Slacker

Naps Suck

How much do I hate scheduling my day around naps?  I had about two years where I did not have to do this, and it was heaven.  Don't get me wrong, I love the "break" from a busy toddler when they go and crash for two hours and I can take a shower or start dinner or reply to emails or, ever so occasionally, write a blog.  But.  It's so complicated to actually achieve that "break" that it often seems like it rules the rest of the flow of the day.  Ruby will still try to take a morning nap if we're in the car or she's in the stroller anytime around 11 am.  That would be fine, except that I have to pick up Gus from school at 12:30, so I have to make sure we're doing some activity or hanging out at home between 11 and 12:30.  Otherwise, she's determined to fall asleep for 30 minutes, which in turn means that I either don't put her down for an afternoon nap (and she's a cranky clingy baby all afternoon), or I put her down late, meaning that she will then need to stay up later if we don't want to spend an hour lying on the floor of her room trying to get her down.  So my mornings are constrained by the need to be finished with all exercise and errands before 11.  Then, at 12:20, we leave to go pick Gus up.  Most days, like today, she falls asleep approximately one minute into the drive to get him.  That is great, because if I go pick him up and come straight home, she'll go right down in her crib.  If, however, I do something crazy, like I did today, and go through a drive-thru to get Gus some lunch, when we get home she will have had enough sleep that she wakes up, ready to party with Gus.  So that's it.  A 30 minute nap for the day.  What a great afternoon I'll have to look forward to.  I still put her down in the crib to see if she might, possibly, hopefully, go back to sleep.  But no.  I can hear her in the next room moaning and saying "mamamamama" in a tired but definitely not on-the-verge-of-going-back-to-sleep sort of way.  So no shower for me, no emails, no bills, but at least a little blog ...  

I miss you

Blog!  I miss you.  I have many things to tell you, but can't seem to get all the way through a post lately.  I have a few half-posts, which maybe I'll just post and see if anyone can make sense of it!  At the moment, I'm stressing over whether my babysitter is going to come this afternoon when I have to go off and deliver all of my dinners on the porch.  If not, I'm screwed.  She super-secret texted me in the middle of the night asking if I still need her today!  Yes, I do.  That's why I said I need you every single Tuesday.  When I said that, I meant that I didn't want to have to confirm it every week.  Ay!  Will let you know how it all turns out!

When will September be over???

This is always such a crazy month for me, ever since the kids started "real" school.  I get totally overwhelmed with the volume of papers and sign-up sheets and new committees and all of the other stuff that comes my way at the beginning of the school year.  It starts to pile up in little corners and on table tops all over my house, and when I walk by and spy a pile that I know needs attention, it just makes me want to cram my whole self into a bag of peanut M&Ms.  I just finished writing apologetic emails to both of the boys' teachers for not returning the parent-teacher conference sign-up sheets on time, because I can't see any time listed that works for me, Matt, and the babysitter where we could do both conferences at the same general time.  Achieving this conference seems to be a logic puzzle that is going to defeat me, so I tire of trying to solve it and figure I'll update the blog.  With what?  Just my ranting about how busy I am.  And what better way to solve that problem than to spend some time telling people about it?  Perfect.
In other news, things are going well on most fronts.  All kids are healthy at the moment, and everyone - including Ruby - loves school.  She loves, loves it.  When I tell her it's time to go (2 mornings a week for 2.5 hours), she claps and says "yay yay yay" and rushes around gathering her shoes, her backpack and multiple sippy cups (she needs at least two with her at all times to prevent a major tantrum).  Very cute.  She is in a little class with mostly younger kids, since she has an October birthday, and she goes crazy over babies, so she thinks she is in heaven.  Adding to her advanced status, she has also decided to potty-train herself.  I'm going along with it, trying not to get my hopes up, but she's pretty determined.  We spend quite a bit of time each day on the potty, cleaning the potty, admiring pretty underwear and, occasionally, cleaning up accidents.  This is not the way I went about things with the boys, but I'm trying to be flexible and try new things if that's what Ruby desires.  So we'll see about that.  Her birthday is coming up in a month, and I'm trying to decide what to do - small party, big giant party, something in between?  I want to celebrate her and make a big deal, but there's a part of me that wants to keep everything just in our family too, so, typically, I'm not doing anything about it and will have to decide at the last minute, making whatever I do all the more stressful.  Anyway, life is good and I feel like I have many, many things to write about, but no time to do it yet.  Maybe when the kids are all in college I'll have a little time ...

Bird on a Wire

Y'all, this morning I went for a little jog - 3 miles - and it was really a grind.  Last January, my husband and I ran a marathon - that would be 26.2 miles, and now it's a struggle to move my butt 3 miles.  Not too cool. But I'm still doing it, because if I stop, I'll never start again.  Have you ever let yourself get totally out of shape and then tried to start again?  It's hell.

It's really hell after you turn 30, as I found out when I decided to get back into shape several years ago.  I had been pretty fit during my late 20s, and then the day I found out I was pregnant with Finn I decided that I didn't need to bother with exercise for a while.  That little honeymoon lasted 4 years, since after he was born I was breastfeeding (love the weight-loss, eat all the cookies you want bonus of that!), then pregnant again with Gus, then breastfeeding again, then just too busy to exercise.  When Gus was about 2, Matt and I noticed that we had become very, very slack and could not run a mile even if there was a wild bear coming for us, so we hit the pavement.  It was so, so miserable and painful to bring our bodies back from the brink like that, that we have tried to stay somewhat in shape (sometimes more than other times) ever since.  With 40 looming like an exam you don't want to study for, I know that the next hiatus I take from exercise will be a permanent one.

Anyway, so I drag my body around, pushing Ruby in the stroller or, very occasionally, on my own, and I actually like it now, so that's a plus.  Today, I was alone - Ruby is starting at a little preschool and I had ONE free hour (!), so I got out my Ipod and hit it.  Where am I going with this?  Well, one of the songs that came up was Aaron Neville's version of Bird on a Wire, and it reminded me of an entry that I wrote on the blog that I kept while Matt and I were training for the marathon last winter.  You can read it right here.  That was before we had Ruby, and I remember having a very emotional breakdown on the run as I listened to the lyrics of that song.  I was thinking so much of my dad, who has lived with Parkinson's for 30 years and for whom we were running the marathon.  But it was January, and we had just passed our court date and knew that Ruby was our daughter, but we still had to wait 6 more weeks to go and get her.  It was so hard, knowing that she was there, not being loved by us, even though I knew she was being cared for and loved.  And I also felt (and still feel) brokenhearted for her to have lost so much already.  That's a loss that she will always carry in her life, no matter what we do or how happy and perfect the rest of her life turns out to be.  At the time, before knowing her like we do now could balance out the facts of her life up to that point, I think I was more focused on that sad year when she lost her family and suffered so much.  I had a lot of trouble with the fact that I could not protect one of my own children from sorrow, even though, obviously, without that sorrow she would never have been mine.  The lines of the song where he talks about things having been paid for always choke me up, because, as I wrote then about my dad, that's what we want to do for the people we love.  And sometimes we can, and sometimes we can't, but either way, you try and hope, fingers and toes crossed, that it's the effort that counts.
(Now go grab a kleenex and listen to some Aaron Neville!  Don't even get me started on "I Bid You Goodnight.")

Football Season Is Finally Here!

Not that I really care about football at all, but it's a good season for me nonetheless.  Matt is a fanatical Philadelphia Eagles fan.  When I say fanatical, I mean that he spends vast amounts of time reading information about the team online (does this help the team?), he cannot watch games with other people (in case he has a little baby tantrum if the Eagles are not playing well), and he will do almost anything in order to be allowed the sizable chunk of time it takes to watch an entire football game.

Some women would let an opportunity like this pass them by.  They might think, my husband works so hard, surely he deserves to watch a few hours of football on the weekend without having to pay for it.  Not me.  While I agree that Matt works hard and is a good father, provider, husband, etc, I do not think it is reasonable to spend what actually amounts to one-fourth of the weekend watching car and erectile dysfunction commercials interspersed with a few moments of football.  I'm not even anti-football.  I think it's fine, and I'll watch a few minutes here and there.  I get the team loyalty and the interest in the backstories of the players and all that.  But I'm not one to let a golden opportunity pass me by.  Several years ago, when Finn was a baby and Matt and I realized that any free time either one of us wanted would have to be negotiated and paid for, I made a deal with Matt that has eternally paid great dividends.  The deal is that he can watch the game, or games, if games other than ones the Eagles are playing in are "important" to the Eagles (meaning that their standing in the division might possibly depend on the outcome of said other game), so long as he is dealing with the child(ren) during the hours of play.  That means I have at least half of the day, and often the whole day, to do as I please.  Sadly, "as I please" today meant dealing with the house, but I was actually very pleased to be able to do it in peace.

