People yell and scream and cheer after Donald Trump talks about how he's
going to "make America great again." How with him as President
everything will just be "great" because he "gets along" with everyone
and everyone "loves" him and he is just so awesome and amazing and
wonderful. Unicorns and rainbows must come out of him on some sort of
regular schedule to hear him tell it. He's great! He's going to make
everything great!
Right.
First, the problem with this logic is that he's saying currently America
is not great. I don't know about you, but as an American, I think
America is already great. There are broken things, yes. But to buy into
the Kool-Aid that Trump is selling you first need to say America is
currently NOT great. Which, as American who loves this country, I find offensive. Yes, there are things that I would like to fix. No, it is not perfect. But it's still great. It's like when you have a kid. They make bad choices. They go through phases when you really aren't happy with them. There are times you might have an urge to just shake them and scream. But you still love them. They're still a great kid. They just aren't exactly where you want them to be. That's how I feel everyone should try to look at the country. It needs correction yes. Not dissolution.
This whole "great" speech caters to a genre of people that are better off, largely
at least, out of the voting system entirely. Disgruntled and unqualified members
of society that have the constant "chip-on-the-shoulder" syndrome. Those
who need a scape goat and an under dog to blame all the wrong turns
their life has taken on. Someone to point a finger at.
"Those damn illegal aliens! Those damn blacks! Those damn women!"
This group needs to blame someone else for why their life hasn't been a bed of
roses. And by golly, Donald has given them that. They're popping out of
the woodwork and falling over themselves to salute this misogynist
demagogue. Literally saluting him. And swearing oaths of loyalty. And if
that video doesn't give you chills you really need a reality check.
But his speech also caters to that class of voters who feel like both sides have let them down. And they see Donald Trump as the candidate who doesn't belong to either party. Both parties hate him so he must want something that is good for me! Right? No. Both parties hate him because he's a pompous ignorant racist. That's why everyone should hate him. The problem with liking him because he's an outsider who doesn't play by the rules is that he is an outsider who doesn't play by the rules. How long do you think not playing by the rules is going to work out for him when dealing with foreign countries? How about when dealing with Congress? How about dealing with civil unrest and anarchy and rioting? Oh wait. We've already see how he deals with that.
Second, what makes you think a RICH business man (who has filed
bankruptcy and is currently trying to sort out some fraud charges with
that whole Trump University fiasco) is going to help the middle class?
When has a rich business man helped you out? Seriously. If you make less
than 6 figures a year, Trump has zero interest in you. He needs the
wealthy to stay wealthy. Why? Because they're his friends! Duh.
And yes. Trump says what he wants to. Why? Because it sells! He's a reality
TV star. And he has been given the biggest stage of all. American
Politics! He's playing America for a bunch of fools and the GOP is not
only letting him, they're helping him! I can't understand why anyone
would elect anyone to office of the President because he "says what he
wants." That is asinine and ridiculous. Way to start WW3. The rest of the world, literally, is laughing at us. And praying that we come to our senses so the world doesn't blow itself up.
Third, this man NEVER, and I mean NEVER, explains how he's going to go about making everything so "great." So you're voting for someone who has mentioned wanting to make Mexico build a wall but no details beyond that. He's going to cut taxes, but no mention as for who. He's going to bring back jobs, but he's not said how. He has no foreign policy plan (and even less qualifications for dealing with foreign issues) and has never discussed how he feels about the Middle East, Russia or China. I feel it's safe to say he is "pro-gun" just because he's such a fan of violence and racism but it's hard to say what else he's for. Because he never NEVER talks about anything. Other than how great he is. How stupid everyone else is. And his manhood. Yeah, Trump has talked about that. Very presidential.
The man has created his own militia to enforce peace at his rallies. He
has people saluting him and swearing to vote for him. He hates
minorities and women and makes jokes about the poor. He has been married
multiple times and his current wife was a nude model. He promotes
violence and encourages his supporters to attack others. I cannot even
wrap my brain around how this man is still a candidate. Let alone why anyone wants to vote for him.
Can someone please tell me what he's going to actually DO to make anything GREAT?!?
Way to go party of Reagan. I'm sure he'd be proud.
Wednesday, March 16, 2016
Saturday, May 9, 2015
Why We're Having A Fourth
Yes. It's true. We are pregnant again.
Well, I'm pregnant again. But my husband's going to have a fourth kid too. So we're both "expecting" a baby. I mean, at this point, I've seen an ultrasound. So I'm pretty confident it's a baby. I have joked that we're hoping for a unicorn. That would be pretty neat. But again, two ultrasounds in I think it's pretty much a baby. It's due the first of November, but already measuring ahead. So who knows.
Most people are surprised. So far, no one has been rude about it. But I'm barely showing, still in that "she needs to lay off the cupcakes" phase. I can still wear my jeans, I just can't button them. My shirts fit, but I'm awfully busty and look like I need to go up a size. Once I'm out and about with three kids and am obviously pregnant is when I expect the ugly looks and snide comments. It's interesting how much differently people treat you when you have one or two kids with you versus three. I'm sure four will be all that much worse. Why are so many anti-big families these days? Argument for another day.
People have a lot of questions when they find out. Are you excited? Are you nervous? Are you hoping for a boy this time? I think a lot of people really want to ask why, but are a little afraid to.
Well, to answer those questions. Yes, we are excited about having another kid. Who wouldn't be? Kids are wonderful blessings and so much fun. They're amazing little miracles. How could we not be excited? However, I hate being pregnant. Who wouldn't? I hate getting fat and not being able to do any of the things I'm used to doing. I miss spicy foods and beer and wine and sushi. I miss jogging and riding a bike. I miss seeing my toes! And I really miss beer. Ha! So, while I'm not necessarily stoked about the whole not being in charge of my body for nine months (plus the restrictions post-partum while breast feeding), I'm super stoked about another baby.
Are we nervous? Well, that one's complicated. I think with every pregnancy, you worry that you have been too fortunate in the previous ones and THIS one will have problems. And of course, you can't open Facebook without seeing horror stories about moms or babies or siblings. And I'm a born worrier. Am I nervous about having a fourth child? No. Do I worry about the things all parents worry about, like health, safety, labor and delivery etc.? Yes, of course. I wouldn't be me if I didn't.
As far as gender, I'm not being one of those people who just say this, but I just really, really want a healthy, happy baby. I am not someone who feels like I need to have a baby of each gender to be happy. I will be perfectly content with four girls. I absolutely love having three girls and I know a fourth will be that much more fun. However, it would be kinda neat to get to shop for a boy for once. It will be a learning experience for sure to have a boy. And I will really feel sorry for him growing up with three older sisters. It'll be a rough time with lots of dress up, lots of tea parties and lots of Barbies. Still, we did not get pregnant in hopes of having a boy. When Josh and I were discussing having another kid, I very specifically told him that we had a nearly 90% chance of having a girl. And he agreed that it was perfectly alright with him. Not every man feels like he needs a male progeny to be happy. Really, we just want a healthy baby.
We are very happy and appreciative of the warm wishes from family and friends. I'm excited about having another winter baby, although a lot of pregnancy will be in the summer. Still the worst of my pregnancy it will be cooler. So maybe it won't be too bad. Baby's birthday is expected to be around the time of two grandmother's birthdays. One the end of October and one the beginning of November. So they'll both have their fingers crossed for a shared birthday. That'll be fun. Hopefully. And then there is the awesome realization that due to the baby's birth and my maternity leave I will get to spend the holidays with my family for the first time since I had my own family. We can do Thanksgiving on Thursday and Christmas on Friday. It'll be awesome!
And this year there will be another little person to celebrate with. I'm sure he or she will be too little to care of course. But it will be a prequel of the wonderful, fun-filled years to come. A house full of noise and laughter and little feet. Siblings playing and fighting and loving as they go through their every day life. I can't wait to see all the wonderful adventures that they will have together. The adventures we will all have together.
So, the final and potentially most complicated question. Why?
First, I absolutely love children. I have so much fun going on little adventures with my little people, talking with them about their lives, teaching them about the world and just watching them interact. They are an immeasurable blessing. And they have without a doubt changed my life (and me) for the better. They have taught me life lessons that I would have thought I was too old to learn. And I have become a much better, stronger, wiser person than I would have imagined was possible six years ago.
Second, I want my children to have a lot of branches in their tree to fall back on.
Well, I'm pregnant again. But my husband's going to have a fourth kid too. So we're both "expecting" a baby. I mean, at this point, I've seen an ultrasound. So I'm pretty confident it's a baby. I have joked that we're hoping for a unicorn. That would be pretty neat. But again, two ultrasounds in I think it's pretty much a baby. It's due the first of November, but already measuring ahead. So who knows.
Most people are surprised. So far, no one has been rude about it. But I'm barely showing, still in that "she needs to lay off the cupcakes" phase. I can still wear my jeans, I just can't button them. My shirts fit, but I'm awfully busty and look like I need to go up a size. Once I'm out and about with three kids and am obviously pregnant is when I expect the ugly looks and snide comments. It's interesting how much differently people treat you when you have one or two kids with you versus three. I'm sure four will be all that much worse. Why are so many anti-big families these days? Argument for another day.
People have a lot of questions when they find out. Are you excited? Are you nervous? Are you hoping for a boy this time? I think a lot of people really want to ask why, but are a little afraid to.
