondering if Siri is the one who takes all that to the laundry room in the basement? Believe it or not - no.
If we asked her to do it, she'd offer to call Uncle Steve or give you directions to the pyramids.

Nope, it's me. Or your dad. Or… it could be you.

HAHAHAHA! Good one, huh?

Dreamers can dream.

Thanks in advance for your valuable time away from Minecraft, egg opening videos, or Garfield episodes. I feel special that you tore yourself away for a moment to listen to your dear old mom.

Hello? Hello?

Whatever. Love you.


Me

Can I get a reset button please?

I start most of my days as a working mom out fairly strong. Especially the weekdays. The kids and I have a routine, and it works. I'm not saying that it doesn't involve some yelling and crying sometimes to get out the door, but it's manageable. Many times, however, the day's edges begin to fray as the day progresses. By 5 pm I'm pretty ready for that glass of wine that feels like a "Power Up" to get me through the rest of the evening until the kids are, adorably, asleep.

Unfortunately, yesterday was a day that went began to fray too early to wait around for 5pm. I needed help from the moment I woke up. I try to practice daily gratitude, but today, I tried to muscle it from the moment I woke up.

Does anybody feel me?

It started about 4:15 with a daughter walking into my room barking like a seal from the Shedd. Who gets croup in the summer? Steaming up the bathroom was super-popular with the sleepy 3-year-old, but she had been less than receptive to the idea of sticking her head in the freezer. So from 4:15-4:30am, we sat and sweat together.
From my chest I heard, "Mommy, this is girl time. No boys"
No, apparently not, since no one else was up and listening to her breathe like an 80-year-old and wondering when we have to make the call to go to the ER.

Good news: No trip to the ER. She fell asleep for 3 more hours.
Bad news: I did not.

Once everyone was up, and the first cup of coffee was ineffective as water, I assumed the second cup would fix it all. And it did. I was awake... and on edge. Perfect for a smooth send off to camp.

As I made my son's lunch in the requested paper bag for a field trip, I started to put his name on it and a little special note to him on the bottom corner. Well! You would have thought that I had dyed the bag pink. Real tears came up in his eyes, and the convo went like this:

Him: "Only put my name on it."

Me: "But I'm just putting something on there so you know I'm thinking about you all day."

Him: "I know you are, you don't have to write it."

In my combination state of tired and jacked up, I was unable to be the grown-up. The truth is that my tired-ass feelings were hurt and so were his. On a regular day, I might have sighed, pulled out a fresh bag and complied with his request, as I am the parent, and he is the child. Sadly for him, I'm not in that place, but I do agree to put a sticker over the note, which isn't perfect, but he reluctantly takes it.

In my state, though, I'm clearly not just going to let this roll like water off my back. I will most likely pull out my crazy later and bring it up again. He probably needs to learn how this works anyway.

To his future wife: You're welcome.

Finally, after much car bickering between tired, sick daughter and crabby, 6-year-old son who is apparently embarrassed by his mother already, we got to camp relatively unscathed.

As we get out of the car, my son and I hug it out. As we embrace, I glance at my car to see a tire that looks like a flat in the cartoons.

Sweet moment over.

After his drop-off, daughter and I hobble into the nearest gas station (luckily around the corner) to fill said tire with air. After finding a previous plug in the tire that appears to be squeezing out of the hole like me in a pair of Spanx at the end of a night, I hurry over to my "car guy". He informs me that not only is a new tire is essential, but in fact, I need all four replaced, of course, because the car is 10 years old.


I make a plan to get new tires the next day and double check with him that the sad plug will hold until then. Yep. I should be good. But we know that's not the day I'm having.

I get not five minutes away and the tire bursts as only it could in the movies. I hear the air quickly escape from it's container into the air and the car tilts to the side as I slow down and pull to the curb. I turn to look at my daughter and she says, "Why'd you stop, Mama?"

What I wanted to say: "Oh, I just thought we'd slow down and look at this community garden."
What I actually said:  "We have a friggin' flat!" (This is where you can nominate me for mother of the year)

On top of all of that, a woman who was having trouble getting by my car took the time to roll down her window. To help, you think? Let's see:

Her: "You can't park there!"

Me: "Seriously, you don't see I have a flat tire?"

Her: "Oh, I didn't know. You should put your hazards on."

Me: (yelling as she drives away) "The hazards are on, but thanks for the super advice."

The good news: I wasn't on the highway, and we were both safe in a car that had the ability to provide air conditioning while we waited. ...and I didn't throw pry bar I had in the trunk at the woman.
The bad news: My daughter had to pee. Bad.

The rest of the day followed suit:

• I dropped everything I got my hands on.
• I tried to get some work done, but hit walls at every turn.
• Went to do two simple errands and both stores were closed for random reasons.
• Etc. Etc. Etc.

Finally, as the coup de grace, the last words my son says to me as he drifts off to sleep are, "Can I please just have my name on the bag next time?"

Breathing deeply in my wine, I knew that there had been many ways this day could have gone severely wrong that would have been more life altering. It had simply been a day that I couldn't get enough positive momentum to turn it around.

This day needed more than a glass of wine. It needed a shower to metaphorically wash it off.
And a glass of wine.
And then I did what I should have done 16 hours prior. I went to sleep.
The most effective kind of reset out there.

Anyone have days they'd like to share?

