And this is why we dont go out to dinner anymore

Tonight was the first night in a long time that we went out to dinner at a nice restaurant with all the kids. I had said to my husband I don’t think we have been out to eat since Rylan was born. We hadn’t. We should. Let’s. We went to our favorite place. A small Italian restaurant that we had been going to for years until recently. I made sure that Rylan took a nice long nap before we went. I fed him right before we headed out the door. Seark had also napped and woken up in a good mood. I gathered toys for the older boys to play with at the table and teething toys for Ry. We planned to go to dinner at 5:00. That way we would be home by the kids bed time. I’m usually not one to keep a strict schedule but something happens to my children around 8pm. It’s like they turn into gremlins. I’m used to it. Doesn’t bother me…. As long as we are home. If we are home when the tide turns I can simply put them to bed. If we are out, well if we are out it is safe to say we will be doing the walk of parental shame out of whatever fine dining establishment we are at.

Everyone had a nap. CHECK

Everyone has a toy. CHECK

Rylan has been fed. CHECK

We are good to go. We actually get everyone dressed ready and out the door on time. We haha, correction I. My husband is home but he is not an active participant in getting the kids ready. It really is amazing that I can get myself ready. Get clothes out for Aidan. Get Seark dressed. Get Rylan dressed and fed. Get everyone out the door and buckled into their seats in the same amount of time it takes Jason to get just himself ready.

 Everyone behaves in the car on the way to the restaurant. There is no wait for a table. The food comes quickly. BAM Rylan is suddenly unhappy. Of course he is the food just came to the table. I bounce him, rock him, sing to him, give him a toy, another toy. Oh damn it he must be hungry again. Although I have no problem nursing in public I don’t love it in very busy close quarters. Mostly because I am completely awkward at getting Ry in the right position when there is not much room to move. I decide to take him to the car to feed him. Of course if I am going anywhere with the baby Seark also has to come. So Seark, Rylan and I are all going out to the car together to feed Rylan while my food gets cold. For once Rylan eats quickly and we head back inside. I get Seark situated. Get myself and Ry situated. Ok great time to eat.

Mommy I have to pee. (sigh) Hand Ry to my husband. Get Seark out of his seat. Take him to the bathroom. Most of the time this is just a practice run. Seark rarely has to use the bathroom while we are out but he likes to visit each one. Wash his hands. Use the hand dryer. Several times. And yes another practice run. By the time we get to the bathroom he no longer has to go but would like to wash and dry his hands.

Back to the table. Rylan is now crying because someone other than me held him for 5 minutes. Get Seark back in his seat. Cut up his food. Calm Ry down. At this point Aidan and Jason are more than half way through their meal and I have yet to touch mine, I pick up my fork and cut one piece of shrimp in half.

Mommy I have to do poopie. Oh Seark are you kidding me we just came from the bathroom! MOMMY I HAVE TO DO POOPIE. Okay. Okay. Back to the bathroom it is. I have learned the hard way that even though this may be another false alarm I better take him. And false alarm it is. Nonetheless we must once again wash and air dry our hands.  

Back to the table. Rylan is hysterical. Get Seark situated again. Calm Rylan down. Eat a few bites of cold shrimp.

Mommy I have to poopie NOW! Seriously Seark?! Seriously! MOMMY I HAVE TO POOPIE NOW!!! NOW NOW NOW! This time he actually had to go…

And now I remember this is why we don’t go out to dinner anymore. I love these boys but good Lord I miss dinner. I miss going out to dinner and just sitting down and talking and eating (hot food). I miss the days when I did not know what the inside of every bathroom everywhere we went looked like. I miss talking about adult stuff. I miss not lugging around a bag full of crap. I feel like a magician and my audience of three is always waiting for me to pull something spectacular out of my bag like a rabbit just so they have something cool to do during dinner, because just eating would be ridiculous. The irony in all of this is before I had kids I would fuss over other peoples babies while we were out waiting for the day I had my own. And in a few year I will be again able to go out and just enjoy dinner. When that day comes I will be missing days like today wondering where the time went and wishing my boys were still babies. Who doesn’t love cold shrimp anyway?

Until we meet again

Six years ago my sister in law and I waged a war of words against each other in the most public of arenas. Facebook. Each of us had a stockpile of bitter previously unspoken feelings that we would use as weapons of mutually assured destruction. Friends and family watched this epic battle unfold. Like all wars there were no victors, only deeply wounded warriors. After we had cut each other down we raised our flags. Surrendering. Knowing no further damage was possible. Both fresh out of ammunition. We severed ties. Deleting each other from facebook, erasing our words, and each other from one another’s lives.

Days. Weeks. Months. Eventually years 5 of them to be exact went by. We had no contact. No involvement in each other’s lives. Babies were born with no congratulations sent or received. Excluding each other from weddings and other significant life events. We moved on in separate directions and never looked back. Time widened the gap and the wedge we had driven between us. Both firm in our resolve that we were right remained unapologetic. Accepting that there was no going back.

Until…. I overheard my father in law saying that my estranged sister in law had been diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. PANCREATIC CANCER. My heart sank. For the first time in 5 years the grudge that I had held onto with such conviction seemed ridiculous. Pointless. That night I got on the computer. Opened facebook. Checked the unblock button next her name. Pulled up her profile page and clicked on message. I sat there staring at the blank message box for what felt like hours. I spent the next few days typing, deleting, typing, and again deleting. I felt like I had so much to say… too much for words.

I finally sent her a message. She replied almost immediately. We made our peace. With that peace I also felt the sting of my decision to cut her out of my life. My children had never met her and now would not have the opportunity. Five years of missed opportunities. Too much to think about. Too many would have, could have, should haves on both sides.

We made our peace and spent much of the last year catching up. Filling one another in our lives. Exchanging photographs, I love you’s and apologies. Forgiving each other and ourselves. We used our words this time to repair, to rebuild, to make our peace, and I thank God we did. Today my sister in law passed away. My heart is heavy. There is so much I have to say. Too much for words. At times like these words often fail me and feel inadequate.