Well, to answer those questions. Yes, we are excited about having another kid. Who wouldn't be? Kids are wonderful blessings and so much fun. They're amazing little miracles. How could we not be excited? However, I hate being pregnant. Who wouldn't? I hate getting fat and not being able to do any of the things I'm used to doing. I miss spicy foods and beer and wine and sushi. I miss jogging and riding a bike. I miss seeing my toes! And I really miss beer. Ha! So, while I'm not necessarily stoked about the whole not being in charge of my body for nine months (plus the restrictions post-partum while breast feeding), I'm super stoked about another baby.
Are we nervous? Well, that one's complicated. I think with every pregnancy, you worry that you have been too fortunate in the previous ones and THIS one will have problems. And of course, you can't open Facebook without seeing horror stories about moms or babies or siblings. And I'm a born worrier. Am I nervous about having a fourth child? No. Do I worry about the things all parents worry about, like health, safety, labor and delivery etc.? Yes, of course. I wouldn't be me if I didn't.
As far as gender, I'm not being one of those people who just say this, but I just really, really want a healthy, happy baby. I am not someone who feels like I need to have a baby of each gender to be happy. I will be perfectly content with four girls. I absolutely love having three girls and I know a fourth will be that much more fun. However, it would be kinda neat to get to shop for a boy for once. It will be a learning experience for sure to have a boy. And I will really feel sorry for him growing up with three older sisters. It'll be a rough time with lots of dress up, lots of tea parties and lots of Barbies. Still, we did not get pregnant in hopes of having a boy. When Josh and I were discussing having another kid, I very specifically told him that we had a nearly 90% chance of having a girl. And he agreed that it was perfectly alright with him. Not every man feels like he needs a male progeny to be happy. Really, we just want a healthy baby.
We are very happy and appreciative of the warm wishes from family and friends. I'm excited about having another winter baby, although a lot of pregnancy will be in the summer. Still the worst of my pregnancy it will be cooler. So maybe it won't be too bad. Baby's birthday is expected to be around the time of two grandmother's birthdays. One the end of October and one the beginning of November. So they'll both have their fingers crossed for a shared birthday. That'll be fun. Hopefully. And then there is the awesome realization that due to the baby's birth and my maternity leave I will get to spend the holidays with my family for the first time since I had my own family. We can do Thanksgiving on Thursday and Christmas on Friday. It'll be awesome!
And this year there will be another little person to celebrate with. I'm sure he or she will be too little to care of course. But it will be a prequel of the wonderful, fun-filled years to come. A house full of noise and laughter and little feet. Siblings playing and fighting and loving as they go through their every day life. I can't wait to see all the wonderful adventures that they will have together. The adventures we will all have together.
So, the final and potentially most complicated question. Why?
First, I absolutely love children. I have so much fun going on little adventures with my little people, talking with them about their lives, teaching them about the world and just watching them interact. They are an immeasurable blessing. And they have without a doubt changed my life (and me) for the better. They have taught me life lessons that I would have thought I was too old to learn. And I have become a much better, stronger, wiser person than I would have imagined was possible six years ago.
Second, I want my children to have a lot of branches in their tree to fall back on.
Wednesday, March 4, 2015
The Curse of Blogs
I read a blog the other on the curse of being perpetually "busy." I suppose that describes me. I am always busy.
With three kids and a full-time job there just isn't time to not be busy. There is always someone needing something, laundry that needs doing, something that needs cleaning, food that needs fixing, bills that need paying. Really, the list never ends. And I have even slacked up quite a bit on my house work. Laundry goes unfolded. Floors go unmopped. Rooms remain slightly chaotic. Eh. It's not hurting anyone.
But apparently, now I also have to find time to be NOT busy.
Sometimes, I read a blog and I think, what an inspiration! This is what I needed today. I'm so glad I invested two minutes while I ate my cereal or watched tv or used the bathroom (yeah, I know. Kinda ew. But, it's one of the few times I get peace and quiet.) to read this. And sometimes I read something and I have this moment of "Oh my God, I'm doing everything wrong." And then in the next moment I would like to smack the writer.
Yes, there is such thing as being too busy. I have days where I look back and wish I had invested my time differently. Maybe that load of laundry could have waited until after the girls went to bed. Or maybe I should have just left the bathroom mess for tomorrow. Because when I got done folding clothes or scrubbing some kind of purple-green slime off the bathroom counters (Really, how do kids make these messes?), the kids were coloring the couch with their crayons and instead of getting to sit down and color with them, I had to send them to time out and then monitor them cleaning the couch. Or some other disaster had arisen that required my attention and I didn't get to sit and read the book I had planned on.
But there are days where I spend the whole day lounging around with my kids. Reading books and coloring and playing. And yet I still manage to cook three reasonably healthy meals and get everything that HAS to be done done.
In today's society, we have access to so much information. Blogs, articles, lists. Pinterest posts, phone apps are all out there. Thousands of people wanting to tell how you need to live your life and how you're doing it all wrong because it isn't their way. There are hundreds of people ready to tell why crying it out is the best way to sleep train and then another hundred who want to tell you that crying it out is going to ruin your kid FOR LIFE and that co-sleeping is the only correct way to let your baby sleep. Hundreds of people advocating green living and cloth diapers and organic everything. And if you aren't doing it their way, by golly, you are wrong, wrong, wrong. People to tell you that your kids need to be close in age so they have playmates and people to tell you to space them out because each child deserves their own childhood. If you want to feel bad about your life, just get on the internet. I'm sure within 10 minutes you can find a blog that will make you feel like utter crap.
Parenting is tough and it takes a village. But these days, too much of that village comes from the digital world. When our parents were having kids, they had Dr. Spock and a handful of parenting books. Then they went to their parents and their grandparents for advice. While instant access to an entire universe of new ideas can be an incredible asset, it's also a terrible curse for parents today.
I really appreciate the bloggers who simply want to tell me what they do and why. I love information. I love learning new things. When pregnant with Buffy, I did a lot of reading and research and decided that I wanted to sort of co-sleep. I wanted to do baby wearing. I wanted to breastfeed. By the time she was a year old, I wanted to cloth diaper and made a lot of moves to go green in our home. By her second birthday, we also had gone mostly organic, have cut out red meat, minimize our Walmart shopping, etc. Mostly because of online reading and research, including blogs where I read about others' experiences and opinions. That's not to say that these things are the "right" things or the "best" things, but they are what we decided were best for OUR family and OUR situation.
When I could not get my cloth diapers to stop smelling funky, I got on Pinterest and changed how I was washing them. Now, we are problem free. When Evie was younger and the doctors said that she was just really smart (which she is) and I felt like there was something else, I got online and found SPD and realized this was what was wrong. When I got a bread machine for Christmas and had no idea how to use it, I got online and found a ton of information on using it as well as recipes. Now it is my favorite kitchen appliance. For everything from supper ideas to crafts for the kids, I can find it online. It is a great resource!
Sometimes though, I will be skimming Facebook and see a blog link and click it because the title pulls me in. Then a few minutes later, I wish I never had. I've gotten much better and not letting someone else's opinion have a big impact on my life. But I know not everyone has that ability. And I worry about what kind of impact this Negative Nancy mentality is having on those new moms who turn to the internet for some hope and light in what may be a dark and difficult time and instead hear how they are doing everything wrong.
Blogs can be both a blessing and a curse. I hope that my writing isn't the pushing it down your throat, you have to do it my way or you're wrong type that I find so disagreeable. I intend my blog only as a documentation of our choices and a chronicle of our crazy lives. Three babies in four years isn't for everyone, I am the first to say it. But it has been a wonderful choice for us.
With three kids and a full-time job there just isn't time to not be busy. There is always someone needing something, laundry that needs doing, something that needs cleaning, food that needs fixing, bills that need paying. Really, the list never ends. And I have even slacked up quite a bit on my house work. Laundry goes unfolded. Floors go unmopped. Rooms remain slightly chaotic. Eh. It's not hurting anyone.
But apparently, now I also have to find time to be NOT busy.
Sometimes, I read a blog and I think, what an inspiration! This is what I needed today. I'm so glad I invested two minutes while I ate my cereal or watched tv or used the bathroom (yeah, I know. Kinda ew. But, it's one of the few times I get peace and quiet.) to read this. And sometimes I read something and I have this moment of "Oh my God, I'm doing everything wrong." And then in the next moment I would like to smack the writer.
Yes, there is such thing as being too busy. I have days where I look back and wish I had invested my time differently. Maybe that load of laundry could have waited until after the girls went to bed. Or maybe I should have just left the bathroom mess for tomorrow. Because when I got done folding clothes or scrubbing some kind of purple-green slime off the bathroom counters (Really, how do kids make these messes?), the kids were coloring the couch with their crayons and instead of getting to sit down and color with them, I had to send them to time out and then monitor them cleaning the couch. Or some other disaster had arisen that required my attention and I didn't get to sit and read the book I had planned on.
But there are days where I spend the whole day lounging around with my kids. Reading books and coloring and playing. And yet I still manage to cook three reasonably healthy meals and get everything that HAS to be done done.
In today's society, we have access to so much information. Blogs, articles, lists. Pinterest posts, phone apps are all out there. Thousands of people wanting to tell how you need to live your life and how you're doing it all wrong because it isn't their way. There are hundreds of people ready to tell why crying it out is the best way to sleep train and then another hundred who want to tell you that crying it out is going to ruin your kid FOR LIFE and that co-sleeping is the only correct way to let your baby sleep. Hundreds of people advocating green living and cloth diapers and organic everything. And if you aren't doing it their way, by golly, you are wrong, wrong, wrong. People to tell you that your kids need to be close in age so they have playmates and people to tell you to space them out because each child deserves their own childhood. If you want to feel bad about your life, just get on the internet. I'm sure within 10 minutes you can find a blog that will make you feel like utter crap.