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Motherhood isn't for Sissies

I don't even know if I'm allowed to use the word "sissies" anymore, maybe "courage challenged"? Regardless, I did and motherhood is not, so let's move on (I can think of several other even less appropriate words I could have used by the way).

When I was in my 20's, single and "on fleek" - assuming I used that correctly - I moved to LA from Chicago with no friends, all my stuff in a Toyota Celica, and a dream to be an actress. I thought that this would be one of the toughest things I would do and prayed that I came out whole.

Hahahahahahahaha!!!!!!!

I mean, I had to work, and then there was going out after work and sleeping in the next morning. And I had no one to focus on but myself. How awful. There was not one person relying on me to raise them into functioning humans except myself.

I later became a mom and had no idea the kind of challenge and growth I would endure during this metamorphosis. This little thing that so many people do is maybe the most challenging, isolating, and rewarding thing that I have done in my life.

I have a single friend with an amazing job where he shoulders a lot of responsibilities and makes many high-level decisions in a day that have potentially large financial repercussions for the company. He only has to spend one phone call with me with kids in the background to leave him shaking in his shoes. Sometimes he even comes to visit, and as he looks around him at my chaotic house, hears loud screams coming from upstairs, endures constant interrupting, sees spilling of whatever they are attempting to eat on the rug, and in general experiences the continuous melee, he keeps the visits short. I think I even saw him running to his car a little last time. As the godfather of one of my kids, I bet he's banking on our longevity, but after seeing us in action not convinced we are going to make it.

My point is that being a parent is hard core. My three-year old can take even the biggest and boldest person down to their knees when she wants to, but the longer I'm in it, the more resilient and determined I have become. I have come up with several pieces of evidence that parenthood isn't for sissies. There's by far many more, but since I can't hold my attention in one direction for very long, this is as far as I got:

1. Bodily function conversations.

"Mom! I pooped!"
"Congrats. I'll alert the media"
"Can you wipe my butt?"
"Be right there."

"Mom, you need to look in my underwear."

"Stop poking your brother's penis."

"Get you hands out of your vagina!"

All things that I've actually said or had said to me. You can't giggle or they'll keep doing or saying it, and you have to let them know you mean business to really shut it down.

2. The Sybil
They hate you, or they love you forty-two times in a day, and you have to remain calm and cool in response because it can turn at any moment. Staying effectively caffeinated is important to remain alert and ready, but not TOO caffeinated or you start to get reactive.

3.  Toddlers are like honey badgers.
They don't give a damn where you are in public when starting a tantrum. They want it, and they want
it now. Whatever it is. Their self conscious meter is about at a one. Plus, they aren't afraid to blurt out any conversations from #1. Anywhere - anytime. It is always on.

4.  Sleep.
There's a myth out there that when they become 3 or 4, you are over the sleep hump. And you are, the night waking is down to a minimum, but instead, they wake up and need things:

"Mom, I need water."
"Mom, can you cover me?" (That's right, can you get out of bed come into my room and pull my covers up which I am actually touching right now?)
"Mom, I had a bad dream."
"Mom, my vagina itches." (See, the #1 conversations come up anytime!)

They might even sleep some nights all the way through to give us a false sense of security, and then wake for 3 nights in a row, several times a night, to really mess with us. The middle of the night is like a sitcom that would be funny if it wasn't your life.

5. The other moms.
Some of these moms will be your amazing friends who get you through everything by providing a box of wine to enjoy, and an ear to listen whenever you need. Others will leave you feeling like you're failing miserably, and you'll be lucky if your kid gets into a online college.

6. The secret.
This whole raising of kids is hard. I clearly don't have a problem talking about it, but in certain circles, it seems taboo to admit it. We post on facebook all our perfect moments in order to lead others to the conclusion that we have it all figured out, but we know that that's about 30% right. More and more blogs are coming clean on the craziness that is parenting, but when you are face to face with moms and complain about your kids, some give the pitied look as if to say, "Oh, my kids don't do that. They are amazing. Little blessings everyday. You must be doing something wrong."

7. Tweens and Teenagers.
Look, I'm not even there yet, but I've seen my sister and my friends go through some things that make tantrums in the grocery and poop on a plane when you forgot to bring a change of clothes look like a cake walk. Sometimes I have to look away because it's too hard to imagine. It seems to me that if you can survive your teenagers -- the eye rolling, the friend drama, the getting caught with illegal substances, the fights, the total disregard for you as a person, the heartbreak of relationships, and the college application process -- you can really feel accomplished.

8. Your heart is split.
The minute they exit your body, your kids are like pieces of your heart running around the world making mistakes, getting hurt, and having wild successes. You, as a mother, will feel all of these as if they are your own. It hurts to see your kids hurt, but it's also your job to help them learn how to navigate those feelings. Since your coping mechanism is to sit in a dark room with a bottle of wine and a pint of ice cream until it's better, you probably haven't perfected it. You have to simply fake it until you make it.

9. ---- sorry, I just got derailed by naked children running across my line of sight who are supposed to be ready for school!

Feel free to chime in with a few yourself. I'd love to hear them!

Screen time drama

As I sit here at my computer, I'm listening to my favorite kind of background noise. My son is in the living room playing with his Ninja Turtle legos with such intensity. "Pizza! Pizza! Sensei, we have to have our pizza!" He is so engrossed, and his world is so real that he hasn't even broached the subject of breakfast yet. Upstairs, I can hear my daughter playing in her bed caring for her "babies", singing "Do You Want to Build a Snowman," from Frozen, and creating her own imaginary world up in her room.

