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Category Archives: Mommydom

75 degrees and sunny

Written on June 21, 2010 by Jennifer in Little Monkeys, Mommydom, Quirky Me

We just returned from a whirlwind trip visiting family, family, and more family.

I’m kind of family-ed out. I’m particularly in need of a break from two small humans named Carson and Ella. For a better part of the week we were gone, they drove me insane with their whining and crying and generally unruly, albeit typical, three and four year old behavior.

Now that we’re back home, I’m working on getting back to that mellow, grateful place where I don’t feel like locking them in a closet for a few hours. As they kept acting like jerks last week and I grasped at the the tiniest thread of patience that remained, I kept thinking to myself, “I’m a much better parent when…”

I’m a much better parent when they aren’t sleep deprived.

I’m a much better parent when I’m not sleep deprived.

I’m a much better parent during the day than I am at bedtime, particularly when very tired children refuse to go to sleep.

I’m a much better parent when my children aren’t hopped up on fast food.

I’m a much better parent when the kids aren’t fighting.

I’m a much better parent when it’s not 1000 degrees outside.

I’m a much better parent when my children aren’t whining.

I’m a much better parent when I haven’t been in a car for nine hours.

I’m a much better parent when I haven’t listened to the same Thomas & Friends video for seven hours straight.

I’m a much better parent when I haven’t slept in the same bed with one of my children for six out of seven nights.

I’m a much better parent when I haven’t taken a foot to the face in the middle of the night.

I’m a much better parent when I’ve had a few hours to myself.

Well, enough of this whining. I have 27 loads of laundry to wash. I also have 42,354 photos to edit, you know, to remind me of how happy and great my life is. Ahem.

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Stay behind me!

Written on May 18, 2010 by Jennifer in Little Monkeys, Mommydom, Quirky Me

I just got home from the grocery store with my two children. I know this is a blog and that I’m supposed to write about the minute details of taking small children grocery shopping because, oh the hilarity! But really? You already know, don’t you? You know that it was an experience that bordered on miserable, involved a race-car cart that the children decided they didn’t want to ride in seven minutes into the trip, and included lots of terse commands. No newsflashes here, let’s move along.

One of the tricks I pull out of my child wrangling bag of skills is to tell Carson and Ella that they have to stay behind me while I push the cart. Trust me when I say that when this works, it’s genius. The kids aren’t “helping” me push the cart, they aren’t standing beside or in front of the cart, I’m not running over them. Of course, I have to turn around every 3 seconds to be sure they haven’t been abducted, run away, or broken a jar of pickles, but otherwise, GENIUS.

“Stay behind me!” I said/chirped/yelled/blurted out/spoke through clenched teeth….about eleventy billion times.

There was one particular woman that I kept running into (not literally, but almost) in nearly every aisle I tried to navigate. We both happened to be shopping for the exact same items in the exact same aisles. I admit that I felt a tiny seed of irritation because she just always seemed to be where I wanted to be and I was already on edge (my children! were with me! while I was trying to grocery shop!). As I waited for her to choose her oatmeal so that I could choose my oatmeal, I didn’t huff or clear my throat or seem impatient at all. No, really! I was as kind and patient as one who was in my predicament could have been (my children! were with me! while I was trying to grocery shop!) I didn’t even let her beady, I’m-just-out-to-annoy you eyes affect me. Or maybe I just imagined her eyes to be mocking me, I tend to imagine that everyone is out to get me when I’m on heightened alert.

“Stay behind me!” I said for the eleventy billionth and one time, as I attempted to reign in the children. My eyebrows furrowed, my I mean business face firmly set, I made ever so slight eye contact with the woman.

“I’ll stay right here,” she said, looking slightly frightened.

It took me several minutes and aisles, free of my shopping buddy, to realize that she thought I was yelling at her to, “STAY BEHIND ME.” (In my defense, I’m not sure how she missed me saying this over and over to my kids.)

I panicked out of embarrassment. I raced the children up and down the aisles, looking for the woman just so I could yell at my children in front of her to “STAY BEHIND ME!” with an added, “I keep telling you two children (KEY WORDS right there, folks) to STAY BEHIND ME.”

Or I guess I could have just found her and explained the misunderstanding, but I’m only just now realizing that was even a possibility.

Please enjoy this completely unrelated photo!

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Mommyblogger crimes

Written on May 10, 2010 by Jennifer in Little Monkeys, Lucky Me, Mommydom, Pictures

I’ve committed two of the worst sins that a mommyblogger could commit.

Firstly, I failed at wishing those of you who are mothers a Happy Mother’s Day yesterday. Please forgive me, I’ve been busy being a MOTHER, so certainly you understand. I want you to know that _I_ know just how hard you work as a mom and just how little recognition that you get. I know all about the doctor’s appointment that you remembered to make for your kiddo (an appointment you made while you stirred dinner on the stove, broke up a fight, and changed a load of laundry). I also know that you can find almost any lost toy/lovey/umbrella/lunch box/shoe. I know that you remembered to pick up another gallon of milk and that you know that the macaroni and cheese most certainly cannot touch the strawberries OR ELSE. I know that you lose it sometimes and that sometimes you feel like you’re overwhelmed.

