It has been almost a year exactly since I last posted on my blog. It's not to say that I haven't thought of things to write and share with you, I just haven't taken the time to write them down.
The girls are now 3 and 4 and still full of P&V and all things fiery (hence the hair). I am on my last week of summer with them and we have had our ups and downs.
New to this summer has been sibling fighting that could put WWF to shame. What does one do when both of her children are crying/screaming, tackling, hair-pulling, kicking each other until they are just one big ball of flailing arms and legs? They both end up hurt and neither of them is sorry. You stick them in time out and they shout threats at each other for the whole 3 minutes that they have to sit in the chair. They are like tiny sociopaths.
About mid-June I discovered gating both kids in their bedroom together "until they learn to love each other." Their first move after being removed from society is to drag all of the hangers out of the closet. They dress up in random crap -- socks/mittens/scarves/backwards pajamas. And then what feels like seconds after being escorted to their prison sentence, they crack the door and smile at me with their arms around each other (which could be easily mistaken for a head-lock). "WE LOVE EACH OTHER NOW!" They shout and I let them out until the next fight breaks out ten minutes later.
It was during one of these lockdowns that Neddy had some very honest and real comments to share...
I, of course, lost my cool and screamed, "GET IN THE BEDROOM UNTIL YOU LEARN HOW TO LOVE EACH OTHER!" as I not-so-gently shut the gate and door.
Both girls continued to scream at one another. Finally Neddy opened the door and placed her sock-covered hands on the gate and shouted, "WE DON'T WANT TO LOVE EACH OTHER! IT'S TOO HARD!"
(Kate then followed up with a dramatic, "Mom sure made a bad choice!" *sob*)
As I breathed slowly and counted to a million, I started to think about Neddy's words. Oh, my little philosopher. You are so right! Love is hard!
Monday, August 11, 2014
Monday, August 12, 2013
A Different Approach
I absolutely hate when people ask me how old my children are and I say 2 and 3 and they swoon and say, "Oh! Enjoy every minute!"
I want to look at those people and smack them alongside of the head.
1. Don't boss me.
2. You must be mistaken and need a reality check. Not every minute of raising children is enjoyable.
3. That is a lot of pressure to put on someone.
Now, I am not dense and I get that these people are telling me that time goes by too fast and some day my little babies will be all grown up and I will yearn for them to be babies again. But you know what I am going to do then? I am going to come back and read this blog. I am going to remind myself that there are some moments in parenting that are not enjoyable...
Waking up a million times in the night because Neddy has a booger in her nose and wants me to wipe it but doesn't want me to wipe it but wants me to wipe it...
Trying to go to the bathroom by myself. Locking the door and listening to the kids trying to use their toy tools to take the door off the hinges. Panicking when the noise stops and then finding the kids in the backyard playing in their underwear and screaming "I'm nakey!"
The fighting! The constant fighting! Physically dragging each other to the floor by the hair, wrestling, and biting because the other one has a toy that you might want to play with in an hour but didn't realize you even wanted it until she picked it up.
You are telling me to enjoy these moments? I can't. I won't! I already put too much pressure on myself trying to work full time and incorporate every amazing Pinterest idea into my classroom while inspiring kids to be lifelong learners, compete with the stay at home - homeschoolers, and keep the barely visible spark alive between my husband and me.
I'm sorry but I have decided to take a different approach. I am not going to enjoy every minute, but I do try to look at those high stress moments differently. Advice to myself: take a deep breath, and remember: a stranger would think this situation was hilarious.
Example: Neddy wanted her 13th mini-pancake for breakfast. As I was microwaving, Kate decided to go wash up in the bathroom. From the kitchen I hear blood-curdling scream so I run to the bathroom to find Kate crying and wet. Neddy is trying to escape and she slips in the enormous puddle on the floor. Apparently Kate was standing on the toilet to reach the sink and wash her hands (ignoring the pink stool we purchased for handwashing). Neddy decided to open the toilet while Kate was standing on it and Kate's feet fell into the toilet. She was upset because "FEET DON'T GO INTO THE TOILET!" Neddy knew she was in trouble so she tried to run but slipped in the toilet water on the floor and hit her head. BAM! Everyone is crying, there is a toilet water everywhere, and the dog is eating the pancakes! This is not enjoyable. How does one even predict a situation like this?
Breathe. If a stranger watched this unfold before her eyes, she would be laughing her ass off right now.
I learned this strategy when I heard the new neighbor describe to me the scene of me trying to mow the lawn while corralling both kids. As you can imagine, this was a high-stress situation. (PS: I didn't enjoy it.) He was supposed to be sleeping because he works third shift but couldn't stop watching as I stopped the lawnmower again and again because Neddy was throwing things into the road and eating dirt, Kate was poking Gilbert with a stick, and then they found themselves in a drop-down-drag-out fight because someone wanted to go up the stairs to the slide while the other one wanted to come down. As he described the situation, I saw it in a new light and was able to laugh at how ridiculous we must have looked.
So, my friends, I will not enjoy every moment. But I promise to try to laugh like a stranger through the stressful ones so I can continue to love my babies with all my heart.
I want to look at those people and smack them alongside of the head.
1. Don't boss me.
2. You must be mistaken and need a reality check. Not every minute of raising children is enjoyable.
3. That is a lot of pressure to put on someone.
Now, I am not dense and I get that these people are telling me that time goes by too fast and some day my little babies will be all grown up and I will yearn for them to be babies again. But you know what I am going to do then? I am going to come back and read this blog. I am going to remind myself that there are some moments in parenting that are not enjoyable...
Waking up a million times in the night because Neddy has a booger in her nose and wants me to wipe it but doesn't want me to wipe it but wants me to wipe it...
Trying to go to the bathroom by myself. Locking the door and listening to the kids trying to use their toy tools to take the door off the hinges. Panicking when the noise stops and then finding the kids in the backyard playing in their underwear and screaming "I'm nakey!"
The fighting! The constant fighting! Physically dragging each other to the floor by the hair, wrestling, and biting because the other one has a toy that you might want to play with in an hour but didn't realize you even wanted it until she picked it up.
You are telling me to enjoy these moments? I can't. I won't! I already put too much pressure on myself trying to work full time and incorporate every amazing Pinterest idea into my classroom while inspiring kids to be lifelong learners, compete with the stay at home - homeschoolers, and keep the barely visible spark alive between my husband and me.
I'm sorry but I have decided to take a different approach. I am not going to enjoy every minute, but I do try to look at those high stress moments differently. Advice to myself: take a deep breath, and remember: a stranger would think this situation was hilarious.
Example: Neddy wanted her 13th mini-pancake for breakfast. As I was microwaving, Kate decided to go wash up in the bathroom. From the kitchen I hear blood-curdling scream so I run to the bathroom to find Kate crying and wet. Neddy is trying to escape and she slips in the enormous puddle on the floor. Apparently Kate was standing on the toilet to reach the sink and wash her hands (ignoring the pink stool we purchased for handwashing). Neddy decided to open the toilet while Kate was standing on it and Kate's feet fell into the toilet. She was upset because "FEET DON'T GO INTO THE TOILET!" Neddy knew she was in trouble so she tried to run but slipped in the toilet water on the floor and hit her head. BAM! Everyone is crying, there is a toilet water everywhere, and the dog is eating the pancakes! This is not enjoyable. How does one even predict a situation like this?
Breathe. If a stranger watched this unfold before her eyes, she would be laughing her ass off right now.
I learned this strategy when I heard the new neighbor describe to me the scene of me trying to mow the lawn while corralling both kids. As you can imagine, this was a high-stress situation. (PS: I didn't enjoy it.) He was supposed to be sleeping because he works third shift but couldn't stop watching as I stopped the lawnmower again and again because Neddy was throwing things into the road and eating dirt, Kate was poking Gilbert with a stick, and then they found themselves in a drop-down-drag-out fight because someone wanted to go up the stairs to the slide while the other one wanted to come down. As he described the situation, I saw it in a new light and was able to laugh at how ridiculous we must have looked.
So, my friends, I will not enjoy every moment. But I promise to try to laugh like a stranger through the stressful ones so I can continue to love my babies with all my heart.
Thursday, June 20, 2013
The Price of a Shower
It is 6:30. Hubby just left and of course the kids wake up just after the garage door closes. I whip up a quick breakfast of waffles and milk. Kate requests to eat in front of the TV. Pre-children, I would have scoffed at such an idea. Post-children, and all I can think about is the 30 minutes I would get from my kids being entranced by one program of Team Umizoomi and breakfast. I allow it. I move their little table and chairs into the living room.
They are settled in and practically comatose. If I go now, I can take a quick shower before they even realize that I am gone.
What could go wrong in the ten minutes that I am in the shower? The doors are all locked. There are safety latches on all of the cupboards and outlet covers on all of the outlets. What could go wrong? I make a dash for it.
Let me tell you what can go wrong in ten minutes. I swear, literally ten minutes!