Over the years, Matt has become a master at entertaining the children without actually having to engage his brain, which is, of course, otherwise occupied.  We think the person who invented Candyland (was Milton Bradley a person?) was either an idiot or a genius, because if you play a whole game and you do actually engage your brain, you might throw yourself out a window before you round into Peppermint Paradise.  For a while, puzzles were Matt's tool of choice, and I would come home from a long walk with a friend to find 17 puzzles laid out on the floor, the children clamoring for me to admire each one while Matt sprawled happily on the couch.  Now the boys create giant lego things with a little guidance from the father figure, or they bring every stuffed animal they own into the living room and make a practically life-sized zoo for them with blocks and pillows.  It's literally the only time I see Matt truly working on his multi-tasking skills, as he keeps up a stream of encouraging murmurs to direct the children in their activity while he keeps track of the main event.  Ruby has thrown a bit of a wrench into the situation, but Matt is handling it well.  It turns out he can read books without actually looking at them, and it's not like Ruby cares, she's just happy to be part of the football party.  So we're all happy on football Sundays, win or lose, because we all have a few hours to do exactly what we want.

Now if only the Eagles could make it to the post-season this year ...

Zen and the Art of Housekeeping

So, the boys are back in school and happy as can be, and you would think I would have more time on my hands to get organized, update the blog, keep the house clean, and all of that.  But, instead, I find myself in a constant state of chaos, with fifteen minutes here and there between dropping off at school, trips to Target to pick up soccer gear, parent meetings, and on and on and on.  Plus, now it's just me and Ruby at home, so whenever we are here, I have a little shadow following me around the house getting into trouble.  Right now she's sitting on the floor beside me with my coffee cup, eating ice from the bottom (since I can never finish a cup of coffee, I have to convert it to iced coffee halfway through, and as soon as Ruby sees me do that, she starts demanding "i-ee" until it's all gone).  So nothing is really getting done, but I'm trying to be at peace with it.  This morning in carpool I discussed with the boys (Finn, Gus and our carpool buddy Owen) the concept of Zen.  I told them that if we could achieve zen in the morning carpool (rather than the usual mayhem of shoes being thrown about, hair being pulled, threats being made (by me)), we would all enjoy a happier day.  They didn't know what zen was, and I admit I'm a little fuzzy on the actual concept, but I suggested that we could only achieve it through quiet, and it actually worked, at least until we arrived at school and all three boys wanted to be first out of the car, meaning they had to pile onto one another to get out.  Oh well.

As for me, I don't know if zen would help me not be anxious when I look out into our back yard and see weeds and massive shrub overgrowth taking over everywhere.  Or when I walk through the playroom to get something out of the downstairs freezer and see every single lego we own covering the floor in a sea of disorganization.  Is this discomfort with disorganization something that just comes on as women age?  I know that in college I was a big slob, letting my half of a tiny dorm room go native until either parents' weekend or the end of school was approaching.  I'm thinking it must be an evolutionary urge, making women - especially mother-women - crazy at the sight of something out of control the way our playroom or shoe area seems to always be.  As if I could finally "get everything organized and keep it that way"(my ultimate desire), then everything would be perfect.  I think I like car trips for this very reason - I can get everything packed and organized in the back of the car and, because it's such a small little universe, I can maintain that order by tidying everything each day.  Plus, in the case of a car trip, the children are literally restrained in car seats and cannot disrupt the order I have imposed in the car.  Ahem.  Controlling much?  I know, it's true.  But I'm just saying that I would like life to be like that, not that I actually achieve it or even try very hard.  Instead of cleaning and organizing, Ruby and I spend our mornings on walks, doing errands, making cupcakes or playing with little friends.  And then I have a little moment of panic when I think of all the tasks I didn't get done all day, but by that time it's usually too late to do anything about it, so a nice glass of red wine takes care of it.  Zen or wine, whatever works.

Labor Day Weekend

always seems to wear me out.  Why do I seem to take the name literally?  Anyway, we're tired but had a good weekend, and now I'm going to bed.  More tomorrow!

Healthy Baby Dance

Okay everybody (and self), everything is fine.  Ruby is fine (although I did have to rush her to the weekend peds clinic on Sunday when she was gasping for air, but that was a bad case of croup, so unrelated to our near-death experience).  I now need to convince myself that danger is not lurking around every corner and move on.  I have been having unsettling flashbacks to the whole event, and I keep thinking about what I would be doing right now if something really awful had happened.

Helping with the whole moving-on process is that Ruby is such a funny little doll.  We've been out and about so much these last few days with back to school stuff, sports for the boys, birthday parties, and she is such a little socialite.  She can be throwing a no-holds barred tantrum in the car, but the minute we get into a crowd, she's all shy smiles and coy glances.  After a few minutes of that, she moves on to walking around, checking out new people, and, of course, looking for snacks.  I will say that Ruby's interest in food has definitely calmed down quite a bit (and this whole low iron finding has made me rethink the compulsive eating in the first place - could it be that she was like pregnant women who eat dirt and other oddities in an effort to get enough iron - pica?).  Now when we're at home she often chews up a bite of something and then chucks it on the ground if it's not tasty enough, so I would say she is your basic American toddler.  In new settings, however, she definitely appeases anxiety by trying to eat.  Or by trying to drink any juicebox within a ten mile radius.  When I had her at the pediatrician with the croup, and she was tossing around ideas of where Ruby might have picked it up, I had a distinct memory of a recent playground party during which I saw Ruby on the make with at least 10 different juiceboxes.  I didn't mention that to the doctor, but I think Ruby and I both knew the score.  But overall I am so happy that she seems to have replaced her food attachment with her family.

On another note, Ruby seems to have kicked out all of her uninvited gastrointestinal guests, and with the extra iron she's taking, we're down to very few diapers over here.  Major plus.  She has actually been pretty healthy in that regard for a while, but people keep asking me how she is doing, so I didn't want people to think that she is still having diarrhea constantly - not a very lovely image.

As Ruby's general health has improved, her hair has been growing like crazy.  When we wash it, the curls hang down to her shoulders - so cute!  I have so many thoughts about the whole hair issue, and I find it interesting that people are so curious about it - as I was.  I will write more on that topic soon, but for now I will just say that I feel like her growing hair is such a good sign of a healthy baby.

So, as you can see, I'm ticking off all of these things to reassure myself that "everything is fine."  Ruby is okay, better than okay, and we're great.  It's just been a long week, and after six months where things happened pretty slowly, a trip to the ER and an acute case of croup within three days of each other was a lot to deal with.  I think we're making up for all of the months she wasn't with us, though, and I've been thinking that nursing a sick little baby is definitely a bonding experience.  Finn was sick all the time when he was a baby, so there were so many nights of worry and trying to comfort him when he was burning up with fever and couldn't breathe.  It was awful, and we were always exhausted, but we also were putting into action the bottomless love we felt for him.  When we heard the first lovely croup cough issue out of Ruby's mouth, we realized that we were going to be in for a few sleepless nights, and Matt's comment was, typically, very patient.  He said he guessed that we owe her a few nights, since we missed so many.  And it was good, because on Sunday night, sleeping on the floor next to Ruby's crib, listening for her to breathe in and out for hours, I realized that we really were "there" with her in ways that I hadn't realized.  All of that stuff about adjusting and her hair and language skills and every other little detail that I've thought about in the last six months are these objective things that I can think and talk about, but now, to me, she is really just my child, and I love that.  That love you have as a parent is so amazing, because you can see certain things about your child - they are good at sports, or introverted or pretty or not as pretty as the others or they struggle with math or can't ever remember where their shoes are or may have to be held back in school, or whatever, but none of it has any impact on how much you love them.  You just do, and all of that other stuff is separate (even though it can sometimes drive you crazy).  So it was good to realize that I just do love Ruby like that now, since when someone plops a 16 month old baby in your arms, the details are what you (or at least I) tend to focus on.  You know you will love this child, but at first she's a little mystery that you're trying to unlock so you can figure out how to love this child and how to make her love you.  Anyway, as with most things, it all happened while I wasn't paying attention to it, so a night or two on the floor or a few hours at the ER is not the highest price to pay for the realization.  And now that I've had it, we can all stay healthy for a while, right?

First meeting, six months ago.

Now, just one of the gang, looking for frogs.

