Bathroom Habits

            I’m so used to wearing maternity pants that when I went to the bathroom and tried to pull them down, I forgot that real jeans have a button and a zipper that must first be undone. I’m glad I didn’t have to go any more than I did or there would have been a puddle on the floor.

            Amazingly, this incident didn’t occur until about 2 in the afternoon; nearly six hours after I put those (non-maternity!) jeans on, and it was the first moment I had a chance to “go”. Crazy how I can be home all day, in such close proximity to a toilet, yet somehow I can’t find the time to get in there until it becomes an absolute necessity (emergency?).

            Due to the demands of my three beautiful children and household crap to finish, my toileting habits have begun to resemble those of a potty-training toddler; waiting and waiting until the urge becomes so intense that everything must be dropped immediately in order to make it just in time.

Thankful

 Thankful…….

For the wind through the trees

Feet crunching through the leaves

For crisp nights and bright days

Brilliant autumn stars and porch lights

For morning frost and cold cheeks

Fuzzy scarves and flannel sheets

For candles’ flicker and long shadows

Scents of soup and family’s laughter

Thankful for these basic things

All the joys that life can bring

Cravings

I love food. I love it to the extent that every time Matt and I decide we are going to cut back on eating out to save on costs, I start to crave any and all food that is prepared in any other kitchen but my own. At times I wish I could go back before we went down the road to discovering food. Back before countless episodes of Iron Chef America and Top Chef, back before the experimentation in our kitchen with new ingredients and new flavors, back before our date nights at far-too expensive restaurants with food that should have remained out of our reach. All these things have only accomplished in turning the two of us into what I can only dub as food snobs. Although I am still happy eating the usual home fare, I would much rather be dining on gourmet cheese plates, risotto, and steak au poivre.

But at this time, on our constricted budget, I will have to make do with the occasional late night snack of bread and cheese (read: baguette, garlic-infused olive oil, balsamic vinegar, and parmesan cheese), and dream of the day when I can sit down to an exciting dinner that will satiate the food nerd waiting within.

An Unhealthy Adoration of a Product

My original intention was to sing the praises of dry shampoo; an amazing product that must have been developed with new mothers in mind. It sure cuts down on the bad “mom ponytails” I’m so often guilty of sporting. I can take my dirty head of hair, spray in some dry shampoo, and look put-together in mere minutes without the hassle of getting baby into a deep sleep or getting older children distracted enough so they let said baby sleep.

Dry shampoo really is a remarkable life-saver I only wish I would have discovered when my other two munchkins were babies. However, with time, a downfall has surfaced alongside its many wonders. It works great on day-old hair. I’ve even had success with days two and three; yet, after this it seems that dry shampoo can no longer disguise the fact that my head nor the rest of my body has felt a shower of anything besides bodily fluids for an extended period of time. In fact, I think dry shampoo, along with my already fatigued memory, is causing me to lose track of just how long I’ve actually gone without a shower.

It’s hard enough to find time to bathe, let alone find the energy to do so. The last thing I want to do when time suddenly opens up is exert the effort it takes to wash myself; I’d much rather crawl into bed and dream about the day when showering will be easy again, then wake up, spray down my hair and be on my way.

Because of this, dear dry shampoo; it is with sadness that I must put you away. You have been a wonderful help, but it seems that you have become an enabler. I must set you aside now because you are only helping me deceive myself. It is time for me to shed my denial and go back to proper hair-washing techniques. Someday when I can exert more self-control, I will take you out again; but until then, I need to step out from under this fog of powder and once again embrace real shampoo.

Long Day

                What a long, unproductive day. I’ve given up. There is no way I am going to get anything done. Madison has contracted the ever-traumatic pinkeye infection. What started in one eye has now spread to both, with fierce itching, watering, and crusting over at night that only viral conjunctivitis can cause. With no hope from the help of antibiotics, all we can do is wait it out.

                Madison cried hysterically yesterday morning when I made the all-important decision to keep her at home to prevent the wrath of the entire second grade population’s parents. I somehow felt that I would be providing a major disservice to everyone if I gave into her pleas that “no one will notice.” Sorry dear, but there is no way to hide the obscenity of pinkeye, unless of course we somehow fit it into the theme of a Halloween “costume”, but considering we don’t celebrate anyways, I hardly think that is appropriate either.

                Not only is she being held captive against her will, she is also banned from contact with her little brother. The poor thing; you’d think I was the evil stepmother locking the princess in a tower for all of eternity.

                Add to all that some boredom and an irritating little sister and it’s made for some heated moments around here. I’ve done really well at not yelling too much lately, but today I threw in the towel and bellowed about the ridiculousness of their actions. After I got that off my chest and the girls commiserated together about how crazy their mother is, a sort of peace followed for quite some time.

                So for the rest of the day, I am allowing myself the freedom to stop worrying about the dishes in the sink and the unfolded laundry and the toys on the floor….ugh, I better stop talking about it or the battle in my head is going to start all over again.