Parenting is tough and it takes a village. But these days, too much of that village comes from the digital world. When our parents were having kids, they had Dr. Spock and a handful of parenting books. Then they went to their parents and their grandparents for advice. While instant access to an entire universe of new ideas can be an incredible asset, it's also a terrible curse for parents today.
I really appreciate the bloggers who simply want to tell me what they do and why. I love information. I love learning new things. When pregnant with Buffy, I did a lot of reading and research and decided that I wanted to sort of co-sleep. I wanted to do baby wearing. I wanted to breastfeed. By the time she was a year old, I wanted to cloth diaper and made a lot of moves to go green in our home. By her second birthday, we also had gone mostly organic, have cut out red meat, minimize our Walmart shopping, etc. Mostly because of online reading and research, including blogs where I read about others' experiences and opinions. That's not to say that these things are the "right" things or the "best" things, but they are what we decided were best for OUR family and OUR situation.
When I could not get my cloth diapers to stop smelling funky, I got on Pinterest and changed how I was washing them. Now, we are problem free. When Evie was younger and the doctors said that she was just really smart (which she is) and I felt like there was something else, I got online and found SPD and realized this was what was wrong. When I got a bread machine for Christmas and had no idea how to use it, I got online and found a ton of information on using it as well as recipes. Now it is my favorite kitchen appliance. For everything from supper ideas to crafts for the kids, I can find it online. It is a great resource!
Sometimes though, I will be skimming Facebook and see a blog link and click it because the title pulls me in. Then a few minutes later, I wish I never had. I've gotten much better and not letting someone else's opinion have a big impact on my life. But I know not everyone has that ability. And I worry about what kind of impact this Negative Nancy mentality is having on those new moms who turn to the internet for some hope and light in what may be a dark and difficult time and instead hear how they are doing everything wrong.
Blogs can be both a blessing and a curse. I hope that my writing isn't the pushing it down your throat, you have to do it my way or you're wrong type that I find so disagreeable. I intend my blog only as a documentation of our choices and a chronicle of our crazy lives. Three babies in four years isn't for everyone, I am the first to say it. But it has been a wonderful choice for us.
Saturday, August 16, 2014
Five Years Already Gone
In just one day, my oldest child will be five.
Five.
Five. Years. Old.
This strikes me as both euphoric and tragic. I'm elated and depressed.
On one hand, it seems impossible that already 1,825 days have come and gone since she came into my life. On the other, it has been a long journey to get where we are.
Little Evelyn is going to be a very powerful young woman one day. Her personality and will are a force to be reckoned with and she has a stubborn streak that I will swear she gets entirely from her daddy. She is beautiful, inside and out, but she can also be quite calculating and hard. She is determined. And with determination, the wants and needs of others frequently falls to the wayside. She can be very tender and her feelings are easily bruised. Her ego is frequently fragile and she wants lots of encouragement. To describe her as high maintenance would be an understatement many days. But she knows what she wants and how she wants it, and far be it from me to find fault in her strong sense of self. Just as long as she does it politely that is. I cannot abide rudeness or a hateful attitude. No matter how small the package it comes in!
Part of her eccentricities are due to her SPD and part are just how she is. I suppose since the SPD is part of who she is that makes all of them solely hers. But I think you know what I mean.
Five is a big deal. Although she won't actually start school this year (a decision that I feel is that right one yet still grapple with emotionally some days) she's not a "little kid" anymore. She's five.
Evie says she will be bigger once she's five. And she will ride a bike without training wheels. She will be able to go places on her own (yeah, right.). She will be big and she will get to do what other big kids do (though if you ask her, she doesn't know exactly what that is).
I think little kids feel about five the way adolescents feel about 16. It's a big deal.
For me, it really feels like she's not a baby anymore. Though I know she still sleeps with a night light and she likes for me to leave her door open until she dozes off. She still likes for me to fiddle with her hair and tell her she's my very favorite Evie before I tuck her in. Her favorite place to watch tv is curled up on my lap with her hand on mine. Just as it has been for years.
But she longer rushes to hold my hand when we are out places. She doesn't delight as much in being toted hither and fro. She would much rather be down and exploring on her own. She doesn't want me to do things for her as much like brush her teeth and wash her hands. She wants to do it herself.
But, wow. Five.
The two's and three's are behind us. With her SPD much better managed now, I have a lot of hope and enthusiasm for future changes. I know she will only continue to improve as we continue to work. Four was a good year. Lots of developments. Reading, writing, coloring in the lines. Five is going to be HUGE. I feel a bit daunted thinking of handling this year on my own (no teachers!) with two other littles to keep up with. But I hope it goes well. I think it will. Maybe. It's going to be fine...I hope.
I remember worrying when she was born if there was any way that I could remember all the things that I cherished so much from when she was a baby. And I'm glad to say that so far I do. The ferocity of that first kick (should have been a warning!). The warm weight of her the first time I got to hold her, big eyes just taking everything in. Not being able to sleep the first week (okay, maybe month) for worrying about her. Worrying she was too hot, too cold, too tightly swaddled, not tight enough. Worrying that she might suddenly stop breathing (Honestly, I still check their breathing every night before I go to bed. It's okay to think I'm crazy.). I remember the amazement the first time she rolled over on her own. Pouring through the baby books to make sure we were doing everything, she was doing everything, everyone was doing everything exactly "right." The joy of watching her daddy make her laugh for the first time (Could you ever imagine how perfect a sound could be, before you heard your child laugh?). Holding her until she dozed off every night and hating to put her down. Her first words, her first steps. Oh, how my heart raced with pride! Her big open-mouthed kisses. They were messy, but oh so sweet.
And now she's five. Instead of styling her hair with her food she's asking to be excused from the table when she's done. Instead of gnawing on her shoes, she picks out a pair that matches her outfit and puts them back where they belong when she's done. Instead of singing refrigerators and bouncing zebras, she's playing with Barbies and Legos and riding bicycles.
It's hard to watch them grow up. To know that it's all going by so quickly and that before you know it they won't need you and they'll be off living their own life. Instead of worrying about them choking on hot dogs (although even adults choke on those bad boys) or accidentally running into the street, you'll be worrying about the kinds of friends they have and what kind of college they're going to go to and if that guy she's dating is actually good enough (answer is NO.).
But it's a wonderful, miraculous blessing. Being a part of their precious lives and helping them grow. Watching them change and evolve and develop. It is amazing. Seeing her eyes light up when she learns something new is just...indescribable. It's incredible.
Five years.
Wow.
So, happy early birthday little Evelyn. It has already been such a spectacular journey with you! I cannot wait to see where the next five years takes you. But please walk. We all know how prone you are to falling down. I love you Evie-bo-bevie. You're the best little Evie in the whole wide world!
Love,
Momma
Five.
Five. Years. Old.
This strikes me as both euphoric and tragic. I'm elated and depressed.
On one hand, it seems impossible that already 1,825 days have come and gone since she came into my life. On the other, it has been a long journey to get where we are.
Little Evelyn is going to be a very powerful young woman one day. Her personality and will are a force to be reckoned with and she has a stubborn streak that I will swear she gets entirely from her daddy. She is beautiful, inside and out, but she can also be quite calculating and hard. She is determined. And with determination, the wants and needs of others frequently falls to the wayside. She can be very tender and her feelings are easily bruised. Her ego is frequently fragile and she wants lots of encouragement. To describe her as high maintenance would be an understatement many days. But she knows what she wants and how she wants it, and far be it from me to find fault in her strong sense of self. Just as long as she does it politely that is. I cannot abide rudeness or a hateful attitude. No matter how small the package it comes in!
Part of her eccentricities are due to her SPD and part are just how she is. I suppose since the SPD is part of who she is that makes all of them solely hers. But I think you know what I mean.
Five is a big deal. Although she won't actually start school this year (a decision that I feel is that right one yet still grapple with emotionally some days) she's not a "little kid" anymore. She's five.
Evie says she will be bigger once she's five. And she will ride a bike without training wheels. She will be able to go places on her own (yeah, right.). She will be big and she will get to do what other big kids do (though if you ask her, she doesn't know exactly what that is).
I think little kids feel about five the way adolescents feel about 16. It's a big deal.
For me, it really feels like she's not a baby anymore. Though I know she still sleeps with a night light and she likes for me to leave her door open until she dozes off. She still likes for me to fiddle with her hair and tell her she's my very favorite Evie before I tuck her in. Her favorite place to watch tv is curled up on my lap with her hand on mine. Just as it has been for years.
But she longer rushes to hold my hand when we are out places. She doesn't delight as much in being toted hither and fro. She would much rather be down and exploring on her own. She doesn't want me to do things for her as much like brush her teeth and wash her hands. She wants to do it herself.
But, wow. Five.
The two's and three's are behind us. With her SPD much better managed now, I have a lot of hope and enthusiasm for future changes. I know she will only continue to improve as we continue to work. Four was a good year. Lots of developments. Reading, writing, coloring in the lines. Five is going to be HUGE. I feel a bit daunted thinking of handling this year on my own (no teachers!) with two other littles to keep up with. But I hope it goes well. I think it will. Maybe. It's going to be fine...I hope.
