Sugar

As I ate frosting out of a can by the spoonful yesterday afternoon to be eaten, I knew it was wrong. I knew I'd regret it. And not only because my pants would be that much tighter after the fifth spoonful.

Yet...I kept scooping and eating.

Just the day before I'd told Olivia that she was not allowed to have anymore candy until after dinner because she was going to ruin her dinner.

For lunch yesterday, I had a bowl of bbq potato chips and a coke. Later, I started in on the frosting.

I know.

I'm trying to teach my children self-control and I'm like a nine-year old set free in the grocery store with a blank check. It's sick.

The cherry on top of the vanilla frosting was the crazy sugar headache I developed yesterday evening.

It made me crabby and impatient and it was my own damned fault.

I need to grow up and learn the same lessons I'm trying to teach my girls.

The new year is coming.

Time for resolutions? Perhaps, but more importantly, it's a time for reflection and the chance to make changes that are necessary for healthy and happiness.

I'm going to try and keep that in mind.

Just One More?

Last night, Alyssa declared that she wishes she had two little sisters. Or perhaps a little sister and a little brother. Or maybe two little brothers.

At that point, I reminded her that two little brothers aren't going to happen since, well, see the already existing little sister.

She laughed and said, "Okay, a little sister and either another little sister or a little brother."

Yeah, kid, it's that easy.

And honestly? If I'd started having kids a little younger or if I were a stay at home mom with unlimited funds? Sure...I'd totally be all up for a third child.

Except there's that pesky fact that I turned 40 last month.

And Tom turned 50 back in July.

And we already have a child with a chromosomal disorder. Yes, I wouldn't wish her out of existence for anything in the world but we got so lucky with Livie. She's incredible and one of a kind.

I reminded Alyssa of O's first few months, during which Olivia cried and cried and took a breath and cried some more.

Do we really want to risk going through that again?

But it's so hard to close that door. Even at 40 years old, I wish. I wish so much that circumstances were different and we could go for it. I wish we could fill our house with fat, happy, healthy children who laugh and play and make me crazy with their needs and wants and silliness.

I wish so much that I could give Alyssa that extra little sister (she's probably be Camilla) or that little brother (Sebastian?) that she longs for.

Except...I think she'd probably be just as happy with a puppy.

Missing Size

Today is pajama day at Alyssa's school. She's always up for such events and so last night she pulled every single pair of pajamas out of her dresser in search for school-worthy jammies.

She did not want to wear a sleeper (her preferred sleepwear) because today is also gym day and she knew a sleeper would be too hot.

After an exhaustive search, we found nothing she deemed appropriate, so I suggested we go downstairs where we found a package wrapped and placed lovingly beneath the Christmas tree that said, "Alyssa, open Christmas Eve."

She opened said package last night, 10 days early, and found some adorably, extremely soft green pajamas with frolicking monkeys. (Fret not, Olivia also found a package under the tree that told her to open it on Christmas Eve and she, too, opened it early and found the exact same pajamas, but a few sizes smaller.)

Speaking of sizes, the pajamas in Alyssa's package were sized 10/12.

She'll be eight in about four weeks. Her size 7/8 clothes are getting short. Not so much tight, but short.

When I went shopping for clothes for Alyssa this past week, I was frustrated to find that sizing goes form 7/8 to 10/12. What are nine year olds supposed to wear?

Or how about tall, thin eight year olds?

It's insane and frustrating that we had to pin her pajama pants this morning to keep them up but if I'd gone with the 7/8, they'd have been too short.

Manufacturers of kids clothes? Where are the size 9 clothes? Do you think that nine year olds don't need clothes?

Seriously, this is insanity.

Or, wait, kids don't grow between the years of seven and ten and at ten, they have a sudden huge growth spurt. Right?

Except not right. Because Alyssa's grown at least two inches since the start of school.

So we buy big and pin the heck out of the waistbands. She hates the adjustabel waistbands they have out there. Which is not surprising. She hates anything that binds or scrapes or pinches or rubs in any way.

Maybe her next growth spurt will just put her into the 10/12 size range rather than catapult her right over it.

A mom on a budget can hope, right?

I really can't stay...

But baby, it's cold outside.

About a week ago, I woke up to find that the house was unusually cold. I typically have the thermostat set at a not-quite-balmy 71 and when I checked, the actual temperature was 65.

Brrrrr.

