This Is Where I'm At

I'm feeling a bit overwhelmed these days.

See what I did there?  I added the words a bit.  Not because I needed to but only because it sounds less whiny.  In blogging there's a real fine line between being a whiny McWhinerson and just plain keepin' it real.

It's May.  And usually around this time of year I'm jumping for joy.  The days are long and spent 100% outdoors.  After an evening jaunt to the park and scrubbing the dirt from their sun-kissed bodies I'll settle down and say to myself, "It's only May!  We still have three whole months of summer to go.  Hooray!"

But this year I find myself grumbling.  "It's only May.  I still have three more months of this.  Ugh."

What it is, is this.  I'm not really a mom.  I'm just someone who has been chosen to oversee this runaway circus show.

We live in Minnesota and our warm weather months are very limited.  So I'm constantly kicking the kids outside.  Of which they never protest.  But of which they always find some sort of trouble to get in while I'm tied up inside tending to some need of the baby.

Just yesterday I brought the baby inside for less than a minute when I peaked out the window and no longer saw Lucy.

"William, where's Lucy?"

"I don't know."

Then I always have a little fight in my head.  She's probably fine.  Let it be.  Stop being a helicopter parent.  This is the only voice Brian hears in his head, by the way.  It both irritates me and sends me into a fit of envy all at the same time.  How can he just do nothing and feel OK with it?

The other voice of mine says What kind of parent are you?  Go find her!  What will the neighbors think?  She's probably halfway to the Mississippi by now!

I listened to the second voice.  I plopped the baby down and ignored her screams.  I ran out the back door yelling her name.

I could faintly hear her voice coming from somewhere in the front yard.  So I ran around to the front of the house to find her ringing the doorbell of our next door neighbor.  A confused, but still smiling, Mrs. P answered the door.  I apologized profusely.  Here I am.  The mother who let her three-year-old daughter loose in the neighborhood to play Ding, Dong, Ditch.

I can hear you laughing but please believe me when I tell you that was the very last reaction I had.

So on the back stairs she went for a timeout and some very stern warnings about the Rules of Summer and Outdoor Play.

1. We don't cross the alley.

2. We don't ring other people's doorbells.

3. Furthermore, we don't go into other people's yards.

OK, Mommy.

"If you break the rules," I threaten, "I will take away your wand."

She gasps.

Ah-ha!  I've found it.  This one would sting.  Now we're speaking the same language.  The wand has been threatened.  This is serious business.

You see?  It's a story like this, where I can see myself from an out-of-body perspective, when I know that all I really do all day is run around like a chicken with my head cut off trying to put out fires.

Maybe it's the difference between two children and three.  Or maybe it's the difference between rule-follower William and rule-challenger Lucy.

Whatever it is, I'm exhausted.  And depleted.

A couple weeks ago Brian was traveling for work and I thought it was going to be the end of me.  All the mornings.  All the nights.  All the days.  All by myself.

The problem isn't really the travel. The problem is that the travel is so long. Most times extending to a full work week and sometimes even a weekend. It's an eternity in my life.

Travel was not supposed to be a part of his job description but alas here we are.  Part of me is really excited for him in his career.  He's jetsetting off to really cool places.  He's drinking the world's best coffee and making best friends with Europeans.  He's drinking craft beer with Princeton University students.  He's meeting big-name clients face-to-face and hearing about cutting edge medical breakthoughs.  It's the kind of stuff we always dreamed about when he first set out in the wonderful world of Sales.

But I would be lying if I didn't admit that there's also a part of me that's desperately bitter about the whole thing.  Because OMIGOSH what I wouldn't give to sit in an airport and read USA Today.  Or fly the friendly skys knowing that the scream I hear ten rows back is no child of my responsiblity.  Or to sleep in a king-sized bed all by myself for four nights straight without a single distruption except my morning alarm.

The only thing that keeps the bite from really stinging is the fact that Brian completely acknowledges the fact that, at this point in our lives, he totally drew the longer stick.

So we laugh and poke fun at the situation.  Because otherwise I'd cry.

An "In Real Life" Morning

This morning was of the self depreciating kind.  One where I go through the litany in my head of all the ways I am failing as a mother.

I wanted to clean upstairs today so I put the kids and baby on the porch.  And everything was merry.  But then I heard, from afar, William say, It's snowing! and I thought to myself, this cannot be good.  It wasn't.  He was pouring the remnants of a box of baby cereal over Katherine's head.  He knows better.  Oh boy does he know better.  And I made that quite clear.