This is not a post about how perfect my kids are. It took me 20 minutes, some tears and a short tantrum to get here.

See, the moment he woke up, my son snuck over to my bed, pried my eyes open with his fingers and whispered, "Can I have the iPad? ...Play Minecraft? ...use your phone?" My daughter then piped in loudly from the other room, "If Tommy gets to use the iPad, can I use your phone?!?" (she is all about evening out the injustices of her world)

My answer, as always in the morning, was "no".

This is not because we are a family who doesn't have a TV, or is so disciplined that we just read books and only play imaginative games together.

I say no because I don't want them to be so reliant on a screen to entertain them. ...and I want them to learn to make their own stories instead of watching things with all the imagination filled in for them.

...and ...well. Truth?
I want to save screens for when I really need to get something done that requires quiet in the background such as work, a conference call, or the end of the day when I'm worn thin.

I'm not one of these parents that has no screen time in my house. In fact, I love my shows -- full disclosure, I still watch Grey's Anatomy. But in this age of iPhones, Gameboys, Xbox, and the literally unending amount of content to choose from, when does it naturally stop?

If you'll excuse me for a moment, I'd like to channel my inner 80-year-old grandma.
Okay, here goes:

--In my day, when I was a kid of school age, I came home from school to watch Brady Bunch. I think there were two episodes in a row. No question, I was riveted to the TV for that hour, but when that was over, I went outside to play. Why? Because I was a kid with impulse control and knew to make choices that were good for my body and my brain?

NO!

Because the news came on, or at least something that didn't interest me, and there were no other options. See, as some of you may remember, there were only 5 or 6 channels of note that were available, and you had to watch shows when they were on. ...and go to the bathroom or get a snack (you didn't have time for both) quickly during commercials.

When I tell my kids this, and they gasp as if I'm telling them about surviving Armegeddon.--

There, I feel much better.

Alen Lauzan Falcon

The truth is that if I had the choices that kids today had back then, I would have been like the kid from Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory going from one show to another for hours on end, probably yelling to my mom to bring me my Salisbury Steak TV dinner to me.

When I had my first kid, I was all, "I'm not even going to have him in front of Baby Einstein."
Then he started moving around, and I changed my tune drastically, "When will a 30-minute show keep his attention for the full show?"
Now, I can't even get an answer about dinner unless I pause the TV in order to jolt him out of his trance.
The lesson: be careful what you wish for.

Stepping away from the TV is the other issue. One 30-min show isn't enough. It's, "One more? One more? Yes or no?" When the answer is no, there is a full breakdown, me threatening to give away all their toys if they aren't going to play with them, and a warning from me that if they only watch TV, their brains AND their muscles won't grow. (Drastic? Maybe, but they want to grow big and strong right now, so a mom's gotta do what a mom's gotta do.)

Seriously though, I want my kids to have creative brains. I want them to be able to create their own interesting worlds. I want them to be able to think their way out of a problem when they are able. I want them to make up dance shows, play soccer outside, write stories, build a fort, make inventions, and, in general, develop a mind that can add to the world down the line.

...and I want to use TV to my advantage when I need it. Did I mention that already?

I also don't think that our public schools, for all the good they do, give kids time to use their imagination. There are plans and how-to's and directed writing and learning, of course, but they've shortened individual play and outdoor recess, so I'm pretty sure it's up to me to help them develop into creative individuals. The pressure of parenting and not leaving it all up to the teachers! Sheesh.

On top of all this, I have to set a good example and turn the TV off myself. I like it as background noise while I cook or clean. Don't laugh. I do those things occasionally. I would continue being a hypocrite except the TV is like a bright bug light to my children, and the next thing I know, they are in the room with me riveted to HGTV or a cooking show... or something wholly inappropriate, and I have to switch it off quickly before they see something and I have to explain sex or violence... or what "bitch" means.

The invention of the Tivo, DVR, DVD, iPhone, ipad, etc. had me so excited when they first came out because the idea of watching anything, anytime was A.W.E.S.O.M.E. Until "screen time" became another thing I had to manage along with sugar and activities. Now I long for the channels to be limited to 5 choices.

At least until the kids go to bed. Then I want it all back for myself.

To my neighbors that installed cameras

Neighbors can be awesome. And they can be a pain in the ass. I happen to have the latter. When you live in a town home that shares a wall, not getting along can be a challenge. I could list the ridiculousness, but really, that's it's own post. Until then, let's just say that we can do no right and they are always watching. So much so that they installed cameras just under their roof pointing directly back at our back and front door. 