1. Neddy sat too close to the TV which angered Kate. Kate pushed Neddy over and Neddy chucked her milk cup across the room spilling its contents onto the carpet.
2. At some point Neddy decided to remove her diaper in her bedroom and then she or Gilbert pooped on the floor in the living room.
3. The shower curtain flies open and Kate is crying because she threw her drum across the room and it broke. She wants it fixed. RIGHT NOW!
4. Kate tries to climb into the shower and then cries because she is wet.
5. Neddy climbs up into the bay window and... how do I know this? Because she begins to cry until I emerge from the shower covered in soap, wrap a towel around me, and attempt to save her. She is not stuck. She is pretending to be stuck in the mud and wants me to save her. I see the poop, step around it, place the kids back at the table and run back to the shower.
Nothing else can go wrong. I only need two minutes to rinse.
[Silence]
Not good.
I finish my shower and creep out into the eerie quiet. TV is still on. Breakfast is still on their plates.
6. Neddy has emptied my purse in her search for gum. She has my chap-stick and has hollowed out the tube. There are chunks in her hair and on her face.
7. Someone wanted strawberries because the colander is dumped on the floor in the kitchen.
8. Someone tried "broomin" because the broom is out and lying in the middle of the floor.
9. Kate is finally located in the play tent and she is rubbing lip gloss on her forehead. She cries because I take "her" make up away and then runs to the bathroom so she can see her eyebrows.
You think I am exaggerating? I dare you to stand close to me the next time you see me. I promise it won't be good because I am skipping showers for the rest of the summer.
They are settled in and practically comatose. If I go now, I can take a quick shower before they even realize that I am gone.
What could go wrong in the ten minutes that I am in the shower? The doors are all locked. There are safety latches on all of the cupboards and outlet covers on all of the outlets. What could go wrong? I make a dash for it.
Let me tell you what can go wrong in ten minutes. I swear, literally ten minutes!
1. Neddy sat too close to the TV which angered Kate. Kate pushed Neddy over and Neddy chucked her milk cup across the room spilling its contents onto the carpet.
2. At some point Neddy decided to remove her diaper in her bedroom and then she or Gilbert pooped on the floor in the living room.
3. The shower curtain flies open and Kate is crying because she threw her drum across the room and it broke. She wants it fixed. RIGHT NOW!
4. Kate tries to climb into the shower and then cries because she is wet.
5. Neddy climbs up into the bay window and... how do I know this? Because she begins to cry until I emerge from the shower covered in soap, wrap a towel around me, and attempt to save her. She is not stuck. She is pretending to be stuck in the mud and wants me to save her. I see the poop, step around it, place the kids back at the table and run back to the shower.
Nothing else can go wrong. I only need two minutes to rinse.
[Silence]
Not good.
I finish my shower and creep out into the eerie quiet. TV is still on. Breakfast is still on their plates.
6. Neddy has emptied my purse in her search for gum. She has my chap-stick and has hollowed out the tube. There are chunks in her hair and on her face.
7. Someone wanted strawberries because the colander is dumped on the floor in the kitchen.
8. Someone tried "broomin" because the broom is out and lying in the middle of the floor.
9. Kate is finally located in the play tent and she is rubbing lip gloss on her forehead. She cries because I take "her" make up away and then runs to the bathroom so she can see her eyebrows.
You think I am exaggerating? I dare you to stand close to me the next time you see me. I promise it won't be good because I am skipping showers for the rest of the summer.
Friday, June 14, 2013
I Can't Handle the Truth
I have always found a child's desire to learn to be fascinating. They want to know everything about everything all the time. Maybe it is the teacher in me, but to look at the world with wonder through a child's eyes is something I think adults could benefit from more often.
Am I the only mother in the world that also finds a child's curiosity to be exhausting? After much self-reflection over the last ten minutes, I have discovered that my children have turned me into a compulsive liar. They no longer accept "Because I said so..." or "I don't know..." or even silence as satisfying explanations to their weird questions.
"Kate, please don't lick my face."
"Why?"
"Because it is gross."
"Why is it gross? Because there are germs?"
"Yes."
"Why..."
"Neddy don't hit the dog with the wand."
"Why?"
"Because it will hurt him."
"Why?"
"Because he doesn't like it."
"Why..."
Their incessant "Whys?" and "How comes?" have led me to search for more exciting responses.
Rummage Sale-ing
"Kate, please don't open that mailbox."
"Why?"
(Normal response: Because it is not ours and that is bad manners.)
"Because there are bees in it and they will sting you."
Drive-thru at McDonald's
"Can we go on the slide at McDonald's?"
"No."
"Why?"
(Normal response: Because we are late and we need to get home)
"Because the slide is broken."
"Why?"
"Because a little boy ate too many cheeseburgers and he went down the slide and broke it."
Target
"Mom, I hear a baby crying."
"Yup."
"Why is he crying?"
"Because he is sad."
"Why is he sad?"
(Normal response: I don't know.)
"Because he was standing up in the cart and one of the workers spanked him."
Sometimes my answers teach a lesson, sometimes they are just far fetched stories that I want to see if she will remember, sometimes I don't even know that I am doing it! Unfortunately, my Memory Keeper Kate, seems to store everything that I have ever told her and tends to bring up my stories at times that I deem inappropriate because other adults look at me like, Why would you lie to your kid about that? Answer: I CAN'T HANDLE THE TRUTH! The regular answers just lead to more questions!
I realize that some of you will gasp at the thought of me unnecessarily lying to my children. Try to look at it like I do -- it isn't lying, it is maintaining sanity.
Am I the only mother in the world that also finds a child's curiosity to be exhausting? After much self-reflection over the last ten minutes, I have discovered that my children have turned me into a compulsive liar. They no longer accept "Because I said so..." or "I don't know..." or even silence as satisfying explanations to their weird questions.
"Kate, please don't lick my face."
"Why?"
"Because it is gross."
"Why is it gross? Because there are germs?"
"Yes."
"Why..."
"Neddy don't hit the dog with the wand."
"Why?"
"Because it will hurt him."
"Why?"
"Because he doesn't like it."
"Why..."
Their incessant "Whys?" and "How comes?" have led me to search for more exciting responses.
Rummage Sale-ing
"Kate, please don't open that mailbox."
"Why?"
(Normal response: Because it is not ours and that is bad manners.)
"Because there are bees in it and they will sting you."
Drive-thru at McDonald's
"Can we go on the slide at McDonald's?"
"No."
"Why?"
(Normal response: Because we are late and we need to get home)
"Because the slide is broken."
"Why?"
"Because a little boy ate too many cheeseburgers and he went down the slide and broke it."
Target
"Mom, I hear a baby crying."
"Yup."
"Why is he crying?"
"Because he is sad."
"Why is he sad?"
(Normal response: I don't know.)
"Because he was standing up in the cart and one of the workers spanked him."
Sometimes my answers teach a lesson, sometimes they are just far fetched stories that I want to see if she will remember, sometimes I don't even know that I am doing it! Unfortunately, my Memory Keeper Kate, seems to store everything that I have ever told her and tends to bring up my stories at times that I deem inappropriate because other adults look at me like, Why would you lie to your kid about that? Answer: I CAN'T HANDLE THE TRUTH! The regular answers just lead to more questions!
I realize that some of you will gasp at the thought of me unnecessarily lying to my children. Try to look at it like I do -- it isn't lying, it is maintaining sanity.
Monday, May 6, 2013
Daddy's Doctor Trip -- For Monika
I finally got permission to share this experience with you.
I usually take the girls to the doctor's office. Hubby gets very nervous and sweaty in these situations, and hey, who wouldn't? I've learned that it is a "good visit" when we manage to stay in the assigned room. I know that it is physically impossible for our kids to sit on the chairs and read books calmly while the doctor speaks. Daddy still has that vision and that is okay.
When Neddy had one of her well-child checks (I think it was her 9 month check-up), I was unable to bring her for some reason. This caused me a lot of stress because I like hearing information first hand and I had a lot of questions regarding diet, allergies, eczema, etc. She also had to fill out all of the adoption paperwork that needs to be submitted each time we go to the doctor. Hubby insisted that it would be okay if I just wrote down my questions and then he could ask them or hand them to the doctor. I accepted this option.
I returned home from school and was anticipating all of the answers to my questions. Brent was, as usual, too brief for my liking. His first response was: "She's good."
Any woman knows that this is an unacceptable response. So I continued badgering him for details.
He finally added on: "Tanya, she's good. I asked her all of your questions and mine."
Wait a minute. He had "questions"? What kind of "questions"? Did I forget something on my list? Is he going to know something I don't?
I tried to play it cool. "So, um, what kind of questions did you have?"
Very casually as if asking someone their first name or date of birth, he said, "I asked her why it looks like Neddy doesn't have any nipples."
WHAT! WHY WOULD HE ASK SOMETHING LIKE THAT? O.M.G. -- Now she is going to think this was on my list of questions that I want answered!
