Manic Monday

I kind of hate Mondays. I know, it's the start of the week, I should think of them as the beginning of a week that might bring wonderful things.

Today is the start of the week that will end with me in D.C. with some of the most amazing women I've ever met.

On Friday I will board a plane in Toledo, ride it over to Chicago and then board another plane that will take me BACK over Toledo and on south to Washington, D.C. I will get to share a room with the amazing Julie and her husband and daughter.

Now, before anyone thinks, hmm, that's weird, sharing a room with a woman and her family, this is Julie we're talking about. She's the one who got married one June and the very next September invited me to stay with her and her new husband for a couple of weeks as I tried to find a place to live.

I was the maid of honor in Julie's wedding. She was the matron of honor in my wedding. I was the last person she slept with before she got married and she was the last person I slept with before I got married.

And before you all go and get those filthy thoughts in your heads, we shared a bed the night before our weddings because the houses we were sleeping in were packed. So yeah, sharing a hotel room with her and her husband and daughter isn't a big deal at all in the grand scheme of things.

But not only to I get the joy of spending time with Julie and her family, I get to spend time with some wonderful women who happen to be changing the world one baby at time.

So this Monday is the start of something great, even though I need to pack and finish folding laundry, and my kids are both hungry and need baths.

I'll probably always hate Mondays, if only because I have to get up early after two days of sleeping in (if you call 7am sleeping in, thank you very much, Olivia!)

I'm a sleeper, even if I don't get nearly as much sleep as I'd like these days. And so to me, Monday is the sign that my sleep is to be limited for another five days. Ohh, Mondays, you are so, so cruel with your taking away of sleep even as you bring greater things to come.

Play Date

Do eight year olds still call having their friends over a "play date?"

If so, that's what we did yesterday. Alyssa's best friend came over at 10:00, we carved pumpkins, at 11:15, I fed all three girls and at noon, my mom picked us up and took us to a corn maze.

Back up there a bit. Before S arrived, Tom asked why there were four pumpkins on our front porch.

I explained that since S was coming over, we had to have a pumpkin for her too. And obviously, I need one to carve, so with A and O and me and S, four pumpkins.

He didn't understand why we were providing a pumpkin for S.

I patiently explained to him that when one invites a child over for an activity, one provides the materials for that activity.

He thought that was ridiculous and was quite adamant that he'd never heard such a thing.

I told him that if asked any mother out there if they would provide a pumpkin for a child they'd invited to their house to carve pumpkins, every single one of them would say yes, you make sure every child has a pumpkin.

I don't think I ever convinced him that this is common practice, though, so I finally gave up and told him to leave the logistics of having friends over to me. I think he is happy to do so.

And yes, we let S take her pumpkin home with her at the end of the playdate.

The corn maze was really fun. Except that Olivia, who fluctuates between 35 pounds nad 337 pounds, refused to take more than five steps at a time and insisted on being carried the rest of the time. My arms are sore today from all that carrying. We were in the maze for about an hour, that's an hour of me carrying O from one end of the maze to the other.

My mom mentioned today that maybe it wasn't laziness and being spoiled rotten that made O want to be carried. On the way to the maze we talked about the couple recently in the news for getting lost in a corn maze for four hours with a five year old and a newborn.

Olivia listens to everything. She might have been scared. That makes sense considering the way that she put her head down must of the time we were in the maze. For all we know, she thought we were in the very maze that those people got lost in. And she is small, from her vantage point the few times I put her on her feet, all she could see was corn, corn and more corn.

I guess a little muscle soreness is worth reassuring my child that she's safe.

Alyssa and S had a ball in the maze. They were always at least ten paces ahead of me and my mom and Olivia. They led the way the entire time and were a constant source of amusement.

I'd say we managed to make yesterday a play date to remember.

Communication

Marriage is a lot of work. I know there are some fairy tale marriages out there where everything falls together, the fates are on the couple’s side and they never get on each other’s nerves or do anything that pisses the other off the point of wanting to beat their spouse over the head with a frying pan.

Alas, that is not my marriage.

We’ve had our ups and downs. We don’t really fight, so much as we make obnoxious comments to each other then glare for a bit and then leave the room to sit and stew in indignation for a little longer and then we kiss and make up.

Every baby shower I attend, when the guests are asked to give advice to the new mother, I always write, “Don’t make any decisions about your relationship with your child’s father during the first year after the baby is born.”

I write this because there are times in the first year that a child is born that the mother is probably going to hate the father. Now, this isn’t true for everyone, but it’s true for a lot of us and I think that new moms need to know this so that they know they’re not alone if they do feel this. Sure, it’s also nice if they can gloat when they don’t hate their child’s father but come on, misery loves company and I think it’s important for us all to know that we’re not alone, especially when we’re miserable.