Inhale, Exhale, Rinse, Repeat

I am so glad that tomorrow begins a new week.  A week of first soccer practices, back to school nights, planning meetings, play dates, homework and trips to the grocery store.  Those are good.  In the meantime, here are some good recent pictures of our happy little troop of troublemakers.

Gus' first day of Jr K - Ruby trying to go with him.

Walking in the woods.

Playing peek-a-boo!

Finn tried to teach Ruby & Gus how to play War, but they didn't exactly get it!

Warning: this blog is not even mildly humorous

It's almost midnight, Thursday night, and since it's almost over I can definitely say that today has been the worst, but also one of the best, days of my life.  I don't really even know how to write about this day quite yet, because so much is still zinging around in my head and I keep having little mini panic attacks, but I'll just give the facts now and then maybe once I've processed it I can write a little more later.

So, this morning after we dropped Finn off at school, Gus, Ruby and I came back home to take care of a few things before heading back out to do some errands.  While I cleaned up from breakfast and paid a few bills online, Gus was watching cartoons, and Ruby was sort of milling around in the room with him playing with her toys, or coming in to visit with me, or chasing the cats.  Basically, just being her little whirlwind self.  At some point as I was finishing up, she came in and I detected that she needed a diaper change, so I followed her into the next room, where she had gotten up on the couch with Gus to watch a little TV.  I sort of teasingly told her that I was coming to get her to change her diaper, and she gave me an equally funny look that said "not if you can't catch me!"  She then proceeded to get off the couch going head-first.  The couch is only about two feet off the carpeted floor and she moves pretty slowly, so even as I went to grab her, I wasn't really concerned.  However, at some point in her descent, but before I caught her, her center of gravity must have changed and her butt and legs flipped over her head, causing her neck to bend backwards in a very unnatural-looking way.  It looked pretty scary, and I swooped down to pick her up and comfort her and make sure she was alright.  She cried for a second and then started inhaling before letting out "The Big Cry."  You know the cry where they don't make any sound for a minute and then all hell breaks loose and you have never heard someone cry so loud right in your ear?  That's what I was waiting for.  Except she passed out from holding her breath.

Earlier this summer she had fallen off of a chair, bumped her head and passed out from holding her breath. That time, I remember that she all of the sudden she just went totally limp in my arms, and I was so stunned that I just stood there for a minute, looking at my aunt who was standing with me at the moment.  We could each see in the other person's eye the rising panic and the thought that maybe we should be calling 911, but before either one of us could voice it, Ruby opened her eyes and started crying.  We were scared, and worried for a while, but then she seemed fine and happy and was eating and playing, and I remembered that I had heard of children holding their breath until they pass out, so I moved on to worrying about other things.

So today when Ruby started her crazy inhale before the big howl, I sort of knew she was going to pass out.  I stood there for a minute, waiting for her to open her eyes again and start crying.  But then it seemed like a long time had gone by, and she wasn't waking up.  I started trying to wake her up, pinching her and calling her name, running to the kitchen to run her hands under the faucet, increasingly frantic.  And then her eyelids came up a little, and I could see that her eyes were rolling around all over the place, going all different directions.  And then her arms and legs started jerking and her little body became rigid in my arms.  At that point, I totally lost it.  I was screaming her name at the top of my lungs, grabbing the phone to dial 911 and, for some reason, running into the front yard screaming for help.  I have never in my life been so terrified.  I knew in my heart that it was too late, that she had broken her neck in the fall and was now going to die in my arms.  My mind was doing 100 things at one time - figuring out how to get help, trying to remember any medical information I might use to save her life, imagining the future where I would always look back at that very moment where I watched my child die, simultaneously rejecting that it could actually be happening, blaming myself, imagining having done this to Matt and the boys, disbelieving that I could have let a child die when only 6 months ago we brought her home from Ethiopia in the hope of providing a better life for her.  I also sorted out other possibilities, like total paralysis, and had a vision of her as a teen, living in a wheelchair, hating me.  Out of the corner of my eye I saw Gus on the couch, watching without comprehension as his mother was transformed from a familiar part of his world to an unrecognizable wild animal, even as Scooby Doo sleuthed on in the background.  My body was just acting on its own, with my feet carrying us out the front door to scream for help.  Without deciding to do so, I laid Ruby down on the ground and stuck my fingers in her mouth to make sure her airway wasn't blocked (some vestige of CPR training), but I had to wedge her mouth open since her jaw was clamped shut.  At this point, neighbors began descending on our yard, and our giant, ex-hockey player neighbor scooped her up in his enormous arms and put her on his shoulder.  I was screaming into the phone at the 911 operator, watching her, when I saw her body finally relax, saw her take a breath, felt my own body and mind rejoin one another.  The whole thing probably only lasted 3 minutes.

After that, the ambulance came and took us to the hospital since Ruby was still very disoriented and dazed.  In my arms, her body kept flopping over to the side, like limp rag.  But thank God, slowly, slowly we both came back from the edge.  After three hours of being poked and prodded at the hospital, she was back to herself, doing laps around the ER, looking for stickers from the nurses, playing hide and seek with anyone who would take the bait.  Unlike Ruby, after three hours at the hospital I felt like an empty IV bag and probably looked like one too.  We left around 1, picked up Gus from the neighbor's house where he had been enjoying cookies and more TV, and went home to collapse.  Medically, the bottom line was that she has an iron deficiency, making her more susceptible to fainting, which then brought on the seizure.  Apparently it's not uncommon, and it does not mean she will have a seizure disorder, but I really, really hope that's the end of it.  Also, Matt was involved during this, even though I have left his part out, and he was wonderful and calm and did all of the right things (of course), but he wasn't there for the scariest part, so I don't think he shared my abject terror.

So now here I am, and Ruby is sleeping peacefully in the next room (I just checked), so that's the best thing that's ever happened to me.  Obviously, if I had known that she was going to be fine, I wouldn't have been so terrified.  But for a little while I really believed and knew in my heart that she was not going to be fine, so I feel like I just got a hideous glimpse of what my life might have been if things had been different.  I keep seeing little things around the house - Ruby's referral picture still taped onto the fridge, the poem and picture I posted last night, sippy cups, her favorite little shoes, dolls, thank-you notes with Ruby's name on them, and I can't stop myself from the morbid thought that if something much worse had happened today, seeing each of those little things would bring on a new nightmare.

I once read a quote that having a child is like going around with your heart on the outside of your body.  It's true.  They take it around with them, when they run away from you at the playground and for a minute you can't see them, when they eat something you didn't know they were allergic to, when they go to a friend's house or when they get on the bus and go to school.  They take it when they are 16 and start driving around town with all of their friends, when they go off to college and drink too much and don't realize that people don't always just sleep if off.  It's enough to make you not want to have them in the first place, but by the time you realize what they have done to you, it's too late.  And then today I was thinking that it's not just your heart they have, it's your entire self.  I guess I would go on living, but I'm pretty sure that I wouldn't be all there anymore, and what was left of me would be a weepy mess.  Generally, when I hear a truly tragic story about a child, I say things like "I can't even imagine," and I really mean that I am not even going to let myself imagine because even thinking that something like that could happen to me is too painful.  And then today I felt like someone was holding my head in a bucket of water, making me go to that terrible place.  

But nothing terrible did happen, and we were very lucky, like we have been every single day since our first child was born.  But it's not every day that you realize how lucky you are, or how close to the other side of the coin you are at any given moment, and then all you can do is be so, so thankful for the blessing.    

Laugh at myself

Do you ever wake up in the middle of the night and think that you have just discovered the secret to life?  Or maybe not quite so dramatic, but you have a great idea and you think that you had better write it down so that you won't have forgotten it by the morning?  Sometimes I'll wake up in the middle of a dream and think that it was such an awesome and interesting dream, that it would make a great novel.  But then when I wake Matt up to try to tell him about it, it just sounds like garbage.  "... then I was in this room, and there were like, chairs everywhere, and yet there wasn't anywhere to sit down, and then ..."

Anyway, I woke up one night while we were at Clear Lake, and I couldn't go back to sleep because my mind was racing with all of these great ideas for blog posts.  And, of course, we had no computer or internet connection, so I was really frustrated at 3 am thinking that my amazing ideas might just go back into the void of my brain never to see the light of the blog.  So, uncharacteristically, I got up to write down all of these fabulous ideas with the plan of writing about one idea every week or so, sort of dispensing my little pearls of wisdom about little by little, so as not to overwhelm anyone with my genius.  Well, just looking over this list here makes me cringe even though no one else can see it.