I remember worrying when she was born if there was any way that I could remember all the things that I cherished so much from when she was a baby. And I'm glad to say that so far I do. The ferocity of that first kick (should have been a warning!). The warm weight of her the first time I got to hold her, big eyes just taking everything in. Not being able to sleep the first week (okay, maybe month) for worrying about her. Worrying she was too hot, too cold, too tightly swaddled, not tight enough. Worrying that she might suddenly stop breathing (Honestly, I still check their breathing every night before I go to bed. It's okay to think I'm crazy.). I remember the amazement the first time she rolled over on her own. Pouring through the baby books to make sure we were doing everything, she was doing everything, everyone was doing everything exactly "right." The joy of watching her daddy make her laugh for the first time (Could you ever imagine how perfect a sound could be, before you heard your child laugh?). Holding her until she dozed off every night and hating to put her down. Her first words, her first steps. Oh, how my heart raced with pride! Her big open-mouthed kisses. They were messy, but oh so sweet.
And now she's five. Instead of styling her hair with her food she's asking to be excused from the table when she's done. Instead of gnawing on her shoes, she picks out a pair that matches her outfit and puts them back where they belong when she's done. Instead of singing refrigerators and bouncing zebras, she's playing with Barbies and Legos and riding bicycles.
It's hard to watch them grow up. To know that it's all going by so quickly and that before you know it they won't need you and they'll be off living their own life. Instead of worrying about them choking on hot dogs (although even adults choke on those bad boys) or accidentally running into the street, you'll be worrying about the kinds of friends they have and what kind of college they're going to go to and if that guy she's dating is actually good enough (answer is NO.).
But it's a wonderful, miraculous blessing. Being a part of their precious lives and helping them grow. Watching them change and evolve and develop. It is amazing. Seeing her eyes light up when she learns something new is just...indescribable. It's incredible.
Five years.
Wow.
So, happy early birthday little Evelyn. It has already been such a spectacular journey with you! I cannot wait to see where the next five years takes you. But please walk. We all know how prone you are to falling down. I love you Evie-bo-bevie. You're the best little Evie in the whole wide world!
Love,
Momma
Thursday, August 14, 2014
A Day in My Life
I am frequently told by people, "I just don't know how you do it!" Well, I don't know what choice I have. I suppose I could sit down and cry. Some days, that is a very tempting alternative. But I don't really know what people mean. What exactly is it that I do that is so hard to believe?
For some, working full-time with a trio of preschoolers seems difficult. But I don't see that. Many days, work is a nice escape from the roaring din of my home. Some nights, I even get a small reprieve to read a book when nothing is going on. My job, while frequently stressful, definitely takes my mind off the stresses of home and gives me something to be proud of. Something with a very concrete beginning and end. A contrast to the seemingly never-ending day-in day-out routine of life with little people.
For others, it is merely balancing the maintaining of a home with the care of multiple helpless youth. It is challenging, but there it is the monotony and predictability of a daily routine that is our saving grace. Usually, if I'm feeling frazzled by bickering babies I can merely glance at a clock and lo, it's time for a snack! What does everyone want for a snack? Let's go check the pantry! And alas! Everyone's mood takes a dramatic upswing because they have a new focus. Plus, the kick to the ole blood sugar doesn't hurt.
But if you have always wondered what my days look like, here goes...
7:17 a.m.
*chick* *chick* *chick* *chick*
What on earth is that sound? Ugh. Whatever it is I'm going back to sleep.
"Momma? Momma. Momma!" That's Buffy. On the baby monitor. So much for back to sleep.
Up. Dogs out. Bed made. Utilize the two-way feature on our baby monitor, "Buffy, Momma will be up in just a minute baby."
Cat fed. Load of laundry in the dryer. Next load in the wash. Grab a new pack of waffles out of the downstairs freezer. Thank goodness for this freezer. Thank goodness for giant boxes of delicious waffles from Costco. Dogs back in. Trudge up the stairs and into the nursery.
"Good morning, darling. How's Buffy?"
A happy baby dancing in her crib. Turn off the sound machine and scoop her up.
"Eww. Baby. You need a diaper!"
*chick chick chick* Sound identified. Apparently Buffy's My Pal Violet dog needs new batteries. Put that on the list. I'm not sure she'll sleep without it. Change the baby. Meanwhile, two more girls have woke up. Greetings exchanged.
"Momma, I want a waffle for breakfast," Elly says.
"Sure thing baby."
"I want cereal."
"That's fine Evie. Go ahead and grab your cereal and a bowl."
I toss three waffles in the toaster. Start it. Turn on the Keurig. Help Evie pour her cereal. Grab two clean cups out of the dishwasher, fill Elly's with milk. Grab me a bowl. Fill my bowl with cereal. Mmm, mini wheats. Add milk to two bowls of cereal and return it to the fridge (though not before first putting it in the pantry and realizing my mistake. Oops!) Put the cereal in the pantry. Chat with Elly who patiently waits for a waffle, argue with Evie who has now decided she wants a waffle and try to calm Buffy who is absolutely starving to death and cannot wait another second for anything. Period. All while emptying the dishwasher. Start a cup of coffee (mmmm, coffee!). Pull out three waffles. Toss two on the high chair and another on a plate.
"Momma, can I have two?"
"I'll have to cook another one. Do you mind waiting?"
"No. I can wait. I will eat this one while the next one cooks."
"I want one too Momma," Evie adds.
Help Buffy into her highchair and grab a sippy cup of milk from the fridge. So glad that was already filled. Put butter on Elly's waffle. Start two more. Cut Elly's up. Add syrup. Grab me a spoon and my coffee. Take my bowl and mug to the table. Blah, my cereal is all soggy. Grab the creamer from the fridge and add a splash to my cup. Replace it and start to sit.
"Momma, you forgot to get me something to drink."
"Evie, is that how you ask for a drink?"
"Momma, can I please have something to drink?"
"That's a little better. Yes ma'am."
Grab Evie a cup and fill it halfway with water and add a little juice.
"Thank you Momma."
"You're welcome."
I get a few bites of cereal before the toaster dings. Buffy is still going to town but Elly has finished her first waffle. Fix up two more waffles with butter and syrup and cut them up. Grab Evie a fork. They're both eating so I sit back down and finish my cereal. Most of the way through my coffee Buffy decides she's done. I help her down and hand her what's left of her waffle to munch on. I hate doing it, but she refuses to stay seated for long. The therapist says it's part of her SPD. She's improved a little. But for now, the only way to really get her to eat is to let her tote it around sometimes. Evie and Elly are also done. They run down the hall to play and bound back into the living room with arms full of stuffed animals and toys. Next the Legos are out and they're building houses for dinosaurs and airplanes and trains. Buffy plays as best she can. Inevitably, she ends up knocking down someone's house and there is yelling and crying. I try to stay out of the minor scuffles. But I regularly remind them, "Girls, share," "Girls, let Buffy play too," "Buffy, stop being ugly," etc.
Cereal and coffee done. Rinse out everyone's bowls and put all the dishes in the dishwasher. Wipe off the table and the bar. Scoop up Buffy, once more crying over something her sister's have done. Feed the dogs. Take Buffy to let her pick out an outfit and get her dressed. Elly is so impressed with the skirt that her baby has picked out that she insists on wearing a dress. And of course since the other two are in dresses, Evie must have one as well.
Dresses picked out. Girls getting dressed and making their beds. Picking up their rooms. Meanwhile, I wash my face and Buffy goes about tearing out all the toys in her toy box. Oh well! At least she's happy.
8:24 a.m.
Plop down on the couch and call my mom. Short conversation about the morning's plans, whether or not she has arrowroot powder (I'm trying a new lotion recipe), discussing the upcoming birthday party and other weekend activities. Then babies are fussing over dinosaurs and well, I gotta go! Playing with the kids and getting the diaper bag out and everything ready.
9:08 a.m.
Dogs out. Make sure the dryer is off. Get dressed. Dogs in and then crated. Empty the dehumidifier. Back upstairs.
"Girls, get some shoes on. And help me pick up."
Screaming commences.
"I don't care who got it all out. Yes, you can leave your special house out. Just set it up. Evie, get that dinosaur out of the floor. Make sure everything is up."
Help them pick up all their toys, pick up rugs and things. Help the girls pick out shoes. Grab the Roomba and plop it in the living room and start it. Grab the diaper bag and scoop up the baby (who still isn't wearing shoes. Gotta remember those.) Remind girls to grab an animal and their kindles and we all head to the car. Open the girls' door and while they climb in I walk around and put Buffy in her seat. Toss in the bag. Walk back around and check the girls' seat belts. Hand them their kindles and get them situated. Back into the house. Grab my purse and a handful of snacks. Fill up a water bottle and a sippy cup. Glance at the clock...
9:49 a.m.
Crap. Ten minutes until we're supposed to be in Dobson. Oh well. Door locked. Back to the car. Dump a package of fruit snacks into Buffy's cup holder. Hop in. Off to D-town.
10:12 a.m.
Find a spot at the church.
"Kindles off girls."
"Mine's off Momma. But Elly won't turn her's off."
"Momma, do you wanna see my picture?" Elly asks.
"Yes, baby. I do!"
