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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.

*********

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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When what I really want to do is just cry

Written on February 3, 2010 by Jennifer in hole-y matrimony, Little Monkeys, Men?, Mommydom

I lay awake for hours last night, my stomach in knots, my head spinning, as I contemplated the State of our Marriage. Tate and I seem to drift further and further apart, both of us in the wrong. Or at least that’s what I should say on my blog since he’s not here to defend himself.

As the minutes of the still night turned into hours of a panicked night, I grew angrier and angrier as Tate seemed to rest easily, completely unaware that there is even a crack in the State of our Marriage. Maybe it didn’t even matter that he was sleeping. Even when he’s awake I haven’t felt like we could really have a heart to heart conversation anyway. I am continually on a quest to improve myself, as a mother and a wife, trying to figure out ways to hold my tongue and not break every marriage confrontation rule in the book. And yet he slept, soundly and without worry while I carried the entire burden myself.

I always do.

***********

I woke up in a sleep deprived fog and mentally willed myself to put on a smiling face. Carson was, of course, in his true form, mouthy and argumentative from the moment I whispered, “good morning my sunshine boy,” in his ear.

I read somewhere online about choosing a word to strive for as your goal for the year. My word is calm. As Carson’s protests continued, I kept repeating my mantra. “Calm. Calm. Calm. Calm.”

Humor sometimes helps to ease the mood and repair rifts that develop between Carson and I. His humor can be as healing to me, even though it’s in no way his intent.

“My elbow hurts,” Carson whined, as he had whined about every single detail of the morning.

“Well you know what that means, don’t you?” I inquired, as seriously as I could. “It means that I’ll have to saw your arm off.”

Concerned, Carson protested. “But then I won’t be able to hug you and daddy and Ella!”

I hugged him and told him that mommy was making a joke and just wanted him to laugh.

“But mommy, I can’t laugh. I’m too tired. And I’m thirsty.” WHINE, WHINE, WHINE.

“What would you like to drink? How about some beer?” I jested, hoping he caught my joke.

“But MOM! Only people who are OLD year-olds can drink beer!” He giggled. “Chocolate milk. Please.”

Before we left for preschool drop off, I tried to get Carson to take some cough medicine. He was not having any of it, claiming he didn’t need it.

“GOING TO BED IS ANOTHER WAY TO TREAT A COUGH!” he screamed at me as I chased him with the dose of medicine that eventually spilled all over me, Carson, and the floor.

***********

I wish I could say that the burdens and worries of the State of our Marriage and the lack of sleep and dealing with Carson’s four years of difficult behavior didn’t finally trigger my switch.

Calm?

Not this time. I lost my cool. I yelled, in a way that could not be described as calm or using humor to diffuse the anger.

Now I have even more to lose sleep over tonight.

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ONE of the last, but not THE last. This is an important distinction.

Written on January 26, 2010 by Jennifer in confession, Little Monkeys, Mommydom, Quirky Me

“We really prefer Miss Helen’s Dance over Jamison’s Dance Academy. Allison gets a lot more individual attention there.” A group of my mom friends were trading tips on their kids’ activities.

Another mom added, “Well we finally got Hunter and Taylor registered for swim lessons with that private instructor you told me about,” she pointed at the mom sitting next to me who nodded with fervent agreement. “It was hard to work around their soccer and t-ball practices.”

I sat and listened, trying not to let the panic stricken look show on my face that I’d strategically concealed with a Stepword wife smile and glazed look. Silently I interrogated myself. “Why haven’t I gotten Carson and Ella involved in anything! Have I totally crippled them as potential athletes because they are going to be way behind all of their peers in sports and dance and swimming??? How was I even supposed to know this stuff??”

My mind suddenly relived every sports related horror of my childhood.

…the time I fell in a hole on the soccer field my first day of practice when I was seven years old and the only kid who had never played before. (I never played soccer again.)

…when I was about nine, I decided I wanted to try gymnastics and learn how to do back handsprings and was placed in a beginner’s class with preschoolers. “MOM! I’m with the BABIES, learning how to do somersaults!!” (I didn’t go back, but it was the first time I was the tallest kid in class. So there was that.)

…I was always one of the last picked for teams in kickball, softball, basketball, volleyball, and EVERY OTHER PLAYGROUND SPORT IMAGINABLE during elementary school. (Please note I was ONE of the last, not THE last. This is an important distinction.)

…I didn’t make cheerleading in 7th grade because I was awful. I couldn’t do herkies or pikes or toe touches, or even remember two lines of a cheer, but whatever.

…For one season I was on my high school’s swim team, but the stress of the competition resulted in my wishing the school bus would break down on the way to the meets and/or praying for raging diarrhea so I wouldn’t have to compete.

The discussion amongst the moms continued. “We started Chloe in soccer when she was about two and a half up at that indoor sports complex off Water Road. It was a daddy-daughter thing and she LOVED it!”