I calmly questioned him, "Honey? Why did you ask her that?"
"Because it looks like she doesn't have any nipples. I don't want her to be bullied some day. But don't worry, she said her nipples are fine. They just don't have any pigment yet or something like that."
Please stop saying nipple. Especially when you are discussing our daughter. And how would she get bullied for having no nipples? I am pretty sure we will teach her to not flash people and if she has no nipples, I don't think she would have interest in showing them off. And she is 9 months. Are kids bullying that early now?
"Okay. Do you feel good about that answer? Maybe next time you have a question you could ask me first and I could try to answer it for you?" Because now the doctor thinks it was my question and that I don't understand my own girl parts.
I swear this question was noted on the Sanderfoot file at the doctor's office. She will never again take me seriously.
I usually take the girls to the doctor's office. Hubby gets very nervous and sweaty in these situations, and hey, who wouldn't? I've learned that it is a "good visit" when we manage to stay in the assigned room. I know that it is physically impossible for our kids to sit on the chairs and read books calmly while the doctor speaks. Daddy still has that vision and that is okay.
When Neddy had one of her well-child checks (I think it was her 9 month check-up), I was unable to bring her for some reason. This caused me a lot of stress because I like hearing information first hand and I had a lot of questions regarding diet, allergies, eczema, etc. She also had to fill out all of the adoption paperwork that needs to be submitted each time we go to the doctor. Hubby insisted that it would be okay if I just wrote down my questions and then he could ask them or hand them to the doctor. I accepted this option.
I returned home from school and was anticipating all of the answers to my questions. Brent was, as usual, too brief for my liking. His first response was: "She's good."
Any woman knows that this is an unacceptable response. So I continued badgering him for details.
He finally added on: "Tanya, she's good. I asked her all of your questions and mine."
Wait a minute. He had "questions"? What kind of "questions"? Did I forget something on my list? Is he going to know something I don't?
I tried to play it cool. "So, um, what kind of questions did you have?"
Very casually as if asking someone their first name or date of birth, he said, "I asked her why it looks like Neddy doesn't have any nipples."
WHAT! WHY WOULD HE ASK SOMETHING LIKE THAT? O.M.G. -- Now she is going to think this was on my list of questions that I want answered!
I calmly questioned him, "Honey? Why did you ask her that?"
"Because it looks like she doesn't have any nipples. I don't want her to be bullied some day. But don't worry, she said her nipples are fine. They just don't have any pigment yet or something like that."
Please stop saying nipple. Especially when you are discussing our daughter. And how would she get bullied for having no nipples? I am pretty sure we will teach her to not flash people and if she has no nipples, I don't think she would have interest in showing them off. And she is 9 months. Are kids bullying that early now?
"Okay. Do you feel good about that answer? Maybe next time you have a question you could ask me first and I could try to answer it for you?" Because now the doctor thinks it was my question and that I don't understand my own girl parts.
I swear this question was noted on the Sanderfoot file at the doctor's office. She will never again take me seriously.
Wednesday, May 1, 2013
Dear Check-out Lady (Specifically Target Check-out Lady)
We had to make a quick pit-stop at the grocery store today. Shopping with children, like most activities with children, is very stressful. Today as I got the girls out of the car I noticed that my arm was wet. I wiped it on my clothing at the exact same moment that I noticed that Neddy's ass was lined with a brownish liquid. Her body had the great timing to suddenly come down with a mad case of the diarrhea. Awesome. And I am now sporting the scent on my arm and clothes. Double awesome. And we have nothing for dinner so we have to go into the grocery store (don't judge me). I sucked it up and wrapped my sweatshirt around her in the cart. Triple awesome. The children proceeded to hang out of the cart like spider monkeys followed by a lot of kicking, screaming, and hair pulling. (To make matters even worse, those of you that know me, this is horrifying -- one of the bags tipped over in the car while I was driving and my T-Rex arms couldn't reach it so I had to listen to the items roll around in the back. I digress.) As we made our way through the aisles riding in a cart shaped like a blue police car, we attracted a lot of attention (as usual) and it reminded me of a letter that I have been wanting to write for quite some time.
Dearest Check-out Lady,
I am sure you are an under-appreciated employee. You stand on your feet all day and scan merchandise for what I am sure is very little money.
If it is not too much to ask, here is what I need from you:
1. Shut up and scan. Do not talk to me about my purchases. I don't want to hear about how you have wanted to try that product forever. I don't want to make small talk or hear your hypotheses on why I am buying the shit that I am buying. (Like the time that I happened to be alone at the store buying nuks and pull-ups and you asked if I had children. Duh. Not yet but I am planning on luring some into my car later on and I want to be prepared. Or No. I just really love to suck on a nuk after supper and I am too lazy to go to the bathroom so I buy pull-ups for myself.) Just SHUT UP AND SCAN!
2. Stop trying to encourage my child to sit down in the cart. I realize it is dangerous. I have asked her to sit on several occasions, but guess what? She is happy and not hurting her sister at this moment so let's just be thankful for what we can, okay? And if she falls out of the cart, I bet she will learn to not stand up in the cart any more right?
3. Most importantly, when my cart comes through the check-out line and my children look as though an exorcism might be in order, do not offer them a sticker. We do not need to reinforce their behavior when they are acting like Lucifer. In fact, if I must be honest with my requests, don't give us stickers period. The kids just eat them or stick them on the back seat in the car.
That's it. Those three things could make our shopping experience fast and painless for you and me.
Sincerely,
Mother of the Red-headed Children That You Always Recognize
That's it. Those three things could make our shopping experience fast and painless for you and me.
Sincerely,
Mother of the Red-headed Children That You Always Recognize
Monday, April 1, 2013
Her Eyes
I have read lots of literature and blog posts about loving myself regardless of my shape. I know I need to stop taking myself out of the picture until I lose those unwanted pounds. I know I need to teach myself to love my body so my kids can learn to not be so critical of theirs. THIS IS HARD!
I am a woman growing up in a society that places so much pressure on females to have unrealistic/unhealthy bodies.
When I look in the mirror, I only see that extra layer -- muffin top around my tummy. I only see the additional chin when I look at pictures of me smiling. I feel my jeans are just a little more snug than the last time I wore them -- although I blame that on the dryer. I feel my underarm jiggling for an eternity after I have finished waving goodbye. I see and feel all of these things (and more flaws) and I am disgusted.
One of the perks of having two beautiful girls is that they look adorable in whatever I put them in! Their little extra pudge or wild hair only adds to their cuteness. So when I am feeling yucky, I tend to overcompensate with their fluffy dresses and ruffled tights.
Easter Sunday I was feeling especially unattractive (I realize this is not what Easter Sunday is about so bear with me.) Tried on one dress and hated it. Put on a second and would have probably tried a third/fourth/fifth if I had time (hubby was already tapping his watch and pacing) and more dress options. Like every morning, I glanced in the mirror and saw only the flaws. I scowled and whisked our family into the car for church. The girls were dressed to the nines so I was assured no one would even notice me -- another perk of toting around cute kids.
As I sat in church and prayed that the kids would behave, Kate asked to snuggle. I picked her up and sat her fluffy dress on my lap and joined in the hymn. She grabbed my cheeks and looked me in the eyes. She gasped and said, "You're reawwy beautiful, Mom!" Oh! My divine intervention!
She doesn't just see flaws. She sees ME. She sees all of me and thinks I am beautiful.
Right there my prayer changed. I began to pray that I can see myself the way my girls see me. I am posting this because I know this is an uphill battle and I will need a reminder (probably daily) to focus on looking at myself through her eyes.
I am a woman growing up in a society that places so much pressure on females to have unrealistic/unhealthy bodies.
When I look in the mirror, I only see that extra layer -- muffin top around my tummy. I only see the additional chin when I look at pictures of me smiling. I feel my jeans are just a little more snug than the last time I wore them -- although I blame that on the dryer. I feel my underarm jiggling for an eternity after I have finished waving goodbye. I see and feel all of these things (and more flaws) and I am disgusted.
One of the perks of having two beautiful girls is that they look adorable in whatever I put them in! Their little extra pudge or wild hair only adds to their cuteness. So when I am feeling yucky, I tend to overcompensate with their fluffy dresses and ruffled tights.
Easter Sunday I was feeling especially unattractive (I realize this is not what Easter Sunday is about so bear with me.) Tried on one dress and hated it. Put on a second and would have probably tried a third/fourth/fifth if I had time (hubby was already tapping his watch and pacing) and more dress options. Like every morning, I glanced in the mirror and saw only the flaws. I scowled and whisked our family into the car for church. The girls were dressed to the nines so I was assured no one would even notice me -- another perk of toting around cute kids.
As I sat in church and prayed that the kids would behave, Kate asked to snuggle. I picked her up and sat her fluffy dress on my lap and joined in the hymn. She grabbed my cheeks and looked me in the eyes. She gasped and said, "You're reawwy beautiful, Mom!" Oh! My divine intervention!
