The Snow

Existence in Boston currently is being controlled by The Snow.

"Oh stop whining," some might say. "You live in the Northeast. Snow happens. Get over it."
Some might say that. I do live in the Northeast. Snow does happen. But it rarely happens quite like this. 

Here's what usually happens:
It snows. Sometimes a foot or two. The city shuts down for a day. School is out for a day, maybe two. People plow, shovel, and blow snow into big piles. Then it gets warmer in a day or two. Sometimes it even rains. The snow piles disappear, and the roads and sidewalks are clear of snow within a week, usually sooner. More snow might come, but it too will disappear quickly. Boston's snow removal process is predicated on the idea that the snow will disappear on its own within a few days. Because often it does. 

Here's what happened this time:
It snowed. We got two feet of it. The snow was plowed, shoveled, and blown into big piles. And it was cold. It stayed cold. The snow blew around a bit in the wind, but it did not go away. Then we got another foot. That snow was also plowed, shoveled, and blown on top of the big piles. The piles got bigger. And it stayed really cold. And then it snowed again. Two more feet. So now we're up to 5 feet of snow in just a few weeks. And the plows and snowblowers add that snow to the existing big piles. But shovelers just can't. You can't throw that much snow on top of piles that big for very long. And it likes to fall back down on you when you try. And the piles are everywhere. They're in yards. They're along sidewalks. They're along streets - the narrow one-way streets lines with cars on either side that Boston is famous for. They're at entrances to driveways, blocking the view of oncoming traffic - traffic driving on sometimes icy but always narrowed roads. 

Snow is fun, right? It's great for sledding, throwing as balls, and building into snowmen. We should all just be having fun! Right? 

Here's why we're not having fun.
6:30am:  BestestHusband goes out to shovel the newest addition to our snow accumulation. Because it's actually been continuing to snow small amounts between the big storms. The snow just keeps coming. But it needs to be cleared from our sloped driveway before we get iced in and the minivan slides backwards into the house any time we try to go somewhere. Like, oh, the grocery store. Or school. 
7:30am: BestestHusband leaves early for work. He's got meetings to make it to, and he's not really sure how long it will take him to get the few miles to work. Some mornings, it's been over 2 hours. The busses are delayed from the traffic of our snow-narrowed streets, and the trains are breaking down constantly from the snow. The roads are too dangerous to bike. So he leaves early and hopes he'll be there in time for a 10am meeting.
8:45am: I start warning the girls to get ready to leave the house for school. They start donning snow suits, hats, mittens, and boots. It's cold, in the teens. I start chasing the baby around the house to get her bundled. She's fast. And heavy. I'm exhausted before we even get to the car.
9:00am: I ease the minivan up the icy driveway and pray we get out. We shovel and salt it, but the sun does melt some of the snow during the day, just enough to trickle down the driveway and ice up overnight. At the end of the driveway, I peer in vain around the snow piles to see oncoming traffic. The piles are too high. I ease forward slowly and pray no one hits me. 
9:15am: I drop off the girls at school. They usually take the bus. But there's no where to park at the bus stop anymore. And it's consistently been 45-60 minutes late because of the traffic. The school parking lot is too small to allow us to park in it for pickup in the afternoon, but they'll let us do quick drop offs in the morning. I tell them they'll ride the bus home instead of having me pick them up. There's nowhere to park near the school for pickup. 
This morning at 9:30am: I drop HurricaneDebbie off at a home daycare in our neighborhood. The provider's husband had left for the day, so I could park briefly in their driveway to drop her off. The snow piles had narrowed the road so much that I have to do a 6 point turn to back out and head the other way down the road. I have to get out and move a trash can mid way. The trash collectors came already and it was empty, so I perched it on top of the snow bank. I had to reach up to do so. 
I drove slowly down a narrow hill towards home. There's nowhere to park at the gym. I didn't have work lined up today, but was thankful I wasn't driving to patients' homes. There's just nowhere to park. 

This was just the first few hours of our day. The Snow has changed our entire morning routine. 

3:30pm: I started prepping to leave for the bus stop. There's nowhere to park, so I have to walk. I also have to pick up HurricaneDebbie from daycare, so I grab the hiking backpack carrier. The sidewalks are impassible for a stroller or pull sled. I've learned this the hard way. 
3:45pm: I'm still climbing over snow piles and slipping on poorly-shoveled sidewalks. I stop at a few houses to ring doorbells and inquire as to whether the owners need me to hire someone to help them shovel. Only one person is home, a healthy-looking 20ish young man. I point to the mountain of snow on his property, and the barely-shoveled sidewalk. I explain that it's impassible for my children trying to get to and from school. I know some young men looking to make some money shoveling. I could call them if he needs help shoveling. Would he like me to do so? He apologizes and says that he's perfectly capable of doing it himself. Of course he is. But he hasn't done it.
4:00pm:  The bus stop is an 8 ft pile of snow on the corner. I have to stand along the edge of the street to watch for the bus. The girls arrive, and we start walking to get their sister. Walking in packed snow is like walking in sand. They get tired quickly and complain all the way to the daycare. At corners, we clamber over mountains of snow to be able to cross the street. Sometimes there's no passageway from the street to the sidewalk. Sometimes we're forced to walk in the narrow street. HeyMama starts to cry. She's tired, cold, and fighting a cold. And she hates The Snow. Me too. 
4:15pm: HurricaneDebbie is bundled and in the hiking backpack. We're slowly making our way down the snowy sidewalk towards home. We climb over more snow piles. I stop occasionally to use my phone and the city's app to report negligent shovelers. Some people shovel the entire width of their sidewalk. God bless them. Some people shovel a rabbit path, only one shovel-width wide. Lazy asses. Some people just don't bother. Those are the ones I report. I ring doorbells first. I don't want a little old lady to pay a ticket because she's too old to shovel. But that's not the case here. People can shovel a rabbit path to their car and get their car out. But then they neglect to shovel their sidewalk. These people make our walk home dangerous. We walk in the street a bit. We climb over piles. The girls look like little hamsters trudging along in the narrow snow passageways. Our world is a maze of paths with 5+ foot snow banks on either side. We can't get to the cross walk. So we cross our busy street illegally. And pray we don't get hit. 
4:30pm: We're finally home. It took nearly an hour to do a daily task that usually takes 15 minutes. We're all exhausted from the effort. There are tears. None from me today, but that's just today...

I didn't try to do much outside of the house today, other than a dog walk that was a major production. When the daily necessities become exhausting, why try to do anything extra? We're lucky. We don't struggle to dig our a car parked on a street. We have a driveway. We have a backyard to move the snow into. Our patio has a retaining wall that drops 12ish feet to the grass below. We've been shoveling the patio over the wall. The mountain of accumulated snow is almost to the top of the wall. 

We're supposed to get another foot of snow this weekend. People are canceling plans in anticipation of another blizzard. Birthday parties, family gatherings, church plans... they're all getting cancelled. No one wants to go out in another storm. There's always the fear of never making it there. And given the snow mountains we already have, that fear's not so crazy right now. The Snow is in control. 

Thanks 2014, it's been nice to know ya!