If I could send her one more message I don’t know what I would say so … until we meet again…<3 

Ruin your day with tits

    First and foremost my sincerest apologies to the guy I flashed at lunch. Today my husband and I went to the Cheesecake Factory for lunch with just Rylan. Ry fell asleep on the car ride there. Slept the 25 minutes we waited for our table. Woke up happy and was amused by his reflection in the mirror behind me for the 20 minutes we were sitting before our food was brought to the table. Now the Cheesecake Factory is not the most kid friendly place. They don't allow you to bring a stroller to the table. You are sitting ridiculously close to the diners next to you. Normally that is just annoying if you are breastfeeding it is not practical. So Ry went from sleepy, to happy, to inevitably HUNGRY. I swear it was the second that my steaming hot soup was set in front of me that he started crying. I rocked him, patted his back, sung in his ear, all while he sucked on my shoulder as if the milk might magically come out of a new spot. Although I have nursed in public many times before, after all this is my third breast fed baby I could feel my anxiety level slowly rising. I could already see my husband getting nervous and fidgeting around as if he was the one that was going to have to figure out how to get his boob out and discreetly feed this baby in the tight and frankly claustrophobic quarters. Yes my nursing in public makes my husband very uncomfortable.

At this point Rylan is no longer just complaining he is screaming. Drawing more and more attention to our table. Instantly you can spot who's a mom and who's not. The moms look on with empathy. The ones who aren't look on in annoyance. There weren't many moms dining out today. I get out my muslin blanket which I normally TIE SECURELY around my bra strap and use as a make shift nursing cover. Rylan's shrills were reaching new heights as was my anxiety so I just haphazardly stuck the blanket under my strap, covered his head and got my boob out. There was no one sitting next to us on the right at this point which made things easier for the time being. He started nursing and all was good. He was quiet. Drifting off to sleep. I let out a big sigh of relief. Just then I looked up to see that two young guys were being sat at the table next to us. I thought to myself thank god they weren't here a minute ago. The one guy sits down next to me and smiles. I smile back. With that our waiter bangs a glass down on our table. Rylan rips his back and pulls the blanket down in one swift swoop. Inches away from the 20 something year old guy with my breast fully exposed. The face that only seconds ago adorned a warm inviting smile now looked more like a deer in head lights as did my husband and the waiter and myself. I covered up as quickly as you can when you are holding a 22 pound 6 month old squirming baby in seriously close proximity to a hot bowl of soup and a stranger. Rylan of course started screaming again. He wasn't finished just startled and now pissed. No words were exchanged. The guy I flashed simply pretended there was an invisible wall up between the two of us for the duration of the time we were there. My husband inhaled his food at warped speed, asked for the check and handed over a credit card before the waiter could even get the bill. We paid and left. In the parking lot my husband says "god that was awkward huh?" All I could think was REALLY?!?!? Was that awkward for YOU!?!? I am so sorry I ruined your day with tits.

Just put a band aid on it

Kids go through phases. Some go through the "I don't want to bathe" phase. The "all I will eat is chicken nuggets" phase. Seark went through the "all I can wear on my feet is crocs" phase. He has out grown that and moved on to the "I need to wear a band aid across my forehead" phase. Not just any band aid. A hot pink and purple Dora and Boots band aid. He has no boo boo. It is not covering or hiding anything. Nonetheless he "needs" to wear this band aid. Everywhere we go people ask him what happened. He says nothing just rubs his band aid. They ask me and sometimes I lie just because it's easier to say he bumped his head.
We were on our way to dinner tonight and my husband wanted Seark to take the band aid off before we got to the restaurant. He asked him nicely. He bribed him, begged him, and threatened him. Seark much like his mama is unfortunately not easily persuaded when he has his mind made up about something. He never even once considered taking it off. My husband brought him over to the mirror and said look… it looks ridiculous. When you get home you can put a new one on. You don't want to look like that when we go out, do you? Seark being a boy of few words just nodded yes. Not yes we can take it off and put a new one on later. Yes I want to look like this when we go out.
My husband kept asking me to take it off of him. Tell him he would get in trouble if he didn't. I of course told my husband no. The band aid doesn't bother me. If he wants to wear it for the next month it won't bother me. I don't care what other people think. I like that Seark doesn't either. There is a very finite amount of time in our lives that we get to be our self… unhindered. A small window when we do and look how we want no matter how ridiculous because the idea of conformity is still foreign. Why rush that? In a few years Seark will be in school. Every day he will have to wear a uniform. He will be consciously aware that you need to take into consideration the opinions of others of you want to fit in. In gaining that awareness he will lose a little of what makes him, well him. As much as that is not what I want for any of my kids it is a fact of life. Aidan went through a cowboy boot wearing phase. If his friends didn't think they were so ridiculous I bet he would still wear them. At some point the want to be accepted trumps our need for individuality. In a perfect world there would be no fitting in. There would be acceptance. I know that probably sounds crazy to some but just imagine if everyone was free to be exactly what they wanted to without fear of being ostracized because they are too "out there". The world may be a little stranger but I bet a lot more interesting and a lot happier. I hope that in some way, someday I can help my kids find a way to express themselves exactly the way they want to in a world full of judgments'. If nothing else they will always know I accept them just as they are hot pink band aids, cow boy boots and all.

"Pie and Lattes"

"Pilates? Oh heavens no. I thought you said pie and lattes"

Sound familiar? Unfortunately it does to me. There was a time in my life I was fit and thin and looked good. Of course at that time I was young. The young take most for granted. Had you told me that when I was young I would have said you were wrong. I probably did. I'm still (relatively) young but not 20 young. I'm old enough now to know that I should have appreciated that time instead of wasting it wanting to be… something… more. Skinnier. Prettier. Whatever. Fill in your own blank.

I got pregnant when I was 25. If I thought I had body issues before nothing could have prepared me for the new body a baby would give me. Things were different. I had gained an obscene amount of "baby" weight. Truthfully I had gained a ton of Ben & Jerry's weight. I ate like a pint a night. I wish that was an exaggeration. It's not. A pint a night. Obscene. I got what some refer to as stretch marks. Mine were more like clawed by a wild animal marks. I expected to get them on my belly, not on my thighs, hips, ass, you name it, it stretched and it showed.

Aidan's birth was traumatic and took me months to recover from physically. During these months of recovery I continued my late night affair with, yes, both Ben & Jerry. So all in all I had gained about 65 pounds during my pregnancy and then another 20 during the year after. 85 pounds. I had gained 85 pounds. My oldest son weighs about that much now and I cannot believe that I carried around enough extra weight to be lugging my son at his current weight on my back all day every day. No wonder I felt like shit! I cannot even lift Aidan now.