Okay, lots of back story, there, huh?

260 words to get to the point. The point being a conversation that was had over the weekend. It started between me and Alyssa. She’s been asking for weeks to invite her friend S over for a few hours on the weekend. Each weekend before we’ve been busy and I’ve put her off.

This coming weekend, we’re finally free and so I suggested we have S over, get some pumpkins and carve them.

Tom overheard and immediately said, “No, don’t carve pumpkins so early. They’ll just sit outside and wither and rot.”

I shrugged and walked away. I hate it when he does that. When he steps in and, right in front of A and/or O and says that some idea I’ve had is stupid or lacks forethought. I just hate it. I think it’s demeaning and it undermines my authority as a parent in our household.

Anyway, I let it go because, yes, I’m passive aggressive. And I know that he hates it when I correct him or his thinking in front of the girls and so I try to avoid doing such a thing.

Yesterday, I decided that while I understand and respect his opinion, I don’t agree with it and I think that carving pumpkins with the girls this coming weekend is an excellent, seasonally appropriate activity. It’s supposed to cool down around here anyway, so the pumpkins aren’t as likely to rot in the coming two weeks before Halloween as they’d be if the weather were supposed to stay nice and warm.

Rather than just go about my business and buy pumpkins and carve them even though he expressed his wish that we not do this (it’s something I’ve done in the past, just ignored his opinions, I know, I know, so passive aggressive!) I sent him in email today that said this:

“About those pumpkins…

I know that you said you think two weeks before Halloween is too early to carve pumpkins but I took an informal poll and all the people I talked to (five of them) don’t think it’s necessarily too early. One even pointed out that we want to display the pumpkins before Halloween in all their carved glory.

And isn’t it supposed to be cooler the next couple of weeks, as in 50s or so? That seems cool enough that they won’t rot so very quickly that we can’t enjoy them.

I’m just thinking that since I’m out of town the weekend after this coming weekend, I’d like to do something fun with the girls and Alyssa’s been asking to have Samantha over for weeks now and this is so very seasonally appropriate. So…I guess I’m saying that I hear your concerns, I respect them but I don’t really think two weeks before Halloween is too early and I hope you aren’t mad at me if I buy three pumpkins and let the girls carve them this weekend.”

So communicative, so respectful! And his response was pretty much what I’d expected.

“Ok...pumpkins are fine...it is supposed to be cold for at least the next week.”

Such a guy response to my wordy memo about how I want to respect him but still have my way.

After all these years, I think I’m finally starting to understand how to talk to my husband. He wants to be heard, he wants to be respected. Just like me, he wants a voice in the day to day workings of our family. We’ll get there, as long as we keep talking to (or emailing) each other.

Bossy

Alyssa’s a good kid. She really is. She is kind and thoughtful and very loving.

Except when she’s not.

I know it’s hard to be the oldest child with a younger sibling who comes across to everyone who meets her as a frail, delicate little flower.

Alyssa’s trying hard to figure out her place in the hierarchy of our family. She knows she’s not the boss of me or Tom. She’s pretty sure she’s the boss of herself except when she’s reminded that, no, she actually isn’t. That’s always a fun little scene.

That leaves Olivia for her to boss around. But Olivia doesn’t react well to bossing and eventually, we are at the whole might makes right scenario and it can turn ugly quite fast.

Now, Alyssa is rarely aggressive or even deliberately mean. She often thinks she’s helping either me or Tom when she does something physical with/to Olivia. But it never ends well.

This morning, for example, as we were waiting for the bus, I was trying to get thins one clump of O’s hair to lay down. I’d given up on making it behave on its own and was trying to put a bobby pin in her hair even as she tried to get away because that’s what four year old do. It’s fun.

Alyssa stepped in, being the bossy big sister that she is, and tried to hold Olivia still. O got away from me and started to pull away from A. Alyssa used the fact that she’s bigger and stronger than Olivia to fling O back toward me, ending up with O on the ground at my feet.

Of course Tom and I reacted. We both snapped at Alyssa that such a thing wasn’t necessary and in fact, it was uncalled for. Alyssa walked away and sulked for a bit but I realized as I comforted Olivia, wiping mud off her hand and kissing the barely-there scrap on her palm that Alyssa hadn’t meant to hurt her sister.

She wants to help. She wants to be an equal to me and Tom. Of course, this can’t happen but we need to let her know this gently, kindly. We need to model the behavior we want her to show to her sister. When we react angrily to something she didn’t even mean to do, we’re showing her that anger is an appropriate reaction.

We don’t want that. We want to show her forgiveness and gentleness.

We also want her to remember how much stronger she is than her sister and lighten up on her a bit. We’re not a family who uses physical punishment. We just don’t. We don’t hit, we don’t slap, we don’t push each other around.