So, to our neighbors watching us in their monitor, I have a few spoilers:

• We will be walking back and forth throughout the day to our back yard and car pad. Sometimes we will even walk to the front of the house where the second car is parked. Don't worry, your front camera will catch us as we get there and you can see us get into that car too.
• I will be taking our the garbage once a day. --okay, once every other day. --okay, sometimes less. Enjoy the view as my husband or I carry big bags of garbage or recycling to the back. It will be riveting viewing.
• As you know, I do have kids, so they will run around the front and side walkway of the shared part of the property. We don't have a neighborhood with kids in it, so they will make their own fun by making up races and different games. Don't worry, they know about your thing about your grass and they are vigilant about staying off of it, but please continue to watch and monitor this so you can be sure no sneaker or bare foot touches your spotty lawn.
• I do let my kids play with chalk in the back and the front concrete. It's that or listen to them repeat over and over, "Can I watch a show? Can I play on the ipad? Can I play on your phone? Can I play on the Wii?" It's about to be summer, and they should be outside, so be sure to watch my budding artists draw things like haunted houses, ninja turtles, and penises. Yep.
• The death cry of my 3 year old may keep you pretty busy checking your monitor as it happens multiple times throughout the day. I don't encourage it. Believe me. If I knew how to make her knee jerk response be something other than screaming, I would do it, but she has a big brother and this is currently her only line of defense.
• As you know, we also have a dog. We will walk him. He too knows your thing about the grass, and so do I. Feel free to watch me walk him away from the house and then as I return, be sure to tune in as I throw the poop in my garbage and come inside. Do you have a recorder on that thing? I hope so because that's worth replaying over and over.
• Finally, don't come cryin' to me when you glance at your monitor, which you apparently watch 24 hours a day, and see my husband in night vision video peeing in my garden. He read on the wonderful inter-webs that peeing around the perimeter is a natural and effective way to ward off bunnies from eating our flowers. Actually, it has many other advantages. I'm not making this up. I wish I could say it didn't work, but we had a lot of success last summer so... I just count my blessings that we are in the back, and he keeps this to a late-night activity and out of view of anyone passing by. Small miracles.

There are other things we might do such as take a family picture, have a birthday party, invite family and friend over, etc. Don't be offended that we don't invite you. You seem to have made it clear that you aren't interested in neighborly activities. We really got the hint when we would say hello, and you acted like you didn't hear us. We know you heard us by the small flinch and speed up as you walked by.

So, enjoy your own true reality TV show called "The Stewarts Do Stuff". I hope we live up to the cost of the camera installation. 

Sincerely, 

The Stewarts

Do any of you have neighbors that you don't get along with? I'd love to hear the stories. They'd make me feel better about the craziness we live with everyday.

The day I rocked it as a parent

There are days like the one I’m about to tell. 

I had heard of them.

I thought they were only for “good moms” who were patient and kind and crafty and... well, perfect.

Don't get me wrong. I'm not fishing for compliments. On most days, I waiver right around "decent" on the parenting scale. There are those better than normal days where I hit "pretty good", but "wondermom" is a phenomenon that I had only heard about on Pinterest and Facebook.

I’m not sure what had gotten into me, but it’s like when a pitcher throws a perfect game or a basketball team goes undefeated in March madness. I was in the groove, and when that happens, you don’t ask why, you just thank God or the Universe or assume there was an anomaly in the time-space continuum and go with it.

I was with my 3 year old in the grocery store. 

That sentence right there would send shutters down any normal mom’s back, but it happens, and you steel yourself for the experience. 

However, this particular day, as if taken over by aliens, I entered the store with the attitude that this was going to take as long as it would take and I wasn't going to rush it. 

Imagine.

We enter the produce section first and, par for the course, she wants to help. Without thinking or trying to shove her in the cart seat where I have more control, I agreed to let her do so. 

I look at my list and say, “Okay, we need apples. Let’s get a bag and you can pick them out.” 

With that one simple statement, I completely blew her mind. Walking over to the bags, she looked at me as if to ask, “Who are you and where is my mother?” At the same time, you could see her shift into not caring that my body was being used by someone else. She was going to help and that was enough.

Her eyes wide, she took the bag as if it was gold in her hands and walked over to the carefully stacked apples. She looked at me, waiting for me to say, “Don’t touch that!” as she reached for the only apple she could, which was on the bottom of the pile. We all know that one apple from the bottom could send them all tumbling to the ground, and I usually would have announced that to the world, but instead, I said, “okay, now let me show you how to pick the right apple.”

We looked at them, lightly squeezed one, and talked about what makes a good apple to bring home. 

“Look momma! If I put my nail into one, it makes a mark!”

Without flinching, that one went in the bag.

We continued around the store in this same fashion. Me, the teacher, her the student. She was learning real world things from me, and get this, I didn’t once say, “hurry up!”

Then, magically, as we were waiting our turn at the deli counter, a woman turned to me and said, “You are a good mom.”

I looked at that woman, and I swear, she was surrounded by white light, a halo over her head and angelic music playing around her.

I said, “Excuse me?” I needed to be sure I heard her right.

And maybe turn on my phone’s voice recorder.

She said it again only slower and more pronounced somehow knowing that this was new for me, “You’re a good mom, the way you are in the store with her." 

"And you, my dear,” looking at my daughter, “are an excellent helper!”

My daughter beamed! I wasn't really ready to stop talking about my achievements, but she’d already moved on to my kid. Anyway, I said, “Thank you. It’s a good day.”

She nodded at me knowingly. I think she understood that one of those golden days was upon me and the more we talked about it, the more likely it would be to disappear. 

My number at the deli was called. I ordered what I needed and asked for samples for my daughter. We moved on, but I walked on air for the rest of our time in the grocery. 

I felt as if everyone was smiling at me. Cheering me on. As I navigated towards checkout line, I started to tense up knowing that the beautifully stacked goodies lining the rows as you funnel towards the checkout counter are traditionally a battle zone of “no you can’t have a chocolate bar or a bag of swedish fish." In another magical moment, there was no line, and I strategically kept her engaged past it all. Man, was I in the zone!