At some point I decided I was unhappy and unhealthy and something had to be done. I went to weight watchers. It's like AA for overeaters. I loved it. It worked for me. I was starting to lose weight and finally feel good about myself when I got pregnant with Seark. I had lost about 50 pounds so I was still 35 pounds overweight and now pregnant. I was determined to not gain a ton a weight this time like I had with my last pregnancy. I didn't. I gained 30 pounds. 30 on top of the already 35 that I hadn't lost so I was again 65 pounds overweight. Seark was born via c-section. If I thought I was in shock over what a regular pregnancy had done to my body well the post c-section belly did not hold a candle to that. After a c-section there is not really much that you can do for about 8 weeks, and even after that speaking only for myself I was very hesitant to do too much because I was afraid that I would tear something. By the time it was safe to really work out I had gained more weight and just didn't feel like it. "Pilates? Oh heavens no."

I was 30 years old and 100 pounds overweight. Yes 100 pounds overweight. I am also only 5'2". An extra 100 pounds on a frame that small might as well be 1000 pounds. So I set out on a mission to lose weight. I ate healthy. I exercised like it was nobody's business. I lost weight. A lot of it. From one October to the next I was down almost the whole 100 pounds! I looked and felt better than I had in years. Which apparently meant that I needed to get pregnant again. With this pregnancy I had worked entirely too hard to let it all go. I was determined to not repeat history and I did not. Although I will tell you there is no such thing as a pregnant girl on a diet. I did eat healthy and kept up with my new habits. I continued to exercise regularly and even ran my first 5k while I was 3 months pregnant.

Having already had a c-section I knew what to expect in terms of the healing process and how everything looks or doesn't. My skin had been stretched to the max two times before so even the new stretch marks although disappointing were not earth shattering. I honestly bounced back fairly quickly this time. I hadn't gained much and I lost most of it right off the bat. Then the winter came. We got snow and lots of it. I was stuck in the house with three kids for longer than any single person should be. To pass time we baked cookies. I ate them. We watched movies and drank hot chocolate. Exercise was walking upstairs to put the kids to bed. Oh god it was happening again. I was falling back into my old ways. That's where the beauty of hindsight comes in. If I let this pattern continue I already know what the end result will be. An unhappy me with too much work to do to get back to a happier me.

SO I didn't let it get there. I got back on track and am still working at it. Here are some things that I have learned about me. I like yoga pants way more than I like yoga. I will never be skinny. I don't need to skinny to be happy. I don't see my stretch marks as tiger stripes that I wear like a medal of honor. I do see them as something that will always represent a very remarkable time in my life. I would rather have a tattoo to commemorate that period in time (which I also have) but Mother Nature intended it this way and I'm okay with that. My belly button has been to hell and back with these three pregnancies and at this point looks sad, kind of like a frown. I'm okay with that too. I am critical of myself but in a different way I was when I was 20. When I was 20 I would look at a model in a magazine and wanted to look like her. Now I like me enough to just want to be the best version of me. I will never be perfect. I don't know anybody that is. When I meet someone who appears to be very close to perfect I find them highly suspect. I don't want people to always be suspicious of me. All kidding aside my body has done amazing things. The only way to repay it is to treat it well and in return it will show that I have done so. I'm not perfect. I like the skin I'm in and on days I'm feeling like I don't I will throw on my yoga pants because they hide lot.

Mom, Mom, Mom

MOM!!!! COME GET SEARK

MOM!!!! SEARK IS TOUCHING MY STUFF

MOM!!!! SEARK IS LOOKING AT ME

MOM!!! MOM!!!! MOM!!! DO YOU HEAR ME MOM?!?!?!?!?

 My reply to Aidan: Yes of course I can hear you!!! You are only five feet away from and you are SCREAMING. Maybe you didn’t notice the phone next to my ear. Yes there is someone on the other line. No its not Daddy. Just be quiet for two minutes!!!

To the accountant on the phone: I’m so sorry. My kids needed me for a second. What were you saying?

Just as the accountant starts to finish her sentence Seark comes flying by me in tears SCREAMING, CRYING! Aidan is not even two steps behind. I didn’t come to get Seark fast enough so Aidan took it upon himself to chase Seark out of the toy room with a booger on his finger. At this point I cannot hear a thing the woman on the other end is saying. I shoot Aidan that “you’re in trouble when I hang up” look in hopes it will stop him in his tracks. It doesn’t. He continues chasing Seark around the dining room table threatening to wipe a booger on him. Seark is shrilling and shrieking like a wild animal about to be caught by his prey. I’m staring at them incredulously when I hear loud and clear “MRS. WINTER I WILL CALL YOU BACK AT A MORE CONVENIENT TIME” and then the phone goes dead. Had she not hung up so quick I would have told her I wish that were true. I wish there was a time in near sight that will be better. A time when I can carry on a conversation with out sounding like I have tourettes or ADD. A time when it will not sound like I am at the zoo standing inside the monkey cage.

I put the phone down and grab Aidan as he tries slip past me. I take him in the bathroom. Make him wash his gross booger finger and tell him to go sit in time out. I make my way back into the dining room to peel Seark off the floor for he has collapsed in meltdown mode over being traumatized by his older brother. I take Seark into the kitchen. Sit him on the counter. Wipe his face. Talk to him until he is calm. Then I get out whipped chocolate peanut butter and smear it on his finger. I set him down on the floor and tell him run inside with your finger in the air yelling POOPY and try to wipe it on Aidan! Seark giggles and takes off. A toddler on a mission. A mission to freak his brother out. Needless to say it was a success.

Sometimes the only way to really teach a lesson is to put the shoe on the other foot. Granted I may have taken it a little too far but Aidan got the point and I don’t think he will be chasing anyone with boogers or anything else that came from his body any time soon.

See as a mom of all boys you learn to accept that your house will from now on be messy. There will be strange smells and sounds that they will oddly enjoy and try to outdo each other with. There will be private jokes that you won’t ever get. The words fart and poop will be said more times than you care to hear and no matter the circumstances will always make them laugh. You will also learn that to parent effectively you have to think like one of them. You will come up with creative ways to get through to them. Creative ways that in quiet moments alone you will think “did I actually do that?!”. Chances are you will laugh to yourself and realize yes you did. And you know what if it worked you will take comfort in the revelation that although you  no longer recognize yourself you are one step closer to understanding the little people you made. That is called satisfaction.

