Hi-Ho!

It's off to the wilderness we go! If you recall, one of my many camping fears was the unfortunate possibility of meeting up with a snake, and our lack of preparation for such a moment. Last night, Dan was unpacking all of his camping gear from the good ol' days of bachelorhood, and beaming with pride, he unveiled his trusty pocket camping knife. The sheer joy it brought to his face was classic- it was like two lovers being reunited after years apart. I decided it was time for a test- THE test: I asked him if we should cross paths with a snake, and if I should deem it necessary (which I would), could he kill a snake with the camping knife? Would he do it? Could he do it? I'm pretty sure he scoffed at me and replied, "Babe, are you kidding me? Of course. You don't need to worry about anything."

Congratulations, Husband! YOU PASSED THE TEST WITH FLYING COLORS! And now, back to my hourly camping mantra, I think I can, I think I can, I think I can....


Stay tuned; obviously, a full detailed report of Dewig's First Camping Trip will be given as soon as possible.

Take 5

This week I am so grateful that, without even trying, my kids remind me to take a break from the stress of life, slow down, and enjoy something as simple as a popsicle. Lime and grape flavored. In my grown-up world of checklists and must do's, I almost missed this moment of innocent sibling silliness, and I'm just so grateful I forced myself to take a break from whatever "important" thing I was doing, and grabbed my camera. Also, it should be noted that this little photo shoot ended in a hilarious water fight with two naked kiddos.

T Minus 3 Days

Image via Wikipedia

The family's first camping trip (EVER) begins in 3 days. Here's how I'm handling the nervous anticipation and tackling my camping fears: basically, I'm expecting to hate it.

I realize to some, this might sound like a terrible attitude problem that needs some adjustments, but in my mind, all I'm doing is placing zero expectations on the experience. That way, it can only exceed my presumptions and pleasantly surprise me if things should happen to go well. It's my own version of "expect the worst, hope for the best". So you see, it's not that I have a bad attitude; I just have a disappointment-proof outlook. And for the record, I've noticed that the more wine we plan on bringing, somehow the trip becomes even more disappointment-proof.

Alright, Big Basin Redwoods State Park, bring on your bugs and dirt and smokey hair campfires and meals from cans! Let's do this thing!

Christmas in June

Last night, Ben was throwing a tantrum about- oh I don't know- EVERYTHING, and being the Mother of The Year that I am, I snapped, and not in the rhythmic carefree way. I was fatigued, tired, and out of patience and parenting steam. I wish they sold Parenting steam at Costco, or at least on ebay because I would buy it in bulk, build myself a parenting steam storage shed, and give it away to all my parent friends at Christmas. Maybe I'd even sell it on the black market.

Anyway, when World War III kicked in around the moment I announced it was time to brush teeth, I was 1) on the verge of throwing myself on the floor in a screaming tantrum to join him, and 2) struck with a genius idea. Note to self: ALWAYS wait for option #2 to come to you, even if it takes 10 minutes. DO NOT EVER go with option #1, experience has proven it will always end badly.

The genius idea? Santa! But of course! Santa is watching! SANTA IS ALWAYS WATCHING YOU! Ben, don't you remember the song we sing, where it specifically states he "knows if you've been bad or good, so be good for goodness' sake"? This is one of those moments. In fact, June is Santa's biggest sneak attack month. He knows that most of the children think Christmas is way too far off to really behave, but this is when it counts the most because he sneaks in and watches you even more closely. The month of June is like behavioral overtime in Santa's book.

I'm not saying it was my best progressive parenting moment, but that boy stopped his screaming, opened his mouth wide, and let me brush his teeth for a full 60 seconds, sweetly hopped into his bed and slept a solid 11 hours. So I played the Santa card in June, no big deal, right? Isn't that like 90% of the reason Santa even exists, to help ease the parenting load?

I have a very strong feeling Santa is going to be crucial to our survival this summer.

Giddy

The other evening we took a family trip to the toy store so that Ben could utilize the birthday gift card he received to pick out something fabulous. This was the first time we'd taken a family trip to the toy store, and the process was more than overwhelming for the newly crowned four year old. Heck, I was even dizzy and disoriented. Perhaps it's because of all the chemically-ridden plastic toy objects stacked and shoved together in one space. Or maybe it's the endless aisles of STUFF everywhere, with not one employee in sight to be of assistance. Anyway, once I stopped and listened to myself directing him in the store, I realized how ridiculous I sounded: "Ben, hurry up. Let's find something to buy with your birthday money. What do you want? Look around, let's make a decision!"

I mean, honestly. The poor child walked around aimlessly, eyes as big as Buick hubcaps, stuck in the hypnotic trance of flashing, sound-making plastic toys each calling his name. How do you make a decision when every toy on the planet is there at your fingertips? By a slow process of elimination, we somehow managed to narrow it down to three candidates, and ultimately a new Star Wars something-or-other thing won the grand prize and came home with us.