“Now help me get these groceries onto the counter please.” She too, was floating on air, and this was another coup for the day.

We paid for the groceries (she swiped the card and “signed”), she got a lollipop from the  cashier and we stood there just about to exit the store. I took a deep cleansing breath and smiled down at lovely child.

She said, “Can I push the cart to the car?”

I said, “Not in the parking lot sweetie, it’s not safe”

And the tantrum began. “I WANT TO PUSH IT!!!”

The golden moment was over, but I was still basking in it’s glory. So, as people walked by gawking at me pushing the cart and carrying my sweet, screaming girl under my arm like a football, I just smiled and kept going. 

I wouldn’t get annoyed or frustrated for at least three more minutes.

It was a good day. It was a glorious day. Or part of one. 

I'll take it.

If you haven't had one of these. You will. If you have, tell me about it. I need to know that it can happen again.

Being a mom and having control. Not. Ever.

Control.
Janet Jackson sang about it.
Kids are struggling to get it.
And, dammit, in my own house, I thought I would have it.

mwahahahahahah!

In truth, the thing that I've given up the most since having kids is control.




1. I never knew sleep was optional.
When the kids were infants, whether it was nap time or evening, I wanted - nay, I needed them to sleep, but apparently they can smell desperation. I found out the hard way that I couldn't physically MAKE them sleep. This was a real ass-kicker. Sure, there were things I could do to encourage sleep, and I studied every technique in every book, but short of hitting them over the head or giving them enough bourbon to sedate them, they would sleep when they were good and ready. This was maddening, and they would push me just to the end of my rope. As I was about to lose my mind from sleep deprivation, they would close their eyes, but I swear I could see little insidious smiles on their faces.

2. Then there's eating. Or not eating.
As babies, when I was first adding real food to their diet, they ate everything. Clearly they were playing the long game. Getting me confident. Making me feel like I could rock this mom thing.
And then, just when I thought I'd figured out what my kids would eat, I would get bold and make one meal for all of us. Rookie.
I'm convinced they watch me spend time and energy working on a meal and decide proportionately how to difficult to be around it. I'm not a natural cook, so I'm sure they see the struggle unfold and think, "Nice! This is going to be a good day."
I serve it, and almost immediately, they tell me why they wouldn't, in a million years, touch the food that they liked when it was on my plate a week ago.
So, as my dreams of a family dinner such as the one on Blue Bloods fades away, I pour a glass of wine - oh, who are we kidding I've had one through meal prep - and make some mac and cheese. ...and oh so faintly, I swear I can hear the slap of the children giving each other five under the table. Maybe it's my imagination...

3. The battle of getting dressed.

The bandaid on her chin is
purely cosmetic

I want her to wear clothes. She does not.
I want him to wear underwear to kindergarten. He does not.
I want her to pick an outfit that doesn't make her look like she's on the show "Toddlers and Tiaras". She is clearly hoping to qualify.
And so it goes every morning. I've tried timing them. Bribing with TV. I've even shoved clothes on them only to have them peel them off and run around naked crying because, "I never let them wear what they want!" Simply isn't true, but there is no rationalizing with a toddler. 
They wait until they see me curled up in the corner looking at facebook at all the families who have it together to throw me a bone and get dressed or let me get them dressed.

Control.

This struggle for control can make me feel so powerless and frustrated, but I am able to see it for what it is. 
For a while. 
I mean, I'm the parent, right? I'm the adult, right? They are so little and their brains are just beginning to develop. 
I know this. 
I'm a rational human being.

Until...

I've been patient. 
It's the end of the day. 
We have been battle picking...
All. Day. Long.
I want to get to my wine, Blacklist, and, oh yeah, and to spend some time with that guy that got me in this predicament.

We are almost there when my son says, "You pick the story tonight, Mom."
Wow. I have the green light to choose something! Maybe we are getting somewhere, I think to myself. He is learning to give and take!

So, I go over the bookshelf, and I pick out a book. It doesn't matter which one because the result would be the same, but for the record, it's one he likes, so this feels like a safe pick.
Just as I'm about to sit down...

"I don't want to read that one."
oh no

"But you told me to pick the story tonight."
"I didn't know you'd pick that one."
"Yes, but you asked me to pick and so I did. Now this is what we are going to read"
Do you see it? I'm on the verge of picking a ridiculous battle. I could have just picked another book, but apparently I need control too.

"I don't want to!"
"We are reading this book. It's a good book. I've read it a thousand times to you. Now lay down!"
Yep, this happening. I can't give in one more time today. My sane part of me is looking down at this scene and shouting, "Just let him choose a different book!"

"Noooooooo! I'm not listening!" 
The tears begin. His. Not mine. ... Yet

"Fine! I will sit here and read this book to you. You can listen or not."
I begin, and as I do, he covers his ears and starts ranting to himself.

(under his breath) "You always make me read what I don't want to. I don't want to read this book. It's the worst book. I'm not listening. I won't read this book...." (and on and on and on)
I continue to read the book, but I'm human, and it's the end of day. I can't ignore the sound of his little voice one more page. 

"That's it! I'm done. Pick a book. Read it to yourself, and I'm going to put your sister down!"
Which certainly will go well, right? I'm in a great mental place for it.