She doesn't just see flaws. She sees ME. She sees all of me and thinks I am beautiful.
Right there my prayer changed. I began to pray that I can see myself the way my girls see me. I am posting this because I know this is an uphill battle and I will need a reminder (probably daily) to focus on looking at myself through her eyes.
Tuesday, February 26, 2013
Sometimes God Takes Your Glue
Ever wonder why God takes some people out of our lives so young? It hardly seems fair. They were here such a short amount of time, how could they have accomplished everything they needed to on this earth?
My uncle (and Godfather) passed away a few years ago. Our family is still working through our great loss. It is amazing to me how losing him has affected each member of our extended family so deeply. I always knew he was an important person and loved him deeply, but I never had any idea that him being taken from us would make our lives unravel at the seams and spiral off into odd directions.
It has been a few years now since he passed and I have watched some other young souls leave our sides. I think I finally understand what God is up to:
Sometimes God has to take your glue. He has to take that person that helps you hold it all together -- "all" meaning hold your family together, your community together, your very existence together. He has to take your glue so that you can learn that no one person is made to do this. No human can hold things together for you. God takes your glue because He wants you to see that He is the only One that can hold things together for you.
This is my reminder today to let Him be the glue.
My uncle (and Godfather) passed away a few years ago. Our family is still working through our great loss. It is amazing to me how losing him has affected each member of our extended family so deeply. I always knew he was an important person and loved him deeply, but I never had any idea that him being taken from us would make our lives unravel at the seams and spiral off into odd directions.
It has been a few years now since he passed and I have watched some other young souls leave our sides. I think I finally understand what God is up to:
Sometimes God has to take your glue. He has to take that person that helps you hold it all together -- "all" meaning hold your family together, your community together, your very existence together. He has to take your glue so that you can learn that no one person is made to do this. No human can hold things together for you. God takes your glue because He wants you to see that He is the only One that can hold things together for you.
This is my reminder today to let Him be the glue.
Monday, January 14, 2013
Mom-vention #2
My girls love food so much that they feel the need to first exfoliate with it and then rub the food through their hair. The following foods are reserved for hair washing nights only:
*cottage cheese,
*ketchup,
*ranch dressing,
*soup,
*spaghetti,
*basically anything that has a sauce...
Tuesday, January 8, 2013
Mom-vention #1
Worst recurring experience ever:
Driving with kids in the car after a long day of work. About to get on the hwy 441 death trap. Kate drops her Ga (giraffe lovey) and Neddy chucks her milk cup. Suddenly they both realize what they have done. They freak. They want them back. They start screaming, crying, whining "I need it!" on repeat.
I know my baby T-Rex arms will not reach the items they desire no matter how I twist and turn without taking both my eyes from the road. I panic because they won't stop.
I beg. I plead. I try to reason with them: "Mommy can't get them for you right now. She is driving!" They don't care. They just want their stuff! I explain further: "Mommy can't reach them. She could crash the car and you would get an owie-boo-boo!"
This is followed by a moment of silence.
A question: "Then I go doctor and get band-aids?"
"Yes."
Silence.
Then commence the screaming, crying, whining "I need it" on repeat.
I begin to sweat through my winter coat. I turn the radio up so I can't hear them. They begin launching other items to get my attention. I briefly consider jerking the wheel and then I find our exit. It has only been 5 minutes but it feels like I have been to hell and back. At the stop light I twist into the back seat and grab the desired items.
Peace.
Silence.
I am breathing heavily like I have just been through a major trauma.
And we are home..
Solution: Mom-vention #1 -- A pet net of sorts going across the back seat floor to make it easier for me to retrieve dropped items.
Driving with kids in the car after a long day of work. About to get on the hwy 441 death trap. Kate drops her Ga (giraffe lovey) and Neddy chucks her milk cup. Suddenly they both realize what they have done. They freak. They want them back. They start screaming, crying, whining "I need it!" on repeat.
I know my baby T-Rex arms will not reach the items they desire no matter how I twist and turn without taking both my eyes from the road. I panic because they won't stop.
I beg. I plead. I try to reason with them: "Mommy can't get them for you right now. She is driving!" They don't care. They just want their stuff! I explain further: "Mommy can't reach them. She could crash the car and you would get an owie-boo-boo!"
This is followed by a moment of silence.
A question: "Then I go doctor and get band-aids?"
"Yes."
Silence.
Then commence the screaming, crying, whining "I need it" on repeat.
I begin to sweat through my winter coat. I turn the radio up so I can't hear them. They begin launching other items to get my attention. I briefly consider jerking the wheel and then I find our exit. It has only been 5 minutes but it feels like I have been to hell and back. At the stop light I twist into the back seat and grab the desired items.
Peace.
Silence.
I am breathing heavily like I have just been through a major trauma.
And we are home..
Solution: Mom-vention #1 -- A pet net of sorts going across the back seat floor to make it easier for me to retrieve dropped items.
Thursday, January 3, 2013
TRY
I have been holding on to this post for awhile. I am not sure it is entirely constructive in my journey to change others' views on adoption and birthparents but nonetheless, I don't want to be one of those people that makes adoption seem like just happiness, rainbows, and unicorns. There are parts that make me truly frustrated, sad, in pain, and confused.
Way back when our journey started, I heard a comment from a birthmother. I heard it later on from another birthmother. I also heard it on MTV's 16 and Pregnant and I think even Teen Mom. When these young people were trying to decide what to do with their unexpected pregnancies, they made the comment, "I think I would like to TRY to parent this child." Did you see it? The word that gets under my skin each time I think about this phrase. It is the word 'try'. As a teacher, I didn't think I would ever find that word offensive, but in this instance, I hate it.
You don't TRY to parent. You either are one or you aren't. It isn't a pair of shoes that you walk around in for a day and then decide whether they fit you or not. It isn't like volleyball or basketball where you try out to see if you are good enough or if it fits into your social life. Choosing to parent means that you are taking full responsibility for another life. It means you never get to be first again. It means you never, ever get a break from being mom (or dad). Even when you aren't with your children you think about them, worry about them, every second of the day.
It took some deep reflection and a count to 100 to keep me from reaching over and slapping sense into these birthparents' heads. I realize now that these comments are due to either a lack in their ability to articulate their decision, a sign of immaturity, or a sign that motherly instincts are only beginning to kick-in, or a glimpse at a generation who is not passionate or fully committal to anything (sorry to this generation, it is just my observation).
Of course I can't let it go here because I need to reflect a little more to see if I am being unreasonable. One way I do this is by thinking about what response I would deem appropriate... If I can't think of one then I am being unreasonable.
Well...
I would expect nothing but fierceness when talking about parenting a child. I expect that motherly instinct to kick in full force with a "Damn it! I may not be very good at this, but no one is. I am going to parent the shit out of my kid!" Okay maybe not those exact words, but you get the point.
My young friends and family, when you are faced with a difficult decision such as this, make a decision and go all in. There are no half-sies here.
PS: If your problem is in finding the words to express yourself, feel free to borrow the above statement.
Way back when our journey started, I heard a comment from a birthmother. I heard it later on from another birthmother. I also heard it on MTV's 16 and Pregnant and I think even Teen Mom. When these young people were trying to decide what to do with their unexpected pregnancies, they made the comment, "I think I would like to TRY to parent this child." Did you see it? The word that gets under my skin each time I think about this phrase. It is the word 'try'. As a teacher, I didn't think I would ever find that word offensive, but in this instance, I hate it.
You don't TRY to parent. You either are one or you aren't. It isn't a pair of shoes that you walk around in for a day and then decide whether they fit you or not. It isn't like volleyball or basketball where you try out to see if you are good enough or if it fits into your social life. Choosing to parent means that you are taking full responsibility for another life. It means you never get to be first again. It means you never, ever get a break from being mom (or dad). Even when you aren't with your children you think about them, worry about them, every second of the day.
It took some deep reflection and a count to 100 to keep me from reaching over and slapping sense into these birthparents' heads. I realize now that these comments are due to either a lack in their ability to articulate their decision, a sign of immaturity, or a sign that motherly instincts are only beginning to kick-in, or a glimpse at a generation who is not passionate or fully committal to anything (sorry to this generation, it is just my observation).
Of course I can't let it go here because I need to reflect a little more to see if I am being unreasonable. One way I do this is by thinking about what response I would deem appropriate... If I can't think of one then I am being unreasonable.
Well...
I would expect nothing but fierceness when talking about parenting a child. I expect that motherly instinct to kick in full force with a "Damn it! I may not be very good at this, but no one is. I am going to parent the shit out of my kid!" Okay maybe not those exact words, but you get the point.
My young friends and family, when you are faced with a difficult decision such as this, make a decision and go all in. There are no half-sies here.
PS: If your problem is in finding the words to express yourself, feel free to borrow the above statement.