Disclaimer:  Yes, this post will serve as our family Christmas card, a much-needed blog update, and the final blog post of the year. Yes, you can call it "lame", if you'd like. I prefer "efficient". And if you're a family member looking for our Christmas card and haven't read my blog before, check out the "Cast of Characters" page down to the right. I've given the girls all pseudonyms to ensure plausible deniability when they're older. But I'm sure you can figure it out.

2014 was a year of ups and downs, as they all tend to be. We worked. We played. We traveled a bit. But we are all healthy and together at the end of the year, so I call it an overall win. We truly do have much to be thankful for. As I've written before, we are rich. No, we don't have our dream house yet. No, we haven't won the lottery. But we have a comfortable snug home with heat that we can turn up in the winter. We have warm clothes to go play outside in. We have more food than we should probably eat. We have a high-quality and safe school to send our girls to. We have loving parents and siblings that live too far away. We have a loving family of close friends that live a bit nearer. We have friends and family scattered across the nation that pray for us, cheer us on, and bring smiles to our days. We are rich.

And the rest? Well, we're working on a little concept called "contentment".

The girls are just getting bigger and better every day:

HeyMama is 6. She loves to read, loves to do math, and says she wants to be a scientist when she grows up. And no, BestestHusband didn't tell her to say that. But he might be a bit proud... She started playing the piano, and is quite diligent about practicing. She gave a short concert of Christmas music at our friends' house on Christmas Day, and is anxious for lessons to start up again in the new year. She enjoys gymnastics more than ever, and can frequently be found hanging upside down or jumping from things. And she is the most perceptive, doting, and sweet big sister a baby sister could ever hope for. And she likes to talk. A lot. I'm still trying to find a way to bottle her energy. Or just find a mute button.

MeToo is 5. She loves to do whatever her older sister is doing. So she's into reading, math, and maybe being a scientist too. Or a unicorn trainer. Or a dance teacher. We might need to start dance lessons first... She is a child of wide-eyed wonder, finding magic in the most mundane of tasks. "Mama! Come look! I pooped a 7!" And she was right, it really did look like a 7. Other letters and shapes eventually followed. MeToo will interrupt dinner with, "Guess what! I'm having a dream inside my head RIGHT NOW!" She's full of fun ideas and whimsy. She's currently lobbying us to trade her to a neighboring family so she can have a brother.

LittleDebbie morphed into HurricaneDebbie, and is typically a Category 5. At 16 months old, she is already the strongest personality in the household, and that's really saying something... She has quickly learned to communicate her wishes, and this week has decided to do that via sentences:  "I need milk!", "I need Uppa!", "I need Daddy!" She has also learned quickly how to climb up to the top bunk, rock standing in the rocking chair, retrieve things from the middle of the dining room table, let herself out the door to outside, and undo an hour's worth of cleaning and organization in 2 minutes. According to BestestHusband, she is a living example of the Second Law of Thermodynamics. And she makes me want to drink. Good thing she's so dang charming and cute...

The dogs continue to add love, fur, and noise to our household. They have become skilled opportunists, seizing on the chance for a belly rub any time one of us sits or leans over to the floor. They even demand belly rubs from the girls. And you know what? It works. It's sweet to see them develop relationships with the girls, and see the girls take more responsibility in their care.

BestestHusband started a new job at a tech company downstairs from his previous job. What's a guy with a PhD in Chemical Engineering and a background in discovering oncology drugs doing working at a tech company? Something Very Different from what he did before. But he still has the same bike commute. (Some call being a one-car family being "cheap", again I like to call combining a commute and exercise as "efficient".) In his spare time he plays the role of SuperDad, stalks Boston real estate for our future house, tends a good-sized garden, makes out-of-this-world mexican sauces, and helps reign in the chaos that has become our household norm.

I'm still doing many of the same things as last year. I work per diem at local rehab hospitals a few days per week. I shepherd the girls to and from the bus stop. I try to keep up with a kamikaze toddler. I started running again this past year, mostly to improve my patience level. And I started baking sourdough bread. And at the end of the day, when the house has been destroyed by my kamikaze toddler and my patience has been destroyed by everyone else, I at least have something tasty to show for my time.

So if you're in the area, stop by for a slice of fresh bread and a glass of wine I'll be ready to pour. We have a guest bedroom, and plenty of mayhem to share. We are truly blessed by what we have, but are pretty much constantly exhausted by it. And we look forward to a new year of exhaustion, love, joy, tedium, exasperation, and blessings in 2015.

With love,
The Bundles Of Joy Family

P90X with a Toddler

So yesterday started off very badly. In fact, by 9:15am, I had admitted defeat and was headed back to bed. We were getting hit by a December Nor'easter (a cold-weather ocean storm, similar to a tropical storm but with cold rain or snow). Two cups of coffee just weren't kicking in. Everyone was grumpy. We got the big girls on the bus, and headed towards the gym. I was hoping an hour on the treadmill would turn things around. But the parking lot was full. As were the street spots anywhere near an entrance. Did I mention that it was raining sideways and cold? So I gave up. I admitted defeat, turned around, and went home. I put my overtired (and now I realize sick) toddler in her crib, laid down in the bed next to it, and we went to sleep. When we both woke up later, things were better. After a quick lunch and some tylenol for LittleDebbie, things were great. The day had turned around. But the babysitting room in the gym was scheduled to close in 20 minutes, and I still wanted to exercise. 

That's when I remembered the P90X DVDs that BestestHusband had borrowed from a coworker a while back. We still had them. And I wanted to try them out. 

I picked a workout that looked like it had some cardio and strength training in it. And I did it. And the day was completely salvaged. All was not lost, after all. I even FELT like I got a good workout, better than the one I would have gotten if I just went to the gym. Maybe I should just do the whole P90X program?

So this morning, after spending 30 minutes at the bus stop in the rain (yes, it's still raining. Send an Ark...), LittleDebbie and I came home to do P90X. I was motivated. I've been wanting to do strength training for a while, and I know myself well enough to know that I need to join a class to do it. And the classes offered when I'm usually at the gym are targeted to older ladies. Much older. Think Seniorcise. So maybe P90X is the answer to my prayers...

I did the first DVD, which targets arms and back, and then abs. And I learned a few things. I knew the part about my horrendously poor upper body strength. That's old news. And the part about my lazy core. I was aware of that, too. But there's a reason that the DVD shows 4 hard-bodies working out in a studio. Showing real people in their real homes would not be nearly as pretty:

"Show some intensity! Kick forward! Side! Back! Then other leg!"
Ok, don't kick the TV, don't kick the sofa, don't kick the kid. Move over to allow room to use the other leg.
"Stretch both arms high, and do big circles."
Ow! When did that light fixture start hanging so low?
"Take a few moments to get some water and be ready to bring the intensity!"
Crap. Where's LittleDebbie? I need to go find her...
"Run in place to keep your heart going, and be ready for legs!"
Where did all of the Christmas ornaments go? And where is LittleDebbie now? I need to go find her...
"Time for some jacks. Jumping jacks are great!"
Jumping jacks are not great after having 3 kids. I'll just cross my legs and jump in place, thankyouverymuch. Ok fine, I'll wave my arms around, too.
"And lunge, punch, hook! Other leg! Lunge, punch, hook!"
Lunge, oh, there's an ornament on the mat! Hey LittleDebbie, please leave my mat alone, put it down!
"30 military pushups! Here we go!"
Hey, I can barely do one pushup, even without you climbing on me. Get off my back, kid!