Days of the Week?

So I was just trying to count the days....Wednesday, Thursday, October, November, December. Almost made it to January. My brain, or rather its absence, is really beginning to scare me!

Sinking....But Not Sunk!

    I don't know if there's anything more frustrating than being broke. It is always difficult to not have any money to spend, but moreso when it is self-inflicted through a series of poor financial decisions, particularly regarding vehicle loans, credit cards, and lines of credit. Slowly, but steadily those choices creep up in the form of higher and higher payments until all of your money becomes tied up in minimum monthly payments. Throw in an ankle injury resulting in lower workman's comp wages and an unpaid maternity leave, and you find yourself treading water, barely able to stay afloat.
  
       Determined to end this cycle and climb out from the massive sinkhole that is debt, you find yourself further inundated with ways to spend your money. For it is not easy to live entirely thrifty; it requries much forethought, energy and time to produce cost-effective meals at home, and somehow come up with entertainment to at least help from not feeling so deprived. More often than not, that means staying in and watching television, and being subjected to endless advertisements, particularly for fast food. I have come to realize that commercials are money well-spent for the companies who use them - they work! I feel most destitute when all I want is some "Good Mood Food" and I know there is no way I can get it.
  
     Feeling this way only heightens the struggle as I do not want to fall victim to the cunning of marketers; I do not want to be a part of our highly materialistic society, nor do I want to pass that on to my children. But as we all know, it is much easier said than it is done.
  
     Somehow, someday, we will figure out a happy medium where we are living within our means and not relying on credit to get us by, but for now we must live very prudently so that we may do so in the future. We must sacrifice now so that we can get out from under this completely and make sure we never fall victim to our spontaneous wants again.

Farewell to Summer

Pristine water - like silk upon my skin

waves crashing - roaring in, retreating

pebbles crunch - shifting under foot

warmth of sun caressing worries away

seagulls call, lazing on the surf

calls of children's delight - heavy pockets laden with summer's finds -

waiting to be taken home and put upon the shelf.

Back to School

School mornings are hectic! It doesn’t help that I am a night owl and mornings come far sooner than I am ready for. Or that my seven year old second grader has an extreme sense of fashion that typically goes against the current day’s weather patterns and school activities. Shorts when it’s 50 degrees? Dress with high heels on phy. ed day? To her, it makes complete sense; to me, it makes for a loooong morning that usually results in yelling (on both sides), pleading (also from both of us), tears, and running a good ten minutes behind schedule without breakfast.

Throw in a stubborn four year old who refuses to leave the house without a proper bowl of cereal and milk, and a newborn baby who needs to be nursed by the frantic mother trying to corral everyone out the door. Thank god my husband has the rest of the month off…. I think I would be crying in the corner without him, and nobody would be going anywhere, and we certainly wouldn’t be on time!

Breathtaking Exhaustion

So Tired….

Deliriously happy; sucking up the moments of sweet tiny baby cuddle time.

Overwhelmed by the frequency of newborn feedings (amazing how you don’t remember things like that even when it’s your third time around) and utter lack of sleep, paired with Madison's new school year and the structured routine that needs to accompany it.

Blissfully watching my big girls lavish their little brother with hugs and kisses, begging to hold him, and so willing to help out. My big girls who grew even bigger in a matter of moments when I first held our tiny little guy in my arms, shocking me with the memory that they too were once this small.

Jasper was born on August 23, weighing in at 6 pounds 13 ounces and measuring 20 ½ inches long.

Sleepless Nights

     As of yesterday, I am 38 weeks pregnant, counting down to my due date of August 31st. For a while there, I was starting to think that this baby would come earlier than my girls did; perhaps hoping is a better word. It has been a long, hot summer and I am ready to meet our little Jasper!
    I had an appointment with my midwife today and she seems to think that he'll probably be born pretty close to my due date since that is what the girls did. He seems to have settled in rather nicely, and in no hurry to leave. Since Madison was three days early, and Annabelle was three days late, maybe he'll actually be born on the 31st? So for now that means I must exercise patience; such a hard thing to do with long, sleepless nights and tired days.
    The following poem is something I wrote a while back, but it is pretty fitting of my nights lately.

Far-off noises, ceaselessly droning;

weaving in and out of range.

Times of deafening roars,

then loud silence swallowing me whole.

Ears ringing to loud humming,

trying to pull apart the sounds.

Crickets chirp and frogs sing,

the night itself is loud.

Dimples

                So many types of dimples exist; like the one on my husband’s chin that I fell in love with almost nine years ago. There are dimples that appear on a smiling face, and even dimples that surface on the back of a pregnant woman’s thighs during pregnancy and tend to linger long after.

                The best type of dimples are those that dot the back of a small child’s hands; one perfect dimple above each tiny finger. I’m not sure what it is about those precious little indentations, but they somehow capture the pure innocence of children.