Dan & I both got a kick out of the drive home. There was practically silence in the car as Ella sat sucking her thumb, and Ben held and silently worshiped the newest member of his family. After studying Ben in the rear-view mirror for a moment, Dan commented,  "Oh man, watching him I can totally remember as a kid getting a new toy, and on the ride home studying it, holding it, and the giddy anticipation of getting home so you can get it out of the box and play."

Me: "I know exactly what you mean, I did the very same thing as a kid, too. Except it wasn't ever toys that gave me a case of The Giddy's. It was shoes."

48 Months

Dear Ben,


Last week you turned a whopping four years old. This might not sound old to some people, but when you think of it in terms of months, 48 months seems like an eternity that we've somehow managed to keep you alive, safe, healthy, and mostly happy. That's also a lot of months that we've stumbled around, experimented with our rookie parenting skills (flashback age 14 months: "we should definitely be giving him whole milk for calcium," and then,  at 15 months: "whoopsies, whole milk makes him constipated. We should definitely NOT give him whole milk anymore", etc.), and because you don't know any different, you just go along with it. I'm sorry that in an effort to perfect our parenting, you've been subject to our methods of trial and error.


As I think over the last year that we've spent with you I'm forced to admit that it hasn't been the easiest year. Your third year on earth kicked our butts and was by far more difficult than two. Although in your defense, perhaps you think that me being 31 was far more difficult than 30. I think we both got smarter, and both seem to have a will of iron, and when we butt heads, things can get a little tense around here. Whoever coined the phrase, "terrible twos" obviously never met you, because being three meant you having so much more vocabulary and so many SPECIFIC IDEAS about the way things should be. I feel like I've just barely recovered from your birth, let alone the last 12 months of the three year old woes.


And yet, here we are. 48 months later.

Since I've always been terrible at the whole baby book entry thing, and since my memory consistently fails me, initially I wanted this blog to keep record of your hilarious everyday-isms. I wanted a place I could record & preserve memories and have something to look back on that would always simultaneously make me smile and cry. Because you do that to me, did you know? I can be so fed up and angry with you one minute, and then the next I'm practically in tears when you surprise me by cleaning your room or picking me flowers from the yard. There's so much to say about this last year, all the ways you've changed, so I thought I'd highlight some of my thoughts about YOU:

• You are incredibly passionate about...well, everything. I'm serious. Sometimes you are pretty much ruled by "the passions" (as I affectionately refer to them). I've honestly never seen a young child love so deeply, hurt so deeply, fear so deeply, rejoice so deeply. This makes for one intense little person, and though it comes with its TREMENDOUS challenges, I can honestly say that I cannot wait to see what you are going to do with your life, what you will choose to be when you grow up. You are going to be amazing, my little man. You are literally capable of anything.

• You love girls, especially brunettes. I thought this was something I didn't have to worry about for another 10 years or so, but there you go! Keeping me on my toes again! The object of your affection changes on a daily basis, but you do have a few favorites. I'm not really prepared to handle this yet, so usually I just downplay it an say things like, "Yes, Ben. She seems like she's a really special person who has a really kind heart." You adore your babysitter and since she's a student at the highschool where Daddy teaches, sometimes you just pull out the yearbook and find pictures of her and stare....for a long time. When you see a pretty girl, you will do anything within your power to get her attention. You already ignore me calling your name if there's a pretty girl in the room. I have a feeling this is not going away anytime soon, so I realize your dad & I should probably come up with a better strategy. But for now, I'm encouraging you to get some more guy friends. Trust me, girls are nothing but trouble.
• You absolutely love music of all kinds. From sitting for hours at the piano playing and singing your little heart out to rocking out in the living room mimicking John Mayer to impersonating your daddy conducting a choir, a good chunk of your day is devoted to music. This makes us giddy with delight.
• You recently fell in love with Star Wars. I'm sure this was inevitable, and although you've actually never SEEN one of the movies, you are a pro with the Light Saber. Your moves are quite impressive, really.

• You sort of stole one of Ella's baby dolls that she received after she was born and we haven't really had the heart to tell you who the rightful owner is. I don't know what it is about this little cloth squishy doll, but you love her and take care of her on a daily basis and sleep with her every night and feed her and put her down for naps and shush me when I'm being too loud for fear of waking the baby. Also, it should be noted that you named this baby girl all by yourself: Harry.
• You suffer terribly from eczema (that would be my genes, sorry about that). I'm so sorry, buddy. We're trying to do everything we can do make it more manageable, but your skin is splotched with itchy red patches and it just tears me up seeing you scratching or seeing the aftermath of blood on your sheets from you scratching in your sleep. It also breaks my heart when I hear you tell your peers things like, "That? Oh that's just my eczema. It's just dry skin. Mommy has to put hydro-cortisone ointment on it to make it better." 
• Christmas this last year was incredible. You really got it this year, and it made the holiday 1,000 times more exciting for Daddy & I. The magic of the season had you completely mystified and seeing the wonder in your eyes is something I'll never forget. For the first time, you actually willingly sat on Santa's lap AND held sissy's hand when she panicked. Seeing that big brother gesture of comforting Ella melted our hearts and made me realize that was probably one of many more instances to come where you would be there for your baby sister when she needed you. 