What are some of the “creative” ways you have found to get through to your kids?

I didn't see that coming

 

 

“Why four? Don’t you have 3 boys?”

“What am I missing? Are you referring to your husband as your fourth child?”

“I must have must have missed something. Is chachie (my dog) number 4?”

Honestly I didn’t see that coming. In my first blog I thought I clearly explained where the “four” came from. I guess not, so here it is. This blog is about life, more specifically how I see it. Every experience in my life has shaped my views, my thoughts, and opinions. I see things like no one else, but so do you. Having children I would say is one of the many defining life events that changed who I am and how I see the world around me. Having babies has opened my eyes to things I didn’t even know existed before them. Bringing a child into the world gave me a sense of purpose and faith that I was not aware of before. I started to take better care of myself because of them. I am more conscious of how I treat the planet because it is the one they will inherit. I know that they learn by example and that most of their understanding of how to navigate through this life will come from how they see me which means I need to be the best version of me that I can be. This has made me kinder, wiser, and more thoughtful.

I have been pregnant four times. Each pregnancy was a unique experience. Four times. Four different hearts. I watched and heard each one of them beat through the gift of modern technology. I fell in love and felt an instant sense of connectedness each time.  Not three… four. I gave birth to and brought home three beautiful babies. One I miscarried at home. I am a mom of three that the rest of the world will have the privilege of knowing. One that only I knew. For me that one that only I speak of by name, that only I truly felt the loss of, is no less significant than my other three. That baby that never became more than an angel changed my world just like each one of my boys and is worthy of acknowledgment.

I understand that to many this concept is not graspable. I understand that if you have never had a miscarriage you don’t know the impact it has. I understand that even some women that have had a miscarriage don’t share this feeling. I understand and I am okay with that. I’m not offended by the questions more surprised. To me a life is a life no matter how brief. There was a baby with a beating heart inside of me. I had hopes and dreams for this baby. That I never got the chance to know that little life as a person that I could hold in my arms is devastating. There hasn’t been a day that has gone by that I haven’t thought about that. Should weeks or months matter? To me this answer is no. Just as watching my other babies grow has and continues to shape me that loss has as well. Having a miscarriage has also made me wiser and more thoughtful but in a different way.

After my miscarriage so many of my friends shared their losses with me. Most I never knew about. I wondered why they had never said anything before. Why were so many grieving alone? Why is it something that women don’t really talk about with each other when it is so common? Maybe because we don’t know how to share the pain of a loss that no one even knew existed except for us. Maybe because society on a whole doesn’t really recognize a miscarriage as the loss that it is.  It’s not something I talk about often but it is also not something I cannot ignore. It happened and it changed me. I don’t know the reason but I do know the loss of that baby will always be a part of who I am. So yes I stand by four and no I am not taking about my husband or my dog.

Bit by the stomach bug again

 

About a week ago Aidan went to a friends’ house to play. When I picked him up his friends’ sister was laying on the couch wrapped up under covers looking…. Sick. Aidan got his stuff together. I chatted with his friend’s mother. I am an admitted germaphobe so the sight of this other child looking not so well was setting off all kinds of alarms and sending me into panic mode already. Then Aidan came down the stairs and we left. We walked up the block and Aidan realized he forgot his Xbox controller. He insisted he needed it right then so we walked back to get it. I rang the bell and when the door swung open I could see the child that was laying on the couch minutes before was visibly ill.  OH MY GOD! NOT THE STOMACH VIRUS! PLEASE NOT THE STOMACH VIRUS! WE CAN NOT GET THE STOMACH VIRUS AGAIN! I WILL DIE IF WE GET THE STOMACH VIRUS AGAIN! These are the thoughts that were circling my brain. My mouth just politely asked for the Xbox controller.

On the walk home I told Aidan as soon as you walk in the door wash your hands. Don’t touch anything. Go straight in the bathroom and wash your hands. When we got home I wiped his game controller down with Lysol and had him scrub his hands like he was a surgeon headed into an operating room. Knowing already these precautions were most likely in vain. That stomach virus leaves no stone unturned and it was just a matter of time until Aidan got sick. Usually they say 24-48 hours from the time of being exposed is when you will start to show symptoms if you have also caught it. I felt like I held my breath the rest of the week end. Every single time Aidan made even a strange face I was grilling him about how he felt. The 48 hours passed and nothing. Could we really be that lucky and escape it this time? Of course the answer is no. I swear it was the 49^th hour which also happened to be 4 am when I heard it. That awful noise that every mother dreads. SPLAT followed by MOM IM SICK. Oh no, no, no, no, no, no, no… unfortunately oh yes. Oh yes there was puke all over the bed. The bed that Seark was also sleeping in. I spent the rest of the night cleaning. And by cleaning I mean throwing out anything that had been anywhere near the sight of the incident. I threw out all of the bed stuff and pajamas. Aidan took a shower and went back to sleep on the couch and seemed to make a miraculous recovery by the morning.

Now we just wait for Seark to get sick. I’m not even sure what is worse, when they actually get sick or the week of anticipation waiting for it to happen. Seark complained for days that his belly was “hot”. He had a fever and was exhausted but didn’t get physically ill. Just when I thought Seark was in the clear…. SPLAT. Another 4am puke-fest. When Aidan was a baby the first time he got the stomach virus I was a rookie. I held him while he threw up. Didn’t care what he got on me as long as I was able to comfort him was all that mattered. I caught that virus from him. I learned from that experience. And so Seark has never been afforded the same luxury. There are no mommy snuggles and hugs while anyone has the potential of throwing up on mommy. If there was a yard stick that could measure how close they were allowed to come to me I would for sure use it. I love these boys with all my heart and more but the thought of contracting this bug does something to me. Something that makes me want to run from them and shower them in Lysol.