Let's just say that it appears that my best ideas do not come to me in the middle of the night.  I have one idea here that just says "John Calvin."  That would be the man who started the religious movement that would eventually lead the Puritans to come to the New World, thereby leading to the life we know today.  I am related to him, albeit distantly, but I'm not quite sure what my plan was for the blog.  Maybe an interesting discourse on the Puritan work ethic?  Maybe a history lesson?  No idea.  Another entry on my list just says "blogging:  throwing food at dinner guests."  That seems like one of those logic games where you have to figure out how the two are related - blogging is to throwing food at dinner guests as _________ is to painting your toenails.

So, sorry that my blogs will continue to be silly stories and pictures of my kids rather than life-altering gems of enlightenment.  I did, however, write down one thing that I thought was nice, but it was just a poem that was framed on the wall of the house we were sleeping in, so I can't even take credit.  It's an adoption poem,  but it was uncredited, so I'm not sure if it's some famous poem that I've never seen before or just something that someone made up and put on their wall.  It's at least better to share than my midnight flashes of craziness.

Not flesh of my flesh

nor bone of my bone,

But nevertheless, 

Still my own.

Never forget

for a single minute

You weren't born under my heart

but in it.    

End of summer, happy & sad

Okay, so I am going to admit that I lied in my last blog.  Actually, I think it was more of an attempt to remain positive and optimistic, but the events of the week unfolded in such a way that it was pretty much a big, fat lie.  Here's the real story.

Every summer we go up to the Catskills to stay in the cottage that Matt's parents have had since before Matt was even born.  It's a total of about 300 square feet, and it is adorable and tiny and perfect for sunny, summer days when you can swim and run around outdoors all day, grill out for dinner and then collapse in bed at night after a serious round of Go Fish or a stab at the Sunday Times crossword puzzle.  We were at the lake, and we were having fun.  After a rainy first weekend (but still fun as we were hanging out with Matt's sister, her boyfriend, and Grandma and Grandpa), the sun came out on Monday and we were excited to get down to business fishing, swimming, hiking around and the like.  Sadly, by Monday evening Matt's dad was in the local hospital with what we thought were kidney stones.  On Tuesday, he was diagnosed with Pancreatitis, but then on Wednesday, it turned out that they had given him the diagnosis of another patient in the hospital, and he did not in fact have Pancreatitis, but they didn't know what was wrong.  I wrote that last blog on Wednesday, I think, and I was hoping that things were about to turn around for Grandpa and we would all be back to relaxing at the lake, with Grandpa on grill duty and Matt catching frogs with the boys.

On Thursday, they decided to move Matt's dad to another hospital that was outfitted with actual medical doctors and machines of modern medicine in an effort to figure out the problem.  There, he was told that the back pain that was making it unable for him to walk was a spasm, but, also, he had diabetes.  The next day, however, it turned out that the diabetes also belonged to another patient, so we were happy that he had beaten two diseases in the course of the week.  Hello?  Is it so hard to match the patient with the piece of paper that says what is wrong with him?  And did I mention that there were only 8 patients in the first hospital?

Anyway, by Saturday his back was feeling better, but he still couldn't go home as they were waiting on some blood tests to rule out an infection that could potentially be dangerous.  We left to drive home on Saturday, feeling terrible about leaving Matt's parents marooned in Cooperstown, NY (a beautiful, amazing town, by the way - highly recommend as a summer family vacation).  Today is Tuesday, and they are still at the hospital.  It turns out that he may have the infection - which has nothing to do with his back pain, which is what brought him into the hospital in the first place, so he has to stay a little longer.  The moral of the story?  I have no idea, but suffice it to say that we were all exhausted by our lake getaway.  Matt spent much of the week in the hospital with his parents, while I spend much of the week at the lake trying to keep up with the three kids, or driving back and forth to visit Matt and his parents.  The kids actually had a great week, and we all had some fun together in between hospital visits.  Everybody except for Grandpa, of course.

Now we're back at home and trying to get ready for school and Fall and putting the house back together.  Whenever I go away for a while, I come back home wanting to reorganize the whole house.  Why is this?  It's such a bad habit, as I get halfway into it and then loose interest in the project.  But I still have taken everything out of drawers and off of shelves and have pieces of furniture floating around the house, inconvenient islands that everyone has to wedge themselves around to move from one room to another.  So that's what we're up to.  Just life, but after the last week, I'm actually really happy to be back to it.  

What day is it?

You know that great thing that happens when you are totally in vacation mode? Where you have no idea what day of the week it even is? That is where we are right now. We are in the catskill mountains, staying in matt's family cottage on a tiny lake where there is nothing to do but read, swim, eat, do crossword puzzles and look for little critters. The boys are in heaven and ruby is loving her first Clear Lake summer, even though - to be totally honest - keeping up with her busy body is putting a dent in my reading & relaxation time. Every summer when we are here, I vow to try to bring a little bit of the serenity and quiet of the lake home with me. It doesn't work for long, but it's such good medicine for the spirit.
Anyway, with no phone or Internet connection, I'm writing this while in town for provisions on my phone - not too convenient, so I'll write more when we are back home next week. Plus, the boys go back to school three days after we get home! Not that I'm counting...

I'm typing this on my phone, lying in the bed of a comfort suites hotel in Stratford Connecticut, trying to be quiet and not wake the three kids sharing this little home away from home. We are, once again, on the road. Our trip certainly involves fewer episodes of drug-induced psychedelic mayhem and more juice boxes than the book of the same name, so it probably wont be quite so fun to read.

Anyway, we left home on Friday and drove to Baltimore to visit my college roommate aerie & her two (almost three) boys who are exactly the same ages as Finn and Gus. It's perfect since we can sit and visit while the boys run wild. Ruby also loved aerie. Whenever I take ruby somewhere new, I always wonder if she's worried that the new place is where I'll be leaving her. After so much of that.transition in her life, it must at least cross her mind. Sometimes I can tell that she's not down with it, but at aerie's house, she was all "it's cool with me if you've gotta head out, mom." oddly, that makes me happy as I see how she also knows a kindred spirit when she meets one.

The next morning, we drove down to DC where matt "surprised" us by driving up while I was showing the kids the house I lived in during my awesome three years in that great town. The kids were excited to see him, of course, and we spent the next 24 hours seeing everything possible - the Air & Space museum, the zoo, the monents, etc. It was fun and brought back so many memories ( not that I did so much sight-seeing while living there, as I was too busy running around town having fun). I am really glad we enjoyed our visit to dc, because we paid for it when we left there at 2 pm, heading north on I-95 toward New Hampshire. But of course, to get to New Hampshire, you have to get through New York city. Unwisely, I left DC just in time to be driving through NYC at the same time every new yorker is trying to het back into the city after spending the weeking elsewhere. Which is how a four join drive from DC to new york turned into a 7+ hour tour of duty in highway hell. I had hoped to make it all the way to new Hampshire in one day, but we were done in ny the george Washington bridge and stopped at this motel in Connecticut. Love getting the kids out of the car late at night, rifling through oir junk in the dark to find the absolute essentials, checking in while pointlessly trying to keep the baby sleepy (never works), setting up the pack & play and then laying in a pitch black hotel room with three kids listening to the muffled tv show coming from the next room (and wishing I could hear it better or not at all).
So thats how it went, more to come as we quest on to the North!
(I wrote this Sunday morning on my iPhone & I'm posting it Tuesday night without correction the million typos - sorry! We made it to MH and when matt fets here torrow we're off again, so more from the road, hopefully.)

If You Give a Mouse a Battery ...

Well, I sat down at the computer a few minutes an hour ago to engage in a little mindless blogging, but it turned out that the wireless mouse's batteries had died (One of the many reasons that I objected to the wireless mouse and voted for the wired version, but I was overruled.  Another is that the children - particularly Ruby - make off with the mouse from time to time, rendering the computer useless until the house has been turned upside down to find it.  Another is that it was $50, where the normal one was free.).  Anyway, after cursing Matt for a few seconds for buying said mouse, I had to fix the problem.

Of course, the batteries are in the kitchen, so I went the long way from the computer room into the kitchen, hoping to avoid detection, but nonetheless, I popped up on the children's radar.  They had all three been happily coloring in the boys' room, but as I made my way into the kitchen, they suddenly all realized they were hungry.  So I set about making snacks.

Of course, each child wanted something different.  Finn wanted a peanut butter & jelly, but I realized that the peanut butter was empty, so I had to go downstairs to the other kitchen to get a new jar.