                I have spent many nights admiring my girls’ hands; when wrapped in mine, their small size becomes more pronounced, reminding me to savor the moments.

                A sad day occurred for me when I realized my oldest daughter no longer had dimples on her hands. She is seven now, and growing ever taller and ever smarter. It was at least a couple years ago when I noticed they were almost gone; a time of mourning ensued as I dealt with the idea of my baby passing from a little girl into a big girl. And she certainly is doing just that; she is developing into such a confident, caring person, experiencing so many new things. Her first piano recital, first sleepover at a friend’s house, first week away from home without Mom and Dad, and she’s loving every minute of it.

                It’s wonderful to be able to watch her blossom before us, and it’s an exciting time for us all. Now when she is sleeping, I take her hand in mine, no longer covered in dimples but still smaller, fingernails in several shades of nail polish, and I envision all that we have been through and all that we will go through in the future.

                Dimples or not, her hands will forever signify my little girl.

The Unspoken Stages

                When you first imagine becoming a parent, you see endless nights of midnight feedings, mountains of dirty diapers, and unending but adorable loads of tiny little onesies playing out in your future. You are told how tired you will be and how exhaustig a newborn’s 24/7 needs are. Somewhere on the horizon people mention a little something to look forward to known as the terrible twos, a common misnomer since most often this stage seems to rear its head well before the second birthday.

                Alas, this is just the beginning. As soon as you even edge towards feeling comfortable dealing with your small, unreasonable screaming child in public settings, which is of course where tantrums always take place, this child enters a completely new stage, leaving you yet again astonished at the strange new creature developing before your very eyes.

                What most advice-givers forget to mention is that looking back, the newborn stage will seem like a sweet and quiet, almost dreamy phase of life and the terrible twos will appear laughably easy.

                Because as children grow older, they learn how to talk, and as they learn how to talk, they begin to attempt to reason with you. This leads to the tyrannical threes and ferocious fours; then come the flabbergasting fives, followed by the sassy sixes and sevens. As they learn new things each day, they begin to ask more questions, demanding real thought from their parents as to why things have to be a certain way. While this is of course an important part of their developmental process, it can at times be extremely frustrating. Eventually there comes a point in every parent’s life where, as much as they may fight it, or for as often as they promised themselves they’d never say it, the only response to your child’s gazillionth question as to why they cannot do something, comes the dreaded, “Because I Said So!”

                Thankfully all of these stages come with short, blissful reprieves where that beautiful, innocent child emerges from within and showers us with her love; reminding us why this is all so worth it and giving us enough hope to make it through the next trying stage as she attempts to navigate her ever-growing world.

Mind Games

          My age makes people uncomfortable. In getting to know other mom friends, the issue is always irritatingly present. There is no one way that people use to seek out this information. Of course, the most obvious way is to simply ask, but I have been bluntly asked by only two individuals that I recall, at least in the parenting world. Some make references to how young I look, with the hopes that I will spill the info. Quite frankly, the more someone seems intent on finding out my true age but is too afraid to ask, the more I withhold any information that will lead them to finding out. It has morphed into a weird little mind game that I’m really beginning to enjoy.

A more comical time occurred on a playdate with a new friend. The other mom was asking questions about my siblings and she was telling me about hers; she mentioned how far apart her and her sister were and I mentioned my husband's youngest brother was only 14 (at the time); instantly you could see her face struggling to maintain its composure as she attempted to calculate just how old that would make my husband, and therefore, approximately me. However, she was missing a key piece of the puzzle; how old my husband was when his brother was born. I don't recall specifically how she worded it, but she managed to get the question out. Much to her dismay, one of the kids ran up at that moment, and she never was able to steer the conversation back to the topic. I felt a small smile creep up on my lips, and a feeling of smug satisfaction remained with me for days to follow.

This may seem odd, or even a bit sick, but I assure you there is history behind this entertainment. On several occasions my age has lead to the end of playdates for my oldest daughter.  This particular occurrence involved a classmate from school; her mom and I spoke every day at pick-up from kindergarten, commiserating over how hard it is to let your oldest go off into the world, discussing the teacher, the school, etc. After a while, the mom invited us to meet at the park after school for a playdate since our oldest girls were such good friends and we both had younger girls around the same age. So I agreed, and the playground chatter naturally turned a little more in-depth than school pick-up chatter. We were getting to know each other, making small talk about where we were from, and for some reason I felt the need to be forthcoming, and explained how I had my oldest when I was seventeen. People take this one of two ways; either they are intrigued and ask a lot of questions or they are shocked and clam up. This mom followed the latter model; she could hardly keep the conversation going at this point, and the playdate ended shortly after. We never received another invitation to the park.

Not Your Typical Mom

I unwittingly made it my prerogative to go against the grain of the specific order of life events. It may not be the average ideal, but it is my ideal. Baby first, marriage second, then second baby, earned high school diploma, began college, and now soon to welcome third baby. =) 
              Welcome to my world....Somewhere in Between!