In the end, once Olivia was sufficiently comforted, I went to Alyssa and hugged her. I told her I love her and that I know she didn’t mean to hurt her sister. I reminded her that sometimes, we don’t even realize that what we’re doing is mean or can have unkind consequences until too late, which is why we need to learn to think about what we’re doing before we do it.

All’s well that ends well. They were great friends by the time the bus pulled up.

But it reminds me that I need to model better, kinder, gentler behavior so that Alyssa can learn what’s expected of her by watching me.

One Thing

Back before I had kids, I just knew I would be a great mom. I’d be so patient and always kind and loving. I’d do all kinds of awesome things with my kids, like decorating for each season/holiday with homemade crafts we’d done right at our own kitchen table.

Motherhood would transform me into an incredible cook, someone who can think of amazing things for each meal, things that kids love but that are so very, very good for them. My kids wouldn’t have fish sticks and Kraft macaroni and cheese for dinner. No way. They’d grow up eating things that are good for them like vegetables and whole grains and would have this wonderful relationship with food.

The television would be viewed sparingly (ha, this from the woman who can think of something to watch every single of the night of the week and we don’t even have cable/dish/satellite). My kids would read or play board games or puzzles. They’d enjoy quiet time and wouldn’t be whiny or demanding because their needs would be met even as I gently taught them that they can’t always get exactly what they want right when they want it.

All this was before I had kids.

Now? I yell. And I threaten, and I cook fish sticks and mac and cheese once a week.

And the television? It’s on. A lot. I’m not proud of this.

But I’m so very human. And I get tired and sometimes, I just want to cook those fish sticks and that macaroni and cheese in peace, without someone standing right behind me literally kissing my butt. So I turn on the television to get five minutes of alone time in the kitchen while I make a sub-par meal and pray that it’s all good enough, at least for today.

Back when I was imagining those sweet, soft-spoken, polite kids with their perfect mother, I never once imagined myself working outside the home as I gently raised these amazing children.

And that’s what gets me most of the time. The fact that I have to leave the house each morning as they’re leaving for school. The fact that my time with the girls is also the only time I have to keep the house livable, keep the laundry washed, dried and put away. It’s the only time I have to buy groceries and heck, it’s the only time I have to spend with my husband.

So I’m pulled in all these directions and it leaves me tired and cranky and so far removed from that patient, loving mom I imagined myself to be back before I had kids.

I’m not playing the pain/stress Olympics here. I’m not saying that I think stay-at-home moms have it easier. Nor am I saying that stay-at-home mothers are better parents. I know that neither of those statements are necessarily true. We all have our stresses, our pains. We all have our crosses to bear.

But I do believe that I would be a better mother if I were able to stay home. I’d be a better wife, I’d be a better homemaker. It’s a matter of time. If I didn’t have to be away from home for forty plus hours a week, I’d get so much more done.

The lovely Tiffany did a post a week or so titled, “Ten Things I’d Do If I Didn’t Work.” She came up with some awesome things.

There’s just one for me. I’d be a better mother.

Tuesday Confession

I love Dancing with the Stars. I just do. I’ve watched every single season since the first. I was actually upset the first season when Kelly beat John for the coveted mirror ball trophy and was so happy when they got to have a dance-off a couple of seasons (or was it the very next season?) later.

So, yes, I love DwtS. I even vote each week for my favorite dancers.

Now, let me be honest. I don’t necessarily vote for the star so much as for the pro. See, no matter who is dancing with creepy Mark Ballas, I don’t vote for them because I can’t stand him and the sooner he’s off my tv, the better. Though, since this is a confessional, back when Shaun Johnson, that adorable Olympic gymnast was dancing with creepy Mark, I did vote for her. Her cuteness managed to outrank his creepiness. But yeah, poor Shaun had to dance with creepy Mark.

Another thing I must confess is that I don’t always vote for those who show the most dancing ability. No way. That’s no fun at all. Instead, I vote for entertainment value. Last year, I voted for Kirstie Alley quite often because she was fun. She really enjoyed herself and she made me like Maks, which wasn’t all that tough because his season with Mel B really went far in making me like him. Before that season? He was just an ass. Mel B really seemed to tame his arrogance. She was seriously awesome and was robbed of the mirror ball.

This year, I have to say that I’m one of the voters who continues to support Chas Bono. I don’t remember hearing much about Chas back when he was Chastity. I think back then, she stayed out of the limelight. All I know is now that he’s Chas, he seems happy. Really, really happy. He’s comfortable with himself in a way that we should all strive to be.

No, he’s not the best dancer out there on the floor, but he might very well be one of the ones who is trying the hardest. And let me say here, his partner, Lacey isn’t one of my favorite female partners. She’s nowhere near as annoying and ick-inspiring as Creepy Mark but she’s no Cheryl Burke or Julianne Hough either. For that matter, she’s no Anna or Kym. But she’s not quite as self-involved as Karina, who is probably my least favorite female pro.