Keys in one pocket. Phone in another. Climb into the back. Look at Elly's kindle, undo three 5-point harnesses. Help Buffy out of her seat and remind Evie to wait and let me get out first.
"Remember, Evie. We're in a parking lot."
Climb out. Close doors.
"Elly, hold my hand. Evie, you hold Elly's." Then we're off across the parking lot and up on the sidewalk. "Yes, Evie you can let go now." Sweet Elly doesn't let go. She doesn't usually.
Signed in and inside, we find a seat. We're late so they're limited. Buffy on my lap and Evie and Elly sharing a seat. We watch the reptile show. It's very interesting. Even wrestling a toddler and reminding the older ones to be quiet and sit still and stop fighting. All while trying to talk to them about what we're seeing, "Wow, look how big that toad is," "Do you see that lizard?" "Wow, bearded dragons are kinda pretty, huh?" and on. The program ends with us getting to pet a 19-year-old Carpet Boa named Hamish. Buffy isn't the least bit interested in touching the snake. But the others love it.
11:15 a.m.
Back out of the building.
"Girls, hold hands. Elly, you should let Evie hold your hand. That's so mean."
We're back to the car and the bigs are climbing in. I carry Buffy, who is now getting a little tired, back to her seat.
"Anyone want a snack?" Jubilant cries. "Girls, want fruitie snacks? Buff, you want some peanut butter crackers?" More jubilant cries.
Everyone strapped in. Check seat belts. Snacks distributed. Off to my mom's to pick up arrowroot.
"I gotta pee!" Evie yells.
"Me too, Evie. We'll be there in a few minutes."
11:24 a.m.
Ma's house. Everyone out. Help everyone onto the porch and into the house. Everyone through the bathroom. Girls into the playroom dragging out toys and squealing. Spend some time talking to my mom. Get my arrowroot.
"Alright girls. Time to go home. Pick up the play room."
Help with cleaning up. Girls back into the car. (How many times a day can I work a 5-point harness? Seriously.)
11:54 a.m.
Back on the road. Frozen CD going. Girls playing kindles. Buffy asleep.
12:17 p.m.
Back home. A pile of boxes on the porch. (Yay eBay!)
"What's that Momma?"
"Christmas presents."
"Really? For us?"
"Yeah. Should be. Hopefully those are the clothes I got you guys."
Unloading the car and getting girls inside and getting lunches made and people fed and trying to get myself fed as well.
*****
Are you bored yet? Yeah. It's not terribly exciting. Five hours. Of the typical 14 hour days, it's pretty much this on repeat. Meal, clean up, play, clean up. Snack, clean up, play, clean up. Meal, clean up, NAPS (my fav!). Snacks, clean up, play, clean up. Supper, clean up, baths, play, clean up. Bed. Fun fun fun.
It's a blessed boring life. I love it even when I want to hide in a closet and cry. I may not love it at the time. I may not like it or enjoy it. Some days I yell and I feel bad. Some days I threaten beatings (which I never, ever follow through on, I promise!) and I feel bad. Some days I feel like I don't get to do anything other than clean up their messes and try and salvage my sanity (and do a piss poor job of it) and I feel bad. But there are some days when things go well and there's a wonderful flow and by the time we all go to bed that I night I feel all aglow with how spectacular my kids are and how wonderfully blessed I am to be their momma.
When the day is coming to an end and I put the girls to bed, I always talk to them about their day. They always have good things to say, so I take that to mean it wasn't as bad as it felt. We always talk about something they want to do the next day and I sing them their special song (they each have their own) and tuck them in. It's prayers and kisses and good night and sweet dreams. It's sneaking in before I go to bed and pushing their hair back from their faces and thank God for these precious children. I straighten their blankets and make sure their animals are near their hands and I ask Him to help me be the momma they deserve.
When I look back, years from now, I know this time in our lives will have flown by. I always try to remind myself of that. Try to savor the hours and the days. Even amid the tantrums and the messes. The attitudes and the uproar and bickering. Remember the sweet moments. The times they hold my hand or pipe up a "Momma, I love you" out of nowhere. Savor them. Love them. After all, it's only a day in my life.
For some, working full-time with a trio of preschoolers seems difficult. But I don't see that. Many days, work is a nice escape from the roaring din of my home. Some nights, I even get a small reprieve to read a book when nothing is going on. My job, while frequently stressful, definitely takes my mind off the stresses of home and gives me something to be proud of. Something with a very concrete beginning and end. A contrast to the seemingly never-ending day-in day-out routine of life with little people.
For others, it is merely balancing the maintaining of a home with the care of multiple helpless youth. It is challenging, but there it is the monotony and predictability of a daily routine that is our saving grace. Usually, if I'm feeling frazzled by bickering babies I can merely glance at a clock and lo, it's time for a snack! What does everyone want for a snack? Let's go check the pantry! And alas! Everyone's mood takes a dramatic upswing because they have a new focus. Plus, the kick to the ole blood sugar doesn't hurt.
But if you have always wondered what my days look like, here goes...
7:17 a.m.
*chick* *chick* *chick* *chick*
What on earth is that sound? Ugh. Whatever it is I'm going back to sleep.
"Momma? Momma. Momma!" That's Buffy. On the baby monitor. So much for back to sleep.
Up. Dogs out. Bed made. Utilize the two-way feature on our baby monitor, "Buffy, Momma will be up in just a minute baby."
Cat fed. Load of laundry in the dryer. Next load in the wash. Grab a new pack of waffles out of the downstairs freezer. Thank goodness for this freezer. Thank goodness for giant boxes of delicious waffles from Costco. Dogs back in. Trudge up the stairs and into the nursery.
"Good morning, darling. How's Buffy?"
A happy baby dancing in her crib. Turn off the sound machine and scoop her up.
"Eww. Baby. You need a diaper!"
*chick chick chick* Sound identified. Apparently Buffy's My Pal Violet dog needs new batteries. Put that on the list. I'm not sure she'll sleep without it. Change the baby. Meanwhile, two more girls have woke up. Greetings exchanged.
"Momma, I want a waffle for breakfast," Elly says.
"Sure thing baby."
"I want cereal."
"That's fine Evie. Go ahead and grab your cereal and a bowl."
I toss three waffles in the toaster. Start it. Turn on the Keurig. Help Evie pour her cereal. Grab two clean cups out of the dishwasher, fill Elly's with milk. Grab me a bowl. Fill my bowl with cereal. Mmm, mini wheats. Add milk to two bowls of cereal and return it to the fridge (though not before first putting it in the pantry and realizing my mistake. Oops!) Put the cereal in the pantry. Chat with Elly who patiently waits for a waffle, argue with Evie who has now decided she wants a waffle and try to calm Buffy who is absolutely starving to death and cannot wait another second for anything. Period. All while emptying the dishwasher. Start a cup of coffee (mmmm, coffee!). Pull out three waffles. Toss two on the high chair and another on a plate.
"Momma, can I have two?"
"I'll have to cook another one. Do you mind waiting?"
"No. I can wait. I will eat this one while the next one cooks."
"I want one too Momma," Evie adds.
Help Buffy into her highchair and grab a sippy cup of milk from the fridge. So glad that was already filled. Put butter on Elly's waffle. Start two more. Cut Elly's up. Add syrup. Grab me a spoon and my coffee. Take my bowl and mug to the table. Blah, my cereal is all soggy. Grab the creamer from the fridge and add a splash to my cup. Replace it and start to sit.
"Momma, you forgot to get me something to drink."
"Evie, is that how you ask for a drink?"
"Momma, can I please have something to drink?"
"That's a little better. Yes ma'am."
Grab Evie a cup and fill it halfway with water and add a little juice.
"Thank you Momma."
"You're welcome."
I get a few bites of cereal before the toaster dings. Buffy is still going to town but Elly has finished her first waffle. Fix up two more waffles with butter and syrup and cut them up. Grab Evie a fork. They're both eating so I sit back down and finish my cereal. Most of the way through my coffee Buffy decides she's done. I help her down and hand her what's left of her waffle to munch on. I hate doing it, but she refuses to stay seated for long. The therapist says it's part of her SPD. She's improved a little. But for now, the only way to really get her to eat is to let her tote it around sometimes. Evie and Elly are also done. They run down the hall to play and bound back into the living room with arms full of stuffed animals and toys. Next the Legos are out and they're building houses for dinosaurs and airplanes and trains. Buffy plays as best she can. Inevitably, she ends up knocking down someone's house and there is yelling and crying. I try to stay out of the minor scuffles. But I regularly remind them, "Girls, share," "Girls, let Buffy play too," "Buffy, stop being ugly," etc.
Cereal and coffee done. Rinse out everyone's bowls and put all the dishes in the dishwasher. Wipe off the table and the bar. Scoop up Buffy, once more crying over something her sister's have done. Feed the dogs. Take Buffy to let her pick out an outfit and get her dressed. Elly is so impressed with the skirt that her baby has picked out that she insists on wearing a dress. And of course since the other two are in dresses, Evie must have one as well.
Dresses picked out. Girls getting dressed and making their beds. Picking up their rooms. Meanwhile, I wash my face and Buffy goes about tearing out all the toys in her toy box. Oh well! At least she's happy.
8:24 a.m.
Plop down on the couch and call my mom. Short conversation about the morning's plans, whether or not she has arrowroot powder (I'm trying a new lotion recipe), discussing the upcoming birthday party and other weekend activities. Then babies are fussing over dinosaurs and well, I gotta go! Playing with the kids and getting the diaper bag out and everything ready.