Tuesday, December 11, 2012
Singing Through Everyday Life
This Mom can only take so much Wheels on the Bus, Pat-a-Cake, and even holiday favorites like Jingle Bells. Sometimes "hits" from my past pop into my head -- most of these need to be transformed into an edited version before I can sing them in front of my children. So I edit them alright!
Songs I have re-written to be more functional in my Mommy-Life:
LMFAO Shots, Shots, Shots came to my head in a desperate moment when I was trying to get the girls out the door. They needed socks and shoes on but they were running in opposite directions and I couldn't catch them. So what comes to my head? I started singing: "Socks! Socks! Socks! Socks-Socks-Socks!"
Ludacris sings a song called Move B!@#$ Get Out the Way. This song comes in handy when we are running late in the morning. The new words (and Kate sings them on her own now) are "MOVE CARS GET OUT THE WAY! GET OUT THE WAY, CARS! GET OUT THE WAY!" Sometimes she adds, "Mama comin'!"
Call Me Maybe is sometimes used..."Hey! I just changed you! And this is crazy! You have poopy! Come here Baby!" I know. I have issues right?
My personal favorite: Taylor Swift's Mean. We don't have to change the words to this one at all! This is sung A LOT at our house because it always come to my head when the girls go in time-out. "Why ya gotta be so..." and Kate finishes it off with a smile and a "...MEAN!"
Now you have another look into my weird mind! Tell me someone else out there does this?!
Songs I have re-written to be more functional in my Mommy-Life:
(I wish I was more "techy" because I would just put the clips of the songs on here. But I am not, so these are the long versions. But you get the picture.)
It all started when I was trying to get PJs on at night and MC Hammer came to my head. Instead of "Stop! Hammer time!" I fired out, "Stop! Jamma Time!"
LMFAO Shots, Shots, Shots came to my head in a desperate moment when I was trying to get the girls out the door. They needed socks and shoes on but they were running in opposite directions and I couldn't catch them. So what comes to my head? I started singing: "Socks! Socks! Socks! Socks-Socks-Socks!"
Ludacris sings a song called Move B!@#$ Get Out the Way. This song comes in handy when we are running late in the morning. The new words (and Kate sings them on her own now) are "MOVE CARS GET OUT THE WAY! GET OUT THE WAY, CARS! GET OUT THE WAY!" Sometimes she adds, "Mama comin'!"
My personal favorite: Taylor Swift's Mean. We don't have to change the words to this one at all! This is sung A LOT at our house because it always come to my head when the girls go in time-out. "Why ya gotta be so..." and Kate finishes it off with a smile and a "...MEAN!"
Now you have another look into my weird mind! Tell me someone else out there does this?!
Sunday, November 18, 2012
Fly on the Wall
Kate is dancing around the living room in nothing but winter boots -- literally naked and wearing snow boots. I wonder what someone would think if they came to the door right now. For us, this is the uncomfortable norm of living with two toddlers. Others have said they would kill to be a "fly on the wall" of our home for one night.
So here it is. Your preview. A typical Sunday morning (just the morning because reading about a full day would exhaust you) in our life. Not too exciting, but always entertaining.
7:00
"Wake up Ned!" This is what you hear every morning. Kate wakes up first and yells to her sister. Weekend rule is that they don't get out of bed until 7:30 on the weekends. It is how we pretend to sleep in. They spend the next 30 minutes tossing toys from crib to crib, ripping the blinds off the windows, pounding on the wall, jumping on their mattresses, and singing versions of the ABCs and Twinkle Little Star.
7:30
I open the door to let the Reds escape. Someone always has poop in the morning...always. And the smell hits you like a brick wall the moment you open the door. At this point they have found some sort of paper product to shred and throw upon the floor -- wipes, a book, a magazine, etc. Kate goes potty and gets off the toilet before she is finished. This is why our bathroom always smells of urine.
7:45
Dad decides to attempt breakfast. This is never good and always requires a lot of support (but we have to let him try). As I am showing him how to pour the egg into the pan, I hear giggles from the bathroom...not good. Neddy is sitting in the sink (again), Kate has the water on (yes, Neddy's clothes are soaked), and both girls have decided to brush their teeth...with Neddy in the sink. I am so proud of them for having such good oral hygiene.
8:30
Today, Kate has decided that she no longer likes eggs. Or meat. Or cheese. She just likes ketchup. So she eats the ketchup and feeds the rest to the dog. Neddy has decided that her omelet makes a good hair conditioner (must be that protein). She also has poop...again.
9:00
The ketchup queen needs a bath and the omelet conditioner should be washed out. I start the bath. Kate throws her stuffed animal in the tub even though I have asked her (repeatedly) to not do that. Kate dumps a bucket of water over Neddy's head. Neddy cries, hits, and then spits in Kate's face. Kate tattles and repeat cycle. On this special day we had a first: Neddy pooped in the tub when I was drying Kate off. Kate saw the poop and said, "Oh! Nice circle Ned!" Yes, the poop was in a circular pile. I am so proud -- my girls are celebrating each other's successes and they know their shapes!
9:30
Kate tries to convince me that she doesn't need underwear or pull-ups. She wants to "wear nuffin." So the little nudist opts for winter boots and begins to dance in the living room to Ke$ha's Tic Toc. Daddy is uncomfortable and making comments about him really not wanting her to get used to dancing in the nude. Neddy spins in circles until I realize that she has poop...again. I go to change Neddy who flops all over the place. Seriously it is like trying to put a diaper on a fish and at the end the diaper is all kitty-wampus but it is on.
10:00
Both kids are in time-out. Kate hit Neddy in the face for looking at her. Neddy tried to bite me because I brushed her hair. Everybody has clothes on...finally but I am still trying to brush Kate's hair. She starts screaming "OWOOWWWOOO" before I even touch the brush to her hair. Gilbert is outside and body-slamming the back door. Brent is at the grocery store because I insist on having a Bloody Mary today to get me through the Packer game (don't worry, I have my jersey ready.) I tackle Kate to the couch and begin to brush her hair. Neddy is climbing the diaper changing table. I get her down. She spits and begins to climb again. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat. Then she notices that Mom and Dad's bedroom door is open. She finds Mom's shoes. Bonus!
10:30
We tried to insert church into this space. It has not gone well. After we hit the old woman in the back of the head with a hard plastic bunny, we decided to do our prayer service from home until we get things under control.
Dad is back so I decide to shower. I lock the door. I try to relax and enjoy my alone time in the bathroom while both kids are crying and screaming outside the bathroom. "Mom! Mom! Momma! MMMMMAAAAMMMMAAAA! Mom. Mommy. Mama. MOM! I need come in!" I decide make-up is overrated. So are regular clothes so I put my jammy pants back on along with my Clay Matthews jersey. Kate takes the opportunity to use my deodorant as an art tool and draws on the wall with it. Neddy is jumping on the bed. Daddy is doing laundry. Gilbert is laying in the middle of the clean clothes. The girls realize Daddy is doing laundry so they make way for the laundry basket and the neatly folded piles of clothes.
It is snack time. Neddy is standing in the dog water dish with her shoes on and screaming "TREEEAT!"
11:00
Mommy guilt takes over and I feel sorry for my kids because I don't do any of the cool things that stay-at-home moms do. I decide to make up for it by doing an art project. Today we are going to make hand print turkeys. Everyone is excited for paint. I cut a shirt in half and put it on the girls for paint smocks. Things start off well because I start with Kate. We make 6 turkeys and then I let her "free-paint" (but she gets bored of paper and turns to the wall) while I help Neddy make turkeys. I remember why I hate doing art projects because they never turn out the way that I plan. Neddy smears paint all over her face, hair, wall, clothes, etc. but she is happy. Her turkey looks like a brown smudge. I clean them in the kitchen sink for the next 30 minutes. I realize that we have just done 30 minutes of clean-up for a 6 minute art project.
11:36
Kate wants a corn dog for lunch, not a hot dog. But she peels off all of the "bread" from the corn dog. Neddy eats an entire corn dog, a pile of green beans, a slice of cheese, and a cup of soy milk...and then poops again.
12:00
Kick-off for the Packer game. The moment of the day where Daddy becomes slightly useless. He can't see or hear anything other than Packers. Kate is trying to cheer with him so she just keeps screaming "Go Double D!" We are on defense. I decide to put Neddy down for her nap. Kate wants to use the iPod before nap. She tries to make things interesting by playing Peek-a-boo Barn with her nose. She is using her nose to tap the screen instead of her finger.
12:30
Nap time for Kate. I put her to bed with her puppies, Ga's, pillow pet, bear, 2 towels, 5 blankets, 1 quilt, etc. She screams "Luv you guys!" which is what Daddy says to the girls when he puts them to bed.
Now I sit with my Bloody Mary rehashing the morning for you. I am exhausted and I think I will take a nap so we can get up and repeat at 3:00.
Monday, November 5, 2012
I Can't Handle Even One More Day
Mom always said, "Two things you don't ever talk about with a mixed group are politics and religion. These subjects can change the mood very quickly and make new friends into enemies."