• In the fall, you'll be going to preschool two mornings a week for the very first time! If there's one thing I learned about your year as a three year old, it was KEEP THAT BOY BUSY! I'm hoping this is a wonderful change for both of us. I can't wait to see you thrive in that environment- you've practically begged for it, my little socialite. Once again, stay away from those girls. I mean it.
• Every now and then when I walk out of my room your big blue eyes light up and you say something like, "OH MOMMY! You look SO FANCY! You're pretty, Mommy!" I never know exactly what prompts that statement, but you have no idea how much it means to me. A compliment is a compliment, even from a three year old. Keep it up.

Mama loves you, and I am praying this year is full of tremendous growth, learning, curiosity, empowerment, laughter, and a whole heck of a lot of love. You will always be extra special to me because you are my first born; you made me a mommy! Let's make four really great okay? And be patient with mommy, it's really hard to be a parent.

We are trying so hard to do our best, but as I've said a million times: Parenting: it's the best thing I've ever done. But it's the hardest. 

My sweet boy, as hard as its been, you are the best thing I've ever done.


xoxoxo

The "C" Word

Image via Wikipedia

The C word for the day is Camping. Eww, gross, what were YOU thinking I meant?

Anyway. Let me go ahead and paint the picture, because that's what I do best.

When I first met my husband, I quickly learned that he was a Mountain Man. He sported flannel shirts & a goatee, could build his own fire from scratch, owned rock climbing shoes (is this how one refers to them?), owned outdoorsy backpacks and hiking gear, had a R.E.I. club membership, the whole nine yards. Which is kind of hot in a mysterious getting-to-know-you type of way. He grew up in the wilderness of Evergreen, Colorado, and though sometimes I'm guilty of embellishing, this time I'm really not using the term "wilderness" loosely. Like, there were elk and bears and deer and wolves and unicorns (okay maybe that part was embellished) roaming his property on any given day, and his darling soon-to-be 80 year old father has the photos to prove it (HI HUGH!). Not only did he live in the wilderness, but he somehow still found the need, nay, the DESIRE to be a camping man in his free time. Which meant he would leave his own backyard wilderness just to hike into the wilderness of his local mountain. Funny, right? This perplexes me, because don't people usually crave the green grass on the other side? And by green grass, I mean urban life? Wouldn't it make sense for him to "vacation" by way of hiking into the city of Denver and do the touristy thing? With zero wilderness or picturesque objects in sight?

No, not this man. I swear he and Bear Grylls come from the same blood lines.

Anyway, I clearly remember the day very early on in our relationship when he asked me the big question: had I ever been camping before? Mostly I remember it because he asked with the most optimistically hopeful eyes I'd ever seen, and I immediately panicked. Have I ever been camping? Um, yes? YES! Of course! Who hasn't been camping? I mean, EVERYONE has gone camping at some point or another, right???

Hee hee. Hee.

Not so much.

Except if you count making tents out of blankets and chairs in the living room with your siblings and then sleeping there for the night. Because that kind of camping I've TOTALLY done, like a thousand times.

But I was pretty sure he meant a different kind of camping. Shoot.

I remember trying to read into the question, desperately trying to see if for him, this was a deal-breaker or not. Because I really liked this guy. A whole lot. In fact, I knew we were going to get married and have babies and a hyperactive dog once he could stop being a commitment-phobe, but what if my entire future happiness was dependent upon this one teeny little thing? Who would've guessed that camping would be so crucial to my future?

So I told him yes. Because the truth is, I've been camping half a time. As in .5. Or if fractions are your thing, 1/2.

The memory is a bit hazy, but I recall my parents packing us up in the 1976 Buick station wagon (a car that I still rocked in high school, practically making me the coolest girl on campus), making the trip to some sort of foreign campsite where my parents fumbled with setting up a tent and we all tried to act like we knew what we were doing, but really we were grumpy and miserable and confused. I recall a hefty dose of familial tension. At the time, my sister was just a baby, and she crawled over us all night long while we tried to sleep. I had a large, pointy boulder underneath my sweet little head for a pillow. Around the bedtime hour, we quickly learned of some nearby drunken campers who got a bit out of hand, so our nighttime lullaby was the sweet tune of belligerent drunks receiving a police escort out of the campgrounds. In the midst of this chaos, one of their cars ran over their "boombox" music player and smashed it to pieces. It was painfully loud and I think I heard them utter more 4 letter words than I'd ever heard in my sheltered life.

So....I haven't exactly had a burning desire to do THAT again.