At that very moment Brian's sister called.  She, also with three young kids at home plus a baby nephew that she watches five days a week.  Instead of my usual happy greeting the minute I hit the Talk button on the phone, I answered with a great big ARGH!

She laughed and said, yep, she's also wanted to throw her three-year-old out the window since eight that morning.

And that made me feel better. Because I know that my sister-in-law is a really, really good mom.  And if even a really, really good mom feels like she wants to throw her son out of the window every once in a while, then I was probably OK.

It was raining this morning as it has every other day for the past two weeks.  I might build an ark.  I know the constant gloominess just made everything feel worse than it really was.  My kids need a lot of fresh air and when they don't get it, they go crazy.

I made a deal with them.  If they cleaned up all their toys in the living and dining room, I would let them watch The Muppets.  It's their latest addiction.  They have all the songs and 80% of the lines memorized.

In true kid fashion, nothing motivates more than a treat or TV time so they picked up those toys in record time.  I turned on the movie and went upstairs to finish cleaning.

Cleaning soothes me.  Few people will understand this, I know.  It calms me and it allows my mind to collect its thoughts and evaluate.  But the problem with cleaning is that I hate being interrupted.  I get very irritated if this happens.  So the whole time I have this constant battle going on in my head.  On the one hand I'm a bad mom for resorting to the television to babysit my kids.  But on the other hand, to thine own self be true.

I was thisclose to being finished with the cleaning when the baby woke up from her morning nap.  I knew she was going to be hungry for real food because I didn't give her any for breakfast.  And when it comes to babies, well, they're the boss.  No TV will distract her when she's got a grumbling belly.

So I paused my cleaning to mash her up some bananas and feed her and this, of course, prompted the older kids to come into the kitchen and ask for their lunch.  So I put together their sandwiches and fruit and yogurt and after I served it to them in the dining room I came back into the kitchen and almost took a picture of it for you.  It was like a bomb had gone off in there.  And this made me laugh because while I was using every ounce of effort to dust and vacuum and mop and scrub the upstairs, my kitchen was going to hell in a hand basket.

It's the irony of the life I lead.

In the end, the cleaning got finished.  I got to eat lunch myself before 2:00 p.m; a rarity.  I even had time to tidy up that bomb of a kitchen.  And the real treat?  All three kids fell asleep during rest time.  I'm the luckiest mom in the world.

A Sunday Night Walk

After dinner we let the dishes stay dirty.  We wipe faces and fingers and skedaddle to the backyard.  If we don't, it will be a long, long time until sleep consumes them.

He rides his bike.  She wants to ride the three-wheeled princess scooter handed down from the six-year-old neighbor girl but I know I'll regret letting her do this two blocks in to our walk.  So I say no.  She puts up a fight.  But not too much.  Just enough for her to let me know she's big enough now.  She takes her place at the front of the tandem double stroller anyway.

The baby is already happy to be locked and loaded.  Nary a sound escapes her mouth the whole trek.  But she sees it all.  She doesn't blink a wink.  Watching.  Waiting.  Listening.  Learning.

He bikes a block ahead of us.  Always obediently looking back to make sure he can still see me like I've asked.  And always, always stopping at intersections to wait for the all clear from me or Dad.

Lucy is loud.  And annoying.  I'm not afraid to admit it.  Whining about this and that.  Getting in and out of the stroller 1,745 times.  But I'm glad it's out here and not in the four walls of our house.

I tell her to look for bunnies to distract her complaining mind.  And the second the words escaped me we came upon a big one.  So still I wondered if she might be a lawn ornament.  We got so close.  And she didn't move.  But then we got too close and she sprung off on her hind legs and into the yard behind her.

Brian saw it first.  The gentle rustling of leaves on the exact spot the rabbit had just vacated.  He leaned in slowly and there they were.  A nest of teeny, tiny hairless bunnies.  The kids were in awe.  But careful.  Brian told them if we touched them, their mother might not come back.

Yes, because our neighborhood is severely lacking in the bunny department, I sarcastically told Brian.

After attentions ran dry we turned the corner down another street to find what surely must have been a bunny farm.  They were everywhere!  Brian told the kids he would give them five dollars if they could catch one.  So on a nearby grassy bank they chased Flopsy, Mopsy and Cottontail until their breaths ran out.

They came up empty-handed.  So they cut their losses and we walked the rest of the way home.

Instead of a book after her bath, Lucy opted to tell me a story about a princess and some bunnies.  And then she snuggled in with her own stuffed bunny and fell fast asleep without a single protest.

Our summer routine is starting.  And I love it.

Big Sister, Little Sister

Prepare yourself for the best photo series you've seen this week.

Three

She slept in this morning.