"Noooooooo!!!!!! Mommy! I want you to read me a book!"
What??? Seriously?  
Oh yeah, it's all about control.

We do finally read a book. Or, in a tizzy, I send my husband up to read. But regardless, it gets done, and as I sit down with my glass of wine, the toll of battle washes over me. 

I wait for them to quiet, and then I go back up to watch them sleep. Partly, because I feel in control for the first time in my day, but also because the love I feel for them when they are sleeping is unmatched. This is how I regenerate for the next day. I charge my battery with loving thoughts.
Sometimes I have to go in a couple times.

Do you feel the battle of control in your house?

Conversations with the kids 1

I go back and forth about whether I would prefer to be a working mom or a stay at home mom. Mind you, this is not a choice at the moment, but balance of the two leaves me really feeling between two worlds so much of the time.  (This is a topic for a whole other post.)

However, since becoming a parent, there are conversations I never thought I'd have and questions I never dreamed I would have to answer. These make me think it might be a good thing that there are moments in my day when I talk to adults since keeping sane is key to good parenting I hear.
For instance, the other day:

"Mom, do you think huge robots are real?"  

I think a moment and answer, "Well, I certainly don't know how to build one, but I could send you to a camp that does." 

It's then that I start dreaming about my rocket scientist at NASA, and how he might change the world. 
I will have created that. 
I swell with pride.

He replies, "Well, I only want to go if you can come too."

Awww. Right? 

Then I start to wonder what NASA camp costs. 
Should we move to Florida to support his dreams? 
I'm not really psyched about living in FL, but for him...
--- wait a minute!!!!  
No one, as this point, is going to robot camp... if there even is such a thing.
You see how quickly I get sucked in???

Then - "Mom, if I become a Ninja Turtle, do you think I will need to live in the sewers?"

I decide it's a little premature to move to Florida.
________________________________________________________________________________

There's also the constant and mind-numbing debate about the all-consuming "screen time". 
He could easily watch TV or play some sort of video game all day long if I let him. No joke. Remember, the kid from Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory? 
I am convinced that my resourceful munchkin is going to somehow find a golden ticket, be sucked into a TV, and taken away by the strangely over self-tanned Oompa Loompas. 

"Mom, can I have one more show to watch?"
" no, you already watched an hour long movie."
"Just one tiny one?" 

(He pinches his fingers together to show me how small.  I don't tell him that movies and TV aren't measured in that increment.  It's kind of besides the point.)

"No sweetie."
"Pleeeease!  Just this many short?" 

(He holds up three fingers - again an inaccurate unit of measurement to use, but lets not mess with the details)

"No, and please don't ask me again."
"Mom, if you let me watch one more show, I'll eat my dinner, and go to school."

His negotiation style, while good, needs some improvement in the counter-offer.

I think, "Wait! Maybe he'll be in merger and acquisitions!"
_________________________________________________________________________________

With my three-year old, the conversations get pretty basic, but in no way less insane!

"Harper, please get your hands out of your vagina."
"Yeah, Harper," says her brother, "you can get it sick that way!"

Maybe he'll be a doctor?

"My hands weren't in my vagina, they were in my butt."

Oh good, that's much better.

"Well, the poop can make you sick."
"No, not IN my butt. On the bump!"

Semantics.
________________________________________________________________________________

Have you gotten sucked into a conversation this week with your little lunatics?
Please say yes. 

The mental state of a mom of a toddler

Hey, I'm not saying I'm over 40.

Not that there's anything wrong with being over 40.

Some of my best friends are over 40.

But, hypothetically, could an over 40 year old go through a midlife crisis?
And if so, it's possible that I am "my friend" is definitely going through one.

WTF??? This is where that would apply.

Seriously though, given my emotional roller coaster this past week, I have confirmed that there are pros and cons to having had a "geriatric pregnancy", or being a mom of "advanced maternal age".

By the way, thank you to the gynecological society for coining those terms of support.




I mean, having my kids towards the end of my 30's was great because:

• Giving my social life over to my children wasn't such a trial since I already cashed in all my tequila coupons, and my ability to stay up until 2 am had passed.
• I'd done so much therapy that I'd run out of material. 
• I had lived a lot. Made a lot of mistakes.     A lot.     So, now my kids wouldn't be able to pull the wool over my eyes with their teenage manipulation. (However, I had the luxury of not growing up with every mistake documented on the internet. So I don't know what that's like. Thank God for small miracles.)
• I'm such a believer in therapy, it was time to groom the next generation to perpetuate the industry.
• Supposedly, during my 20's and 30's I built emotional skills to now parent with patience and wisdom in my 40's. (I just can't say that without giggling a little.)

But it hasn't all been a bed of roses:

• Every time I leave my keys in the refrigerator, start a sentence only to fade off in an effort to remember what I was hoping to say, or forget my loving husband's name, I silently wonder if these are early signs of dementia. (A thought I'm sure my 28 year old counterparts don't entertain.)
• As I weather bouts of significant mood swings, my doctor has to remind me that I'm the mom of two kids under 6 because I'm grilling her on the early symptoms of "the change".
• Never mind that I'm just tired. I know all moms are tired, but through observation, the younger ones are navigating it a hair better.

So, if "my friend" was worried about her status of possible mid-life crisis, I think I can just make her feel better by telling her it's not that, she's just an older mom.

Ouch!

Any opinions on whether it easier to me an older mom or a younger one?