Which is why I must be CRAZY for agreeing to go camping in about a month! WITH MY KIDS IN TOW. Not only am I clueless about how to prepare/what to expect when camping, I am now dragging my poor innocent children along with me. (Full disclosure: it's only for a weekend, and we are going with other families, and some of these people are practically professional campers. So that helps a little, but then again they aren't the ones responsible for packing up our entire life and fitting it into our car.) My only safety net was the confidence I had in Dan with his camping history & knowledge. However, when I mentioned this to him, he scoffed and said, "Babe, I know how to camp like a single guy. But I have no idea how to camp with kids as a family."

Super.

But because I'm a gal who believes in conquering one's fears (except if the fear involves snakes), I've decided to face this dead on and make note of my camping fears. Let's approach this in list format, shall we?

"Reasons I Am Terrified To Go Camping, Let Alone Go Camping With Children":

1. What if the smell of campfire and spilled beer never washes off my body & skin (and sleeping bag!)?
2. What if the wine runs dry?
3. How many times can a person really eat hot dogs for a meal???
4. Snakes. All types.
5. My children thrive in their routine. Routine of their own beds and their own 4 walls. What if my kids never go to sleep and this trip turns into a 48 hour rave, family style?
6. What the heck are we supposed to DO all day? Sit? Talk? Drink? I don't understand.
7. B.O. and armpit hair stubble. There, I said it.
8. They say camping is an excellent way to test a relationship. WHAT IF WE DON'T PASS THE TEST?
9. Bugs.
10. Battling the elements. I don't care much for battles in general, let alone battles that involve the elements.

That's all I've got for now, but I'm sure as the time draws closer, I'll have dozens more. If you have the answers to my fears or my questions, please comment and help a sister out. Seriously, it just might be my only hope for surviving. That and the stockpile of wine we'll be carting around.

An Honorable Defense (almost)

Have I mentioned before that Ben isn't a huge fan of change? And by change, I mean Dan returning to work after having been home for a week on Spring Break. I learned this is enough change to tip his scales and send him into an unfortunate phase that is pure defiance mixed in with a healthy dose of destruction (namely breaking a pencil into 1,000 pieces, and then putting those pieces down the heater vent in Ella's room....)

And I am oh so done with it. My patience went extinct days ago. In fact, I must have said under my breath half a dozen times, "when did my sweet baby boy turn into an almost 4 year old little punk?"

Of course Mommy still loves you, Little Bug.
And you're not really a punk you're just behaving like one. They're completely different, I promise.

But. Since we've already broached the subject, Benjamin Daniel....

I've got some questions. Must you really destroy everything you get your hands on? Must you take that evil tone with me EVERY time you address me? Must you cause such rascality in the morning hours that I'm already frazzled before showering? On those particular mornings, I'm riddled with apprehension, just anticipating the unfolding of The Drama you've gotten so good at creating. Because at least when we're at home, we can have our World War III battles in private, but when we're in public, I feel like I have to censor every word that comes out of my mouth for fear of suspicious nearby eavesdroppers who might take my words grossly out of context. And then when all else fails, I try to scoop you up in my arms and ever so gently secure you in your car seat, turn on some happy tunes (ABBA usually does the trick), and wait for the grumpy storm to pass. Sometimes this means listening to ABBA far longer than any person should in one day.

So I suppose it's safe to say we've hit a bit of a rough patch, Ben & I. And while 99% of it is difficult and exhausting there is that one tee tiny 1% that keeps me from having a complete mental breakdown: his 1-2 line rebuttals. They are borderline genius and totally random so I thought I'd highlight some of my favorites that were thrown at me this week (and no, I don't make this stuff up):

Me: Ben, why are you behaving this way?
Ben: Mama, little boys just don't know what they're doing. We don't know, Mama. So, you can't get mad at little boys, okay?
*******************
Me: Ben, we're not watching any TV right now. Please stop asking me.
Ben: But Mama, I'm just feeling a little bit SHOWY. Do you know what that means? Showy just means that I need to watch a show. So, let's just put on a show, and then I won't feel showy, okay Mama?
*******************
Me: You need to stay right here next to me when we're in the parking lot.
Ben: But I need to watch those girls!
Me: Why?
Ben: Because they're so pretty!
*******************
Ben: Mom, did you know that I'm the Director of this house?

*******************

Sweet child of mine, you need to hurry up and end this little phase. It's unbecoming. Furthermore, it's almost your 4th birthday, and I really want to have wonderful, heart-warming things to say when that day draws near. But right now, if nothing else, I guess I can commend you for sprinkling your tantrums with a dash of slick wit. Clearly, you are the fruit of my loins.

What is this "Alone Time" you speak of?

Dan: Babe, do you ever just go into another room, sit down and do absolutely NOTHING else except listen to music? Like, really listen, away from everything?

Me: Um. Well. I'm a mom. So....NO.

Larabar-tastic!