I heard her bedroom door click open, her princess toes pad down the hall. She came into my bedroom and exclaimed, "Today's my birthday!"

"Yes!" I said, "Today IS your birthday." After days of counting down, she finally got it right. Tomorrow, no doubt, she'll be sad to learn it's all over. But today is now and it's all hers.

Her baby sister was already back asleep for her morning nap. Her brother was watching Cat in the Hat on PBS. So we got some rare snuggle time alone together. We lay there silent. She played with my hair. She practiced holding her little finger down with her thumb so she could show everyone how old she is now. She whispered to me, "You're my best, best friend."

Later we went downstairs for breakfast and along with her usual bowl of Cheerios with sliced bananas I snuck in two pieces of chocolate candy. I put my finger up to my lips shushing her so she knew this treat was only for her. She quietly snickered in delight.

I told her she could wear whatever she wanted to today. She chose the light pink tutu over the dark pink tutu. I buttoned up her ivory cardigan and she put on her pearl necklace. Then I braided her hair.

As is family tradition, we drove down the street a ways to the local florist shop to pick out balloons. She picked out a butterfly-shaped mylar balloon paired with four light pink latex balloons. She carried them out to the car all by herself.

For lunch she and William ate out in the backyard in the plethora of sunshine. She chose grapes over strawberries. Afterward she played with the bat and ball and her watering can and her jump rope and swung on the swing. On her belly, of course.

While she played I baked her cake. Chocolate with cream cheese frosting. Dyed pink, of course.

During rest time I let her bring her balloons in her bedroom with her. She thought this was the best allowance in the world.

For dinner tonight she's asked for pizza "with balls on it."

"Hmmm..." I said, "What kind of balls do you mean?"

"Pink!" She exclaimed.

Ah, but, of course. One large one-topping pizza, please. Yes, with pink balls.

I think I'm going to enjoy three.

One hundred years ago today, or was it just yesterday, I was lying in my bed feeling the soft pangs of labor come over me. I knew today would be the day. At 9:30 that night we rushed to the hospital and just fifteen minutes before midnight, before this day would be the next, she was here. And we were in love.

Happy birthday to my Lucy girl!

Two Freshmen Roommates

In lieu of 7 Quick Takes today I'm going to tell you a little story.

Once upon a time there were two men who, by chance and with a little luck, became college freshmen roommates.

These two men made perfect roommates because each desired to act half the age they actually were.  Actually, half that already halved age and that's what they acted like.

Sadly, halfway through their sophomore year, one of these men decided to transfer to a different college more than 500 miles away.

Still, the men remained good friends. They traveled the distance more than once to see each other. They were groomsmen in each other's wedding. And, whenever they had a chance, they sent each other texts about farts and poop and David Hasselhoff and things of this nature.

Time went on. They got good jobs. Bought houses. Married fine women (if I do say so myself). And had babies. Lots and lots of babies.

Now, because the distance between them remained so far, they saw each other less and less. Time apart measured in years instead of months.

Then one day one of these men had a grand idea. How about we meet in Chicago over Easter weekend so that our children can finally meet one another? All SEVEN of our children.

And so it happened. And it was perfectly epic. Way more perfect than any of us ever could have imagined. In fact, I think it is very possible we may have made a love connection.

William & Lily

Now maybe, just maybe, if they play their cards right, these once freshman roommates could find themselves being called father-in-law at the very same wedding.  The possibilities are endless.

But no pressure, William and Lily.  No pressure.

Not to be forgotten are new BFFs, Bridget & Lucy.

7 Quick Takes [4.13.12] The Big Issues Edition

1. The Baby, also rarely known as Katherine, has started to sleep through the night a few times a week. This makes me a little sad. I know you're all, "whaaaat...?!" Let me explain. She's sleeping through the night because we've started to give her tiny bites of real food at dinner because she was getting pissed up there on the dining room table in her Bumbo seat watching everyone else devour their meal while she just sat there. So she eats a little bit, takes a bath with the big kids, gets jammied up, nurses a little while and goes to bed. It's starting. The routine of an older baby. It means she's not new anymore. It means I, alone, can't satisfy all her needs.

There's only one cure for this. Another baby. Just kidding. I'm not pregnant. I promise.

2. But let's talk about birth control while we're on the subject. This is a topic I don't usually dabble in. It's hard to talk about this kind of stuff without offending someone or making someone feel isolated. I love all my readers and want you to feel like you belong here no matter what your choices in life.