While I was down there, I remembered that I needed to switch the laundry into the dryer, so I went into the laundry room.  Once in there, I realized that I had left the laundry in the washer for so long that it needed to be washed over again (I only do this for Matt's benefit - he recently complained that his clothes all smelled funny, but he didn't know why.  I did know why, but it hadn't seem to bother anyone, so I had just been letting it go).  So I started the wash again, after making a mental note to go back to scented detergent which does a better job of covering up that left-in-the-machine-too-long smell.  But then I noticed that the cats did not have any food in their bowls, so I thought I would just put a little in.  Unfortunately, there was no food in the bin, and I remembered that the new bag of cat food is currently sitting in the back of my car, which is sitting in the parking lot of the repair shop, waiting to be repaired.  Another mental note to self to go get cat food, but in the meantime, I decided I would give them some tuna fish.  So back upstairs to where the tuna fish is, but then I realized I hadn't brought up the peanut butter.  As it turned out, however, once the children saw the tuna fish, they all wanted some of that, so I had to make a little tuna salad for everyone.

After snack time, I had to clean up the kitchen a little bit, when the phone rang.  Seeing the Baltimore area code, I thought it was my college roommate, so I picked up, excited for a good chat.  Unfortunately, it was Arbitron Ratings.  Unfortunately they were calling to remind me that today is the last day for the radio listening journal that I've been supposedly keeping for the last week (sort of like Nielson ratings for radio).  I have no idea why I agreed to do this, but I knew that I had and in fact had agreed for every person over 12 in our house to keep a journal.  I also knew that I had already put the $4 they sent as a guilt-inducing incentive to compliance into my wallet and had used them to buy a latte the day before.  So I told the guy on the phone that I absolutely had been keeping the journal, as had my husband, and we would be dropping them in the mail tomorrow.  Hanging up the phone, I began hunting around the house for the journals, disorganizing all of my ordered chaos in the process.  I finally found them back in the computer room, where I also discovered that I still had not gotten the two AA batteries needed to cause the computer to function so that I could sit down and write a little bit while the house was nice and quiet and the children were otherwise occupied.

So now, obviously, I have replaced the batteries.  But of course, the quiet art project is long-forgotten and the boys are jumping from the couch to the ottoman waiting for me to come play Apples to Apples Jr., which will be a total nightmare with Ruby trying to eat the cards, Gus (who can't read and doesn't like games anyway) not playing after five minutes, and Finn taking everything too seriously and yelling at Gus to keep playing.

Damn wireless mouse!!!

Building Blocks for a Perfect Life

Okay, here we go:  my patented, million-dollar technique for keeping your life manageable, stress-free and successful in the face of children, parents, husbands, dogs, jobs, that extra 15 lbs, or anything else life may throw at you.  Believe me, I think it would really work if I actually would do it!

A few months ago, after we had been home with Ruby for a few months and were settling into a little routine with her, I realized that I had not fully carved out a place for her in my life.  That's not to say that there was not a place for her in my heart, or a place for her in the house, we had taken care of all of that stuff.  No, it was more like I just really didn't have time for anything any more.  Surprise, surprise, Ruby was taking up all of my time.  Aren't babies so fun like that?!  Between diaper changing, rocking it to sleep multiple times a day, washing its clothes (and yours more often that you could imagine, since there is always something gross on them), washing the actual baby, taking it to the doctor, taking things out of its mouth that shouldn't be there and trying to get things in that should be, playing a little bit with it, researching baby products and buying said products, cleaning up spilled milk, water, cheerios, legos, cat food, pans, folded laundry, etc, a little package of baby cuteness can really eat into a person's day.  And that's not even getting into breastfeeding, being up all night, ear infections, worrying that it might be allergic or autistic or too short or too tall.  Frankly, it's just a lot of work.

"But wait," you might be thinking, "she knew all of that already!"  I already had two kids and was doing all of that stuff already, so what's the big deal?  Plus, Ruby was already 16 months old when she came home, so some of the biggest life sucking elements (breast feeding, all night wailing parties, making your own baby food until you realize what a giant waste of time and energy it is) were not even applicable to our situation.  And to tell you the truth, not having to do all of that stuff again is one of the many reasons we went the whole adoption route.  When we first considered adding a third child to our lives, Gus was already 3 and Finn was 5, and I finally felt that I had clawed my way back from the brink of something very ugly.  Five years of sleep deprivation and no exercise and always finding things mashed beneath my toes if I couldn't find my slippers was five years too much.  An orphan, I wisely concluded, will not cause me these problems.  By the time we bring this hypothetical orphan home, I thought (ever the unrealistic dreamer), she'll be sleeping, eating normal food, close to being potty trained, and walking.  This would be good, I thought, because having a newborn or young baby would really put a wrench in my life.  I had finally started a fitness regimen that I really enjoyed, I was working on my house and was happy with the progress, Matt and I had more time together to talk and enjoy just hanging out, I was gardening and beginning to think about a future where I might do something creative and productive outside of my sphere as a mother (which I actually find very creative and productive, but in a different way).  I had some idea that a new baby would come on the scene and just fit into that picture quite nicely, without jostling all the other pieces around too much.  (Note to reader who may be horrified that I would feel this way about an orphan:  I also believed that Finn and Gus would just come on board as accessories to my life without causing much of a bump, but, of course, I was wrong.  You know how they say that some people never learn?)

Anyway, as it turned out, little Ruby wasn't as much like a goldfish as she was a real person.  She actually needed things and attention and nurturing and holding, and, like all little people, she left a wake of destruction in her path that required time and energy (always in short supply) to remedy.  But oddly enough, it took me a little while to realize all of that.  I persisted in the idea that it was so "easy" even while I kept banging my head against the fact that everything was not going according to my plan.  I kept going for runs most mornings, but felt frustrated that I couldn't go very far while pushing the jogging stroller and stopping every few yards to recover the cheerio case or the sippy.  I didn't step down from any of my volunteer obligations at the kids' schools and in the community, but I felt guilty every night as I went to bed for things I hadn't done yet that others were counting on me to do.  I felt guilty about what I was feeding the kids, how messy the house was, about not reciprocating dinner invitations because the idea of having people over to the house seemed so overwhelming, about how long it would take me to return phone calls, even how infrequently I was sending out updates and blog postings for all of the friends and family who had supported us so much along the way.  Basically, everything was coming a little unraveled, but I kept ignoring all of that and trying to do everything I had been doing as well as I had been doing it before Ruby came home.

So, as you might imagine, that didn't really work out.  I realized I was sucking at almost everything and that fact was really bothering me, so I started thinking about how I might change things up.  I thought about friends of mine who seem to be less scattered than I am, or more content in a way that I never seem to be.  I know people who don't seem to feel as much of a tension between how their lives actually are and how they think their lives should be.  So I thought to myself, what's the deal?  What's their secret?

Anyway, over the course of a few months of reflection, I think I have come up with the perfect formula for a happy life.  I will share it here with you, and if you end up using it and having a happy life, I just ask that you mention me on your tombstone, or in some other public forum.  I don't really want too much glory, but a little would be okay.  So here it is.  Imagine that your life is made up of blocks.  One block is your job, if you have one, or personal ambition, if you don't.  In my case, I was a lawyer before I had kids, but I've been "retired" for a while now, so that doesn't count as a job.  I do, however, have personal ambition to start a business (see previous blog post about dinners on the porch).  Another block is your marriage or significant relationship.  Another is spending time with your children and providing for them emotionally, educationally, etc.  Another is feeding said children healthy meals and ensuring that they are generally clean, etc.  Another is keeping yourself in reasonable shape by exercise, which seems to become more time-consuming with each passing year.  Another is personal appearance, meaning regular haircuts/highlights, clean and attractive, if not necessarily fashionable, clothing, wearing make-up at least some of the time, etc.  Another is friendships, which can take time and effort to keep up because, when you think about it, they involve nights out with the girls, a visit and a casserole to a bereaved friend, mailing a package to your best friend's child on his or her birthday, and so on and so forth.  One's social life can also fall into the friendship category, although I do know people who would need to devote a separate block to socializing as they are more "on the scene" than yours truly.  If you live near parents or in-laws, you know you have to dedicate a block to them because even if they are helping you out all the time, it's a two-way street.  General maintenance of the house, laundry, yard will be a block, unless you are someone with live-in help, and in that case I don't want to know about it, so keep it to yourself.  If you are active in your church or other volunteer activities, that could be a block.