So I learned that I need to be more relaxed to my workout than the instructor would prefer. I don't yet have all of the equipment I need. But bungee cords from the basement meet my fitness needs for now. I need to set up the play yard for the toddler in advance. She will eventually end up in there. I no longer am interested in working out 'til I feel like puking. Exercising makes my day better. Puking does not. I'll do one only as long as it doesn't result in the other. Who am I trying to impress? The guy on the DVD? I'll stop when I feel like it. 
Doing the workout at 80% accuracy is still better than I would get at the gym. And I think I know a bit more about pelvic stability and residual diastasis than the guy in the DVD. I'll modify my abs workout as I see fit. 

Don't worry buddy, I'll still "Bring It." I'll just bring along my body that's still recovering from having 3 kids in 5 years, my 15 month old, and the limitations of a small living room in a city condo, as well.

Hurricane Warning

Well, time keeps marching and babies keep growing.

Our LittleDebbie started walking and is now a toddler. A true toddler. 
She is a force of nature. She blows into a room, and when she blows out again, nothing is the same. Socks are in the cabinet. Books are in the bathtub. Water has been spilled all over. A path of destruction follows her wherever she goes. And she's loud. She has an ear-splitting howl that doesn't seem to stop. 

She's very much like a tiny Hurricane. 
Her severity rating might change day to day, but she never downgrades to a tropical storm.

She also climbs whatever she can find. HeyMama is becoming adept at getting in and out of her top bunk without the ladder. The ladder is too much of a temptation for our Hurricane. She's quickly to the third rung before the bigger girls start shouting "Mama! LittleDebbie's getting into big big trouble! Come quick! Heeellllpppp!" I run in to find one or both of the girls trying to wrestle her off the ladder, while LittleDebbie shrieks and fights. 

Our house is mayhem. Adorable and fun, but mayhem. But what can you expect when you live with a Hurricane?

The Year

We celebrated a huge milestone yesterday.

We've survived a full year of having 3 kids. 

In other words, Happy Birthday LittleDebbie!

So much has happened in the past year:

• I grew out of and back into my old clothes.
• I forgot was sleep was like, then was reintroduced to it again. 
• LittleDebbie transformed from a tiny bundle of preciousness to a smiley bundle of perpetual motion. And perpetual trouble. 
• I learned to keep track of 3 different bodies moving in 3 different directions at 3 different speeds. 
• I learned that I can fail at meeting my goals daily. But I still need to try again the next day. 
• I learned to translate she-said/she-said disputes into a semi-predictable "so she did this inappropriate act, and then you did that inappropriate act" format. Is this how Judge Judy got her start?
• I broke my addiction to sugar. And then rekindled it on vacation. I have a trip to rehab planned for my near future.
• I put in a lot of mileage driving a little girl to and from school. 
• I watched that little girl transform into an even bolder and brighter version of herself. And I watched her become a sensitive and doting big sister to an increasingly adoring baby sister.
• I watched our middle child become quirkier and funnier, and watched a fire ignite that pushes her to keep up with her older sister. And a sulking stubborn streak develop. 
• All three girls became stronger, taller, faster, and more capable at just about everything.
• My husband became even more adoring and doting towards our little gaggle of girls. Simultaneously, he became more adorable. And sexy. (We'll see if he actually reads my blog posts and reacts to this one...)
• I realized how much motherhood has changed me. And more recently, I realized what I want the next 6 years of motherhood to look like. 

It's been an amazing year. I can't wait to see what happens this next year! 

Checking In

We're still here. We're actually all doing quite well. We're having a great summer, and we're quite busy. I'm not the type of person who likes to keep us running all day, so this busyness is a bit exhausting and disorienting to me. And it causes me to curl up in a ball and not blog. Or make phone calls. Or emails. But really, we're fine, I promise.

We had a great vacation to see BestestHusband's extended family. The girls had a blast with their cousins. And I had some quality time with my sister-in-law comparing notes and trying to navigate the world of being married to men from BestestHusband's family. (It's a pleasure and a conundrum, all at the same time.) And we ate a lot of good food. And drank a lot of beverages. And spent a lot of time on a lake. And it was grand.

Then we came home and I got a visit from an old college friend, and got to meet her two kids. There were 5 kids aged 5 and under in the house. It was pandemonium. And a cacophony. But fun. We even made a visit to the art museum, which was a fun adventure. I mean, where else should you take 5 young children? But my girls can't wait to go back. Well, maybe HeyMama can't wait. MeToo was upset that there was no toy room like the science museum. 

Then we took the older girls to Tanglewood. There's nothing more magical than listening to the Boston Symphony play music you grew up loving and playing, while sitting under the stars and drinking wine. Unless it's doing that while snuggling a cold bored 4 year old in your lap. (As an aside, when planning a fancy picnic, read all ingredients carefully. The "fancy lemon drink" I bought for the girls was a lemon shandy. I assumed it was like a lime ricky. Shandy, ricky, whatever. I did not learn until we opened them at the picnic that a shandy has alcohol in it. Trader Joe's did not do me any favors by featuring these bright yellow cans at the end of the aisle, away from the rest of the beer. Thanks a lot, TJ's.)

Then I hosted a few friends for an evening of facials while BestestHusband and the big girls watched the Lego Movie at our local park. Now the girls want to watch it again when our friends' housing association plays it again this week. I guess at least I'll get to watch it. With great skin.

Somewhere in all of that BestestHusband and I celebrated our 9th anniversary. One night in his hometown, we actually snuck out after kid bedtime, went to a bar on the waterfront, and enjoyed uninterrupted conversation while ordering cocktails that perplexed the bartender. (Unfortunately, it wasn't that difficult. Expectations for a great evening out change after 3 kids). We discussed the next year of our marriage. I'm greatly looking forward to all that it might hold. 

And then there's the daily grind. We go to the gym. We go to playgrounds. We go to the library. We meet up with friends. We wait for the baby to finish napping. We go to the farmer's market and have everyone ask to pet the dogs. And ask if all 3 girls are mine. And ask if we're trying for a boy next. (the answer's no!) And choose produce based on color. (We got purple carrots!) And then get cookie treats and face-painting.

And somehow the summer is racing by. Wow. I'm not sure how. There's so much we still need to do!!!

So forgive me if I've been a bit distant. My goal is to blog more often, even if the posts are shorter. 

See you soon!

The Boston Marathon Will Endure

The Boston Marathon has long been known as a premier endurance race, drawing runners from all over the world to challenge themselves to traverse 26.2 miles of hills into Boston's Back Bay. Today, it's known for something different. And a nation is heartbroken to find itself under attack again.

No one is more heartbroken than our local Bostonians. The marathon is a tradition here, for runners and spectators alike. Marathon Monday is on Patriot's Day, a state holiday that celebrates the men and women who fought for America's independence. Bostonians pride themselves in being plucky, being fighters. We fight through 24 inches of snow to shovel out our car. We fight over that parking spot to make sure it's ours the next day. We fight through months of cold dreary winter to make it to the glory of spring. And when that spring finally comes, we celebrate our endurance, line the streets of the marathon course, and cheer for complete strangers. It's an institution in Boston.