“It’s so funny to hear you all talk about your little ones! I remember when Chase was that young and starting to play! It was so cute to watch all the kids chase after the balls. Now that he’s fifteen, it’s so competitive and I have to spend nearly every waking moment on the baseball field once spring comes.”

PANIC! My children are going to be behind and they aren’t even in elementary school!

Tate was always involved in sports, but I’m not particularly athletic. Coordination and game rules don’t come naturally to me. I don’t know if I would have started playing sports earlier if it would have made a difference or helped my confidence, but I do know that I don’t want my kids to be like me when it comes to sports. Even if they aren’t the best athletes, I want them to enjoy some sort of athletic activity and I don’t want them to give up without ever giving it a chance.

My fear is that if I don’t get off my non-athletic butt and start getting them involved, they are going to be very behind their peers in sports and dance. If most kids are starting soccer/dance/gymnastics/t-ball at two or three years old, then if I wait any longer to get them involved, they are going to be the worst players, the ones always picked almost last (or God forbid, LAST), or they are going to be the nine year olds put in the beginner groups with BABIES.

I guess now the thing I need to do is get over my phone phobia and actually call around to some places to try and register each of them for whatever it is you register kids for in the spring.

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Teaching them to appreciate art

Written on January 4, 2010 by Jennifer in Little Monkeys, Mommydom

When I was growing up, I loved spending the night at my friend Diana’s house. Not only could we stay up as late as we wanted and eat her mother’s famous mini chocolate cupcakes with pink icing, her parents didn’t care if we slept past 10 AM. Even though I usually lay awake in my sleeping bag for hours waiting on Diana to wake up in the mornings, I just liked that I could sleep in if I was able to.

My mother (whom I love and adore…HI MOM!), would stand at the threshold of my childhood bedroom on Saturday mornings and say something like, “Do you realize it’s 9:00? Don’t you think that maybe you should get up?” I grew up feeling guilty about sleeping in, and the possibility of missing out on a day filled with fun (and dusting) (and vacuuming) (and cleaning bathrooms).

In college, while all my friends slept until 2, or 3, or even 7:00 in the evening, I usually woke up no later that 9:30. Sometimes it was because I was the only one of us who actually had a job that I had to get to on time, but usually it was just because I could hear my mother’s haunting words, “don’t you think that maybe you should get up,” over and over again in my head.

I get it. I really don’t want to waste my life sleeping when I could be doing! True photographers wake up before sunrise hoping to capture the perfect shot, kind people volunteer their time, involved parents arise early and plan activities to give their children memory-making, educational experiences. These are all noble things that require one to BE AWAKE and not wasting their life snoozing in the comfort of a warm and toasty bed with 600 (+) thread-count sheets.

Can I be honest with you, though? Just between you and I, there really is something to be said for occasionally wasting your life in the comfort of a warm and toasty bed with 600 thread-count sheets. This became especially true once I became the mother to a very early rising son four long years ago.

As a baby, Carson usually woke for the day anytime between 5 AM and 5:03 AM. Sleepily, I’d trudge to his room, retreat the couch with him and the Boppy where I’d sit, feed him, hold him, and watch infomercials and black and white movies for several hours. Eventually he began sleeping really late and wouldn’t awaken until 5:40 AM. Those extra 37 minutes of sleep were glorious, though I really looked forward to the day that we actually got to sleep in until at least 6 AM.

So for the past four years, we’ve been a family that was awake by no later that 7 AM (SCORE! At least, comparatively). I wish I could say that I’ve spent those early mornings of these past four years getting up before sunrise and honing my photography skills or volunteering or taking my children out for nature hikes. I haven’t, instead I’ve moaned and complained and poured bowls of Cinnamon Life cereal while watching Curious George and Sid the Science Kid.

We lead a busy life, filled with preschool and outings several days a week. I don’t want to be lazy and sleep in everyday, but it would be nice if on Saturdays and Sundays and spring, summer, and Christmas breaks, we could JUST FREAKING SLEEP PAST 7 AM!!

On the first day of Christmas break, all my prayers (oh alright, my begging and pleading) were answered. I looked at the clock that first morning and nearly panicked when I saw that it was 8:40. I jumped out of bed and raced to the children’s rooms, frightened of what I would find. There they were, eyes closed, mouths open, breathing slowly and deeply, my two sleeping children. And did I mention it was 8:40?!

While this didn’t happen everyday, it happened enough that I started to hear the voice of my mother questioning if I knew what time it was and didn’t I think I should think about getting up. I quickly shut her up by justifying the extra sleep as make-up time for the sleep deficit I have incurred since 2005.

Now that I’ve taught my children to appreciate the art of sleeping in, I think I can successfully say I’ve truly accomplished one of my goals as a parent. Next up: teaching the children to do laundry, vacuum, clean their bedrooms, and advanced calculus. EASY!

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