I’m really just trying to say that I KNOW about all the things you do and I’m totally impressed with your awesomeness.

Sin, the second, is a crime so heinous, I pray the mommyblogging police don’t come after me.

Three years ago yesterday, I gave birth to a five pound, seven ounce baby girl, which means that I didn’t write the obligatory birthday post yesterday for my baby, who ISN’T A BABY ANYMORE.

She’s my little girl, without whom, the world wouldn’t be as bright, my sides wouldn’t be so sore from laughing, and my family would be woefully incomplete. I cannot find the words to type in a single blog post that could even come close to conveying how much I adore my beautiful girl.

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Happy dances

Written on April 28, 2010 by Jennifer in Little Monkeys, marriage, Men?, Mommydom, Pictures, Quirky Me

Twice a year, my husband leaves his family to venture into the great outdoors to hunt for wild game. As he loads the truck with all his gear, I tell him how much I’ll miss him and implore him to drive safely. With Ella in my arms and Carson wrapped around my legs, we stand by the door, waving as he drives away. I wipe away the children’s tears and reassure them that Daddy will come home soon. Then we shut the door and I do a happy dance.

I love my husband, but I really love when he goes on his hunting and gathering missions. There was a time that I resented his trips, leaving me ALL ALONE with two small babies! I’d stew the whole week he was gone in anger and bitterness, and when he finally returned I’d practically knock him over as I grabbed my purse and keys as I rushed out the door to my getaway vehicle.

Now that the kids are older and decidedly EASIER, it’s really not so bad for Tate to be gone for a week.

While he was gone, we ate Bagel Bites and Mac n’ Cheese for dinner. (The Mac n’ Cheese was at least ORGANIC processed food.) The dryer became my closet because I never bothered to put any laundry away. Toys were strewn about the house. We watched movies and ate popcorn almost every night. After the kids went to bed I indulged in complete unadulterated laptop devotion.

Tate doesn’t expect that dinner should be served piping hot as soon as he walks in the door from work. He doesn’t care if beds are made, if the house is tidy, or if the laundry is neatly folded and put away. That’s just how we typically live. It’s what I DO on a day to day basis. Tate’s vacations are also my vacations.

By the final day, though, the wrinkled clothes, mess, and diet of processed foods have worn me thin. Tate typically calls throughout the day as he drives the ten hours home, and I find myself actually excited about his return. Also? Slightly panicked.

“Carson! Help! We have to get this house cleaned up before your daddy returns! It looks like a fraternity party gone bad in here!” I yelp as I look around at all of the granola bar packages and empty soda cans.

“Mommy, what’s a fraternity party?”

“Never mind! Just help me clean!”

All the toys somehow find their way back into the toyroom and their respective bins. I turn on the dryer and pray for the wrinkles to be released, then quickly fold the laundry and put it in drawers. The evidence of poor food choices are hidden at the bottom of the trash bin. My legs are de-furred (*wink, wink*).

We stand at the door and wave as Daddy pulls into the driveway. The children practically knock him over as they rush out the door to greet him. Then we come inside and we all do a happy dance for his safe return.

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Three positive pregnancy tests means triplets right? KIDDING. I’m not pregnant. Seriously. I’m not pregnant.

Written on April 12, 2010 by Jennifer in Little Monkeys, Lucky Me, marriage, Mommydom, Pictures

In my recent organizing madness, I tackled my medicine cabinet. Alongside expired Benadryl and An*lpram (what? don’t pretend like you don’t have An*lpram in your medicine cabinet, especially if you’ve ever given birth), I found the pregnancy tests from both Carson and Ella.

I suspect some of you just barfed in your mouth a little because, “OMG THOSE STICKS HAD PEE ON THEM AND I CAN’T BELIEVE YOU’D SAVE THEM!” Well, yes. Yes they did have pee on them, but they also were the first bearers of the best news I ever received. Finding these sticks was such a surprise, even though I knew they were in the medicine cabinet. These three peed-on sticks reminded me of what it was like, finding out that Tate and I would be welcoming a tiny, real, live HUMAN BEING into our family.

The first test I took when I “suspected” I was pregnant with Carson was only barely positive. Actually, I didn’t really suspect I was pregnant, it was more like hopeful, and I took the test earlier than they recommended. The line was so faint that I thought it was possible that there could have been a malfunction with the test. I waited a few (BRUTALLY LONG) days and took a second test that was positive immediately. Tate and I sat on our bed looking at each other and laughing and crying. We could AND we couldn’t believe it.

Then just 10 months later, another gift, another positive pregnancy test. Tate was in the shower while I paced back and forth, the stick in hand. I was almost skipping with delight, but every few seconds I would have a nagging feeling of WHAT HAVE YOU DONE, but mostly there was elation. It makes me sad that I don’t remember exactly how I told Tate, maybe I blurted it out as soon as he got out of the shower…or maybe I showed him the positive stick.

