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.

Abu Ghraib has nothing on my one-year old

She seems so harmless here...

I'm thinking of sending the 15-month down to Langley for some intense training on eliciting confessions out of terrorists.  She has a unique way of sleep torture that she is currently using on my husband and I, but I think that her talents could be better used in a proper facility.  I mean, there's a reason that sleep deprivation is a form of torture.  It works.  ...and my little girl has some mad skills.

She starts by several sessions of night waking 2-3 times each night.  She then gives you a taste of only one waking that is very short, and she easily goes back to sleep.  Finally, there is one morning that you wake up at 7:30am feeling strangely rested, and you come to the slow realization that she has slept through the entire night.  Erroneously you think, "things are on the right track."  In fact you get another night just like this one, and you begin to feel like this is the end of a sleepless era.

... but, don't mess with her.

D'oh!  You just jinxed it.

The next night and the week thereafter, it's 2-3 wakings in a night.  You see, she gets you rested and out of the swing of being unendingly tired.  Just as you get used to sleeping again and feeling like a human being, she slams you again with sleep deprivation.

The only thing keeping me from sending her down to Langley to hone her skills, is that unlike some children who get teeth two at a time at regular intervals through the age of 2, my child's body feels the need to present all the teeth at once.  ...and apparently, it hurts.  Another blogger I know likened it to imagining if your tibia slowly started to grow out of your skin.  Though I've no direct experience with this, I can imagine that it would hurt.  A lot.  So, I have some empathy.

Some of her sleep torture techniques are saved for when we are away from home as we were for this past holiday week.  My little one does not have adaptable sleeping habits, and I always enter into a trip as if she does.  If I remembered each past trips sleeping debaucles, I'd never really travel until they were 10.

You know that a particular night is not going well, when in the middle of the night you are reciting the words to the Samuel L Jackson narrated children's book, "Go the F*** to Sleep," in your head.  When this happens, I know that it's time for Dad to intervene and give me, and my breasts, a break.  These are not the mom thoughts I want to have...  Harper, in that moment, has unleashed my Mr. Hyde.  It is not pretty.

So, here's my offer, if you want to get some solid info out of your teenager about their escapades last weekend, while at the same time scare them into safe sex, I'm renting the 15-month-old out for a low, low price, if you act now...  but wait there's more!  I'll throw in my 4 year-old who sleeps well, but joins you in the middle of the night from a bad dream, and then proceeds to kick and slap you in his sleep as he rests perpendicular to your bodies.

That'll really scare 'em straight!  Any takers?  I'm even open to (and encourage) a full weekend!

I know I'm not the only one with sleep issues... care to share?

Giving Thanks

Today is Thanksgiving, and this is the platform where I normally write about something my kids have done that just might put me straight into the looney bin if I didn't share it.  However, I just read this blog from a mom who has six kids, has been blogging for 5+ years, and she's been through a tremendous amount of changes in those years.  I'm sure there were days that felt like they'd never end, or that she'd never get her kids through puberty.  But as I read her blog today, I realized that with all the worry, frustration, lack of money, harried mornings, sleepless nights, little tiny hugs, giggles from the back seat, smiles at just the right time and more...  life just continues to plod on.  Even when there doesn't seem to be an end, there is.  For good and for bad.  The toddler will go to elementary school, to Jr. high, and to high school (knock wood), because we just can't stop time.

So, today I would like to reflect on some things I'm truly thankful for:

• My husband, for so many reasons, but who, without him, I would have cracked up long ago.
• My son, who randomly says "I love you mama," just before asking me for ice cream.  (Guess I don't have to teach him the theory of "you catch more flies with honey than vinegar".)
• My daughter, who, right as I'm about to strangle her for screaming for one more thing, shoots me the best, most amazing smile every time.  (I mean, do these kids have survival skills, or what?!?)
• My mom, who I finally understand why she didn't take that job that would have had her gone for months when I was little.
• My dad for his sayings that I pass on to my children now.  The most recent mantra being, "Treat everyone the way you would want to be treated."  For future use, I've banked, "For every beer your drink, drink a glass of water." --- sage advice when sending them to college (knock wood).
• My step-mom for being the go-between me and my dad when I was a teenager.  We had a relationship because of that.
• My sister (who is technically a "step") for making me a sister and a friend after a fairly rocky start.  I depend on her as if we were blood, especially as my parent sounding board.  (Anyone who has weathered a child who painted the wall with their poop has some valuable advice to give.)
• My aunt and uncle in South Carolina, my aunt and uncle in Mississippi, my husband's family, and my extended family from my step-parents for continuing to create a family filled with love for my children.
• My dog Finlay, my fur child, who never lets me be in a room alone... even, and especially, the bathroom.
• Finally, to the step-cousins who let us stay with them for this Thanksgiving holiday in Atlanta, GA, out of the goodness of their heart, not obligation.  (Unless, there was deal struck between their family and mine that we don't know about.)

I'm thankful for all of the above and more.  I am blessed.

What are you thankful for?

Some people have a pool, we have a bathtub.

For those of you who don’t know, my day job is Director of Training at a dog training company.  As I see people and give advice on a daily basis, I’m a big advocate of the phrase, “A tired dog is a good dog.”  I also apply this theory to my children.

Now, please sweet baby Jesus, don’t start commenting about how a child is not the same as a dog.  I’m acutely aware that dogs are not people.  Let me show you:

• A dog has four legs, a child has two.
• A dog has fur and people have hair.
• A dog’s brain is simpler than ours. 

See?  

• A dog pees outside and people... oops!  This blog post negates that statement!

Anyway, I spend my days getting people to see that their dogs are not little children wrapped up in fur suits.  It actually behooves (I love this word, btw) a dog for people to expect them to do dog things.  But I digress.

For more insight on dogs being dogs, check out a blog post from my job on this exact point.

Aaaanyhoo...  all summer I’ve been going with a friend of mine to the beach with our kids.  As you can imagine, there are many bonuses to taking kids to the beach.  I especially enjoy going with this particular person because her son is in my son’s class, so entertaining Tommy is one thing off my list when I go there.  On top of that, there’s fresh air, open space, sand, water and sun, all of which will wear out a kid fast!  And yes, that’s my goal. 

As Fall has slowly been approaching, we have had a few chillier days so I’m faced with the dilemma of what to do to exorcise the unending energy from my four-year old, so when it’s time for bed, I don’t get much of an argument.  

The other day, I needed to do work, and Tommy needed a bath   I told him that he was going to bathe during Harper’s nap, and he asked me if he could “play” while he was in there.  A bright light went on in my brain!  

“Sure,” I said begrudgingly, “you can play for a little while.”  

I wanted to make it seem like I was really doing him a favor.  

Little did he know, I was thrilled because I knew that he would play in the tub, and I could get my work done.  It was win/win!  (Before you call DCFS, I was in the room next door, I could hear him the whole time... and he's 4.)

Finally, I heard him say, “Mom! Watch what I can do!”  I looked at the clock and he had played for an hour!  I ran upstairs and feeling small pangs of guilt as he showed me his severely pruned hand.  Then he said, “Ready? Watch this!”

He put his face in the water and then pulled it out with pride.  My first thought was, 

“Oh, I hope he didn’t pee in there,” 

and my second was, 

“This is better than a pool!” 

I realize this isn’t a daily solution, but in a pinch... country club Stewart is open all year long!