So, my new best friend "Lewis" from Larabar notified me that this blog post of mine somehow reached him in Larabar Land and he rewarded me by making me their "Fan of the Day"! THANKS, LEWIS! You can find me here on their blog site! I'm not even sure what it means but of course I'm thrilled and will be expecting flowers on my birthday and a christmas card from them from now on. At the very least, we'll probably get B.F.F. necklaces (remember those?). But seriously, it was a fun little surprise for this stay-at-home-Mama, and I'll admit....so far the highlight of my week. If my dreams do come true and they do end up sending me some bars, I promise you will all be the first to know. (Lewis, a.k.a. new Best Friend Forever, if you are reading this, keep in mind my deep love for coconut. However, also keep in mind I've yet to try any of the Jocalat varieties. But I trust your judgement implicitly).

Isn't the internet a crazy-wonderful thing?!

The Last Straw

Sometimes when your almost 4 year old son turns into a sassy, defiant little "bundle of energy" that you hardly recognize anymore, you need to dig deep in your bag of tricks to bring him back on track before he slips away into a land of bratty defiance forevermore. In times like these, a Mom in such circumstances draws much inspiration from the likes of Mary Poppins and The Supernanny. In fact, I'm tempted to write an advertisement for a nanny, rip it to pieces and place it in my fireplace, and patiently wait for Mary Poppins to arrive on our doorstep. DESPERATE TIMES CALL FOR DESPERATE MEASURES.

Anyway, in my world, bribery positive motivation seems to work magical wonders, so I've created Ben a sticker chart. The components are quite simple, really. You just need some flimsy poster board (thanks, Target), some rainbow-bright markers, and an assortment of relevant stickers. And by relevant, I mean monster truck/Sesame Street/Clifford/football oriented. Fortunately, when you're 4, there is just nothing cooler than stickers.

Ladies & gentlemen, I present you with Exhibit A of Mommy's Desperate Attempt to Regain Control, Order and Peace in My Home:

It's "Ben's Good Behavior" Chart! Please take note of the many colors and somewhat straight boxes I had to make. I even had to whip out the ruler for this complex little creation:

The categories are few & simple, and earning stickers is fairly easy. I'm doing my best to set him up for success, and when he has earned a whole row of stickers, he has earned himself something extra special- a "special treat", if you will. In Ben's mind these are what qualify as special treats:

1) ice cream cone (he's a strawberry or vanilla guy. I'm doing my best to turn him on to Peanut butter & chocolate)
2) Spiderman t-shirt
3) A movie rental of his choice
4) going on a date with Mommy to Target

Obviously, I'm pushing for special treats #1 & #4.  Because if we've been successful enough in our bribery positive motivation efforts, then by golly, Mommy deserves a special treat, too! Come on, sticker chart...Mama has big hopes for you.

Veteran parents: It gets easier, RIGHT? PLEASE? RIGHT?

High-Low

I am desperately trying, as Mama Hen of my little nest, to make dinner hour a more pleasant event in our home. Trying to have a peaceful dinner hour (and by hour, I mean 15 minutes) where intelligent and pleasant conversation is exchanged is just not a reality right now. I have already added this to my list of "Someday We'll Be Able To________(fill in the blank), But Right Now It's Just Not Going To Happen". Usually dinner is a mad dash to the finish where Dan & I hardly get a word in edgewise because Ben just so happens to be the chattiest boy I've ever come across, and Ella barks out obtrusive squawking noises from her highchair to communicate things like, "I love that" or "I hate that", or "gimme gimme" or "I'm going to throw this at you now".  So we duck for cover, we eat, we listen to Ben and we try to give the illusion that we have control over our chaos.

Obviously, this is challenging. I miss the days of knowing what's actually happening in my husband's world. I miss hearing about his day at work, I miss hearing the funny stories (because as a highschool teacher, he's got a bunch). I miss the days of eating dinner sans indigestion. I miss sitting at the table once we're done eating just for the sake of sitting. For the sake of continuing conversation. Sure, I love what the kids bring to the table. I love their humor and their lighthearted little spirits, but I often wonder- is any of this sinking in? Is this special to them on any level? Do they recognize or appreciate the efforts that went into making this dinner possible? I've only ever heard and read about those families who sit in front of the TV while eating their dinner. But honestly, on some night's, that sounds downright heavenly.

So to help bring our individual worlds together, we implemented an somewhat-efficient way to communicate. When we remember, and when we're not too busy feeding our faces at the dinner table, we like to talk about our High & Low points of the day.

Today, my Low was finding my sunglasses and a piece of mail in the toilet, swimming together with whatever Ben left behind and forgot to flush away. Which made me realize two things: 1) There needs to be more strict enforcement of the "FLUSH EVERY TIME" rule in our house, and 2) I should just always leave my sunglasses in the car.

But then, because there is a God, there was a High. A moment I've anticipated for quite some time. Ben towed Ella on the back of his tricycle for almost 15 minutes this afternoon, and they both laughed and enjoyed it. This might not sound like anything special, but I assure you- once you've discovered mail and sunglasses in your toilet, anything remotely positive makes you feel on top of the world.