Again I spent the night avoiding the children and throwing out pajamas and sheets and comforters. This virus was starting to get expensive. I didn’t care what we had to buy brand new if it meant I might be spared. Spared I was not. I too got bit by the stomach bug for the second time in the three months. I used to say there is nothing worse when it comes to winter illnesses than the stomach flu but it turns out there is. Breastfeeding a baby while you have the stomach flu is way worse! So after surviving the week of germ warfare I am only certain of one thing. If one of the kids even look like they may get ill or I know they have been in contact with anyone that recently had it… I am sending them to my mother’s for the week. Not really. But it is a nice thought.

Today I am all better, back to blogging, and wishing everyone a happy germ free week.

Boy; Noise with dirt on it

Every night after my kids go to bed I spend the next hour or so cleaning. I do the dishes. The laundry. Pick up the toys. Wipe hand prints off the walls. Vacuum the floor. Clean mystery matter off the couch. Then for another hour I enjoy my nice neat house. I go to bed knowing that all of my effort was wasted because the minute their feet hit the floor in the morning it will look like tiny tornadoes ripped through the house once again. I only have boys so I don’t know if it is a boy thing or just a kid thing. Although I think this is in part where the saying boys will be boys came from.

Aidan is by far my clumsiest child. He is the kid you hand a glass and before he even takes two steps he has spilled half of it. In an effort to clean up his own mess he will grab paper towels and then bend over with said glass still in hand and spill the other half. Throwing his hands up in the air in pure frustration he will attempt to walk through the mess to get more paper towel, slip in whatever it was that he didn’t get drink and ruin what he is wearing.  Every morning he insists on putting his school uniform before we go down stairs. I call it dress rehearsal because he inevitably will wear his breakfast and need to get changed again. By wear his breakfast I’m not talking a drop of milk from his cereal on his shirt. I’m talking about Special K in his hair, down his shirt, and milk all over his pants. I swear the boy has a hole in his chin. There is no other explanation.   I used to get totally annoyed with him. I know better. Annoyed doesn’t help. Now I get prepared. I only fill his glass half way. Make sure he is sitting before I hand it to him. I have paper towels on hand at all times. A spare uniform waiting on the dining room table. And plenty of patience. Or at least I try to.

Seark. Oh Seark. Unlike Aidan Seark is not clumsy. He is very purposeful is his mess making. Seark will take a bowl of goldfish, dump them on the floor and drive his toy trucks throw them. He will paint his face with yogurt. Chew carrots and spit them out all over the place. God forbid he gets his hands on a marker he will color anything but paper. An old friend came to visit me with her son who was close in age to Seark. We sat at the dining room table chatting over coffee catching up with each other while the kids were in the toy room playing. After 5 minutes of uninterrupted conversation I thought I better go check on the kids, really Seark. Never do I get a full 5 minute to do anything especially talk to an adult with no interruptions unless he is engrossed in something that is off limits. I walk in the toy room to find Seark naked on the floor covered head to toe in magic marker. The other child has become a terrified on looker standing in the corner in total shock and awe. Seark completely lost in his own artistic body painting world completely unaware of his surroundings. SEARK WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!?! (I am mortified) Seark snaps out of his magic marker trance and says “what mommy? I color me bootiful”. That he did. Colored himself. He has also over the course of the last year or so colored the furniture, the walls, his brothers, and even the dog. Most days Seark is a walking multicolored disaster.

Before I had kids I don’t remember there ever being crumbs randomly strewn about the house. Tiny scraps of paper everywhere. Fingerprints on everything. EVERYTHING. I often wonder what the hell they are putting on their hands that leaves a giant smudge on everything they touch.  I used to be a perfectionist. Pillows carefully placed. Candles lit. Even books strategically placed on the coffee table. I can actually pin point not when all of that changed but when I realized it was no longer a possibility. I met a mom at a play group. We got along really well and I decided to have her over for a “play date”. While Aidan was napping I spent the morning cleaning. Perfecting. Making sure the house looked like a page out of a magazine. I thought I had vacuumed every crumb. Wiped every surface. Found and thrown out all the hidden food in the couch. Even if the kids made a mess once she was here that was fine because her initial first impression was what mattered. When she got to the house she complimented how nice everything looked. I felt accomplished. The kids were playing for not more than a few minutes when Aidan opened the door to his fake oven (that he had not played with in forever) and pulled out a pot. A fake pot with very real very moldy food. I wanted to crawl into a hole in my freshly mopped floor. Of course there was rotten food in the fake kitchen, I checked everything everywhere except for there. It was at that moment I realized my house will never be truly clean again. Moreover it is out of my hands. Despite my best efforts there will always be something lurking around that I did not see. At that time Aidan was my only child. Three boys later I realize even putting up the front is a lost cause.

There are a lot of things you have to learn to let go of. Being a perfectionist is not an option. A spotless house is one that is not being lived in. Art is permanent marker on the walls. As I write this Seark is dumping cheerios on the floor.

 

Manic morning and milestones

 

Mornings are hectic here.  Mostly because I am not a morning person. I feel like it’s not natural to get out of bed before the sun is even up. I put off actually getting out of bed until the last possible minute. The last possible minute in my house is almost exactly 25 minutes before my son gets picked up for school. I’m sure if I had a full hour to get everything and everyone up and dressed the morning would be much less hectic. However I will take those chaotic 25 minutes and be happy with my extra 35 minutes in bed and be resigned to the fact that this is what I have asked for.

Alarm goes off for the 5^th time. That’s the real get out of bed alarm. The rest are just kind of like PSA testing to see if anyone can actually hear it. I wake Aidan up first. He usually ignores me and lays in bed mumbling about how I am the meanest mother on the planet for the next 10 minutes. While Aidan has a private pity party under his covers I wash my face and brush my teeth knowing that his whining will become increasingly louder because he thinks I’m not paying attention which will in turn wake Seark up. Seark fortunately greets every day with a smile. If both of them woke up the way Aidan does I would probably just stay in bed and forget out the whole formal education thing. Kidding. Definitely kidding because homeschooling is also not an option. Ever. Rylan seems to have internal alarm clock, something I envy, that wakes him up at the same time every day. Once everyone is up we head down stairs.