9:08 a.m.
Dogs out. Make sure the dryer is off. Get dressed. Dogs in and then crated. Empty the dehumidifier. Back upstairs.
"Girls, get some shoes on. And help me pick up."
Screaming commences.
"I don't care who got it all out. Yes, you can leave your special house out. Just set it up. Evie, get that dinosaur out of the floor. Make sure everything is up."
Help them pick up all their toys, pick up rugs and things. Help the girls pick out shoes. Grab the Roomba and plop it in the living room and start it. Grab the diaper bag and scoop up the baby (who still isn't wearing shoes. Gotta remember those.) Remind girls to grab an animal and their kindles and we all head to the car. Open the girls' door and while they climb in I walk around and put Buffy in her seat. Toss in the bag. Walk back around and check the girls' seat belts. Hand them their kindles and get them situated. Back into the house. Grab my purse and a handful of snacks. Fill up a water bottle and a sippy cup. Glance at the clock...
9:49 a.m.
Crap. Ten minutes until we're supposed to be in Dobson. Oh well. Door locked. Back to the car. Dump a package of fruit snacks into Buffy's cup holder. Hop in. Off to D-town.
10:12 a.m.
Find a spot at the church.
"Kindles off girls."
"Mine's off Momma. But Elly won't turn her's off."
"Momma, do you wanna see my picture?" Elly asks.
"Yes, baby. I do!"
Keys in one pocket. Phone in another. Climb into the back. Look at Elly's kindle, undo three 5-point harnesses. Help Buffy out of her seat and remind Evie to wait and let me get out first.
"Remember, Evie. We're in a parking lot."
Climb out. Close doors.
"Elly, hold my hand. Evie, you hold Elly's." Then we're off across the parking lot and up on the sidewalk. "Yes, Evie you can let go now." Sweet Elly doesn't let go. She doesn't usually.
Signed in and inside, we find a seat. We're late so they're limited. Buffy on my lap and Evie and Elly sharing a seat. We watch the reptile show. It's very interesting. Even wrestling a toddler and reminding the older ones to be quiet and sit still and stop fighting. All while trying to talk to them about what we're seeing, "Wow, look how big that toad is," "Do you see that lizard?" "Wow, bearded dragons are kinda pretty, huh?" and on. The program ends with us getting to pet a 19-year-old Carpet Boa named Hamish. Buffy isn't the least bit interested in touching the snake. But the others love it.
11:15 a.m.
Back out of the building.
"Girls, hold hands. Elly, you should let Evie hold your hand. That's so mean."
We're back to the car and the bigs are climbing in. I carry Buffy, who is now getting a little tired, back to her seat.
"Anyone want a snack?" Jubilant cries. "Girls, want fruitie snacks? Buff, you want some peanut butter crackers?" More jubilant cries.
Everyone strapped in. Check seat belts. Snacks distributed. Off to my mom's to pick up arrowroot.
"I gotta pee!" Evie yells.
"Me too, Evie. We'll be there in a few minutes."
11:24 a.m.
Ma's house. Everyone out. Help everyone onto the porch and into the house. Everyone through the bathroom. Girls into the playroom dragging out toys and squealing. Spend some time talking to my mom. Get my arrowroot.
"Alright girls. Time to go home. Pick up the play room."
Help with cleaning up. Girls back into the car. (How many times a day can I work a 5-point harness? Seriously.)
11:54 a.m.
Back on the road. Frozen CD going. Girls playing kindles. Buffy asleep.
12:17 p.m.
Back home. A pile of boxes on the porch. (Yay eBay!)
"What's that Momma?"
"Christmas presents."
"Really? For us?"
"Yeah. Should be. Hopefully those are the clothes I got you guys."
Unloading the car and getting girls inside and getting lunches made and people fed and trying to get myself fed as well.
*****
Are you bored yet? Yeah. It's not terribly exciting. Five hours. Of the typical 14 hour days, it's pretty much this on repeat. Meal, clean up, play, clean up. Snack, clean up, play, clean up. Meal, clean up, NAPS (my fav!). Snacks, clean up, play, clean up. Supper, clean up, baths, play, clean up. Bed. Fun fun fun.
It's a blessed boring life. I love it even when I want to hide in a closet and cry. I may not love it at the time. I may not like it or enjoy it. Some days I yell and I feel bad. Some days I threaten beatings (which I never, ever follow through on, I promise!) and I feel bad. Some days I feel like I don't get to do anything other than clean up their messes and try and salvage my sanity (and do a piss poor job of it) and I feel bad. But there are some days when things go well and there's a wonderful flow and by the time we all go to bed that I night I feel all aglow with how spectacular my kids are and how wonderfully blessed I am to be their momma.
When the day is coming to an end and I put the girls to bed, I always talk to them about their day. They always have good things to say, so I take that to mean it wasn't as bad as it felt. We always talk about something they want to do the next day and I sing them their special song (they each have their own) and tuck them in. It's prayers and kisses and good night and sweet dreams. It's sneaking in before I go to bed and pushing their hair back from their faces and thank God for these precious children. I straighten their blankets and make sure their animals are near their hands and I ask Him to help me be the momma they deserve.
When I look back, years from now, I know this time in our lives will have flown by. I always try to remind myself of that. Try to savor the hours and the days. Even amid the tantrums and the messes. The attitudes and the uproar and bickering. Remember the sweet moments. The times they hold my hand or pipe up a "Momma, I love you" out of nowhere. Savor them. Love them. After all, it's only a day in my life.
Tuesday, August 12, 2014
New Phase...New Panties!
Some days, underwear choice doesn't say anything more than what was clean and in the drawer when you hurriedly dressed. Some days, your underwear says a lot about what you're thinking, how you're feeling, where your life is or what is going on.
For my teens and early twenties, I was all about avoiding panty lines. No joke. I wore cute undies. Panties with funny phrases or pretty designs. I don't think I owned any ugly underwear. With the exception of maybe a pair of the support top type that made you look super skinny when you wore a dress that might typically show lumps or bulges. You know, the ones that came before Spanx. I think I had a pair to wear under a prom dress? Or maybe it was a bridesmaid dress? Either way. There was a single pair I can kind of recall always lingering in the back of my underwear drawer. Back there with pantyhose (does anyone still wear those?) and a couple of slips (which do occasionally come in handy) and ugly socks. For the last four years, my underwear drawer has been a dramatically different landscape though. And it is time for an underwear revolution!
Your teens and early twenties are all about being sexy. Dressing up and going out. You're young. You're pretty. You even own matching bras and panties! Okay, to be honest, I'm not sure I ever did. But there are people who do! You see them in the movies, like, all the time. And I do see them sold in sets. So I'm sure there are people who coordinate that sort of thing. But let's be honest. If they're both clean, that's what's important. Anyone who says different needs to have their medication reevaluated.
Then comes marriage. The first part, sexy undies continue. For the wedding, you buy super sexy underwear. Something that takes time to put on and time to take off. It's important! Then there's the honeymoon. That's going to be lots of strings and lace and skimpy, barely-there numbers.
A couple of years go by. Suddenly, you're pregnant. Ugh. Everything is so FAT. Your butt is big. Your belly is like all grades of big. And yeah, it's easy to be all "It's for the baby" and "Aw, look at that sweet foot sticking out" but there's that mean little voice in the back of your head that is flashing pictures of that super flat tummy and those sweet abs and that flawless skin and reminding you that you will never, ever look that way again. (Although I know there are some women who escape without a stretch mark or a single extra inch of waistline and I'm going to be honest, part of me wants to really hate them. I mean, how fair is that?) And when you're pregnant, things are hard and things are uncomfortable and nine months is a lot longer when you're counting down the days til you get your body back. So you wear comfy undies. Forget lace. Screw thongs. No way in heck I'm wearing something that will require any consideration or adjustment or will make me look twice at how gargantuan my butt has gotten.
Seriously, can we just take down the mirrors?
So the cute panties move to the back of the drawer and "mom panties" move in. Reasonably cut undies with a modest waistline and really bland colors. I mean, really bland. When you're planning on things like "water breaking" or mucus plugs or even lochia (google it!) why would you invest good money in cute panties? Besides, baby clothes are so much cuter! And less embarrassing to shop for when you feel like a whale. And when you're pregnant you're pretty much obsessed with the baby. Especially shopping for the baby!
If you do like me and lump all your babies together, or as it has been pointed out, spend the better part of 4 years pregnant (Yes. Yes, I did. Don't be judgey.) it's easier just to keep on keeping on. Plain ole bikini undies in plain ole colors. Purchased in a multi-pack to keep life simple. I had three piles in my drawer: pregnant, postpartum and regular Geni sizes. That made it easy to just rotate depending on where I was size wise that month. Then way back in the back, there were maybe three pairs of "cute" undies. By the time baby three was a year old, the "cute" undies were just the boy shorts in pretty patterns. They weren't even "sexy" panties at all. And bras? Bah. Nursing bras got the most use up until recently. We all know those are way more about functionality than appearance.
It was a sad day when I realized that I didn't really have any thing that qualified as pretty panties. Nothing. Not a single sexy pair. I was going to go out with Josh and thought I would wear something that doesn't scream "mom jeans" (thank God I don't own any of those!) and by jove, there was nothing. Nothing. It was very depressing. What had happened? Where had they gone? How had I changed so much that I hadn't even realized that I didn't even have them anymore?