The point being, you have your own assortment of things that make up your life, different from mine, but, I would argue, similar in the broad outlines.  And you build up this Jenga-like tower of your life with all of these different blocks nicely balanced in a way that pleases you, or at least in a way that you can manage, and you think you're doing alright.  And then you go and have a baby.  Or adopt one, but either way, you add a big, big block onto the stack.  But at first, if you're like me, you think that baby block will just sit on top, maybe rocking the tower for a little while, but ultimately the structure will hold.  In my experience, however, that is not how it works.  You keep trying for a while, pretending that it is working, and then the whole thing falls apart, or you fall apart, consumed with guilt and feelings of inadequacy over all of the things in each of the different areas of your life that you couldn't do well anymore.  Basically, you feel like an all-around failure.  I always seem to hit that wall after about three months with a new baby, and it's not pretty.

So my theory (untested by actual experience because I seem to be incapable of learning lessons) is that you have to completely get rid of at least one block with the addition of a new baby.  (Therefore, if you have twins, you will need to get rid of at least two blocks, and so on.)  Baby needs its own block folks, and there's no way around it.  But here's why it's so hard:  you can't get rid of very many of those blocks.  It really is like Jenga, because your choices are pretty limited if you don't want to topple the whole structure.  You can hardly argue that getting rid of your marriage or your parents will improve your life (at least I hope you can't).  And you can't stop feeding your family or doing laundry or working (unless you choose to stay home, in which case you have a new full-time job) or ditch all of your friends.  So that leaves you to choose between things like exercise, personal appearance, having a nice house, socializing, and volunteer activities.  All of the things that make life a little more fun.  So do you have to go around being an out-of-shape, frumpily dressed, reclusive outcast living in a pig-sty?  No, because don't forget, you only have to get rid of one (maybe two) blocks.  And not forever, just for a little while (like maybe a year, unless you do too much in the area of maintaining your marriage and end up pregnant again before you've gotten into a new groove).

The key is to eliminate whole areas from your consciousness, so that you no longer feel the pressure of them and therefore don't feel badly that you aren't able to keep up anymore.  People always urge new mothers to get more help.  What they mean is that you should somehow get enough help - housekeepers and babysitters - that you can keep on doing everything you have been doing up to that point.  Like you can have a babysitter come while you go get your hair done, because it's so important that your roots don't show when you're sitting home nursing a two month old baby or tearing up and down the aisles of Target with the rest of high society.  But that's just more pressure to keep up.  Instead, people should urge new mothers to be realistic and face the fact that you can't keep up anymore.  Trying to do so will only result in trouble, because no matter how many babysitters you have, there's just not enough time in the day for a new child and everything else.  You've got to just do major surgery on your life.

You won't feel guilty about things you aren't even trying to accomplish.  For example, it is a relief to me that I don't have to feel guilty that I've let my piano playing skills go down, because I never had them to begin with.  Likewise, I don't feel badly about not taking the children to bring meals to shut-ins, because, no matter how nice that would be, that was never one of my blocks.  You could just agree with yourself that you will not go to the gym for one whole year, no matter what.  And then, if you did take a nice brisk walk one day, you would just feel like a big winner for having exercised so much rather than like a loser who hasn't been to the gym in a month.  Or, you might rather give up trying to keep up with the house and just let people who come by to visit know that you have done so.  Maybe you would choose to completely quit your volunteer activities - it's the only time you can do it without looking like a flake, and they will always be happy to have you back later.

Whatever you choose is your choice, obviously, but I think it might really be the key.  A friend (mother to several, including a new baby) recently told me that she doesn't "do dinner."  It was a great lightbulb moment because I realized that you can just decide not to "do" certain things and no one can make you feel bad about it if you don't do it to yourself.  How much better to just give yourself a pass until things calm down.  Once the dust settles and you start having bits of time on your hands here and there, you'll know it's time to think about adding something back in - maybe one of the things you had to give up or maybe something totally new, like writing a blog.

Okay, enough already, you are welcome.  I give you my theory and hope that, unlike me, you will heed it.  I think I'm out of the baby business (having or adopting), so hopefully I'll not have to go around this particular merry-go-round again, but if I had thrown out some of those blocks, it might have made the ride a little less bumpy.    

Time Flies When You're ...

hmmm...  Having fun?  I guess you could say that.  I've had my dad here visiting this week, and that combined with the normal chaos of life around these parts means that I've had nary a moment to brush my teeth, much less write a little bit.  I actually have this post that I've been meaning and wanting to write for a while now, about time management, but I seriously have not had time to write it!  But when I do, I know you're going to agree with me.  

My dad is 70, and he's had Parkinson's Disease for about 30 years.  He gets around really well, considering that, but he can't be by himself at home, so when my mom goes somewhere, he usually comes here.  The only place my mom ever goes without him, actually, is to take her sister - who is mentally disabled - on a trip every summer.  This year they are in Charleston, SC, so they dropped my dad off on the way.  Having my dad around is a bit like having an extra child around, except I find him to be less predictable than the children I live with all the time.  Maybe it's that, despite his advanced Parkinson's related problems, he is still very smart and can be cagey when he wants to do something he knows I won't like.  He has actually behaved very well on this trip, and Ruby has taken a real shine to him, so that's been fun for both of them.  He has also been giddy with delight at the fact that our giant, giant fig tree is covered in figs, so he's been spending a good part of each day out there picking figs.  My dad is totally compulsive about fruit in general, but figs in particular, and he cannot stand to see the birds get them, so he stays out there working despite extreme heat or bodily injury.  Today he had fallen into some figs that were mashed on the ground, and they were all over his legs, but he didn't see the need to come in and clean up at that point.  He didn't come in until he started feeling something stinging him, and realized that it was wasps eating the fruit right off of him and then going on to his legs for dessert.  We canned them this afternoon and, I have to admit, they are really good. 

Anyway, we have been having fun, and then he'll go back tomorrow, so maybe sometime soon I can sit down and explain my theory of how everything can function perfectly no matter how many children you have if you just use my simple system.  If only.

Me, venting hot air

So, this whole summer thing is sort of wearing me out.  I think it's a combination of the heat, the fact that my kids have been out of school for so long that they have reverted back to their native, savage ways, and just generally too much of everything.  I feel weary, and my back hurts, and I about this time every summer I start to think ahead to the following summer and how I'll do things differently to create a more relaxing outcome.

Perhaps part of it is that this summer I am running around after a toddler who is hellbent on entropy.  Some days I decide that it will be best to watch her at all times so that she doesn't wreak havoc in the house, but entertaining her all day is so exhausting.  So then the next day I decide to just let her have her way with the house because I can't deal with keeping up with her, but cleaning up the messes she leaves in her wake is so exhausting too.  And it's not just messes that you could overlook if you (like me) were comfortable with a messy house.  It's pushing a stool over to the trash can so she can dig things out of it.  It's finding all of the laundry I've been folding and throwing it all on the floor (why?).  It's pushing a chair into the bathroom, turning on the faucet to fill plastic tubs of water and then dumping said tubs on the floor.  So, you know, stuff I actually do have to face at some point.  I remember that Finn did all of these types of things at this age (Gus not so much), and my solution was to just get him out of the house.  We would go to the zoo, the park, the store, the mall - anywhere that he could just be himself without driving me crazy and we were great.  But now it's not so easy, since I have three children rather than one to lug around, and often being out of the house, while beneficial from the mess point of view, leads to angry outbursts (me) and tears (the boys) because it's just hard to keep everybody in line out in the world.  It makes me hoarse just thinking about it.

Plus, I believe I mentioned the heat.  I mean, I expect this type of thing in Texas, but I feel a little cheated that we're here in the hills of North Carolina and the weatherman is doing the whole "92 degrees, but it will feel like 99" bit.  Buddy, that kind of language is not welcome here.  It is welcome in Texas, because it's so damn hot there that it's a source of pride to folks, so if it's going to be 100 degrees, they'd like to be able to let you know that it actually feels like 110, whatever that means.  But not here, where the air conditioning is not all is could be, you can't get from place to place via underground, air conditioned tunnels.

Anyway, this blog is no fun, so sorry about that.  I will feel better tomorrow, after Gus' birthday party is over.  Inexplicably, I agreed to host it here at the house, just like he wanted.  We normally do Finn's party here in April and I go all out with creative activities and such.  From the couch the following day, I declare that we are never having another child's birthday party at our house, and I make calls around to find a place that will accept birthday bookings for a July party even though it's only April.  Do I feel guilty dialing it in like that for the second child?  Not really.  I mostly feel that I should not have spoiled the first one by going to so much trouble for him.  He is destined to be disappointed by life, whereas Gus will find the world to be a pleasant place, filled with people who do things for him that he didn't expect them to do.  As proof, I give you the fact that Finn cried for over an hour a few nights ago because he was worried that he was not going to get an acting part in the little play they were doing at his camp.  Not that he had already not gotten a part, just the horror of the possibility was enough to lead him to the valley of tears and misery.  He actually said that it was the worst thing that could ever happen to him.  And it hadn't even happened yet.  Nor did it happen, and he came home all smiles the next day.  That's a kid who has yet to taste the bitter pill of true disappointment.