I called Tom and he sent me to the basement where I found a switch that I flipped and then flipped back and the furnace clicked on and all was forgotten.

Sort of...

Tom and his brother showed up yesterday afternoon to change the switch because they believed it was faulty. They thought that by changing the switch, they'd be fixing whatever had caused the furnace to go off.

They left last night at 6:30 and the temperature in the house was 66.7. But the furnace was running and the temperature was slowly rising.

It got up to 68.3 before it stopped and sank back down to 67.9.

I went down and flipped the switch again. It came back on.

I called Tom and we talked for twenty minutes, during which time, the furnace turned off again. I flipped the switch yet again and it came back on.

By this point, it was 9pm. And I knew I didn't want to have to flip that switch every twenty minutes all night long.

So I packed Alyssa's lunch, gathered our clothes for the next morning. Put a coat on a sleeping Olivia and bundled Alyssa into her warmest pajamas, her boots and coat and we drove the three miles to my mom's where it was a roasty, toasty 80 degrees in her house thanks to the woodburner they have in their living room.

It was like old times. Both girls slept very soundly and I was only a bit restless, thinking of Tom driving back from the old house to our new house with a heavy-duty space heater in an effort to make sure our pipes didn't freeze in the night.

He said this morning that the thermostat red 64.5. Not warm but not freezing either.

So he's there today, waiting for a furnace repair man to see what the damage is.

For all the bitching I do, I will say that he always comes though in times like this. He's good to us, in his way and I need to remember that the next time I'm angry about something he doesn't even know made me angry.

He's a good man. He loves us and takes as good care of us as he knows how. Sure, he's a guy and he tends to horde his time selfishly but when we really, truly need him, he's there, making sure that even if it's cold outside? It's not so cold inside.

And for that and so many other things, I'll keep him. He's ours, mine and the girls'. And honestly, we're lucky to have him.

Prep

As the snow and ice and freezing rain and blowing, gusting winds barreled down on us this weekend, the girls and I settled in and started preparing for Christmas.

Yes, our Christmas tree's been up since the Saturday after Thanksgiving, but the skirt beneath it was dreadfully bare, so I summoned up some patience and started wrapping presents even while both girls were running around. Which, honestly, is not a fun thing to undertake when they both want to 'help.'

Finally, Olivia realized how boring the task truly was and so she went and found a nice corner to poop.

I gave Alyssa the job of taking the wrapped presents to the tree. She decided my gift-wrapping skills were woefully uninspired and volunteered to attach bows to each present she transported to beneath the tree.

Later that day, we made sugar cookies and chocolate-covered cherry fudge.

Christmas cookies are one of those traditions I've brought with me from my own childhood even though I hate sugar cookies. The girls love them and even thought it's a horrendous mess to let them decorate the cookies themselves, I love watching them make that mess, so even as I'm scrubbing dried butter cream frosting off the table two days later, I call it a win because they had fun, they love eating the cookies (Tom does too, thank goodness) and we're all making memories, which is the best part of all.

Tom drove up fairly early on Saturday to stay with the girls (I hesitate to say he babysat, see two or three posts back) but honestly? That's what it was.

I was gone all ove four hours and he called me three times to see when I was coming home. He said that he was only calling because Alyssa wanted to know when Mommy was coming home.

And I believe him.

When I got home, Olivia snuggled up to me and told me at least four times that she'd missed me.

She spends nine hours a day at my mom's and never once tells me that she misses me when I'm not at Gram's house with her.

But...they're not used to being at home and me not being there.

This isn't even a vent session. Just an observation.

So my 23 year old step-daughter might be moving in with us in a few months.

Won't that be an adventure?

She lived with us for a few months when she was sixteen. That was...well, I was commuting, so I didn't have to deal with the situation much.

I will say that the stains I found on the carpet in room that had been hers during those months were disgusting.

She wasn't supposed to drink or smoke in the house. She didn't do that great a job of obeying that rule.

Tom swears things will be different this time. He says that she'll be told that her room is subject to inspection at anytime he or I feel it is necessary.

She needs a change. She needs to get away from where she is. We're away.

My fear is that she's a negative influence magnet. Or, she could be the negative influence. At least I know that there will be very few moments when my young daughters are in the house while she's there and I'm not.

My step-daugther isn't a bad person. She's just...adrift. She lacks focus and purpose. And I want her to have the change needs. I want her to have more out of life than she's had so far.