Some celebrate it by sharing their water hoses on hot days. Some celebrate it by handing out orange wedges and cups of water from their driveways. Some celebrate by drinking in early-opening pubs before lending their slightly-rowdy exuberance to the crowd. Hey, some bring their booze in "water bottles" to their closest viewing site (not that I'd know from experience, or anything...). But we all celebrate one thing - the joy of accomplishment, the joy of overcoming, the joy of finishing something that's hard. 

I ran a marathon once. The 26.2 miles on race day is only the part of the challenge that others see. It's the months leading up to the race that are the real challenge. There are speed workouts. Endurance runs. Getting up at 4:30am on a hot day to get a long run finished before the sun really comes out. (That's a reason to run Boston in April instead of the Cape Cod in October - summer training sucks!) And then going to work afterwards. (Thanks Melissa for pushing me through those!) But even before my first-hand experience, I cheered. To the point of vocal failure. 

One of my favorite things about the race is that people will write their names, either in black tape or marker, somewhere on their body or clothes. So instead of shouting "Go Red Shirt Guy!", you can shout, "Go Amy!" "Go Gus!" "Go Max, you can do it Max!" And they smile. Sometimes they'll give you a thumbs up or wave. You get to cheer for people. Some of them look like they really need it. Those are the ones you cheer extra loud for. You want the slightly-tubby middle-aged guy to reach the finish line. But you're not convinced he will... The spectators create a wave of sound to push the runners forward. It truly draws the city together.

Another one of my favorite things is the ability to get charity numbers and run to raise money for your favorite charity. These runners are not the ones competing for a medal. These runners are the ones competing to COMPLETE the race. Many are doing it for the first time, many are not life-long runners.  They are pushing themselves to do something hard, and doing it to help others. These are the class of runners that were crossing the finish line when the bombs went off, not the elite runners. These are the runners who had coworkers and family members waiting for them near the finish. The contrast between those hurt and those who did the hurting could not be starker.

The girls and I briefly watched the marathon on TV this morning. We spent a few minutes watching the first wheelchair contestant cross the finish line. We talked about the fact that "his legs couldn't help him walk, but he could use his strong arms to be the fastest guy in the race." This afternoon, some of the worst injuries from the blast were amputation injuries - legs lost. But what the race shows us in its better moments is that hardships and tragedies don't stop people. The human spirit is stronger than the strength of a limb. We fight. We struggle. We overcome. 

The Boston Marathon will be as popular as ever and as strong as ever next year. The bomb-makers hurt people, but they did not hurt the spirit of the event. I grieve for the families of those who died and were injured. I grieve for the runners who lost the chance to finish a triumphant race. I grieve for those who will leave what should have been a joyful accomplishment with an ache in their heart. Evil exists in this world, but it did not win today. The hordes of people running towards the blasts to help are proof of that. The people lining up to donate blood are proof of that. The shared grief of a nation is proof of that. Evil reared its ugly head, but we will continue to fight it. We will overcome it. The Boston Marathon will endure, and its spirit will win.

Chocolate Regrets

This week has been a dramatic one in our household. The week started out with fun house guests, including our 1 year old goddaughter. We applied to send both girls to Catholic school next year. (That's another post for another day.) We learned that we're expecting a third GIRL! And then our other two girls gave us a sneak peak at what the teen years will be like. OH, the DRAMA!

Our first moment of teen-preview angst was on Monday, right before the gender-revealing ultrasound. The girls and I met BestestHusband for lunch, at a bagel shop between the ultrasound office and the office where he was scheduled to get a root canal. I agreed to let HeyMama and MeToo pick out bags of chips for lunch, as a special treat. HeyMama handed me hers so I could pay for them. MeToo refused. I tried reasoning with her. Before we eat chips, we have to pay for them. You picked them out, now we have to give them to the cashier. JUST LIKE ALWAYS. This usually isn't a problem at the grocery store. This day, it was. She pouted. I counted to three. She threw the chips down on the floor instead of giving them to me. So I declared the chips ALL DONE. Then the crying and screaming began. Now, keep in mind that this is all happening while I'm trying to order our soup, salad, and sandwich. The cashier was extremely patient and gracious about it. Other patrons? Well, it was a mixed bag. I interjected my conversation with the cashier with "When you're done screaming, I'll understand what you want." This is my standard tantrum routine. I don't negotiate with terrorists. When the screaming's done, then we'll talk. I continued to manage obtaining our lunch, and the screaming escalated. She loves to do this in public. I think she actually has a future on the stage. 

One elderly gentleman across the shop came over and offered to pick MeToo up. Ok, that scared her. She stopped flailing and clung to my legs, still screaming. 

The elderly gentleman in front of me was supportive of me sticking to my guns. "She's a strong one. You're stronger." 

But the frumpy middle-aged guy across the shop? He came over in the midst of the hubbub to inform me, "You know, your kid's really being annoying!" "Yes, I know." was my response. I tried to have a conversation with him. "What would you like me to do?" I asked. "Spank her? And have someone call Protective Services on me? Would you like to spank her? And have someone call Protective Services on you? What would you like me to do?" Not surprisingly, he didn't have much of an answer. He just stalked off, muttering something about "make her stop." 

The most productive of all interveners was the elderly gentleman trying to pick her up. It scared her enough to start asking me for "Up up up!" Ok, those were words. We could work from that. And we did. The tantrum wound down. The cashier was horrified about the middle-aged guy, and apologized profusely.  I'm thankful for the patience not to deck the frumpy guy. I'm sorry, but you just don't tell a pregnant woman dealing with a tantrum that her child's annoying. I guarantee you, she knows. He's lucky he doesn't have a bloody nose to show for it. It's proof that the patience was given by God, and not from me. He's also lucky I didn't point him out to BestestHusband when he arrived. I"m not sure what would have happened there...

Our next moment of teen-preview angst was yesterday evening. The girls' preschool teacher surprised the kids with an Easter Egg Hunt on the playground. The eggs were filled with chocolates. Dove chocolate eggs, to be exact. That teacher has good taste. On the way home, the girls talked very excitedly about their eggs and chocolates. I agreed to let them eat a few. I know they'd been waiting all day. I have a hard time waiting all day to eat chocolate. I can't expect my daughters to be able to do it. So after eating a few, MeToo asked for a video. I said yes. It allows me to prep dinner in peace. HeyMama asked if she could have more chocolate. I said she needed to save them for after dinner. She seemed ok with that. We do typically eat dessert AFTER dinner.

But a few minutes later, the fireworks went off. "I want more chocolate! I wish I'd never eaten those chocolates!" Chocolate regret had set in. She's a bit too young to understand the conundrum of "you can't have your cake and eat it too". Or maybe not. She cried. She screamed. "I wish I hadn't eaten them! I'll never eat chocolate again! I hope Easter never comes!" The regrets streamed out, veering towards the absurd. Now, I can sympathize with this to some extent. I love chocolate. In a truly unhealthy way. I love to eat it. I always want more. And sometimes I regret eating it. Mostly because I want to have more. And eating all of your chocolate means you don't have more to eat. I was sympathetic to her hysteria until she threw her bag of chocolates against the wall and behind the couch. That's when I sent her to timeout. Regret is one thing. Chocolate abuse is another. And it's inexcusable, if you ask me... She raged in her room for a while, screaming random things. "No more eggs! No more candy! I don't like paper! I'm going to rip down all of the art in my room." When she calmed down and was ready to talk, we discussed chocolate regrets. Because I do truly understand. And then she did rip down some of the artwork in her room. Which I also understand. When I get upset, that can be a good catalyst for cleaning and redecoration. 