For the last five years, I have dedicated a lot (ALL!) of my time and energy to little people. I wouldn't change it for the world. But I have sacrificed a whole lot of me in the process. I don't spend time shopping or dressing or doing for me. I spend my time for them. Which is how I believe it should be. Parents make sacrifices for their children. So they can have what they need. What they want. But I feel sacrifices for what they want should be limited. After all, how can you teach them to work for want they want if they have everything they want for nothing and you clearly work yourself to the bone and don't have anything you want? There is no way I can raise beautiful daughters with good self-esteem if I'm looking all disheveled and dumpy though. And 20 years from now, those little girls will be grown women out in the world doing their own thing, living their lives and I will be left a shell of a person. I won't even know who I am anymore, let alone what do with myself without other people to take care of. I don't want that to be my life. A sad, meaningless empty nest. I want to be able to enjoy a life with children grown. A life with a new purpose and a new vigor. And I'm not sure that's possible if I have spent more than two decades as less than a person.
So I thought, enough. Enough! I am done having babies. (Please, God, I'm done with babies. Right?) And I decided it was time to clean out the ole underwear drawer. It is one thing to put on some makeup and a decent outfit. It's easy to spruce up on the outside and look like you might care. But what's underneath those clothes, that's more about what you think about you. And I think I'm done feeling dumpy. I'm done feeling bland and feeling like generic multi-packs are it. Nope. They're not.
So the drawer got a revamp. There is lace and pretty colors. I threw away a bunch of old, not-too-pretty undies. I'm ready to start the truly postpartum phase of my life. A phase that doesn't plan on being an old ginormous and miserable pregnant lady again. One that isn't planning on dealing with sleepless nights and days without a shower and unspeakable amounts of spit-up and baby poo. One with toddlers and preschoolers and a day in our foreseeable future with school-age kids. A phase where my husband and I might actually get a regular date night (I mean, surely there are people who will watch three kids who can at least all wipe their own butt, right? I mean, they're easier then...right?). A phase where days aren't a frantic rush to get every one fed and dressed and brushed (yay for OT) and doing something "productive." I will never wish our time away, I love them being little and dependent. I know that I will never be as important as I am now. And I cherish our tender moments together. But I'm also so very tired of tantrums and dirty diapers. And I think it's okay to be. I think it's okay to be ready to be done with babies and the terrible two's.
So for this momma, it's new panties. No more planning for the next pregnancy. I can get in shape to actually STAY in shape. Keep up with my yoga. Go to a zumba class. Enjoy my kids without having to worry about the next one. We can plan vacations without thinking "Oh wait, we will have a three month old then, can we do that?" We can get back to living and stop just surviving. Which, to be honest, three babies in four years really is. Just survival. But we did. We survived. So let's live.
New panties. New panties. Maybe it'll be a mantra! Do you think I could get bumper stickers made?
I'm by far not saying that comfy panties are wrong. Or that wanting to wear modest cut briefs means you don't love yourself. Just for me, it was a big indicator that something was wrong in my bigger picture. And I'm not going to start buying willy-nilly for me while abandoning my poor children to rags and ruin. In fact, I've spent the last two weeks shopping for clothes for them and I can't wait until they all arrive! Though you may need to remind me to hide next month's credit card statement from the hubs. (Hey, rewards points baby! It's like money in the bank!) Meanwhile, a half dozen pairs of underwear does not a selfish mother make.
And I didn't throw away ALL the ugly panties. Hey, there's always laundry day. And sometimes, man, you just really need to be comfy.
For my teens and early twenties, I was all about avoiding panty lines. No joke. I wore cute undies. Panties with funny phrases or pretty designs. I don't think I owned any ugly underwear. With the exception of maybe a pair of the support top type that made you look super skinny when you wore a dress that might typically show lumps or bulges. You know, the ones that came before Spanx. I think I had a pair to wear under a prom dress? Or maybe it was a bridesmaid dress? Either way. There was a single pair I can kind of recall always lingering in the back of my underwear drawer. Back there with pantyhose (does anyone still wear those?) and a couple of slips (which do occasionally come in handy) and ugly socks. For the last four years, my underwear drawer has been a dramatically different landscape though. And it is time for an underwear revolution!
Your teens and early twenties are all about being sexy. Dressing up and going out. You're young. You're pretty. You even own matching bras and panties! Okay, to be honest, I'm not sure I ever did. But there are people who do! You see them in the movies, like, all the time. And I do see them sold in sets. So I'm sure there are people who coordinate that sort of thing. But let's be honest. If they're both clean, that's what's important. Anyone who says different needs to have their medication reevaluated.
Then comes marriage. The first part, sexy undies continue. For the wedding, you buy super sexy underwear. Something that takes time to put on and time to take off. It's important! Then there's the honeymoon. That's going to be lots of strings and lace and skimpy, barely-there numbers.
A couple of years go by. Suddenly, you're pregnant. Ugh. Everything is so FAT. Your butt is big. Your belly is like all grades of big. And yeah, it's easy to be all "It's for the baby" and "Aw, look at that sweet foot sticking out" but there's that mean little voice in the back of your head that is flashing pictures of that super flat tummy and those sweet abs and that flawless skin and reminding you that you will never, ever look that way again. (Although I know there are some women who escape without a stretch mark or a single extra inch of waistline and I'm going to be honest, part of me wants to really hate them. I mean, how fair is that?) And when you're pregnant, things are hard and things are uncomfortable and nine months is a lot longer when you're counting down the days til you get your body back. So you wear comfy undies. Forget lace. Screw thongs. No way in heck I'm wearing something that will require any consideration or adjustment or will make me look twice at how gargantuan my butt has gotten.
Seriously, can we just take down the mirrors?
So the cute panties move to the back of the drawer and "mom panties" move in. Reasonably cut undies with a modest waistline and really bland colors. I mean, really bland. When you're planning on things like "water breaking" or mucus plugs or even lochia (google it!) why would you invest good money in cute panties? Besides, baby clothes are so much cuter! And less embarrassing to shop for when you feel like a whale. And when you're pregnant you're pretty much obsessed with the baby. Especially shopping for the baby!
If you do like me and lump all your babies together, or as it has been pointed out, spend the better part of 4 years pregnant (Yes. Yes, I did. Don't be judgey.) it's easier just to keep on keeping on. Plain ole bikini undies in plain ole colors. Purchased in a multi-pack to keep life simple. I had three piles in my drawer: pregnant, postpartum and regular Geni sizes. That made it easy to just rotate depending on where I was size wise that month. Then way back in the back, there were maybe three pairs of "cute" undies. By the time baby three was a year old, the "cute" undies were just the boy shorts in pretty patterns. They weren't even "sexy" panties at all. And bras? Bah. Nursing bras got the most use up until recently. We all know those are way more about functionality than appearance.
It was a sad day when I realized that I didn't really have any thing that qualified as pretty panties. Nothing. Not a single sexy pair. I was going to go out with Josh and thought I would wear something that doesn't scream "mom jeans" (thank God I don't own any of those!) and by jove, there was nothing. Nothing. It was very depressing. What had happened? Where had they gone? How had I changed so much that I hadn't even realized that I didn't even have them anymore?
For the last five years, I have dedicated a lot (ALL!) of my time and energy to little people. I wouldn't change it for the world. But I have sacrificed a whole lot of me in the process. I don't spend time shopping or dressing or doing for me. I spend my time for them. Which is how I believe it should be. Parents make sacrifices for their children. So they can have what they need. What they want. But I feel sacrifices for what they want should be limited. After all, how can you teach them to work for want they want if they have everything they want for nothing and you clearly work yourself to the bone and don't have anything you want? There is no way I can raise beautiful daughters with good self-esteem if I'm looking all disheveled and dumpy though. And 20 years from now, those little girls will be grown women out in the world doing their own thing, living their lives and I will be left a shell of a person. I won't even know who I am anymore, let alone what do with myself without other people to take care of. I don't want that to be my life. A sad, meaningless empty nest. I want to be able to enjoy a life with children grown. A life with a new purpose and a new vigor. And I'm not sure that's possible if I have spent more than two decades as less than a person.
So I thought, enough. Enough! I am done having babies. (Please, God, I'm done with babies. Right?) And I decided it was time to clean out the ole underwear drawer. It is one thing to put on some makeup and a decent outfit. It's easy to spruce up on the outside and look like you might care. But what's underneath those clothes, that's more about what you think about you. And I think I'm done feeling dumpy. I'm done feeling bland and feeling like generic multi-packs are it. Nope. They're not.
So the drawer got a revamp. There is lace and pretty colors. I threw away a bunch of old, not-too-pretty undies. I'm ready to start the truly postpartum phase of my life. A phase that doesn't plan on being an old ginormous and miserable pregnant lady again. One that isn't planning on dealing with sleepless nights and days without a shower and unspeakable amounts of spit-up and baby poo. One with toddlers and preschoolers and a day in our foreseeable future with school-age kids. A phase where my husband and I might actually get a regular date night (I mean, surely there are people who will watch three kids who can at least all wipe their own butt, right? I mean, they're easier then...right?). A phase where days aren't a frantic rush to get every one fed and dressed and brushed (yay for OT) and doing something "productive." I will never wish our time away, I love them being little and dependent. I know that I will never be as important as I am now. And I cherish our tender moments together. But I'm also so very tired of tantrums and dirty diapers. And I think it's okay to be. I think it's okay to be ready to be done with babies and the terrible two's.