So yeah, we're prepping for Christmas with presents and cookies and fudge.

And I'm prepping for the potential extra family member in the house by writing lists of rules, lists of requirements and responsibilities and fortifying myself with the mantra: "It won't be forever...it doesn't have to be forever."

Unapologetic

The night we brought Alyssa home from the hospital, I couldn't put her in her crib to sleep. I just couldn't. She was so tiny, so fragile. I couldn't leave her alone in there.

So I snuggled her up against me, in the crook of my arm, where I could reach out and make sure she was breathing all night long.

That night, Tom warned me that if I let her sleep with us even that one night, she'd bee in our bed until she was four years old.

She was in our bed until she was six.

Olivia's first few months home were spent in a bassinet. She came home on a monitor to ensure her heart rate/breathing didn't go below a set rate and so it wasn't safe for her to be in bed with me.

She came off that monitor at four months and stayed in the bassinet for a few more months and then moved to the crib.

Alyssa was still in my bed at this time.

When Olivia was about a year old, she went through a horrible sleep stage and at that point, in an effort to get at much sleep as possible, I brought her to bed with me.

And...she's still there.

Over the years I've bitched and moaned about having to share a bed with my kids. And yes, there are parts of sleeping with them that aren't ideal.

But part of the reason I focus so much on the negatives is because I think I'm supposed to do that. I feel like I'm expected to hate having either of them in my bed. So I talk about those things.

I don't talk so much about how lovely it is to snuggled up to a soft, warm four year old every single night, to have her roll into my and sigh as she feels my hand on her hair.

The benefit of not actually having to get out of bed to soothe her if she happens to wake up is priceless. She doesn't wake up often anymore, but when it does happen, I love being able to just roll over, wrap my arm around her and know she'll go right back to sleep.

I work with several people who are very judgmental about sleep issues. I smile at that because of one of the most judgmental doesn't even have kids of her own but she's very quick to offer advice on any parenting issue anyone might have.

And so I skim over the reasons I'm not in that big a hurry to rush Olivia into her own bed and just say, "Yeah, she's a kicker."

Neither of my kids are going to go off to college and need me to go with them so they can sleep through the night.

Alyssa is consistently in her own bed these days. Sure, sure, her bed is about two feet from my bed, but...we're alone in our house a lot right now, and I'm not comfortable enough with the new house, new neighborhood to have them separated from me when Tom's not there. So I keep them close.

And I do not believe that I'm stunting their social/mental/emotional growth even a little. I think they know I'm here for them, day and night, always and forever. And I think, for my kids, that's important.

So we are unapologetic co-sleepers. Yes...I've said it. Finally.

It's Just Hair

That's what I've been telling myself lately about Olivia's hair-pulling habit.

It's just hair. It will grow back.

See, her hair has gotten long enough that she's taken to pulling it out on the left side again.

My dad asked me just a couple of days ago if we were going to cut her hair again.

No...we're not. Not yet anyway.

We're letting it go.

I've let it go.

I don't stress over the pulling these days. I've reached a place of peace.

I don't harp at her to not pull on it. I think that telling her not to pull causes her more stress so I'm trying to live a less stressful life by not worrying about the state of O's hair.

Right now, the right side is showing signs of regaining the curl we buzzed out of it. The left side? Is very, very short since that's the side she can't leave alone.

But honestly? If this is her greatest challenge, I think we should consider ourselves lucky. I know that physical appearance can lead to teasing but I also hope that we can instill a confidence in her that will help her deal with any teasing that might come up.

Yesterday, my mom took O to Alyssa's school for "Grand-Friends Day." While sitting in the bleachers waiting for the students to arrive for the program, Olivia started sucking her thumb.

The lady sitting next to O and my mom asked with a smile, "What is that in your mouth?"

Olivia yanked her thumb out of her mouth and turned her face into my mom's shoulder. My mom reports that Olivia didn't suck her thumb once during the rest of the program.

Hey, if that's what it takes...I really believe the hair pulling is related to the thumb sucking.

Of course, I could very well be prove wrong once the thumb sucking stops. And truly? I'm not sure that will be gone permanently for awhile now. We'll see.

But I'm glad for this moment of peace about the hair. I'm glad that I don't stress over it and I'm glad I'm not stressing her over it. I want her to be a happy child, not one riddled with anxiety. If this one thing can be taken off her plate, I'm happy to help anyway I can. I am her mom, after all.