And yet, speaking of Karina, she’s dancing with my other favorite star of the season, J.R. Martinez. He’s a veteran who suffered severe burns after driving over an incendiary device. He’s also an actor and he’s proving to be an amazing dancer. He’s such an inspiring person he manages to make me overlook Karina’s crappy teaching/choreography. She usually choreographs in such a way as to make herself the star of the dance rather than the actual stars, her partners but J.R.’s so much more awesome than she is sucky. Yay!

I know, I think way too much about this stuff but it’s my brain, my time being sucked away for two hours on Monday nights. Tom totally makes fun of me for watching this show and I don’t care even a little. Obviously, I’m not alone since this production pulls in millions of viewers. Sometimes, I’m okay with being a sheep.

Superstition

I always worry that if I mention that O had a good potty week that we’re doomed to have accidents daily for the next month.

Or if I say that the girls are sleeping well, in their own bed (ha!) that suddenly, they’ll both need me right next to them in my bed, which would put me in the middle and I detest being in the middle for at least a week, which is too long these days for sleep issues.

Then there’s the thumb-sucking/hair pulling issue. If I mention that O seems to have stopped either or both habits, she’ll pick them both back up with a vengeance.

So I try not to mention any of the above, especially if we’re having a good run on any, some or all of them.

Yet, I want to celebrate the girls’ accomplishments. I want to shout it from the roof tops if either of them goes more than a few nights without drenching their pull-ups. I don’t want this blog to be all bitching, all the time.

And honestly, I know the superstition thing is silly. It’s just the law of averages. If we’ve had a good week or even month, by the time I realize that and say something about it, we’re probably due for a rough patch because that’s the way of childhood.

My nephew has had a sleepy few weeks. He’ll sleep for up to 14 hours a night. My mom mentioned that he’s probably going through a growth spurt.

I scowled. Why are his parents lucky enough to have a child who sleeps BETTER when he’s going through a growth spurt and I ended up with kids who have horrible sleep interruptions when they grow or have a developmental spurt?

Now, I realize the experts would probably say that it’s my fault that we have these issues. They’d say that I respond to my girls’ cries for attention too quickly. I haven’t taught them to comfort themselves.

To that, I say whatever. I honestly don’t think you can spoil a child by responding to their needs. Sure, it’s good for them to learn to comfort themselves but that’ll come with age and maturity. I do not think either one of my girls will still be crying out for me when they’re 18 years old and away at college.

Ha! Now that I’ve written that out for all of Karma to see, I’ll get a call at 3am in about ten years from Alyssa, who will be away at college. She’ll be calling because she had a nightmare and needs my comfort. See how it is with superstition? I should probably go delete that paragraph about them not needing me so much when they’re older. But I’m not going to because I like to live on the edge.

But let me stop here and say that for those parents who don’t respond to their children’s need right away, that’s not wrong either. It works for those parents and their children. It just doesn’t work for me. Yes, if my girls had different parents it might work for them too. But they’re stuck with me and I’m a responder. I can’t help it.

So I won’t stop responding but I also won’t stop bitching about how needy my kids are. I fully accept that their neediness is mostly my fault even as I reserve the right to resent that very neediness. I know. I probably need help.

But I also reserve the right to retain my superstitions even as I flip them the bird and write all about the girls’ successes. But again, I will probably continue to complain when we backslide because of my bragging.

The thing that has bitten my butt this week (rather than kissing it, thank you very much Olivia) is the thumb sucking and the hair pulling. She’d been doing so well for about four months. I kind of expected it to come back once school started but it hadn’t so much and we’re almost six weeks into school and so I thought, ahhh, we’ve managed to avoid that one.

Except we haven’t. Just this week, the thumb has made its way back into her mouth and the left hand is rising back to her hair. As of right now, she’s just rubbing her hair but I don’t think it’ll be long before it starts to yank again. And that saddens me more than I’d anticipated. The left side of O’s hair is actually longer than the right these days because I gave her a trim right around the time she stopped pulling and the right isn’t growing as fast as the left. There are these sweet curls around her left ear and I want them to stay. But I know this isn’t in my control and so I’m trying to let it go. I’m trying not to say anything when I see her thumb corked in her mouth and the hand at her head. I know she can’t help it and thus, I know I can’t either. But I’m so sad about it. Just so sad.

And while I admit that the sadness is partially about me, because I love her hair, I’m also very sad for Olivia herself. I know how badly she wants long hair. She wants it to be long enough to put into a pony tail, into pig tails, long enough for her to whine about tangles. She wants what her sister has, long girlie locks she can flip and curl and play with. But she can’t help the pulling and that just makes me sad, for both of us.