15 minutes until Aidan has to leave for school. I will spend the next 10 minutes getting Seark a “hot” bottle. Yes my almost three year old still drinks a bottle in the morning. Judge away. It won’t bother me… or change our morning routine.  After I get Seark a bottle and get his cartoons on I make Aidan his breakfast and let him eat it on the couch. Next make lunch for Aidan to take to school. Last make sure he has everything he needs for the day as I ask for the hundredth or so time to GET DRESSED!!!! I GAVE YOU THE CLOTHES WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU DON’T KNOW WHAT YOU ARE SUPPOSED TO WEAR. YOUR SOCKS WERE WITH YOUR CLOTHES JUST LIKE THEY ALWAYS ARE!!! YES AIDAN YOU HAVE TO WEAR SOCKS TO SCHOOL….. BECAUSE YOUR FEET WILL GET STINKY WITH OUT THEM…. I DON’T KNOW WHY SOCKS KEEP YOUR FEET FROM GETTING STINKY JUST PUT THEM ON!!!!

All of this is happening while Rylan waits sometimes patiently in his rocker… sometimes not so patiently. This morning Rylan was having a not so patient morning. As usual I give him a toy to keep him occupied. Most mornings it just lays by his side as we watches me like hawk complaining until I pick him. This morning something else happened. I got him a toy. Put it in front of him and…. He picked it. He stopped crying and held the toy just inches away from him nose. He inspected in for a good five minutes. In this five minutes that he was quiet and content and curious I should have finished everything I had to do. Nope. Instead I stood there watching Ry discover something. He had seen this particular toy a dozen or so times before but today was the first day he really took notice of it. I watched him twist and turn it, try to shove it in his mouth, pull it close to his and push it away. Inevitably he got bored with this discovery.

My mind drifted back to when Aidan was an infant. I remember watching him discover things for the first time and that being one of my favorite things about being a mom. This unique experience that only I for the most part got to witness. I wondered for a minute how many of these moments I had already overlooked with Rylan simply because I was busy with the other kids. How many of these moments had I missed with Aidan because I didn’t know to look for them? When Aidan was a baby I was so wrapped up in the miles stone events like rolling over, sitting up, babbling, walking, I wonder how many of the mini milestones I didn’t see because they weren’t something the dr. was going to ask me about, because I didn’t read them in a monthly newsletter that defined whether or not my baby was “normal”, “within range”, “on track”.

Having three kids I have learned to that each baby will do things in their own time. Not to waste time wishing time away waiting for the next milestone. When Aidan was a baby I remember like almost every first time mom I have ever met waiting, wanting so badly for him to say his first word, take his first step. He did. Earlier than most. I felt like his accomplishments were also mine. I was that proud mom who thought my early walker articulate talker was the among the gifted and talented baby geniuses. I remember feeling relieved that he did these things with such ease. In the last seven years with another baby in between I have changed. My views have changed. I still look forward all the milestones but I am also aware of what else they signify. Each new beginning is also the end of a chapter in a book I don’t ever want to finish. Milestones are bittersweet. Even the ones only a mom recognizes. They make you pause or make you want to press pause.  Each day that passes my babies grow. Seark won’t drink a bottle forever (I hope)… Rylan will make new discoveries everyday… and there will even be a time where I will be missing hectic mornings with my boys. It is true life can pass you by while you are busy doing other things. Don’t let it.

And while lost in my thoughts time once again got away from and Aidan will be late for school… again.

Kindness Counts

Today my son had the book fair at school. A very exciting event for a first grader. I gave him $20.00. An even bigger deal that he had his “own” money to spend. He put the money in the little Velcro pocket in his pants and checked that it was still there every few minutes until he left for school. He kept saying “Really?! I can spend the whole thing?” I told him yes as long as it was on books and not posters and stickers. Aidan came home from school with 2 books. A book about Navy Seals and a book about Ninja’s. He was so impressed with his choices. Going on and on about how these are books that his Daddy would read. So cute. I looked at the books. Small paperbacks. They cost $4.00 each.

Did you get anything else?

No.

Oh. Where is the change?

What change?

Your books only cost $8.00 I gave you $20.00 so you should have $12.00.

I don’t have $12.00.

Did you lose it?

Nope.

Sometimes getting answers from Aidan is like pulling teeth. You have to ask him the right question to get the real answer. It’s like playing a never ending game of clue. You have to come to your own conclusion by process of elimination. Did you leave the money at school? Is it still in your pocket? Did you give it to your teacher? Are you saving it for tomorrow? Did you buy something in the cafeteria? Did you get change? Are you sure you didn’t lose it? Did you give it to someone else? BINGO! He didn’t say anything yet but I knew that was the answer. Aidan has no poker face.

AIDAN! Did someone take it from you or did you give it to them? Why would you give someone your money? Do you know you gave away more than you spent on yourself? Why would you do that?

You always say kindness counts. ________ didn’t have any money so I gave him mine. He never gets money for these things. I felt bad. Are you mad?

Kindness counts. He gets it. The kid that he gave the money to is not even some one that he is friends with. In fact it’s someone he doesn’t even get along with. He really gets it.  

There are things your kids will be taught at school. They will be graded on all kinds of tests and measured by all different standards. Some areas they will shine others not so much. They will get certificates and pizza parties for perfect attendance and flying colors on standardized tests. None of that will compare to moments like this. When you realize they are living the lessons you have been so desperately trying to teach them every day by being their example. When you realize they get it.

I mustache you a question

Kindergarten was all downhill after the scissor incident. It seemed like every other week were getting notes or phone calls. Never anything major. I adjusted to fact that this was not our academic year to shine. Things could have been better but they definitely could have been worse. The holidays came and then the winter. There were a lot of breaks from school. I was sure after so much needed time off the rest of the year would go smoothly and swiftly. For about a month there was a lull in the phone calls. No notes. No awkward glares when I picked Aidan up. I felt like maybe Aidan had found his groove. That feeling lasted all of a day maybe two tops. I got a phone call from the school saying the teacher and the guidance counselor would like to meet with me. Shit.

A date and time was set. I got a sitter for Seark and went to school for the dreaded meeting. As usual they start with good. This time instead of the anticipated “that being said” I was handed a book of Aidan’s drawings. The guidance counselor and his teacher watched me look through the book like detectives from CSI. All of his pictures were well drawn. Colorful. Happy. I closed the book. Set it on the table. And sat there wondering if I should ask for a lawyer. All I could think was what the hell is going on? There was silence. Just the three of us exchanging squinted stares like in an old western waiting for the first guy to draw. I couldn’t take it anymore. WHAT?! The guidance counselor gently nudged the book back across the table and said “look again Mrs. Winter”. Oh God what am I missing I thought. Was there some bizarre underlying subtext I overlooked in his drawings? I inspected each page. Colorful. Happy. Detailed. OK so what am I missing?  The guidance counselor says to me did you not notice that everything has a mustache. “EVERYTHING. HAS. A. MUSTACHE.” The pumpkins he drew for Halloween. The teddy bear. The sun. The flowers. Anything that had a face adorned a mustache.