So for this momma, it's new panties. No more planning for the next pregnancy. I can get in shape to actually STAY in shape. Keep up with my yoga. Go to a zumba class. Enjoy my kids without having to worry about the next one. We can plan vacations without thinking "Oh wait, we will have a three month old then, can we do that?" We can get back to living and stop just surviving. Which, to be honest, three babies in four years really is. Just survival. But we did. We survived. So let's live.
New panties. New panties. Maybe it'll be a mantra! Do you think I could get bumper stickers made?
I'm by far not saying that comfy panties are wrong. Or that wanting to wear modest cut briefs means you don't love yourself. Just for me, it was a big indicator that something was wrong in my bigger picture. And I'm not going to start buying willy-nilly for me while abandoning my poor children to rags and ruin. In fact, I've spent the last two weeks shopping for clothes for them and I can't wait until they all arrive! Though you may need to remind me to hide next month's credit card statement from the hubs. (Hey, rewards points baby! It's like money in the bank!) Meanwhile, a half dozen pairs of underwear does not a selfish mother make.
And I didn't throw away ALL the ugly panties. Hey, there's always laundry day. And sometimes, man, you just really need to be comfy.
The Green Life
Earlier this year, I decided to make the move for our family to make us "crunchy" or at least "crunchier."
Other than the night time issue, the cloth diapers are wonderful. I feel like we are going to have a much easier time with potty training with her because she already knows and tells me when she needs a new diaper. Something her sisters never did until we started potty training. Which is, by the way, something I am both dreading and looking forward to. Hate the process, love the result. Evie and Elly both started potty training around this age and while they were both more or less trained by age two, I feel like if I had waited things would have been easier and less stressful all around. So we are waiting. Probably until after her second birthday. Unless she straight up asks before then. I am hoping to take a couple of weeks off work and really dedicate ourselves to it. Really kick it off right, ya know? In my head, this sounds like an excellent plan. In actuality, it may be disastrous. Ugh. Potty training...if you know, then you know.
We kicked out all the chemical cleaning products, started recycling and began a lot of new "experiments" in the crunchy lifestyle. I feel like it's been long enough now that I can give a true update on what works, what doesn't and what I'm still undecided about for us.
First off, cloth diapers. I love them. Absolutely love them. However, we have had to start keeping Buffy in a disposable diaper at night. The cloth diapers, while incredibly effective I think and much kinder to her than all the chemicals and things in the disposables, don't "suck" the moisture away from her skin. I tried different inserts and greater numbers. It was to the point that her butt was too big for her pj's and she would still wake up half way through the night for a new diaper. She and I were both a bit frazzled and Josh had absolutely no tolerance for interrupted sleep on the nights I worked. With a disposable at night, we are all able to sleep and we don't have to worry about any possible rashes if she ends up sleeping in the next morning. I'm sure we could have experimented more with some different types of inserts and probably found something that would let her sleep through the night in cloth. But I don't feel like the 12 hours she spends in a disposable is the end of the world. It's crunchy enough for me at least. And I hate getting up at night to find a new solution when we already have one.
Other than the night time issue, the cloth diapers are wonderful. I feel like we are going to have a much easier time with potty training with her because she already knows and tells me when she needs a new diaper. Something her sisters never did until we started potty training. Which is, by the way, something I am both dreading and looking forward to. Hate the process, love the result. Evie and Elly both started potty training around this age and while they were both more or less trained by age two, I feel like if I had waited things would have been easier and less stressful all around. So we are waiting. Probably until after her second birthday. Unless she straight up asks before then. I am hoping to take a couple of weeks off work and really dedicate ourselves to it. Really kick it off right, ya know? In my head, this sounds like an excellent plan. In actuality, it may be disastrous. Ugh. Potty training...if you know, then you know.
People that have asked me about cloth diapers all have the same question: "So, what do you do about the poop?" There's no non-icky way to talk about it. I mean, it is poop. And it is in the diaper. You do have to get the solid part out of the diaper before you toss it in the wet bag. We use the liners in the diapers, the biodegradable ones. They add a little to our monthly diaper expense. I think its a whopping like $5 a month or so. I know. How do we manage. But it truly simplifies the process. Just toss the liner in the toilet, flush and then rinse the diaper. Usually the liner manages to catch all of the "waste" and it works well. Disassembling the diaper (taking the inserts out) and rinsing the inserts and cover takes only a couple of minutes. Then toss it in the big wet bag in the bathroom closet and back to it! Unless there has been a malfunction (sometimes Buffy gets diaper liner wedgies and then the liner manages to miss half of the mess) the whole process of changing and rinsing doesn't take much longer than with disposable diapers. We use reusable wipes now as well. And it adds pretty much zero time to the process. Might as well use cloth wipes when you're doing cloth diapers.
All in all, cloth diapers have been awesome. Highly recommend. Though honestly, would be best to start with baby number one. Or maybe even baby two. Instead of one year into baby number three. But oh well.
Our second adventure into the crunchy life has been cleaning products. We have ditched the store bought chemicals. I make my own febreeze, all purpose cleaner, floor cleaner, anti-bacterial wipes, bathroom cleaner, laundry detergent and dish washer detergent. Honestly, I haven't tried a lot of different recipes, because with each cleaner the first recipe has pretty much been perfect. I have tweaked some of the essential oils as I've learned more about what oils do what and I've obtained a better selection. My favorite cleaning product has definitely been the wipes. My kitchen counters shine! My stove top gleams! My microwave never has that funky microwave smell. And I mean, NEVER. And since I'm not spending $5 per tub, I can go crazy and wipe down everything and not feel bad about it. I will just make another batch. I have also been super pleased with my Febreeze. I have been a febreeze junkie. I cannot stand walking into the house and it smelling the slightest bit off. Cannot. Stand. It. I spend ridiculous amounts of time hunting down odd smells. If something gets put in the trash that smells funky, I empty it. Regardless of how little is in the bag. I put baking soda nearly every where. And everything in my house gets wiped down with some vinegar based cleaner pretty regularly. You wouldn't believe what a difference that makes! Even with three kids and three dogs and a husband who likes to leave dirty socks tucked between couch cushions (no kidding), I walk into my house every morning and usually sigh. It is just such a wonderful smell! It's not always a "clean" smell. Sometimes you can detect a little of whatever was for supper the night before, especially if it was something odoriferous like tacos. Sometimes you can smell the hints of coffee from the keurig. But generally it's a nice neutral "home" smell that I can only describe as an "ahhh" sort of wonderful. I never had that when I used Febreeze. I had whatever had been sprayed. Or that yucky stale feeling. Now it's always a fresh, clean "ahh" feeling. And again, since my Febreeze is now water, vinegar, rubbing alcohol and essential oils I can pretty much spray as much as I want with no guilt. No one is inhaling carcinogens. Dogs aren't absorbing chemicals through their paws. We aren't spending $4 a bottle each week for me to spray stuffed animals and carpets and curtains. So now I get to do it all guilt free! Woohoo. Can't beat that. I think the only recipe I don't love is the dish washing detergent. And that is really my fault. I didn't have all the stuff for the recipe, so I substituted and it was before I really knew what I was doing, so I didn't do a good job of it. I have since tweaked it some and am happier but I'm looking forward to finishing this batch and starting fresh. The dishes are always clean, but sometimes the glass look cloudy and that just irks me. Who likes cloudy glasses? We do still use some chemicals. I use Shout and Downy still. And we use some of the scented things in the upstairs bathroom toilet. Because most of the time there are five people using that bathroom. That is a lot of urine into one commode. And I don't ever ever ever want to smell any of it. Not to mention anything else that goes into that toilet.
Additionally, I personally have experimented with lo-poo and no-poo shampoo regimens. I'm going to be honest here. I feel like it works for some people. But it was really not for me. I like my hair. We get along well, I understand my hair and my hair...well, my hair doesn't care. It does what it wants. And what it did with the no-poo was no good. I mean, it was okay. But it wasn't what it did before. And I liked what it did before. I gave it several months but in the end I was more than happy to switch back to store bought shampoo and conditioner and products. Chemicals or no. I also tried the Oil Cleansing Method for my face. My skin had never looked better. It was phenomenal! It was always so dewy and fresh! Then Buffy quit nursing out of the blue and I had some other stressful stuff going on. That combined with the seriously crazy hormones (and let me say, postpartum and post-weaning are scary similar) meant my face was freaking out and I simply didn't have the self-esteem to let that take a month or two to sort itself out. Clearasil and some astringent (plus a hormonal birth control, yay estrogen! Am I right?) work miracles when your face decides to go all bipolar, schizophrenic, psychedelic and adolescent all at once. Thank God I work nights and no one ever sees me. And the people who do see me, see me in a dark room. And probably wouldn't notice if I grew a third eye or an extra head. As long as I took care of what I was supposed to be taking care of. I may give the OCM another try down the road. When hormones are stable and I don't forsee any hiccups. But for now, I'm really happy with Olay and Biore. And of course Clearasil!
While there have been some challenges to the crunchy lifestyle (I can never remember to take our recycling!) I have certainly made our home more green and we are all much more aware of our environmental footprint. Even the kids are in on the crunchy, recycling, homemade thing. And isn't that what it's all about? Imparting better habits on the next generation? Leaving the world a little better than we found it? Or maybe it's about improved Febreeze and shiny counter tops...yup, definitely the counter tops.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)