Welcome to Groundhog Day

When my first was born, one of my closest friends, who had a head start on parenthood by about 4 years, came to my house to visit me. First thing she did was to swoop Mr. T out of my arms and give me a needed moment to breathe. Immediately T started crying, and exhausted, I slowly started to get up and grab him from her, but she put up her hand and told me to sit. She then expertly, shushed and patted him within an inch of his life until he quieted from her dance-like of moves. I fell back into the couch, she looked at me and said,

"So, welcome to Groundhog Day!"

As I was a new mom, I couldn't begin to understand what that meant. I mean, to me, it was a new moment every freakin' minute, and I had no idea what to do with any of it. All he had to do was to breathe the wrong way, and I would dive into the all-knowing baby books while my mind set to spiraling down the rabbit hole. If he did anything that seemed, well, un-baby-like, I'd check WebMD, and as we all know, if you look far enough, all roads lead to cancer. So, the idea that every day could be the same completely befuddled me.

Since then, after child number two and with some parenting experience under my belt, I have passed those same sentiments on to new mom friends of mine only to be greeted with the same "What the hell are you talking about?" gaze.

Life with a two small children is just exactly that. Each day consists of getting up, dressing them, making food, cleaning up, putting boots on, going to school, going to activities, laundry, feeding the dog, working, picking up from school, hanging up coats, longing for the 5 o'clock hour to deliver my glass of wine, bath time, bedtime (oy, the bedtime routine is enough to put anyone in the looney bin), and on and on it goes. And that's just one day. The weeks have a repetition to them too.

But, today, I had a "bad mom" day. I yelled in the morning, I apologized for yelling, I yelled at night, I didn't apologize, I gave them both "the eye" which was really just a passive-aggressive way to make them feel bad, and I cried during his swimming lesson feeling like I was once again providing material for their therapy for years to come. (I'll have to offer to pay for that.)

Then my daughter had a nightmare, and I was able to hold her while she settled back into a peaceful slumber, and I vowed to be better, act better, be a better role model for conflict resolution, and stop letting the little things piss me off.

It was then, in that moment, that I thanked God for "Groundhog Day", because tomorrow gives me another opportunity to right my wrongs, do better, and overall have a do-over. I'm not saying that it's okay to lose my shit, but I did, and to wallow in self-hatred for my behavior doesn't serve me or my kids. The truth is that every time I have a day like today, I reflect and make a plan to make the next day more successful than the last.

I've never learned and changed from my behavior more than I do for my kids.

I've never wanted to be a better person more in my life than I do each day for my kids.

Things I never thought I'd say. (Part 1)

Being a dog trainer, I talk to perfectly normal adults about poop, poop habits, pee habits, poop consistency, odor, etc. more than I'd like, to say the least.  However, it's part of my job and, the truth is, the people I'm talking to about these things are riveted on my answer.  When you have a dog, poop and pee descriptives are fairly important.  In fact, you don't have to be much of a dog person to think that way.  When you have a dog in your house, at the very least, you are vested in that dog being successful on the potty training front.  If everything else goes to shit, as long as they are... well... doing it in the right place, life is good.

So, I have really gotten over the embarrassment of having to ask a person, "so, was the poop runny or soft?" or "when they peed in your living room, did they lift a leg?" or "are they pooping routinely in a particular spot?"  See?  The ease with which I speak on this subject has really become my normal... that's not a skill I'm putting on my resume, but talking about the elimination habits of a dog in order to get the bottom of how to make them successful has been honed into an art.

But now, being a parent of two, I've reached a new level of communication, and I'm saying things each day that I never thought I'd say. Ever.

"Honey, please don't touch your brother's penis." 

This one was a doozy and happened while they were bathing together. I had turned around for a second to pick something up and when I turned back, I saw my daughter with her finger out like ET headed towards my son's "junk". I mean, from her perspective, that thing must be kind of mesmerizing since she herself doesn't have one. Not to mention, he can't stop touching it, so she must wonder what all the excitement is about.

"Stop eating off the bottom of your boot!"

We were driving and I turned around to glance at my precious girl and what was she doing? Literally, eating the dirty, dirty snow from between the grooves of her boot. It made me seriously wonder about whether she's going to survive two. I mean, Darwin would be all over that!

"Don't eat your boogers! The bugs in your nose will bite your fingers!"

Now, I really need to give credit where credit is due. I got this from a friend of mine who has three boys, and she said that once she told them that, the picking and eating ceased completely. Unfortunately, my little one doesn't seem to be phased by the bug possibility. She may even dig more for a possible sighting.

Actually, truth be told, I was a little relieved in her lack of gullibility in the bug idea. She just might make it to three.

"Did you poop? Let me smell your butt."

Now, if you're a parent, this is very familiar. We've all done it. It's efficient in getting the answer you seek. It's just that if you told me I would be saying it before I had kids, I would have laughed you off.

"We only poop in the potty, not in the bathtub!"

This a was a dark and disturbing day. I had gone to brush my hair in the mirror when I hear, "Mom! Harper pooped in the bathtub." I turned around assuming he was joking. I was about to tell him that was the opposite of a funny joke, when I glanced down, my heart stopped, and this scene played in my head.

I quickly jumped to action scooping the poop out of the tub with my bare hand. (Hadn't really thought that through, but now I know I'd really throw myself in front of a bear to save my kids.) Frantically, I got them out of the tub and bleached it before getting them back in to scrub them within an inch of their lives. They thought this was a lot funnier than I did, so I'm hoping my reaction didn't scar them for life.