Honestly I had not noticed. Aidan drew everything with a mustache. So much I didn’t even see them anymore.

Bewildered I say “I’m sorry, what does that mean? Is that bad? Was he told not to?” She replied “no. not bad. Just odd.” At this point I should have just walked out. Instead I went on to explain well he loves Super Mario Brothers and they have mustaches. His dad has a mustache and so does his uncle. He likes to draw them on his face when he is pretending to be a cowboy or Luigi. I nervously rambled on all the reasons he could be drawing mustaches when it dawned on me maybe they are the crazy ones! I stopped dead in my tracks and asked if there was anything else. They mentioned a few other things that weren’t worth mentioning and said that was all they just wanted to bring it to my attention. I politely thanked them for wasting my time and asked that next time they call me if they could make it worth my trip to the school. Kindergarten definitely wasn’t our year.

Until Aidan started school I was a happy stay at home mother with a happy boy. I always encouraged creativity even if it meant that everything needed a mustache. Recently I read a quote…

“School failed me, and I failed the school. It bored me.

The teachers behaved like Feldwebel (sergeants). I wanted to learn what I wanted to know,

But they wanted me to learn for the exam.

What I hated most was the competitive system there, and especially sports.

Because of this I wasn’t worth anything, and several times they suggested I leave.

This was a Catholic school in Munich.

I felt that my thirst for knowledge was being strangled by my teacher; grades were there

Only measurement. How can a teacher understand youth with such a system?

From the age of twelve I began to suspect authority and distrust teachers”

-Albert Einstein

Well if that doesn’t sound like my son I don’t know what does. He is quirky and marches to the beat of his own drum. Even though the school may never recognize it he is brilliant in ways they will never care to understand. One day he is going to prove it to the world. I just know it.

Tattooed girls are pretty (gross)

 

 

Today was a beautiful almost perfect day. We went to the zoo. The sun was shining. My boys were all behaving. I nursed Rylan in public several times with no flashing or major incidents. It was a good day. While we were at the zoo we were standing on line for the train. The girl behind us in line complimented Aidan several times about how beautiful his eyes are. Each time he gave her a very underwhelmed “thanks”. Aidan does have gorgeous eyes. They are a very pale greenish bluish kind of yellow gray? They are unusual and do get noticed often. When we got on the train my husband said to Aidan “check you out little stud getting hit on by a pretty girl already” to which Aidan replied “pretty… gross”. My husband was incredulous. What?! That girl was pretty! Why would you say pretty gross?!

The girl that so generously complimented Aidan was indeed very pretty. I was curious as to what was going through his little head also. Aidan shrugged his shoulders and said “Her face was pretty but her arms were all tattooed. That’s gross”. (My arm is all tattooed also) My husband started laughing and said you better watch out you are going to hurt mommy’s feelings.  Aidan looked at my arm and then looked up at me. I could see in his brilliantly colored eyes that he was searching for the right thing to say. The right thing being something that wouldn’t hurt my feelings. Aidan is never at a loss for words. It took him a minute and then he said something I always say. Whenever Aidan picks out his own clothes and asks if I like what he is wearing I always reply “Do you like it? Your have to wear it. As long as you like it that’s all that matters” So there on the train at the zoo my 7 year old son said to me “Do you like your tattoos? They are on you. As long as you like them that’s all that matters”.

Shit. I actually hate the way that sounds coming from someone else… especially my kid.

I only said back your right that is all that matters. I looked at my arm. Looked at Aidan. I do like them. I turned back around and thought honestly to myself I do like them and that is NOT all that matters. I felt hurt. I don’t even know why. Maybe because his initial response to the other girls tattoos was so honest and innocent. He honestly thinks tattoos are gross. He innocently said so without hurting me as his intention. I guess the real realization was there was something about me that my son doesn’t like and had never said so to spare my feelings.

Aidan has taught me something about myself today. I do care what someone else thinks. I care what my son thinks about me and how he sees me in relation to the world. I can’t change the things I have done. I wouldn’t want to. I can’t make Aidan like them. I wouldn’t want to do that either. So does it really bother me than that he thinks tattoos are gross. No. I think what bothers me is that there is unspoken thing maybe only perceived but from the day my babies were born I have always loved that even if to no one else to them you are perfect. You are the center of their universe and everything revolves around you. When I was in the hospital with Seark they used to bring him to my room every night around three am because no one could get him to stop crying. The instant he would hear my voice he would quiet down. When I held him it was like he just melted in my arms. When he looked at me I could see the love in his eyes. When Aidan was a baby he would watch me like a little baby stalker. No matter where I went his eyes followed me and they lit up every time they met mine. Rylan little as he is looks at me like he is in love. Until today I guess I never realized that my kids might have an opinion of me other than the one I thought they had. Maybe the thing that really hurts is that Aidan is growing up. I’m not the center of the world for him anymore. He is beyond seeing me with those little love struck eyes. Another milestone I’m not ready for in his life or mine.

Maybe I’m over thinking the whole thing.

When we got home Aidan said to me “I don’t think your tattoos are gross mom. I just want the girl I marry to not have any. And your married already so don’t worry about it.” 

 

Drinks and Double Standards

“Hey my brother said that a girl started working at his bar that says she was best friends with for years but hasn’t seen you in a while. Her name is ____________. You know who he is talking about?”

Immediately I pick up the phone and call the friend that sent that text to me.

Oh my GOD yes I know who that is! When is she working again?

Tonight.

I HAVE TO GO THERE! You wanna go for a drink tonight?

Sure.