Oh Heaven help us when the girls are teenagers. By my estimation, the teen years will directly co-incide with menopause for me. BestestHusband is screwed. I see a "mancave" in our future. And maybe a few Academy Awards in our girls'...

Lottery Results Are In!

Well, after months of waiting and wondering, the lottery results are in!

I'm talking about the Boston Public Schools school assignment lottery, of course. You know, school assignment - that mysterious system where you register your child, rank a series of schools in your zone, get assigned a random number, and wait to find out where your child will attend school? 
Oh. You don't? 
Oh... 

That's probably because you live in a normal area where your child attends the school in your neighborhood instead of climbing on a bus to travel to a school 40 minutes away in morning traffic. I do not. I live in the city of Boston, where we do schools a bit differently. 

Boston has some fantastic schools. And Boston has some pretty bad schools. And where your child attends depends on your lottery assignment. And the zone that you live in. And your walk zone. And sibling preference. Oh, and whether or not you can afford to send your child to a private school to avoid being assigned to a bad school. This was all designed in the interest of fairness. And it is fair. Even our local politicians have no control over what schools their kids get in to. It's fair. Unless you have money to move to the expensive 'burbs or pay private tuition. So maybe it's not really fair. Just anxiety-inducing and annoying. Alright, this is a rant for another day... 

They're changing the system for next year, to reduce some of the insane bussing costs and general parent anxiety. In theory, they can put the bussing money they save into the "underperforming" schools. We're not quite sure how it will work, though. That, too, is a rant for another day...

So, drumroll please.......

HeyMama got a seat at the Trotter School! 
I think it was ranked number 15 out of 16 on our list. It's way across town, in an area we don't frequent often. Because of distance. Ok, and crime. I certainly wouldn't drive there at night. I haven't driven there yet, but I strongly suspect it will take around 40 minutes to drive there in morning rush hour traffic. But I should test it to know for sure.

The school is considered a "turnaround" school. In other words, it's been so bad in the past that the school was allowed to set extended hours and have the ability to more freely fire and hire staff to bring up the quality of the teachers. (We'll ignore the implications for our local teacher's union...) Additional resources and special rules were granted to the school because it was just so bad. And I understand that the changes have helped a lot. I've heard great things about the school. I'm sure HeyMama could learn a lot there. But when she starts school next year, she'll have a 3 week-old sibling. And I'll be a sleep-deprived milk-leaking zombie who will choose between driving across town at 8am or putting a 4 year old on a school bus for a 40 minute ride. Both options make me shudder. 

We're waitlisted for our top three choices, which are all in our walk zone (ie. less than a mile away):

• Sumner Elementary:  #22
• Mozart Elementary:  #41
• Bates Elementary Special Needs Integrated Classroom:  #45

These numbers aren't great. Sure, there is a rare chance we could get into the Sumner, but I'm not holding my breath.

So, like any decent family with a bit of wiggle room in the budget, we'll start touring local private/parochial schools. The tuitions aren't that different from what we've been paying for preschool this past year, anyway. We're not talking about elite prep schools for our 4 year old, just an alternative to being bussed to the 'hood. It's all part of the "fair" education system in our city. Fairness is great until we talk about putting my sweet little 4 year old on a long bus ride with the big kids to a neighborhood with random gun violence. Then screw fairness. She's 4. Her father and I didn't complete a combined 15 years of higher education to send our little lamb out to the wolves. We'll eat more lentils and postpone retirement a few years to afford another option. This, too, is a rant for another day...

So congrats to all Bostonians who got their first choices, and our condolences to the others that didn't. We'll see you at the private school tours. And the open houses in the 'burbs...

Spring Driving

People like to talk about spring skiing around here. It's the time when there's still plenty of snow left on the slopes, but the weather's getting milder. This means you can ski all day without losing your nose to frostbite.

Well, I'm sure spring skiing is wonderful. But I'd like to talk about another New England sport:  Spring Driving.

Ok, I know it's not really spring yet. It's still nasty. It's February. We still have some quality winter weather ahead of us. But the recent rain/slush storm is similar to what we get in the spring, and it's already changing the roads to what I expect in March and April.

How are spring skiing and driving alike? You get to enjoy a constant slalom course. Rain and slush here somehow spontaneously generate potholes. Not little "bump" potholes, but axle-shattering "BAM!" potholes. They lurk under puddles. You think that puddle is 1/2 inch deep? HA! 6 inches of pothole under there! Kiss your suspension goodbye!

So in fear, you drive around suspicious-looking puddles. Which includes most of them... And they come up on you fast as you drive. So you dodge left. Then right. Then left. Then WAY to the right. Then you see the puddle taking up the ENTIRE lane, and you hold your breath and prepare for the worst. 

If you don't live around here, you might not know how narrow our lanes tend to be. Generally, they're wide enough for a mid-sized sedan. SUV's easily take up the entire width of the lane, and delivery trucks are the equivalent of oversized loads. So swerving to avoid potholes while simultaneously avoiding oncoming traffic is a bit of a challenge. 

I think there ought to be a point system involved in Spring Driving. Certain roads are more prone to spontaneous potholes, and present more of a challenge. Getting to work without hitting a pothole? That's not so hard. Few points should be awarded for that. But getting to church without hitting a pothole? That's a herculean feat. That deserves significant points. And making it to summer without needing a realignment? Your point tally doesn't matter. You know you've won.

So if you visit Boston in the spring and wonder why people appear to be driving drunk, watch carefully. The potholes come up on you fast. Following the weaving driver ahead of you might just help you save your tires.

There But For The Grace of God Go We

Parenting is an amazing combination of job, lifestyle, and heart-filled obsession. It makes your heart sing. It makes you sink to the depths of despair. 

It makes you vulnerable. 

Parenting rips you from a world that you can carefully construct to convince yourself that you are in control. Before having kids, you can work hard in school, get a good job, work for the right promotions, save and invest wisely, and construct a safe and comfortable world for yourself to inhabit. You can sculpt your body through marathons and trips to the gym to look and feel the way you want. You can live in the right neighborhood to have all of the conveniences you'd like. You can move the distance from family that you'd prefer - either as close or as far as is comfortable. Before having kids, you are in control of your life. And then you have kids and you suddenly aren't anymore.

Before the baby even arrives, it takes over your body. Sleeping, puking, with bulging belly and swollen ankles, it doesn't matter what you want your body to look like. The baby will have its own way with you. You can construct the perfect birth plan, but you can only have it if the baby agrees to enter the world the way you'd like. You spend the beginning of your child's life eating and sleeping at the child's whim, not your own. No matter how much you think you'll stay the same, having a child changes you.
And when you get past the hectic early days, you realize that you can again eat, sleep, and shower whenever you'd like. You start to feel in control again. 

And then horrible news splashes all over the internet, and you lose control. You see images of children being led from the school where their classmates were killed, and the tears are unleashed. The terrified faces of those children don't belong to strangers in another state, they belong to yours. You feel their fear, you want to comfort them and hold them. You see the anguished parents waiting to be reunited with their children, and you say a prayer that they will be holding their terrified children soon. You pray that they won't be one of the ones to get the bad news from the authorities - that theirs is one of the 18 (or more) children that were killed in the school. That they'll be setting one less plate at the dinner table from this night forward. That they'll have Christmas gifts under the tree that will never be opened. 