But anyway, I did have a weak moment and agreed to let Gus have his party here, and now I'm remembering why I usually don't do this.  I'm hoping that by October, for Ruby's birthday, I will have recovered, because I will make a huge deal out of her second birthday - her first here with us (further creating a middle-child complex for Gus).  For now though, I must go to bed, because in the morning I have to blow up a million inflatable light sabers, so I should stop writing and save my proverbial breath.

ouchie!

This is one of Ruby's favorite words now, but far from her only one.  She says "kitty cat," and "baby" and can sing a pretty convincing version of Happy Birthday.  At 21 months, she's come a long way in terms of language, to the point where I think she understands most of what we tell her.  If I ask her to do something, she usually will do it (unless I'm asking her to spit out some little treat she's managed to shove in her mouth, a silly band or a handful of coins, for instance).  And she sort of "gets" things - like if she spills her water (all the time), she knows it's an uh-oh and will get a towel to clean it up (shocking to me, since the boys still have no conception of cleaning up messes they have made), or this last weekend we were visiting Matt's brother and family at the beach and she would rush over with a pacifier anytime the baby whimpered.  She's such a little mama, taking care of real babies and doll babies alike.  She even worries about the boys when they are crying and is quick to give a gentle pat to help them feel better.  So that's her sweet little self.

Ruby's other self, however, is all terrible two, even though we're not even there yet.  As I said, she's come a long way in language, but she's still pretty far behind for her age.  She really can't communicate as well as the boys could at this age, for obvious reasons, and I know that's so frustrating for her, so she unleashes it in torrents of rageful shrieking.  Perhaps she wants to put her shoe back on after taking it off, perhaps she wants to finish the pizza crust she pulled out of the trash can, perhaps she is angry that she can't have the knife out of the dishwasher that I'm trying to load.  Whatever the cause, the dramatic hysteria that she throws down is almost enough to make me give in, regardless of the inherent danger or disgusting nature of whatever it is she wants to do.  Luckily, like a summer shower, her mood passes quickly and she can be cajoled back to sweetness with a hug or a toy or a cracker.

Below are some recent pics.  We had a great time at the ocean this last weekend.  It was Ruby's first time, so it was fun to see her reaction to the sand and waves.  Every time I would say, "here comes a big wave," she would wave her little hand at the water with a confused and doubtful look on her face.  I think she kept waiting for the person I was making her wave at to come bobbing up out of the surf.  We also celebrated Gus' 5th birthday there, so he was excited to have a big deal made over him.  Of course, he's having a Star Wars party this coming weekend ("just like Finn's"), so we're gearing up for that.  I mentioned that this week at home with just Gus and Ruby would be very different from last week when I had Finn and Ruby while Gus was at camp.  Indeed, it is much quieter, but it's hard in its own way since Gus can't figure out anything to do with himself in the absence of Finn's dictatorship brotherly guidance.  Right now he and Ruby are lying on the floor in his room eating bananas and looking at the ceiling.  Fun times!

Ruby and Cousin Johnny (at 9 months, he's pretty much the same size as Ruby!)

Gus & his crazy birthday hat, and Ruby with Cousin Ashley!

"Hey!  Where's my cupcake?"

Finn became a Parrothead at Margaritaville!

Matt, his brother Jon and nephew Johnny, the little one, looking suspiciously at Matt.

The whole gang.

Brain Drain

This week has been really unusual for me, since Gus has been in a little camp at the school he will go to next year, and Finn and Ruby have been home with me.  It's so rare that I spend time with Finn when Gus is gone, and I'd forgotten how it can be.  It can be great, on the one hand, because when he's not working on antagonizing his brother he sometime tries really hard to be helpful and sort of Eddie Haskell-ish.  He helps me with Ruby, or he reads, and going on errands is much, much easier with just one of the two boys (for some reason, when we all go on an errand together, the boys end up wrestling on the floor of wherever we are).  Plus, Finn is really interested in almost everything, so he is a good companion in a way, because he will listen and ask appropriate follow-up questions.  So that's all great, and he really enjoys having some time without Gus in the picture, which is partly why I staggered their camps in the first place.

However.  You knew that's where this was leading, right?  I find that the child's mind is a little like a vortex that I seem to be caught in as we go through our days.  Every single thing that happens requires so much input on my part that by the end of the day, I'm in a vegetative mental state, yet Finn is still going strong.  It's like he's sucking the mental life out of me.  Example, "Mom, quiz me."  Me, while trying to find an address in an unfamiliar neighborhood, "Uhh, what?"  "Give me a money quiz.  Three ways to get to a dollar."  Me, "okay, name three ways to add up to a dollar."  Finn, ready with his answer, of course, since he was thinking about it before I even asked, "one hundred pennies, two half dollars, a silver dollar."  WTF?  Those are not normal ways to make up a dollar, but whatever.  So I appropriately admire his prowess and return to scanning for the street that I can't find.  "Mom, ask me more."  So I toss off a few more quizzes, and he aces them, and then I totally run out of ideas.  After about three rounds, I can barely think of my own name, much less come up with a denomination of money to quiz him with.  Hard to believe?  I know, but you try it when you're also using many of your other senses at the same time.

So I have to shut down that little fun, and Finn is dejected for a while.  But only for a little while.  Once he can sense that I have relaxed (having found the address we were looking for, transacted our business, and gotten back in the car), he strikes again.  "Mom, how much blood would you say the average ten year old has?"  Me, "I have no idea."  Finn, "well, does a baby have less blood than a grown up?"  Me, "Yes."  "How does it grow?"  Now, here's where I should have bowed out with my customary response, "hmm, your father knows so much more about stuff like that, we'll ask him when he gets home," but I didn't.  I was distracted and started down a lame explanation of red blood cells and how they live and die in our bodies.  "But where do they go when they die?"  "Mmmm, just back into your body, sort of, I think."  "Where?"  And that's when I realize that I really have no idea how that all works, although I did at some point in my life (8th grade science, maybe?), but I have become a person who cannot answer the questions of a 7 year old.  "You know what, Finn, let's find out all about that from dad later today."  Finn, "okay.  Mom, wouldn't it be funny if you could fold up a car when you don't need it?"  "Mom, what are they talking about on the radio when they were talking about bombs in Uganda?"  "Mom, who were you talking to on the phone?"  "Mom, have you ever been to Japan?"  "Mom, do you think we can buy the next book in my series today?"  Me, finally, "Finn, Mommy's head hurts, so we need to take a break from talking for a while and just look out the window."  "Okay.  Mom, did you see that car over there?  It had a really funny-looking thing on top.  Remember when we went to the art car museum in Houston?  Do you think we could ever decorate our car like that?  I think it would be cool to do it like a shark, and then there could be like a person's feet coming out where the mouth is.  Wouldn't that be cool?"  Me, drive car off the road into a tree.

So, next week Finn heads off to camp and Gus will be home with me, which is a much different phenomenon entirely.  I'll let you know how it goes.

Big Day!

Friends, if you're local you may already know, but if you're not, I'll tell you my fun new thing.  Finally, after years and years of thinking of ideas for starting a business, I have finally actually done it.  I usually think of some idea, but then (as I explained before) someone else has already done it and it's way too late, or I don't want to invest the time/money to get it going, or I just realize that I'm not interested in doing the actual thing that I've come up with (like I have this idea that you could be a personal assistant for a bunch of different people for just a few hours a week each, because I need that kind of help, but I couldn't actually run that type of business).  Anyway, my new biz is called "dinners on the porch," and basically I just make dinner and then take it to whomever wants one.  You can check it out at www.dinnersontheporch.blogspot.com, right next door, blog-ishly speaking.  (The name is supposed to convey that your dinner is actually waiting for you on the porch, but also the rare treat of a relaxing dinner outdoors, maybe with cocktails.  What do you think?)  Anyway, today was the first delivery, and it was so fun!  I kept waiting for some nightmarish scenario to unfold - guacamole all over the inside of the car, or Ruby somehow getting into the enchiladas and eating them/smearing them all over the house, but none of that happened.  It went, basically, according to plan.  Shocking.
Anyway, as Matt suggested, I could be making more money crafting coffee drinks at Starbucks, but it wouldn't be so much fun and, plus, the uniform.  I've done my time in jobs requiring uniforms (frozen yogurt server, waitress, camp counselor, etc), and I think I'm done with that.
At the moment, I'm drinking a very strong gin & tonic and trying to ignore that the rest of the house is total chaos (since I let the kids run wild while I made all these enchilada dinners!).  It's working ...