Some photo documentation of my High for your viewing pleasure (I'll spare you the photos of my Low. You're welcome):

 

 

Leading Me On

Image via Wikipedia

Lately we've had a unique little situation unfold outside our house. Sometimes a UPS or Fed Ex truck will pull into our driveway, and without fail I sit there watching and waiting by the window, completely engrossed in finding out what unexpected delivery could possibly be arriving to our home. Because unfortunately, Lord knows it wasn't me that ordered something. And then, after a good 2 minutes of this thrilling little waiting period, they drive away and I am left in an anti-climactic emotional heap. 


Since this has happened more than a handful of times, it can really only mean one thing in my book: there must have been some sort of memo (unbeknown to us) distributed to courier companies near and far, alerting them that our driveway has been nominated for the perfect little pit-stop destination. Come one, come all! The Dewig Driveway is THE PLACE to sit around and twiddle your thumbs, Fellow Couriers! Sure, there's a creepy stay-at-home mom inside who is ALWAYS in her sweats and tries to unsuccessfully spy on us in secret, but it's a small price to pay for an opportunity to sleep/eat/waste time on the job! 



How did I not see this coming? 


So here's what I have to say to my local UPS & Fed Ex Drivers: You are all a big tease. AND, it is my strong opinion that if you are going to have the audacity to use my driveway for pit-stopping or making personal phone calls or just taking a brief nap, then the least you could do is give me some sort of signal indicating there is no intention of bringing a fun surprise to my doorstep. Perhaps you could put on your hazard lights. I'll get the message loud & clear, even yell a "ROGER THAT" out my door if you'd like. Or maybe just make a sign that reads, "Don't Get Your Hopes Up" and mount it to your dashboard. You do whatever way works for you, but please, implement some sort of system ASAP. Otherwise one of these days I'm going to be forced to greet you in my driveway with my overly-hyper dog that you all seem to be SO scared of, and demand that you give me one of your boxes. The prettiest or heaviest one. Don't say you were not warned. Deal?

Strangers

The other day I was unloading my kids in the Trader Joe's parking lot in a hurry, getting ready for a major grocery trip. I was anticipating the chaos that is a grocery store full of busy moms & crying children all trying to squeeze down narrow aisles simultaneously, and already beginning to feel stressed without even stepping a foot in the door. Which reminds me, Attention All Store Managers: Here's a tip.You should probably offer moms a Mimosa when they walk in your door. If you do, I predict these moms will relax, smile more, yell at their kids less, and probably inadvertently buy more stuff. Irish coffee would also do the trick as well. Or sake. Oh, how I love me a glass of hot sake....
But I digress.

So I had just put Ella in the stroller, Ben was beside me, when a cute little old lady who had parked next to us came and approached us. I always make an effort to be extra sweet to little old ladies like this because most of the time they just want to fawn over my children and enjoy the undeniable (what? I'm not biased!) cuteness they posses. Many of these women proudly share with me sweet little anecdotes about their own children/grandchildren, or some just miss their own grandchildren so desperately that they simply can't resist doting on every child in sight. My children are creatures of habit, so when we're approached in this manner, they've learned over time to flash a smile and wave hi or shake these ladies' hands or blow kisses, etc. And this inevitably brightens these ladies' day, so they walk away happy and I walk away happy and proud of my cute kids who smiled at the nice stranger. Everyone wins.

This was not the case with this particular woman.

At first, everything started as per usual. She made comments about my "fancy" stroller and how she never had anything like it when she was a young mom herself. She touched a couple of my things as she was admiring my stroller but it didn't really bother me because after all, she was just a sweet old woman. She began talking to my kids and commented how cute they were when suddenly she had to ruin everything and ask what was on Ella's face. Is it some sort of rash, she wanted to know, looking at us as if she'd just been exposed to a leper. Then I had to delve into my rehearsed monologue about how Ella simply has a bad case of eczema which is nothing more than severely dry skin, and how she gets flare-ups on her chubby little cheeks depending on the season, what she eats, etc.

In hindsight, sharing this innocent tidbit of information was a mistake of giant proportions.

Suddenly, this woman- let's call her "Sue", shall we?-- begins sharing with me her own skin ailments. And by sharing, I mean slowly (EVER SO PAINFULLY SLOOOOOOWLY) bending over to show me her swollen ankles that have suffered from various rashes for years and oh my heavens she must have a strong case of eczema as well. Then there was the large part of her mid-brow that is constantly dry and itchy. And flaking. Look?! Do I see the flakes? I might need to get closer so I can REALLY see her dry flakes. Such a shame to have such flake-prone skin, Sue claimed. And this is when I realized two things: 1) I've never heard anyone use variations of the word "flake" so many time in one sentence, and 2) Maybe Sue isn't totally....."with it", shall we say? I'm smiling on the outside, but internally I just want to get inside that store and get this stressful shopping trip overwith already. This is when she hits me with: (brace yourself because apparantly not all 72 year old women speak as tactfully as I had always assumed)