These already fading memories is exactly why I still have these peed-on, semi icky sticks. They are a tangible reminder of those two moments that announced the most amazing, frightening, best things that have or will ever happen to us.

I’m going to put them back in the medicine cabinet so that I can find them and remember all over again.

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Pretend babies for old ladies

Written on March 16, 2010 by Jennifer in Little Monkeys, Mommydom

Maybe because my 35th birthday and the looming ADVANCED MATERNAL AGE label are right around the corner, I’ve been thinking a lot about the possibility of more children. I realize that women have healthy babies every single day who are 35, 38, or 42. There’s just something about the medical community’s label of advanced maternal age, even if it’s flawed and ridiculous, that somehow feels final. It’s almost like getting a kindly worded letter stating, “Thank you so much for your contribution of children to our society. We are currently not accepting any children from the ADVANCED MATERNAL AGE group at this time. If you feel you received this in error, please contact our office at 1-800-WRINKLED-UTERUS.”

So many people have told me that when you’re done having kids, you’ll just know.

Well I don’t know! We’re probably done having babies. Maybe. Probably.

Before Tate and I got married and we used to gaze dreamily into one another’s eyes and imagine our future family, it always included two kids. We both grew up in families of four and it just seemed logical that we’d do it the same way. I can’t believe how extraordinarily lucky we’ve been with two healthy, beautiful gifts of children. A boy and a girl! What more could we possibly want?

Our family doesn’t feel incomplete. We are complete! Definitely. Maybe. Probably.

We have discussed having a third baby, in an abstract sort of way.

“We only have a three bedroom house,” he’ll say. “Children share bedrooms all the time. But I don’t think we really NEED another child. I’m just thinking out loud.” I’ll say, watching Tate’s face change from mild panic to relief.

“I love the name Chase, don’t you?” I’ll ask Tate randomly. “What about Georgia for a girl?” He’ll look at me sideways and just shake his head. “I just like to think about baby names, not for born babies, just the imaginary ones. Can’t a girl dream?!”

“Would you really want to start all over?” my mom has asked me over the phone. The answer to that is, no. No, I really don’t want to go back to nap schedules and sleepless nights (those will return soon enough with teenagers), or breastfeeding and high chairs. Our kids are so close in age, by very careful design, they both enjoy the same activities. Next year, they’ll both be in school at the same time!

Before we got pregnant with Carson, both Tate and I felt ready to have a baby. (SO HILARIOUS, I know! Ready! For a baby! HA!!) We were 200% certain that we wanted to be parents, it was something that consumed all of my thoughts. I didn’t feel any doubt as we tried to get pregnant. The doubt came as soon as the pregnancy test was positive and lasted until he was five months old. In the back of mind, I kept waiting for his real parents to show up and claim him. I wasn’t sure at all about being ready for a second baby, but we took an enormous leap of faith and on a whim decided to give Carson a sibling. We knew we’d never regret having another baby and grow our family, but there wasn’t an all consuming urge like there had been when we decided to start our family.

Now I have even less of an urge to make another baby. I don’t fully grasp why I even entertain the possibility! There isn’t just one, neat and concise answer. Many of my friends have three (or MORE!) kids. Maybe because they seem perfectly sane, even happy, that I entertain the idea in a romantic sort of way. (Ah! Cute baby clothes and wee baby feet! Gummy grins and sweet baby smells!) Maybe I want to keep up with the Joneses. Maybe I still have so many great baby names to use. Maybe I really enjoyed breastfeeding. Maybe I’ve lost my mind. My “baby” will be three in May, and then all of a sudden I’ll wake up one day both my children will be off to college and married with kids. At some point, the childbearing years end, but perhaps it’s THE END that makes me want to keep my babies babies, by having just one more.

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I’m so curious about how people make these decisions about growing their family (or not growing their family.) How did you decide to start a family? What made you have one baby? Two babies? Seven babies? Are you done having babies? HOW DID YOU KNOW YOU WERE DONE!!!????

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Four love

Written on February 18, 2010 by Jennifer in Little Monkeys, Mommydom, Pictures

Carson and I have been butting heads for the past few…well, actually forever. We go through stages where all’s well, but those times seem to be few and far between. The past few weeks have been particularly trying, to say the least. I keep not so jokingly telling people that I don’t know if Carson ever truly had colic as a newborn or if he was just born difficult for the sake of being difficult. Everyone reminds me that he’s only four, but sometimes his behavior is so disrespectful and shocking that I think, “Only four? No wonder I’m exhausted, I’ve been dealing with this for FOUR years.”

Today when I picked Carson up from school, his teacher told me that he had worked very carefully on their art project. He handed it to me, as proud as I’ve ever seen him, beaming from ear to ear.

“I made it for you, Mommy.”

I wonder if he knew that it was exactly what I needed?

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