Mom is a wise lady. However, no one seems to listen anymore. Politics is all I hear about on the news, commercials, phone calls, Facebook, etc. And most don't seem to be as irritated as me. Can you imagine the stir it would cause if the Pope called your house and wanted to talk religion with you? Yet, no one seems to be too upset when Bill Clinton calls to discuss voting on Tuesday. What's the difference?
I don't think there is one.
So this isn't a blog post to tell you who I am going to vote for or who I think you should vote for. It is just to show you that all of these campaign ads/phone calls, etc does nothing but waste time, waste good commercial space, waste of money, and sometimes even waste friendships.
I was reading Time magazine and came across an interesting study by Georgia State University.
They "gathered conservative and liberal students to test their resistance to factual information. First they as the group to read an article that included President George W. Bush's claim that his tax cuts had increased revenue for the U.S. Treasure which was provably false. they they added a factual correction: the Bush tax cuts led to a three-year decline in tax revenue from $2 trillion in 2000 to $1.8 trillion in 2003. The correction worked among liberals, but among conservatives it produced a curious backfire effect: conservatives were nearly twice as likely to say the Bush tax cuts increased revenue after they had been told this was not true."
They did the same study with a distortion to the liberals and it had the same effect.
So, basically people are set in their ways and they are only going to take in the information that supports what they believe about their candidate. That means they aren't going to change their mind on which candidate is best to lead the US for the next four years. That means,
STOP TRYING TO CHANGE THEIR MINDS!
STOP CALLING
STOP STUPID ADS WITH SWEAR WORDS IN IT
STOP FACEBOOK RECOMMENDING PAGES TO ME
STOP FACEBOOK POLITICAL POSTS
AND PLEASE, just go back to funny cat videos or other make-me-laugh posts.
Mom is a wise lady. However, no one seems to listen anymore. Politics is all I hear about on the news, commercials, phone calls, Facebook, etc. And most don't seem to be as irritated as me. Can you imagine the stir it would cause if the Pope called your house and wanted to talk religion with you? Yet, no one seems to be too upset when Bill Clinton calls to discuss voting on Tuesday. What's the difference?
I don't think there is one.
So this isn't a blog post to tell you who I am going to vote for or who I think you should vote for. It is just to show you that all of these campaign ads/phone calls, etc does nothing but waste time, waste good commercial space, waste of money, and sometimes even waste friendships.
I was reading Time magazine and came across an interesting study by Georgia State University.
They "gathered conservative and liberal students to test their resistance to factual information. First they as the group to read an article that included President George W. Bush's claim that his tax cuts had increased revenue for the U.S. Treasure which was provably false. they they added a factual correction: the Bush tax cuts led to a three-year decline in tax revenue from $2 trillion in 2000 to $1.8 trillion in 2003. The correction worked among liberals, but among conservatives it produced a curious backfire effect: conservatives were nearly twice as likely to say the Bush tax cuts increased revenue after they had been told this was not true."
They did the same study with a distortion to the liberals and it had the same effect.
So, basically people are set in their ways and they are only going to take in the information that supports what they believe about their candidate. That means they aren't going to change their mind on which candidate is best to lead the US for the next four years. That means,
STOP TRYING TO CHANGE THEIR MINDS!
STOP CALLING
STOP STUPID ADS WITH SWEAR WORDS IN IT
STOP FACEBOOK RECOMMENDING PAGES TO ME
STOP FACEBOOK POLITICAL POSTS
AND PLEASE, just go back to funny cat videos or other make-me-laugh posts.
Thursday, November 1, 2012
Let Me Tell You About Cool!
It was a chilly high of 45 degrees yesterday. I had recess duty and, just like every school year, there were several kids outside in short sleeves, shorts, dresses without tights, etc. Their reason? Winter coats are not cool. According to one student, "They make you look all chubby and fat!"
My poor, poor third graders! What has society done to you already?
For the last three years I have written persuasive pieces in my classroom trying to get kids to wear coats/hats/boots/(God-Forbid) snow-pants out to recess. Although I think I am a pretty adequate writer, I have convinced few students. The desire to be cool in front of your peers is a much stronger argument.
This year a will be taking a different approach...
You want to look cool? Let me tell you about cool! Let me paint a picture of how I used to dress to go outside and play:
First, I wore a blaze orange hat. I had to wear this because most of my play time was at Grandma's house up north. We had to wear something blaze orange so the hunters would easily spot us. Now blaze orange was a little easier for my camo-clad brothers and male cousins to match with but for a girl, blaze orange does not match pink or purple. At. All! But I sucked it up because I would rather the hunters not mistake me for a deer.
Second, I wore cotton in my ears. I am not entirely sure why Grandma had us wear cotton in our ears. I think it has something to do with ear infections. I am pretty sure she still wears cotton on very cold days. The purpose is not the point. The fact is, Grandma says "wear cotton" so we wore cotton....and we ROCKED it!
Third, Great-Grandma knitted our mittens for us. Every time we went to Great-Grandma's house she would grab a scrap or some cardboard and trace our hands so she could knit mittens for us. So sweet of her. But Great-Grandma was practical. She used the yarn that was on sale. The yarn that no one in their right mind would pay full price for. The yarn that often had a vomit color to it. This did not match blaze orange, pink, or purple. But you wore them because that is what you had and Great-Grandma made them for you. (I question the resistance to water with these mittens still. The moment you touched the snow, you got wet, which made you toss your mittens off and get cold anyway....)
Fourth, and most popular, I wore bread bags in my boots. This kept my feet/socks from getting wet if I had a leak in my boot. The bread bags were always longer than my boots so I was able to fold them over the outside and display the Wonder Bread logo proudly.
Now, my third graders, what do you say you toss on that North Face fleece of yours and the matching hat and mittens, and head outside to play? Stop trying to be cool, we all know my cousins and siblings and I have set the bar pretty high.
My poor, poor third graders! What has society done to you already?
For the last three years I have written persuasive pieces in my classroom trying to get kids to wear coats/hats/boots/(God-Forbid) snow-pants out to recess. Although I think I am a pretty adequate writer, I have convinced few students. The desire to be cool in front of your peers is a much stronger argument.
This year a will be taking a different approach...
You want to look cool? Let me tell you about cool! Let me paint a picture of how I used to dress to go outside and play:
First, I wore a blaze orange hat. I had to wear this because most of my play time was at Grandma's house up north. We had to wear something blaze orange so the hunters would easily spot us. Now blaze orange was a little easier for my camo-clad brothers and male cousins to match with but for a girl, blaze orange does not match pink or purple. At. All! But I sucked it up because I would rather the hunters not mistake me for a deer.
Second, I wore cotton in my ears. I am not entirely sure why Grandma had us wear cotton in our ears. I think it has something to do with ear infections. I am pretty sure she still wears cotton on very cold days. The purpose is not the point. The fact is, Grandma says "wear cotton" so we wore cotton....and we ROCKED it!
Third, Great-Grandma knitted our mittens for us. Every time we went to Great-Grandma's house she would grab a scrap or some cardboard and trace our hands so she could knit mittens for us. So sweet of her. But Great-Grandma was practical. She used the yarn that was on sale. The yarn that no one in their right mind would pay full price for. The yarn that often had a vomit color to it. This did not match blaze orange, pink, or purple. But you wore them because that is what you had and Great-Grandma made them for you. (I question the resistance to water with these mittens still. The moment you touched the snow, you got wet, which made you toss your mittens off and get cold anyway....)
Fourth, and most popular, I wore bread bags in my boots. This kept my feet/socks from getting wet if I had a leak in my boot. The bread bags were always longer than my boots so I was able to fold them over the outside and display the Wonder Bread logo proudly.
Now, my third graders, what do you say you toss on that North Face fleece of yours and the matching hat and mittens, and head outside to play? Stop trying to be cool, we all know my cousins and siblings and I have set the bar pretty high.
Monday, October 29, 2012
There Are Signs Everywhere...
Maybe I started believing in signs when the hopeless romantic in me saw this movie in 1997. Maybe it was earlier than that?
All I know is that I am a highly superstitious believer in signs and searcher for patterns in a usually random life.
This may seem like an over-exaggeration of my life, but it is not.
I once had a pair of Packer underwear. I noticed that each time I wore them, the Packers lost. Clearly it was the fault of the undergarment and not the professional athletes' ability to score touchdowns and hold the other team from scoring points. I threw the underwear out immediately upon realizing this pattern.
This season I noticed that our losses were due to the fact that I did not put my Clay Matthews jersey on approximately 1 hour before the game. Contrary to belief, the loss in Seattle was not due to the replacement refs, it was my own negligence that warranted the loss.