"You know, skin issues are just a BITCH! [Cue Ben's wide-eyed curious wonderment] I mean, I can handle my body getting older because if something hurts, if I get a headache, I just pop a pill and BOOM! All better! But these skin problems!? A BITCH! Oh, and don't even get me started on the yeast infections underneath my breasts that I used to constantly have. [OH.MY.GOSH. Is this some sort of sick prank???? Am I being punked?] Those breast yeast infections are the worst! I mean, can you imagine how miserable a perpetual yeast infection underneath your breasts would be? You know, all you hear about in today's culture is how great it is to have large breasts* [*this is not the actual word she used, but sometimes family reads this blog of mine, and I'm so embarrassed and disappointed by "Sue's" potty mouth that I felt it necessary to censor her. But call me anytime and I'll tell you what she really said....] but I say, who needs those big breasts? They're nothing but trouble! If I had much smaller breasts, I probably never would have suffered from such terrible yeast infections. My daughter, she has small breasts, and I used to tell her all the time how very lucky she was for being blessed with such small little breasts....."

For those of you who may have forgotten, keep in mind that I AM STILL IN THE PARKING LOT, for heaven's sakes! Trying to get inside the store! With my two very patient and innocent children! And somehow we fell target to this woman's unfortunate skin & breast complications. And the entire time, all I'm really thinking is....WOW. Nothing motivates me to grocery shop for food more than stories of skin flakes and yeast problems.

Eventually, I simply had to walk away from "Sue" but not before she delved into a very juicy Chapter 2 of her ailing woes, entitled "Having My Tubes Tied 34 Years Ago". I did a lot of smiling and nodding at her, grabbed Ben's hand and started walking as fast as possible in the opposite direction. Needless to say, the whole experience was downright awful. I've never had a stranger over-share such an abundance of repelling personal information in a 5 minute time span.

Once inside the store, an understandably confused Ben turned to me and asked, "Mommy who was that lady?" And I said, "Buddy, that was a crazy woman who spoke too much about herself and didn't know how to keep things private. And so when we get home, I want to talk to you about something called 'strangers', and why it's not okay to talk to them."

From now on, if I get approached by an older person, I'm going to pretend to be mute. Tough stuff, lesson learned.

Trade Off

My children are both incredibly sleep sensitive. Which means that if they miss their naps or if they don't sleep as long as their overly-delicate bodies require, they turn into little children monsters. Ben becomes incredibly crazy, sometimes literally banging his head into a corner wall or experimenting with climbing up the wall. Ella becomes fussy and only comforted if I sit in a specific chair, hold her a specific way, don't move a muscle and declare from the rooftops that my whole world NOW REVOLVES AROUND HER. Also, I know for a fact they conspire ways to team up and torment their mother (because I've totally seen them "huddled up" and I'm sure Ben has some sort of power-point presentation up his sleeve that maps out the whole darn strategy. Ben is the brains behind the operation, and sweet Ella just wants to please her big brother. How did I become chopped liver in this equation? Must I remind them the number of hours I was in labor with them? Or the PAIN I endured to bring them in this world? MUST I? Because we have DVD footage of both deliveries, children. And I am NOT AFRAID to unveil them.)

***WINE BREAK***

And, exhale.

On these particular days, I can become flustered to the point of literally pulling my hair out when Dan walks through the door. Today was one of those days. If I had to grade my kids on their napping performance today, both children would score a "D+". And it's only in the generous D range because I'm writing this post-wine break. So instead of greeting Dan with a sweet hello darling this afternoon, it was something more along the lines of, "YOU MUST DO SOMETHING WITH YOUR CHILDREN."

Which I think I scared him because off the three of them went into Ben's room for a very, very long time.

But here's the thing. The bad news is that on days such as these I don't get much "down time" during the day, I don't get to enjoy a peaceful uninterrupted lunch or quiet respite before the afternoon/dinner madhouse rush. And usually on these days I choke down my dinner, battling indigestion with every bite I take as the children-monsters cry and complain and practically BEG for bedtime. Dan & I are lucky if we get one sentence in at the dinner table. Sometimes Ben is so wired-tired that he'll just fall out of his chair for no reason. You get the idea...a real Norman Rockwell kind of scenario.

And now, for the good news. It's 6:30, the children monsters have left and sleeping angels have taken their places. I'm now on my second glass of wine, the house is quiet, and Dan and I are in alone-time heaven. We're preparing to decorate the tree and have entire conversations where we will have the opportunity to complete our sentences and/or have entire thought processes. Who knows, maybe we'll even get crazy and stay up past 10.  People, stop the press because this is what we call a Christmas Miracle.

So everyone, please raise your glasses. Oh. Just me? Okay, my glass has been raised. Cheers! Here's to a new day tomorrow, where I will have the opportunity to do it all over again! I'm off to give Dan a well-deserved high five.