 

The phone call I made was to my oldest friend. My first friend. The girl I shyly approached and asked to be my friend the first day of kindergarten. Here we are 27 years later… still friends. There have been times throughout the years that we have lost touch, parted ways but we always find our back to each other. When we do we can pick up the phone no matter how much time has passed and talk like it was yesterday. So drinks it is.  Drinks at 8 mean that I need to get at least the littlest of my boys to bed by 7:30 which will give me 20 minutes to get myself together. This way my husband only has to “babysit” two of the kids since Rylan is down for the night. “Babysitting” all of three of the boys would be too much a task to ask.

Funny that my husband calls it babysitting. That word to me implies that you will be caring for someone else’s children. I assure all three boys share his DNA. They are in fact his children. I have the kids with me all day every day. If my husband has some where to go he just goes. He doesn’t ask me to “babysit” it is understood that I will be with the kids. On the other hand if I have some where to go…. What do you mean you have somewhere to go? Who’s gonna watch the kids? How long are you going to be gone? Do I have to feed them??? When I am out without the kids and I tell someone they are home with their dad some will even say “how nice he is watching them for you” I want to say to every one of those people… really is it that nice of him? THEY ARE HIS KIDS. When my husband uses the word ‘babysitting” I want to “politely” remind him THEY ARE YOUR KIDS! Why the double standard? I know I am their mom and I enjoy caring for them but doesn’t a girl deserve a break? A night out without watching the clock because the babysitter is waiting to get off duty?

I pick my oldest friend up at 8:00 and it is pouring. Not just rain. Torrential downpour. For god sake even Mother Nature is telling me to stay home and take care of my kids! I’m not listening. I am dressed. My hair is pointlessly flat ironed. My makeup is done. The littlest of my boys has been put to bed early. This mom is going out. Even if it is to a hole in the wall bar to see a ghost from my past. We get to the bar and I see my old high school friend. She doesn’t recognize me and had I not known that she was the bartender chances are I would not have immediately recognized her. Life had taken us in polar opposite directions. I knew from things I had heard through the grape vine over the years that the roads she had taken were rough and that life had not afforded her the same opportunities and good fortune it had offered to me.

She brought us our drinks and was making small talk when I saw it in her face. She knew who I was. She crawled over the top of the bar to hug me. She held me tight and went on about how much she had missed me. Told me whenever anyone mentioned they were from my hometown that she would tell them her best friend lived there. It was an unexpected bittersweet reunion.   I had missed her too. Wondered about her all these years. Always knowing that we had parted ways because we were heading in different directions to lives that did not resemble one another. The things that we had in common were not enough for our paths to keep crossing like they did with other friends. I was happy to see her. I was also sad knowing that this night was probably one of the only few times I would ever see her again. We reminisced and promised to keep in touch. Both of us knowing that was a lie.

Some friendships just aren’t meant to last forever. Most will be just for a season. Circumstances change and so do you and for some reason the friends that you once had no longer seem to fit. My high school best friend and I don’t fit anymore. That doesn’t lessen the friendship and bond that we once shared. Even the friends that come and go often take up a forever space in our heart. Sitting at a bar between with these two very different friends made me appreciate my oldest friend that much more. A friendship that can last a life time is a rare find.  

 

 

 

..

Babies, Breastfeeding, and sexual innuendo

The birthing/ breastfeeding fantasy: I will go into labor on my due date. I will be totally prepared with nursery finished. Baby clothes washed and smelling magical. I will be ready and know what to expect because I took a birthing class and they totally covered everything. Labor will be painful but nothing I can’t handle. I mean women have been having babies since the beginning of time and most don’t stop at one. The birth of my baby will be beautiful and wonderful. Nursing will come naturally. Motherhood will be blissful. I will bounce right back to my pre pregnancy body.

Reality: My water broke at home around 5am. I was ill prepared because the baby wasn’t near his due date yet AND I’m so not a morning person. We fled the house like it was on fire and drove to the hospital in a panic. Which was uncalled for because I would be in a labor for more than a full day. To say labor was painful is not only an understatement it is a lie. Labor is BRUTAL. Labor is torture and they should drug you the minute you walk in the door. That birthing class was bullshit and that woman that taught it should be brought up on charges for all of the misguided information she is doling out to poor unsuspecting women. Bringing a new life into the world is beautiful. Amazing. A miracle. You should also be warned that beautiful amazing miracle is covered is all kinds of nastiness. Natural child birth should be an oxymoron. There is nothing natural about pushing a human out of your vagina. Oh and breastfeeding ha… it’s awkward and painful. Motherhood is stressful and will make you question your sanity. The blissfulness doesn’t kick in until the baby is a few weeks old and you start to feel like you might not be bad at this after all. My pre pregnancy body. It is there. Somewhere. Although it closely resembles its original shape I don’t remember looking like I was clawed by a wild animal beforehand. That’s right I didn’t. Thank you stretch marks for the added bonus of self-consciousness. 

I was so determined to breastfeed but it just wasn’t working. Before I had a baby I honestly thought babies know what to do…kind of like kittens they just naturally know how to get the milk out. Human babies not so much. So after days of excruciating pain and lots of tears I decided to meet with a lactation consultant at the hospital. My husband came with me. Big mistake. I hear over and over in the breastfeeding community how boobs are for nursing not sexual pleasure. I agree. However I don’t think any men got that memo. The sight of breasts reduce my husband to behaving like a child waiting for a piece of birthday cake.

The lactation consultant was a petite, attractive woman. She asked me to show her how I was feeding the baby first so she could see what the problem was and then she would advise me on how to fix it. At any other time in my life this would have made me extremely uncomfortable and uneasy. I had lost all dignity during the delivery days before though so this was cake. I lift my shirt and out of the corner of my eye I see my husband with the goofiest smirk on his face. I rolled my eyes at him to convey I could see his inner child coming out and he needed to check himself. I show the consultant how I have been feeding Aidan. She moves closer and says do u mind if I touch you breast. I still have no idea what came over my husband in that moment as he blurted out “no I don’t mind at all. Should I dim the lights and get some wine for the two of you?” The one thing me and my husband almost always have in common is our odd sense of humor. Not on this day. The lactation consultant shot him the glare of a mother telling her child “your gonna get it when we get home”. I was mortified and I don’t embarrass easily but I wanted to disappear. She didn’t say anything just went on with what she was doing. My only consolation in this whole situation was that she seemed so genuinely unphased by his highly inappropriate sexual innuendo that he must not be the first husband to act like a horny teenage boy in her presence.