So here's the thing: I don't use birth control. Or, I do, but I don't call it that. I know there are some of you out there that are thinking Oh, she's that kind of a Catholic. We, Natural Family Planning (NFP) users, have gotten a bad image. Like we're a bunch of wackos who have a desire to be eternally pregnant. This is not true. For me, anyway.

I am Catholic. But other things you should know about me include having drug-free births and having to be nearly incapacitated before I will even think about swallowing a couple of Advil pills. Trying to work naturally with my body is one of my life's philosophies so Catholic or not, this is the path I've chosen.

I know there are other methods that don't include drugs or hormones but it still feels weird for me to protect myself from my husband. Like he's some sort of a one-night stand.

If you ever do any sort of research on the methods that fall under the umbrella of Natural Family Planning (none of which include the calendar or rhythm method, by the way) you would find it to be highly effective. As much, or more so than any of the non-natural methods.

But here's where I have a huge beef with NFP. And I think it's an issue most NFP users have been skirting around for years. NFP totally and completely sucks when you are breastfeeding and before your fertility has returned. It makes me really mad. In fact, I think it's downright lazy for any family planning method not to give you a sure process to follow. If science can grow a baby in a test tube, how can it not determine, with any precision, the return of a woman's fertility following childbirth?

The biggest problem about this is that there isn't any other time in life when I least want to get pregnant. I want my baby to be able to be the baby for a while. I want to give my body time to recover from pregnancy and childbirth. I want to continue breastfeeding without worrying about adverse side effects on an unborn baby.

So I'm calling out NFP advocates. This is total crap. We need to find a solution or drugs and other artificial methods will always win out over a good guess.

3. That probably should have been its own post but instead I buried it in my 7 Quick Takes. I'm weak like that.

4. Brian said I should write about Ann Romney in my Quick Takes this week. At first I said, "Ann who?" But then I Googled her and here's the story in a nutshell. Mitt Romney said he asked his wife what American women care about the most. She told him that we care about the economy. In response to that, some Democrat strategist asked what the heck Ann Romney knew about the economy seeing as she had never worked a day in her life. Ann Romney was a stay-at-home mom to five sons. I can guarantee you she worked her ass off. Even the Obamas spoke out against this strategist affirming how hard it is to be an at-home mother.

But aside from that, let's assume that what this strategist really meant was that Mrs. Romney never worked for pay a day in her life. Because that is true of a lot of stay-at-home mamas. I am not one of them. I did work professionally for almost four years prior to staying at home and also prior to the economic downturn. It has been five years since I have seen a paycheck with my name on it. But still, I can assure you, the state of the economy is high on my list of items that keep me up a night.

I'm not some 1950s wife who gets a weekly allowance from her husband to spend at the Supermarket. I, not Brian, balance the checkbook and make sure all the bills are paid. At any given moment I can tell you how much is in our checking, savings and how much our next credit card bill will be. I plan our weekly meals and determine what's in our food budget. I have two retirement accounts that are only in my name. Within those accounts I trade my own stocks and mutual funds.

And furthermore, when your husband is in sales and his paycheck is your ticket to being able to stay at home, I can guarantee you, the economy is not only high on my list of things I care about but I  can also discuss its state with a healthy supply of knowledge.

5. Let's talk about less intense issues, shall we? I started the Couch to 5K running program this week. I'm super jazzed up about it even though I will admit that I don't really like to run. But it's effective and cheap. The biggest hurdle to overcome was finding the time to do it. After discussing with Brian we determined that Monday, Wednesday and Saturday mornings were the best times. So at 7:30 on those days Brian kicks my butt out of bed and I hit the pavement. I love that about him. He's my biggest motivator. And not in a Tom Cruise kind of way. Just in a I-know-this-is-important-to-you-so-just-do-it way.

6. I went to the grocery by myself with all three kids and without a list this week. I've gone a few times with all three kids but never without a list. I made it through without incident and without any impulse buys. I was on top of the world when I got home. I felt like I totally had my game face on. Until I realized I remembered every single ingredient for four dinner recipes except for the pasta for the pasta bake. And then I totally got down on myself for this. Why do I do that? It was such a success, why dwell on the one teeny tiny fail that will be no problem to render with the corner market three blocks from my house?

7. And finally, I'll leave you with the Picture of the Week. Sometimes when Brian isn't home to help me with the bedtime routine, I'll sit the kids down with the Kindle Fire to read Harold and the Purple Crayon or The Going to Bed Book while I clean up the kitchen. I highly recommend both, by the way, if you have a Fire or iPad or any other tablet.

I caught sight of them while I was wiping off the dining room table and realized this was a God-given moment. When an aggravating or irritating day comes to a close, He taps me on the shoulder to remind me everything is right in the world.