Parenting makes you vulnerable to fear. Vulnerable to the knowledge that you can't protect your children from everything. Vulnerable to the heartache that befalls other families. Because there, but for the grace of God, go we all. We are all in the same family. And none of us are in control.

I'm sure there will be a flurry of reactionary activity to follow this horrible school shooting. People will want to ban guns. People will insist on new rules to make schools safer. People will point fingers and place blame. I'm sure there's blame to go around. But really, it's just all a desperate measure to try to help us feel better, to help us feel that we have a bit of control over the situation. But none of us do. And let's face it, that's the tragedy that we're all mourning together today. We'd give our own lives to save our children. And sometimes we're not given that chance. 

So we should all pray for the families in Newtown, Connecticut. Not just today, but on Christmas. And New Years. And next Christmas. And the Christmas after that. And for the families all over this country who have lost children to violence. This is a horrible day for them too, because their child died all over again. They were actually there, in those heart-breaking news photos, once upon a time. And let's pray for all families, as we mourn our new-found loss of control. It's not the message we'd prefer to think about during the holiday season.

Listen and Obey

"Listen and Obey."
It's a phrase we use a lot in our household.

I know that some parents would find this phrase to be horribly demeaning to children. Parenting is about negotiating with your child, reasoning with them until you can come to an agreement on what should happen. Or you should play through the situation until your goal is achieved. 

I think that's a bunch of malarkey. You don't have time to negotiate and play when your child is running towards a busy city street. You don't always have the chance to reason with them when they're doing something unsafe. Sometimes, you just need to be able to utter a command and know that your child knows they're supposed to respond. I'm not saying we have a 100% success rate for compliance, but we're usually above 90%, which I think is pretty good. Children don't know which commands are keeping them intact vs. keeping the china cabinet intact. It's not their job to stop and try to figure it out. They just need to listen. Their lives and my sanity depend on it. 

As the girls can recite, my words are to "teach them and keep them safe". So I used the newspaper this morning as a teachable moment. There were a lot of people that suffered in the hurricane, despite preparing as well as they could. I have nothing but sympathy for those folks. I've lived through roof-ripping hurricanes, and they're terrifying. I can imagine that the recovery effort is overwhelming. But there were a lot of people who suffered because they decided not to evacuate when they should have. They were given an order, but they chose not to obey. 

wwlp.com

Now, I'm not saying we should all be automatons that follow every recommendation of our government without questioning them. No, reason is important. But when all of the weather reports and emergency warnings tell you that 90mph winds and 10+ feet of water are coming to wipe away your home, it seems wise to evacuate. Especially if you aren't savvy in the areas of meteorology, civil engineering, and hydrology. They weren't interrupting your weekend TV programs for the fun of it. No, they were trying to keep you from getting killed. 

I wonder, as I see more people subscribe to the "negotiate until agreement" method of parenting, if this phenomenon will get worse in the future. If a good chunk of our society believes that the rules don't really apply to them (especially if they don't like the rule or recommendation), how will we stay safe? How will we learn without having to learn the hard way?

The Taproot is Established

Today was the yearly group yard sale of my local mommy network. It's an established tradition with around 40 families participating, held in the basement of a local church. It's a great place to get ANYTHING kid-related at really good prices. So it's a mob scene, of course.

This was the first year I was able to go. Typically, I manage to sign up to work the weekend of the yard sale, and Anne becomes my personal shopper and finds things for me. She volunteers for the event so that she can get in early and scoop up the best stuff. This is a good strategy. Stuff goes fast. But Anne was out of town this weekend, and I was not working, so I got to go and be Anne's personal shopper instead. 

I got there early to help out. I knew the organizer because she helped me with the enormous yard sale I did last year. I ran into my neighbor and her friend who shared a table. I met a lot of new people. Then the sale opened, and the crowds arrived. I saw friends that I know from BestestHusband's work. I saw friends I know from church. I saw friends I know from daycare. I saw friends I know from our old babysitting co-op. I saw friends I know from the playground. I saw so many people I know. I didn't know I knew so many people around here. I know I've said it before, but occasionally I realize how rooted I've become here. And today I realized that I have a taproot in this community. I'm firmly dug in.

I didn't find much stuff for HeyMama, unfortunately. But I did find some great stuff for Anne's daughter, Rockstar. (she's earned this nickname for the place she holds in my daughters' lives. MeToo idolizes her.) Part of me wants to post pictures of the loot, as I'm proud of the finds. But I also want Anne to be surprised when she sees them. So I'll hold back. But I will say this: a pristine Hanna Andersen dress for $5. Of course, Anne told me which tables to beeline to first, so I can't claim too much credit...

I hope your weekend's full of fun surprises!

Stewardship Sunday - Weekend Getaway Edition

Whew, Sunday again. How did that happen?


We returned from a quick weekend getaway, and are gearing up for the real summer vacation - a week with extended family at a lake house in the upper Midwest. It's late. So I'll try to do a quick week overview and leave the details for tomorrow.


Monday: Gym, led preschool music time, had relaxing afternoon at home. And a visit from the plumber. I think. It feels so long ago...


Tuesday: Worked an extra long day in Boston. Had a delayed train. BestestHusband cooked sandwiches for dinner.


Wednesday: Went to Children's Museum with college roomie and her two boys. Ran errands and did laundry to prep for the camping trip. Then was exhausted.

Thursday: Worked in Boston, then had dentist appointment in evening. BestestHusband cooked takeout for dinner.


Friday: Spent the morning packing for the camping trip. BestestHusband came home early from work, and we headed west. In lots of traffic. We set up camp, roasted hot dogs and s'mores, and crashed (like sardines who like to lay on Mama) in our small tent. 


Saturday:  BestestHusband (who actually slept through the night) let me sleep in. The girls enjoyed the playground. He enjoyed the newspaper. We went swimming in a lake. We showered and got ready for Tanglewood. We spent an evening under the stars, listening to world-class music in a world-class outdoor music venue, drinking sparkling wine and eating a 5-star picnic. They topped it off with fireworks. We got back to the campsite after 1am.


Sunday:  We straggled out of our tent not too long before checkout time. We hurried to pack up and check out. We drove a lot. We went to an outlet mall on the way home. That was so painful on so many fronts, but most of our anniversary shopping is now done. We came home. We greeted the dogs. We discovered they acquired fleas at the dog sitter's house. We rushed to get the girls fed, bathed, and in bed. We tried to clean up from the trip and de-flea the dogs and the downstairs. 


Food waste: It was a hectic week. A perfectly-nice batch of spinach got composted. Some perfectly nice lettuce met the same fate.

Money: Camping + Tanglewood + outlet mall = ouch. But 2 out of the 3 are what we hope the girls' memories are made of. And 1 out of 3 are what much of their food will be made WITH.

Patience: We were trying to accomplish a lot this week, which always puts a strain on everyone. We had a lot of fun, but had a few trying moments, as well. I'd rate this week a "fair" to average out the ups and downs.

M&Ms: MeToo started pooping on the potty this week. And the floor. But she did earn M&Ms for the potty poops. I earned M&Ms for cleaning up the floor poops.