Routine things

Note to the reader:  it's almost midnight, I really, really need to be in bed as I have many things that must be accomplished tomorrow, and yet, here I am, lying on the floor of our bedroom in the dark, trying to be quiet (Matt has been asleep for several hours and he would certainly grumble at me if I wake him up with typing noises), struck by the need to update the blog to let everyone know that I really don't like routines.  I just thought about it while I was in the shower, so instead of going to bed, sensibly, here I am, wide awake.  But that's just the thing:  I hate to have a bedtime.  I hate to feel like I "need" to go to bed because I "have" to get up at a certain time every day.  Instead, I suspend the knowledge that my children will wake up, as they do every day, at 7 am, wanting me to do things (get breakfast, change a diaper, mediate arguments, be readily available) right away.  Maybe, I tell myself so convincingly, they'll all sleep in tomorrow and we'll wake up at a more reasonable hour, like 8:30, and Matt will have started the coffee before he left for work, so I won't even have to get through that terrible half hour before the coffee can be made when I am doing the aforementioned odious tasks (odious because they are being done pre-coffee, not because I hate doing things for my children, mostly).  But that won't really happen, and that gets me down, the routine-ness of that part of the day.

There are only a very few routines that I really enjoy, like my weekly routine of getting a mani/pedi every Friday.  What?  Did I really say that?  No, that's not on my schedule, but I guess I meant that I would like that kind of a routine.  I would probably like a routine where we always spend Spring Break in Hawaii, too, but unfortunately that, also, is not yet on the annual rotation.  And I really can't make myself stick to routines, even if I would like to for the betterment of myself or my family.  I can't tell you how many times I have wished and then actually decided that I am going to absolutely begin a strict regimen of getting up at 6 am every day and going jogging in order to ensure that I will get to exercise every day.  And I might even do it for one or two days, but then I fall back to my slack ways, snooze the alarm, and just admit that I am not cut out for early morning activity.  Or I wish that I had a laundry "day" like they used to whenever Laura Ingalls Wilder was a girl.  They were so disciplined then; they had to be for survival.  Pa couldn't just be bringing up water from the river any old time, since he had a routine of hunting and smoking meat for the winter that he had to stick to.  I would not have survived in those grisly times.  Unlike the cheerful and efficient Ma Ingalls, who washed, hung, pressed (with an iron heated over an open fire), and put away all of the laundry every Monday, I just let laundry pile up at some point in the process, until (as has happened tonight) I am forced to wear uncomfortable underwear because none of the good ones are in the drawer.

Okay, Matt did just wake up, grunt at me and then fall back to sleep, so I think that should serve as a warning.  I must go to bed, or maybe read for just a few minutes ...

goodnight!

Love Little Ethiopians (and their families)

Last night we had the best afternoon/evening with a bunch of little people racing all over our house and having a madcap time together!  We have a great group of about 30 families or so that live in the "Triad" of North Carolina (that's Winston-Salem, High Point, Greensboro and everything in between to those of you who may be confusing it with the slightly more well known triangular geographic area of the state known as the "Triangle").  We have big get-togethers every few months, but this time we just had a little late afternoon moms & margaritas playdate.  I think maybe the acoustics in our house are sort of funny, but it was really loud in here for about 4 hours.  Between 7 moms, I think we had about 20 kids between 2 and 7, so it was chaos - but awesome.  Ruby loves the crowd - she's little shy with a new person when it's one-on-one, but with a bunch of kids, she's so happy to run around pretending like she's one of the big kids.  This morning, it's all quiet and empty again.  Actually, that's not true, since the children are racing around fighting with light sabers, but it's a little quieter!

Is it just me,

or is it really annoying when you tell someone a story where your kids are total monsters, and they sort of string you along, nodding, sympathizing, and then when you finish, they tell a story where their kids were acting in a similar manner, but because of what great parents they are, or how awesome their kids are, it all worked out great?  That's irritating, right?  

This afternoon, following a morning of taking my kids to the science center and then to Five Guys for lunch - basically, a day filled with happiness and treats, the boys came home and were complete jerks.  I had put Ruby down for a nap and then I lay down for a minute to overcome the headache that came on sometime during the third hour of our visit to the museum.  I sent the boys down to the basement to clean up Legos (knowing that they would not do that, but at least I thought they would not bother Ruby down there).  Plus, I told them not to wake Ruby up or else they would have a "really bad punishment" - that's my fallback when I don't have a carrot left to dangle.  Fifteen minutes later, they were both in my room, lying on my bed, complaining they were bored.  So I told them they could just play instead of cleaning, so long as they were quiet.  So they were really quiet and sweet and went back downstairs and cleaned up the whole basement.  Just kidding, but that's what I would say if I were trying to annoy you after you told me something really awful about your kids.  What they actually did was go downstairs and start fighting right outside of Ruby's room until she woke up.  So then I told them that they would have to go to their rooms and that we would not be going to the bookstore later (see what I nice mom I was planning to be?), and then all hell broke loose.  They both started bawling and thrashing around like I had thrown acid at them, saying that today was "the worst day ever" and wondering if it could be possible to have a worse "pennishment" - that's how Finn says punishment, and it kind of cracks me up when he is so upset but saying words wrong, so I never correct him.  But then a great thing happened:  Ruby fell back asleep and the boys both apologized and said that they would accept the punishment because they knew they should not have been fighting loudly outside of Ruby's door and told me how much they love me and went downstairs and really cleaned up that basement - they even cleaned the cats' litter box for me!  Just kidding again, but see how if that was what had happened, then the whole story would have actually been a way to brag about my kids and would make you want to throw up?  No, what really happened is that they cried and carried on for a long time while I went to get Ruby up and then I finally lost it when Finn shouted that he "hated this house," and I told them that if I heard another sound out of either of their mouths they would really hate this house because it would become their prison for a few days.  (My mom thought that was sort of mean, but she wasn't here, so I can't really accept her judgment on the matter.)  

Both of the boys fell asleep after about five minutes in their beds, and now I've been playing with Ruby (who is very cranky from lack of sleep) and cleaning up after her constant mess-making rather than accomplishing the million things I had planned to do this afternoon (okay, writing a blog is not really that productive, and while I am doing this, I can hear Ruby working on her favorite project, which is going through the recycling and drinking the last few drops out of all of the soda cans, but I'm trying to block that out.)  

So I'm still sort of mad at all three of them, and also vaguely mad at Matt, even though he wasn't any part of the problem, but he's not here, so he's not part of the solution, either.  And it really doesn't make me feel better to hear that someone else (who shall remain nameless, or course) would have turned the whole situation into something less than traumatic for all involved.  Something really awesome, as a matter of fact.  I know I've done that myself to other people (and on this blog I'm sure), sometimes in a genuine effort to give constructive advice, but sometimes just to make myself feel better.  It's really annoying and self-serving and, basically, pointless, because it doesn't make the other person think you're a better mom or that your kids are better than theirs, it just makes them think you are a jerk.  But sometimes I guess that's the only thing parents have in the way of a pat on the back:  self-promotion to other parents who don't want to hear it anyway.  If parenting were more like a real job, you might have someone paying attention to your better moments and telling you "nice job on that!"  Like, you might have a little plaque on your wall or buried under a stack of mail that said that you got your kids to school on time 90% of the time.  Or it might say that you had never let your kids get a peeling sunburn (I would not receive that award), because we all know that takes a lot of effort.  Maybe even one that said that you were "most improved in the area of patience when trying to get the kids in and out of the car."  You get the idea.  I could think of a million categories, but the point is that at least someone would have noticed.  Then you wouldn't occasionally slip into conversation that you potty-trained your kids "well before three," or that you were worried because your 4 year old has "stopped liking kale, no matter how many times I have presented it to him.  Now his favorite food seems to be grilled asparagus."  That just makes me start desperately trying to think of something terrible about your kid so that I won't feel like such a crummy mother.  I realize that's shallow, immature and petty, but when I've just had a parenting failure, that's how I feel.  Now, on the other hand, I would be more than happy to attend a black tie party where they are handing out awards to all my friends for being awesome moms and dads, because in my heart I know they are, even if I don't always want to hear it from them!