I see real signs and am superstitious about other things in life too, not just our professional sports teams. When we first found out the price of adoption and IVF (starting at $17,000 each), we were panicking about how we would ever be able to support such a thing. We questioned whether or not this was the right choice for us. Then, I made an extreme error when taking out my student loan for graduate school. I didn't understand that you weren't supposed to take out the full amount that they offered you. I didn't realize that they gave you over the amount one would need to pay for tuition and books. Imagine my surprise and excitement when I was issued a check for $17,000.
Crazy, right?
Well, there was another sign at my house this weekend (or maybe an omen). The girls were playing with the sno-globes in the living room. One was a snowman, one was a winter scene, one was engraved from our wedding, and the last one had four dolphins in it and it said:
Kate and Neddy
Family Complete
Guess which one broke?
When we got the dolphin sno-globe from Brent's parents for Christmas I was kind of sad because, really? This is all done? No more babies? I asked Brent's mom what she would do if I miraculously got pregnant at 40 years old (yes, it would be a miracle, but not a surprise because I know this is going to happen to me.) We laughed at the thought of having to buy a new sno-globe.
But now there is a sign.
I explained this to Brent and he told me I was ridiculous. Maybe he is just being realistic because we can't fit another body into our house, maybe he is just being practical because the reality of this being an actual sign that we would have another child is kind of silly.
Then again, this is the man that made me sit in the kitchen during a Packer game because each time I entered the living room something bad happened for our team.
This may seem like an over-exaggeration of my life, but it is not.
I once had a pair of Packer underwear. I noticed that each time I wore them, the Packers lost. Clearly it was the fault of the undergarment and not the professional athletes' ability to score touchdowns and hold the other team from scoring points. I threw the underwear out immediately upon realizing this pattern.
This season I noticed that our losses were due to the fact that I did not put my Clay Matthews jersey on approximately 1 hour before the game. Contrary to belief, the loss in Seattle was not due to the replacement refs, it was my own negligence that warranted the loss.
I see real signs and am superstitious about other things in life too, not just our professional sports teams. When we first found out the price of adoption and IVF (starting at $17,000 each), we were panicking about how we would ever be able to support such a thing. We questioned whether or not this was the right choice for us. Then, I made an extreme error when taking out my student loan for graduate school. I didn't understand that you weren't supposed to take out the full amount that they offered you. I didn't realize that they gave you over the amount one would need to pay for tuition and books. Imagine my surprise and excitement when I was issued a check for $17,000.
Crazy, right?
Well, there was another sign at my house this weekend (or maybe an omen). The girls were playing with the sno-globes in the living room. One was a snowman, one was a winter scene, one was engraved from our wedding, and the last one had four dolphins in it and it said:
Kate and Neddy
Family Complete
Guess which one broke?
When we got the dolphin sno-globe from Brent's parents for Christmas I was kind of sad because, really? This is all done? No more babies? I asked Brent's mom what she would do if I miraculously got pregnant at 40 years old (yes, it would be a miracle, but not a surprise because I know this is going to happen to me.) We laughed at the thought of having to buy a new sno-globe.
But now there is a sign.
I explained this to Brent and he told me I was ridiculous. Maybe he is just being realistic because we can't fit another body into our house, maybe he is just being practical because the reality of this being an actual sign that we would have another child is kind of silly.
Then again, this is the man that made me sit in the kitchen during a Packer game because each time I entered the living room something bad happened for our team.
Monday, October 15, 2012
A Mommy House
I like to rearrange my house a couple of times a year. It makes me feel clean and happy and like I can start fresh. It makes hubby feel uncomfortable and crazed but he lets me do it anyway. As of late, I feel more depressed than clean/happy/starting fresh...
Why can't my house look like those really nice, clean, decorated ones in the Pottery Barn?
How come those kids don't destroy all of the items that are set out for decoration?
Where do those kids put their toys so that their house doesn't have the Fischer Price Hell appearance that my house has taken on?
How come those houses aren't surrounded by STICKY and finger-prints? You think I'm joking? Every time I leave my house I feel sticky. I don't even eat breakfast. Sometimes, my kids haven't even had breakfast yet and they are sticky. Yes, I bathe them! They still stick! It's like it comes out of their pores!
Where are the Goldfish crackers on the furniture and why isn't there anything ground into the carpet? I think our vacuum cleaner spits out Goldfish behind me as it cleans because my house seems to be dirtier after I vacuum than when I first started.
I bet those houses smell good too! My house usually smells like dirty diapers. How do they do that?
I know some of you smart mommas/grandmommas will tell me that I will miss this stage someday and I probably will because that will be a sign that my babies are grown and out of the house. Still, wouldn't it be nice to live in a Pottery Barn for a couple of hours instead of a Mommy House?
Why can't my house look like those really nice, clean, decorated ones in the Pottery Barn?
How come those kids don't destroy all of the items that are set out for decoration?
Where do those kids put their toys so that their house doesn't have the Fischer Price Hell appearance that my house has taken on?
How come those houses aren't surrounded by STICKY and finger-prints? You think I'm joking? Every time I leave my house I feel sticky. I don't even eat breakfast. Sometimes, my kids haven't even had breakfast yet and they are sticky. Yes, I bathe them! They still stick! It's like it comes out of their pores!
Where are the Goldfish crackers on the furniture and why isn't there anything ground into the carpet? I think our vacuum cleaner spits out Goldfish behind me as it cleans because my house seems to be dirtier after I vacuum than when I first started.
I bet those houses smell good too! My house usually smells like dirty diapers. How do they do that?
I know some of you smart mommas/grandmommas will tell me that I will miss this stage someday and I probably will because that will be a sign that my babies are grown and out of the house. Still, wouldn't it be nice to live in a Pottery Barn for a couple of hours instead of a Mommy House?
Friday, September 28, 2012
What I Learned from the NFL Ref Lock-out Part 1
I have given myself some time to heal from the MNF fiasco. As you can see, we are huge sports fans at our house, in our family, and we usually take these losses quite hard...especially hubby. He can be found pacing back and forth wearing the carpet thin during a Packer game. He has gotten better with time. With a loss, he used to pout and act like he was just diagnosed with a terminal illness for at least 3 days and then he would move on just in time for the next game. As of late, he has been able to suffer in silence and then sees that there are much bigger things in life to stress about (he usually chooses gas prices or the ozone layer -- you know, things he can control).
I am not going to lie, I even felt a little gray cloud following me around in the morning. To make matters worse, I had to go into a room of 24 students. Going to my beloved classroom was not the hard part. The hard part was listening to all of them parrot back their parents' interpretations of the big game. Some parents are pro-Packers, some not.
Then came the moment of truth..."Mrs. Sanderfoot, how did you feel about that game last night?"
As teacher, I am supposed to teach these children to be open-minded and to accept others and to have good character. So I avoided the question with, "Oh my, what a rough game."
Yet, my buddy Nick pressed on, "But did you think it was a touchdown?"
I avoided further, "It was a tough call to make." In my head all I could think was: No it wasn't. It was so clearly an interception.
Nick still wasn't satisfied, "Mrs. Sanderfoot, did you think it was a bad call? My dad said the refs sucked."
I can agree or I can make this a teachable moment. And this is where I had an epiphany (good word, right?).
I had just read a book to my students about the Girl Who Never Makes Mistakes. The title kind of gives away the plot but the important lesson in the story is that everyone makes mistakes and we need to get a sense of humor about them and move on. Time for the"text to world connection."
Everyone makes mistakes everyday -- big and small. Now imagine that your mistakes were broadcast on national television and then everyone repeatedly analyzed your mistake for a full week afterward on ESPN and local/national news stations.
You would see that moment when my mouth can't find the right words, you would definitely see me falling or tripping up the stairs (Grace is not my middle name), you would see me lose my temper with my kids, and even forget to save my receipt from grocery shopping so that hubby could balance my check-book. While some parts would be quite entertaining for others, I would have to relive those mistakes over and over.
Now it is obviously easier if people admit that they made a mistake so that we can forgive and try to forget, but who likes to do that.
So that is how I explained it to my students. Hopefully I taught them a little about empathy and forgiveness. And it is a great reminder to myself each time I see that interception....I mean mistake replayed on TV.
Part 2 maybe later....I have to get ready for school. Have a great day!
t
Tuesday, September 18, 2012
Sweating It Out
Neddy had a doctor's appointment last week. I hate bringing my children to the doctor. They each grow horns and a tail the minute we step through the fascinating motorized-assistance doors.
Have you ever noticed that the doctor's office is always kept at a steamy 85 degrees? Why do they do this? It is so blasted hot in there and then I get embarrassed because my kids are licking the fish tank or breaking toys so I sweat more. Then I am forced to keep the madness to a minimum in a tiny room for 20 minutes while I wait for the doctor to grace us with her presence. This causes sweat rings to form under my arms and around my neck. I can't imagine what I look like when she finally enters the room.