Time: We did a lot of great memory-making stuff this week. I think our time use was pretty good. I'd just like to have more of it...


More info to come on camping, Tanglewood, and out outlet trip. Hope you had a great week, and are looking forward to another one!

Frazzled

I've felt extremely frazzled today. The Pama wasn't enough. 


The day was good. We went to the gym early, we led music time at preschool. We went home for an afternoon that didn't involve running around, per HeyMama's request. We did fun stuff out on the back patio. We opened the sandbox. We filled the water table. I harvested our first batch of lavender. It was a good day. It was full of cranky preschooler behavior. But most days are. Why am I so frazzled?


Well, the ajillion +1 phone calls about replacing a hot water heater might have contributed to it a bit... But I don't think that's the real cause.


I think it's because I'm an introvert.


Now some of you might argue with that statement. I seem perfectly sociable and outgoing. And you'd be right in that I DO enjoy some doses of social behavior, and I'm not afraid to talk to total strangers. That just means I'm not shy, and I'm the crazy talk-to-people-in-the-grocery-line type. But I've always heard that the test of introvert/extrovert has more to do with what ENERGIZES you - socialization or alone time.


And I need alone time. Quiet alone time other than the hours that I'm sleeping. (I don't typically sleep alone. And my sleeping partner is not consistently quiet...). My girls do not believe in quiet time. Nor do they believe in giving me alone time. Oh, sure, I can baby gate them into their room and put in ear plugs. But I save that for emergencies. Our house is about nonstop talking and nonstop needing. That's just where we are right now.


I'm always working to teach the girls more independence. And it is working. But that still takes time, talking, and togetherness. And these have devoured the remnants of my neurological system by the end of the day.


I feel better about my limitations since thinking of it this way. How can some moms seem to thrive amidst the chaos while I continue to struggle? Maybe it's because they're on Xanax. Or maybe it's because they're wired that way. I'm just not. And there's nothing I can do about it. Oh, I can pretend to be a social butterfly, but I'll still need to re-charge like a hermit. God made me this way, and I don't believe He makes mistakes...


So now I'll have to work on using this self-realization to find more balance. Because no one has fun when I'm frazzled.

The Death of Optimism

I think therapists tend to be optimists. I'm sure that other careers, like teaching, attract optimists as well. If you spend your days pouring all of your time and energy into helping someone get better at something, you have to have a deep belief that people CAN get better.


I would lump myself into the Optimist category. But every now and then, I encounter a patient that overwhelms and defeats my optimism.


I worked with such a patient again yesterday. It was our second or third session together. Joe* is in his 40's, and had a significant stroke on the right side of his brain. (MCA CVA for those who like medical jargon.) The left side of his body is paralyzed, and his brain tends to ignore that it's there. (left neglect for you jargonists out there) So he'll start swearing about how much his left shoulder hurts. And you have to point out to him again that it's because he's sitting on his left arm. Now, most people can learn how to pay attention to their left side again, and they get much better. But his stroke has significantly affected his overall self-monitoring and error-detection. How do you fix a problem that you don't think you have? Why would you exert maximum effort in a therapy session to fix something that isn't broken? This definitely affects someone's rehab prognosis.


Joe doesn't understand how cognitively impaired he is. His mind jumps from idea to idea, seemingly uncontrollably. Sessions with him are exhausting. You can spend 30 minutes just trying to get him to read through his medication list. He won't do structured memory tasks, but I tried to work on his memory by helping him learn his lengthy list of medications. We didn't get very far.


My favorite moment from yesterday's session was a conversation that went something like this:
Joe: "I think I might need to fire my doctor and get a new one."
Me: "Why's that?"
Joe: "I was taking tons of pills at home, but he couldn't keep me from havin' a stroke. Shouldn't he have known I was goin' to have a stroke?"
Me: "Didn't you just tell me that you smoke all day long, eat nothing but greasy food, never exercise, do drugs, are diabetic, and until recently weighed almost 400 pounds?"
Joe: "Well, yeah."
Me: "I think your doctor's done a great job of holding off your stroke as long as he did."
Joe: "yeah, maybe you're right..."
And then he changed the topic again.


The part that makes all of this most difficult is his baseline pre-stroke personality. My co-worker describes his life as "chaotic." She's stating it nicely. Here are a list of things he's told me about his life:

• While he was in the hospital after his stroke, his mom had his new van towed and "crushed".
• She evicted him from the apartment he was renting from her because he didn't pay rent while he was in the hospital.
• He's taking her to court.
• His 17 year old son is in trouble with the law, and is wearing an ankle monitoring bracelet. 
• He recently paid $1000 bail to keep his son out of jail. He's afraid his son will miss his court appearance and he'll lose that money.
• His 17 year old son told his teenaged girlfriend to get an abortion.
• He wants to "bust him in the mouth" for doing that. That's not what their family does, even if it was going to be a "mixed-race kid."
• Joe lives with his girlfriend and her 3 teenaged kids.
• She helps him with his medications and doctors appointments.
• They want to have a baby together.
• They just got a pit bull puppy.
• When Joe gets home, he's going to start running, playing basketball, and lifting weights every day.
• He's going to have a 6 pack and a body like you see on TV.
• He's going to go back to school and become an RN.
• He'll support his son and keep him out of trouble. 

(Nevermind that he never does his homework exercises and can't support his own weight, and left the previous rehab hospital against medical advice, one of the best in the nation, because he just wanted to go home. Oh, and he didn't finish high school, and isn't really very literate...)


His personality is one that does not take constructive criticism well. This makes providing feedback in therapy sessions quite challenging. He "fires" therapists regularly. He yells and swears at the staff regularly. He yells at me for "cutting [him] off all the time." I consider it "redirecting him to task." Especially in the context of needing 30 minutes to read through his list of medications...


I love it when patients have big plans, with big goals. I'll never forget the 54 year old hand surgeon that had a cerebellar/brainstem stroke. Let's call him Larry*. His mind was intact. But he had severe ataxia - a lack of motor control. He had difficulties speaking, eating, walking, bathing, etc etc etc. Returning to vascular surgery was out of the question. And he knew it. But he specialized in reattaching fingers. Working on hand transplants. He successfully amputated a guy's big toe and used it to replace a mangled thumb so a patient could have a useable hand. And he and a friend had been playing around with a new hand prosthetic design. So he set reasonable goals for himself. He and his friend turned their attention to the prosthetic. He decided that he could continue his love of hand surgery via teaching. He just needed to improve his speech to be able to do it. AND HE DID. If I told him to do 20 repetitions of an exercise, he did 50. When friends came to visit, he told them to grab his therapy notebook and do exercises with him. He toughed it out through the most intense electronic stimulation treatments I've ever administered. He set goals for himself, and he just worked his backside off to reach those goals. 


Larry fostered optimism, even in pessimists. And when he gave an intelligible lecture (with Powerpoint images of severed fingers!) to our medical and rehab staff, I KNEW he'd be fine.


But Joe... he's not a do-er. He doesn't set reasonable goals and work hard to achieve them. So even if he did wake up one day and realize that he had problems, I have no evidence that he'd set out to solve those problems. He doesn't have a history of being a fighter. Of being someone who doesn't take "no" for an answer. Someone who will sacrifice towards a bigger goal. Because he does drugs all day long. He creates drama wherever he goes. He doesn't play by the rules. He lives in a different world than I do. One of drugs, prison time, welfare checks, baby mamas, and street cred. And I"m having a hard time seeing it as an environment that will help him recover and regain his own life, much less start a better one. He's ready to discharge himself from the rehab hospital so he can sue his mother. Can you imagine a guy like him in court? It's going to be a nightmare. 