Fellow parents, care to chime in with things you've said recently that you never thought you would? Let's hear 'em!

I think my dog's new friend is using him...

I started out the care-taking process as a dog mom.  I did a couple trial runs early before I was married and had kids in order to make sure that I could keep a living being healthy and alive.  To be honest, my past with plants was not a good omen.

There are so many wonderful things about creating a relationship with a dog.  In fact, the love at first sight I had with my Golden Retriever was magical and lasted right up to her last breath.  But I would be lying if I didn't acknowledge that having a dog also strengthened my gag reflex.  Like I said, my dog was special and lovely, but she still pooped outside requiring me to pick it up.  That's part of the gig.  There's also vomiting that is foreshadowed by a workup of heaving so violent that you're sure a small child might be produced.  There's breath that is rabbit poop scented, ingestion of toilet paper that sometimes can result in a human having to assist a poop out with her hands, ear gunk to end all ear gunk and much more, but I think you get the point. 

The sad part is that this doesn't even touch the nasty-factor that comes with kids, but it gets you a little raw in preparation.

However, just as I had thought nothing could faze me, I recently came head-to-head with a tick.  No, seriously, there was a tick on my dog, Finlay's, head.  Between his eyes to be exact.  

Let me just preface this by saying, "I don't dig bugs."  That, by the way, is the understatement of the year.  My whole body puckers when I see anything with multiple legs and a pincher apparatus for a mouth.  So, when my husband said, "Hey, what is this between Finlay's eyes?", I thought, "eye booger.  No problem.  I've got this."

I'll admit that my heart dropped a notch when I saw what appeared to be a skin tag to end all skin tags hanging from his brow line   The most frightening part was that this lovely had not been there the day before which meant is was a very fast growing skin abnormality.  You see where I'm going, right?  Cancer.  

As I spread the hair away from the protrusion, I mentally prepared to scoop Mr. Fin up and hold him until I could get him to the vet the following morning.  I got a magnifying glass to get a really good look of size, color, and texture so I could look it up on the internet and really work my self up into a good panic.  It was then that the world stopped spinning for me because when I got an enlarged view, I saw the unexpected... a couple of tiny legs at the point of insertion in the skin!  It was the size of a corn kernel and had legs!  Let the dry heaving begin!  

I called screamed at the top of my lungs to my husband, "It's got legs!  It's a bug!  It's got legs!  You have to come down!"  Thinking that I was potentially having the psychotic break that he's been waiting for, he came down and we got to business on handling our dog's lastest tenant.

As you may or may not know, ticks are best removed with tweezers at the base, although I have also heard talk of getting fire involved.  Since I figured that a flame headed between Finlay's eyes would not be well received, we went for the tweezer and then bag to suffocate technique.  Between gagging, I held the magnifying glass while my husband extracted the blood sucker, and this is what we got:

Since I wasn't looking to have another pet to take care of, I evicted Finlay's new friend and chalked the experience up to an exercise building strength in my gag reflex which was good because vomiting hit the Stewart household this week!

Turns out, I do pretty well with animals and humans.  I'm still lacking in the plant department.  

Cukoo as ever!

I've been off the blog grid for a few months now, and I could give you a hundred reasons why that's so, but just recently I was inspired to get back on the horse and write away.  (pardon the pun!)

My step-grandmother passed away last week after a very long battle with Alzheimer's.  The truth of the matter is that I really didn't know her all that well.  By the time she came into my life, I was a teenager ('nuff said) followed by being away for college and finally moving out on my own.  I knew her, of course, but after the small service where her youngest daughter delivered a eulogy that chronicled "Nana Kay's" life, I found I knew very little.  And about 4 notecards in, I realized that I missed out on an interesting and surprising package of a person.

Divorce brings a lot of heartache in its wake, but sometimes the bigger family that you are dealt in that second hand, turns out to be a diamond in the rough.  I'm lucky on both sides to have gained great family as my parents remarried, but it was only really after her death, that I find myself wishing I had hung out with this cool woman and had some of her strength rub off on me.

Here's what I learned about this tour de force :

Auntie Mame

• She had style and grace coming out of her pores...
• ...but she knew how to shoot water through her teeth to get someone's attention at a party.
• She wasn't always handed an easy deck, but she carried heavy burdens with class.
• Kay married "the one that got away" (her high school sweetheart) 45 years after he asked her to marry him the first and second time.
• She didn't let anyone tell her something couldn't be done.  In fact, when someone said to her that it was "just so hard to get a job" (right before WWII), she went out that day and got 7 jobs just to prove it could be done.
• Her children's friends referred to her as "Auntie Mame".
• She weathered Alzheimer's in a way that touched everyone who came in contact with her, and continued to be the consummate host even in the most advanced stages of her disease.
• Often, when asked how she was doing, esp. later in life, she'd reply, "Cukoo as ever!"

So, if she were my peer, and I was whining about not having time or energy to write (as I have been lately), she would probably go write three screenplays and a book just to prove it could be done!  Her stories have inspired me to live life a little fuller, encouraged me to stay strong when the turkeys come knocking, and remember that you can have an elegant package on the outside that's filled with spunk on the inside.  ...And well-timed peeks at the spunk are the memories that you leave behind.