This particular visit Kate decided to develop OCD and had to wash her hands 50 times. At her 51st request, I denied her and she threw herself on the floor for a tantrum that I have never seen before. She ended up in time out. A second fit started upon reentry to the world when she realized that we were at an appointment for Neddy and the doctor wasn't going to look in her ears. She went back to time out and then screamed, "I TIIIIIRED! I NEEEDDD GO BED! I NEEEED NUKKKK-EEEEEE!!" Awesome. Now the doctor knows that you still get a nuk. Get ready for dirty looks and a scolding.
Then it was discovered that Neddy had a red throat and might have strep. Why didn't I know this? Way to go loser mom. Your kid might be really sick which is probably why she has been so naughty lately. We survived the awesome strep test and then just whined and cried for the remainder of the appointment. Truthfully I got nothing out of it but an increase in my body temperature and lots of pit stains. I couldn't hear anything over the screams and whines of my children.
We went to the front desk to schedule an appointment for Neddy's 18 month visit. The nurse was trying to schedule me for the wrong month. I tried to explain. She didn't want to hear. I think she just wanted us to leave. Kate was pounding on the fish tank. Neddy was climbing under the tunnels of chairs. It was loud. I was sweating more.
Then came the unexpected. A boy came sprinting at me from across the room. He was the same height as me (which doesn't say much) but clearly a boy. Stepped into my "hula hoop" of space and wiggled his fingers at the base of my neck....and kept wiggling them....and kept wiggling them. All I could mutter was, "OH!"
His mother came across the room with baby on her hip and said, "C'mon. Let's go."
His fingers kept wiggling.
I grabbed his hands and said, "You need to go."
Then I stood there feeling assaulted and laughing to myself because the poor kid probably had sweat all over his hands.
The nurse stared at me and said, "Well! I guess you don't see that everyday!"
"No you don't!"
Then nurse number two proceeded to overreact, "Oh my! That is not okay! You must be so frightened!"
I figured that the boy was somewhere on the spectrum and I tried to explain to her that I am a teacher and have worked with many kids like that but she continued. I couldn't wait to leave. I started sweating all over again.
At first I was irritated with that mother for not saying, "Excuse us" or "I'm sorry" or even offer an explanation like "He has autism."
Now I understand that she was just trying to survive the doctor's office too. I hope her appointment went better than mine!
Have you ever noticed that the doctor's office is always kept at a steamy 85 degrees? Why do they do this? It is so blasted hot in there and then I get embarrassed because my kids are licking the fish tank or breaking toys so I sweat more. Then I am forced to keep the madness to a minimum in a tiny room for 20 minutes while I wait for the doctor to grace us with her presence. This causes sweat rings to form under my arms and around my neck. I can't imagine what I look like when she finally enters the room.
This particular visit Kate decided to develop OCD and had to wash her hands 50 times. At her 51st request, I denied her and she threw herself on the floor for a tantrum that I have never seen before. She ended up in time out. A second fit started upon reentry to the world when she realized that we were at an appointment for Neddy and the doctor wasn't going to look in her ears. She went back to time out and then screamed, "I TIIIIIRED! I NEEEDDD GO BED! I NEEEED NUKKKK-EEEEEE!!" Awesome. Now the doctor knows that you still get a nuk. Get ready for dirty looks and a scolding.
Then it was discovered that Neddy had a red throat and might have strep. Why didn't I know this? Way to go loser mom. Your kid might be really sick which is probably why she has been so naughty lately. We survived the awesome strep test and then just whined and cried for the remainder of the appointment. Truthfully I got nothing out of it but an increase in my body temperature and lots of pit stains. I couldn't hear anything over the screams and whines of my children.
We went to the front desk to schedule an appointment for Neddy's 18 month visit. The nurse was trying to schedule me for the wrong month. I tried to explain. She didn't want to hear. I think she just wanted us to leave. Kate was pounding on the fish tank. Neddy was climbing under the tunnels of chairs. It was loud. I was sweating more.
Then came the unexpected. A boy came sprinting at me from across the room. He was the same height as me (which doesn't say much) but clearly a boy. Stepped into my "hula hoop" of space and wiggled his fingers at the base of my neck....and kept wiggling them....and kept wiggling them. All I could mutter was, "OH!"
His mother came across the room with baby on her hip and said, "C'mon. Let's go."
His fingers kept wiggling.
I grabbed his hands and said, "You need to go."
Then I stood there feeling assaulted and laughing to myself because the poor kid probably had sweat all over his hands.
The nurse stared at me and said, "Well! I guess you don't see that everyday!"
"No you don't!"
Then nurse number two proceeded to overreact, "Oh my! That is not okay! You must be so frightened!"
I figured that the boy was somewhere on the spectrum and I tried to explain to her that I am a teacher and have worked with many kids like that but she continued. I couldn't wait to leave. I started sweating all over again.
At first I was irritated with that mother for not saying, "Excuse us" or "I'm sorry" or even offer an explanation like "He has autism."
Now I understand that she was just trying to survive the doctor's office too. I hope her appointment went better than mine!
Wednesday, September 12, 2012
Appreciate the Quiet
That's right, friends! I am back to school and have added a "hat" back to my everyday wear. That means my posts will be short and few and far between.
It has been an interesting start to the school year. We had some sitter conflicts on the first week back and my wonderful step-mother and dad took the little Reds to their house for a couple of nights to help out. This was a dream come true. I always looked at other families that have grandparents take the kids for the night or week and felt totally jealous. So when this opportunity presented itself, I jumped at it...and then cried my eyes out on the way home.
I am such a dork. I couldn't get over the fact that my backseat was empty of car seats and toys leaving behind only random fruit loops and crusty french fries. There was no Elmo blaring on the DVD players behind my head, and no one was shouting or fighting behind me. It was quiet. Was life this quiet before the girls? Why, oh why didn't I appreciate it more?
So here's the thing, everyone has always said, oh...your life must be so busy with such busy little girls! And I always agreed but deep inside I thought, not really. So maybe I am missing something? Maybe I am not doing something right?
Well, it turns out, life was CRAZY busy! It took my kids leaving for a few nights to realize that I didn't have to get up at 5 and run around like my hair was on fire to get everyone diapered, changed, fed, packed, and in the car by 7:15. I was actually able to watch TV, exercise, get a coffee from the coffee shop, and be early to work and stay late without guilt! It was amazing! And I did it two days in a row!
But the bad part was my heart hurt. It felt as empty as our backseat.
So I gladly went to get my girls to fill my life back up again. I was happy as a clam until somewhere in the car around the 45 minute mark of playing "hide-and-seek nuk" in the car.
Kate hides the nuk cleverly under her leg (yes, each time is in the same spot.) Then she says, "Momma where nuk go?"
"I don't know?"
"Is in oven?" (At home we always look in the oven first...)
"Is it in the oven, Kate?"
"Nope! Is at park on swings?"
"Is it at the park on the swings, Kate?"
"Nope! (giggle, giggle) Is under my weg?"
"Is it under your leg?"
"AAAHHHH!"
Cute, right? Until you hit the 45 minute mark of the game on repeat. Then you would want to jerk the wheel too! Why, oh why didn't I appreciate that quiet more?
It has been an interesting start to the school year. We had some sitter conflicts on the first week back and my wonderful step-mother and dad took the little Reds to their house for a couple of nights to help out. This was a dream come true. I always looked at other families that have grandparents take the kids for the night or week and felt totally jealous. So when this opportunity presented itself, I jumped at it...and then cried my eyes out on the way home.
I am such a dork. I couldn't get over the fact that my backseat was empty of car seats and toys leaving behind only random fruit loops and crusty french fries. There was no Elmo blaring on the DVD players behind my head, and no one was shouting or fighting behind me. It was quiet. Was life this quiet before the girls? Why, oh why didn't I appreciate it more?
So here's the thing, everyone has always said, oh...your life must be so busy with such busy little girls! And I always agreed but deep inside I thought, not really. So maybe I am missing something? Maybe I am not doing something right?
Well, it turns out, life was CRAZY busy! It took my kids leaving for a few nights to realize that I didn't have to get up at 5 and run around like my hair was on fire to get everyone diapered, changed, fed, packed, and in the car by 7:15. I was actually able to watch TV, exercise, get a coffee from the coffee shop, and be early to work and stay late without guilt! It was amazing! And I did it two days in a row!
But the bad part was my heart hurt. It felt as empty as our backseat.
So I gladly went to get my girls to fill my life back up again. I was happy as a clam until somewhere in the car around the 45 minute mark of playing "hide-and-seek nuk" in the car.
Kate hides the nuk cleverly under her leg (yes, each time is in the same spot.) Then she says, "Momma where nuk go?"
"I don't know?"
"Is in oven?" (At home we always look in the oven first...)
"Is it in the oven, Kate?"
"Nope! Is at park on swings?"
"Is it at the park on the swings, Kate?"
"Nope! (giggle, giggle) Is under my weg?"
"Is it under your leg?"
"AAAHHHH!"
Cute, right? Until you hit the 45 minute mark of the game on repeat. Then you would want to jerk the wheel too! Why, oh why didn't I appreciate that quiet more?
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