So I need help being optimistic on this one. I've never had a patient's situation upset me so much. I know that miracles can happen. There is still room for a miracle in his life. And he needs a miracle more than anyone I've ever met. No, I take that back. His son needs a miracle. His girlfriend's kids need a miracle. Because the sins of the father will be visited upon those kids and direct their future more than they can even imagine. He's going to be a handful to take care of... 


Pray for Joe. And pray for my optimism. Thanks!




*Of course I"m not using their real names. The HIPAA police would come after me.

Your Children Are Certifiable

Your children are certifiable. My children are certifiable. Children are just crazy. Watch them for a while and see for yourself.


Here's a small example of what my insane 2 yr old has done lately:
Sit on the potty for 10 minutes singing, not go potty, then immediately take a shower and poop on the floor
Ask for something, then scream when I gave it to her.
Say no when I offer her something, then scream because I didn't give it to her.
Ask for a pink cup. Then when I give her one, scream that she wants a purple one.


Here's a small example of what my insane 3 yr old has done lately:
Talk nonstop about imaginary events for 30 minutes straight. 
Concoct an imaginary birthday party that will happen 6 months in the future, then get upset when I tell her the party isn't really happening this week, and please don't invite over any more of her preschool friends quite yet. 


Now, I'm no psychologist. I'm no licensed mental health provider. But if a grownup did these things on a regular basis, they would earn them self a DSM Axis II diagnosis and a trip to McLean Hospital. The terms "personality disorder", "logorrhea", and "delusional" come to mind. If you had to interact with them and care for them every day, you'd be working in the locked unit of a mental health facility.


But they're our children. Their behaviors are "developmentally appropriate". We're supposed to help them learn to be not crazy. And I've heard it takes years.


This is just one of the things that makes parenting hard. The world says your child is "normal", but you can't help but feel like they're insane.


And you read funny articles or blog posts that try to make light of the phenomenon of parenting and are just SO TRUE!. And then you get commenters who snippily say things like, "Well, I know that they're only young once, so I CHERISH EVERYTHING they do." This just isn't helpful to the psyche of parents. Lady, I'd love for you to come over and cherish the poop stains on my rug any time.


Of COURSE our children are blessings from God. Of course they're only doing what's in their true nature. But paranoid schizophrenics are only doing what's in their true natures, as well, and God loves them too. Staff clinicians on psych wards are allowed to say that their jobs are sometimes hard. Are we not?


I wonder if this is more difficult to manage in a demographic group where we're all encouraged to go to college. So we can get jobs where we don't get stuck working for demanding narcissists who don't pay us much. And we pay lots of money and work hard to get great jobs. And we do! We know stuff. People seek out our opinions and knowledge. We don't have people following us around all the time or standing over us. We're independent! We accomplish things!


And then we have kids and start working for tiny demanding narcissists who don't pay us much. Or anything, actually...


I adore my girls. They are special treats, and I love watching their personalities blossom. 


But they're certifiable.  

The Cold Bottle Theory

I've come to the conclusion lately that parenting is tough. But we're good at finding ways to make it tougher.


We just came home from a great birthday party. The kids had a great time. The parents had a great time. There was no bouncy house. There was no ball pit. There was no juggler. There was a room full of toys, and 6 little girls who like playing together. (4 of the 6 were siblings, so really, only 4 families were there, including the hosts). No one got overstimulated. There were no tantrums. There was a lot of giggling. And time for the parents to hang out and chat. And silence when the food was served.


My friend is a very capable cook. You don't turn down invites to her house. She and her husband produce some pretty spectacular Christmas dinners that we've had the privilege to share over the last few years. Suckling pig. Beef Wellington. Standing rib roast. They know how to put on a feast. (We have quite a few friends like this. You have to step up to the plate whenever you invite them over, but all-in-all, I can't complain.) This is the friend who introduced me to Pama. She's got good taste. But she knew better than to put in that level of effort for a 2 yr old birthday party. Don't get me wrong, the food was delicious. But she kept it simple.


She fed the kids macaroni and cheese. She boiled macaroni, drained it, and melted shredded cheese on top. Sharp cheddar. It was tasty. My 2 yr old ate 3 generous helpings. The girls were silent while they ate. I was happy to finish off HeyMama's leftovers. It was good. It took about 10 minutes to make. Genius. 


My friend is a great illustration of my Cold Bottle Theory. Why get your kids addicted to the multi-step mac and cheese (boil pasta, make béchamel, make crumb topping, bake in oven) that takes over an hour when they're absolutely thrilled with something that requires only a small fraction of the effort? Why introduce your baby to bottles that are perfectly warmed to the exact right temp when mine happily accepted bottles cold, even straight from the fridge? HeyMama was fine with this from the very start. MeToo refused bottles altogether (warm, cold, everything in-between) until she took a sippy cup (cold!) at 6 months. (Perhaps some babies have trouble digesting cold stuff? I don't know. If so, then yes, I can see why you'd warm it up. But this wasn't my experience...)


But think of the ways that we make ourselves do extra steps for things kids don't really care about. Perfectly coordinated party supplies. Designer decor in the bedroom. Touring all of the West Zone schools when there are only 3 you'd let your kid to go to. I mean, if it makes you really happy to go to all the extra effort, than by all means, go for it! Be proud of the outcome! Just know that you did it for fun, not because you HAD to. 


There is plenty about parenting that is important and requires a lot of effort. Discipline. Teaching values. Making time for them when they need it. But I wonder how much of what we do spend time on is the fluff - the stuff that only WE feel is important?

The Day Before Vacation

Yes folks, that's human excrement on my jute rug.


A certain 2 year old decided that today was the day she'd stop wearing diapers and start using the potty. With a little error along the way...


I'm trying to be really excited. She followed up this doozy with a successful trip to the potty for another #2, and then a #1. Without any prompting from me. She just did it. This is pretty awesome! 


Except that I'm trying to pack for vacation. So in the midst of packing and writing out a novel about household stuff for our housesitter/dogsitter, I'm rolling up rugs and doing puddle checks and sniffing for any other surprises.


But I'm really trying to be excited... 

Lonely Socks Club

Here's a picture of today's Lonely Socks Club get-together (also known as laundry day). 

I typically wash all of the contents of the girls' hamper together in one giant load. And the floor is currently sock free. BH would tell me to just throw the oddballs away and move on. But I feel sorry for them. The optimist in me feels confident that they can find their mates and go on to live happy, productive lives. The realist in me knows that I could open the Candyland box and find 5 random socks stashed in there. So I gave them their own box on top of the clothes drawers in the closet. They can keep each other company. Commiserate. 


And I'm a cheapskate. Throw away perfectly good socks? Heck no! In a pinch, we could make 8 perfectly serviceable pairs out of them. But only in a pinch. (We wouldn't want people to think I can't match my kids' socks!)


Oh, and don't think I'm not keeping track of how many socks I put in that box. My theories of sock reproduction suggest that I could find more than 16 the next time I look...