Nighty-night my sleeping angels. Sleep and sleep and sleep and sleep.

Persistance

It may have taken close to three-and-a-half years to manifest itself, but it appears that my son has been (more or less) listening to me all along! It's astounding how full our days are, aside from the daily routine and schedule of eating, napping and playing. Most moms would probably agree that a large majority of the days are full of reminders and instructions and corrections and encouragement and positive reinforcements with our kids. Basically, we moms are glorified broken records. Advocates for manners, kindness, social skills, and overall tact. For example:

"How do you ask?" or, "what do you say?" or, "what's the magic word?" or, "why don't you try that again and ask me the correct way?", or "how can you say that in a kinder way?".

You get the idea.

Anyway, it first caught my attention today when we were in line to order a pretzel at Target. Ben sweetly conveyed to me that he was practically dying of hunger, and since I had packed very light snacks that were already consumed on the car ride over in a matter of 5 seconds, I found my Mama guilt caving to his request. Plus, pretzels are the second cheapest item on their menu, and I was even able to scrape up the grand total in loose change. Win-win.

So the food lady hands him his giant pretzel (just about the size of his head) and he ever so sweetly batted his gorgeous blue eyes, smiled and in his sing-song tone said, "thank you!"
Unprompted. By himself. This was huge, but I wasn't expecting this to repeat itself anytime soon.

And THEN! I prepare his lunch, and as he takes his plate and carries it from the kitchen to the dining table, he practically shrieks out, "Ohhhh, wow! Mom, this lunch is MY FAVORITE! Thanks so much!".
Again! Unprompted! But even still, I'm thinking....this is still a coincidence, and really he's just excited because we have KILLER leftover skirt steak and crispy garlic potatoes from dinner last night.

And then, as if to seal the deal, he blew my socks off one last time. Which, for more reasons than I care to even count, I desperately needed tonight. Maybe he sensed this and is beginning to catch on to the whole Take Care of Mommy concept. As I was tucking him in and saying goodnight, he suddently wrapped his little arms around my neck, let out a huge sigh and said, "Mommy? I love you. I love you so much." And then he adorned my face with kisses. It was like being attacked by a warm little puppy with love.

Gulp. Cue misty eyes.

And I started thinking...maybe all of this really is soaking in his little brain. Maybe I am actually getting through to him. Maybe I really am making a difference in my attempt to steer him the right way, and all of these constant reminders (or nagging....let's be honest...) have not been in vain. Tomorrow I'm sure he'll go back to bugging his sister to the point of tears and talking sassy to his mother and refusing to nap and tracking mud all over the recently vacuumed floors, but today felt like a mini success story. Our own little hurdle.

And honestly, even if I never have a moment like this again with him, today somehow made those 3.5 million daily reminders oh so very worth it.

An Angel

The other day I was at Target with the kids and after chowing down on a well-deserved Target snack, we were making our way out the door. We walked past a mom with a very tee tiny little baby in her arms. The baby was SO small, it looked like it must have just popped out a couple hours beforehand. But I was quite taken with how beautiful this baby was. Usually it takes awhile for babies to grow into their cuteness, but not this one. I couldn't help myself, and said to the sweet mom, "Oh my goodness, look at that precious angel! How old is she?" To which she replied, 5 days old. Then I told her how beautiful her baby was, and we were out the door and on our way home.

Later, as we were arriving home and pulling into the garage, Ben every so sweetly said to me from his car seat, "Mama? Remember when we saw a precious angel today? She was SO CUTE, wasn't she?!"

God is so smart because He knows that Moms who have mischievous 3 year old boys need precious moments, such as these, to replenish their patience and tolerance. It's a good thing he's so gosh darn cute...

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Adventures in Gymnastics

We hit a new milestone: Ben started his very first gymnastics class today. It was a major success on many levels, and it gave me a brand new perspective on....well, me. First let me just say he was wonderful and so adorable and nervous and shy at first and then won his coach's heart over in 3.5 minutes flat. That's my boy!

Some background: When I walked into the gym this morning to register him for a class that was about to begin in 15 minutes, I was under the impression that we were signing up for one of those "Mommy & Me" classes, the kind where you talk your child through every-little-thing and make sure they're listening and using manners and being friendly and not picking their nose and not peeing in their pants, etc. But a minor mis-communication took me by surprise and sort of left me hanging when his coach (read: STRANGER) walked up to Ben, introduced herself and grabbed him by his chubby little hand, and walked him onto the gym floor. Without me. The veil had clearly been drawn- she closed the little half-door behind her, which is really just a polite way of saying to parents, "You! Sit! Stay back! Your kid is fine, and he's all mine for the next 45 minutes. You get to watch the whole thing from those really uncomfortable bleacher seats. So sit down and relax."

So I'm practically kneeling at the half-door instead of sitting in the designated parent spectator seats because it brings me a good 4 feet closer to the action, where I am desperately trying to read every word that comes out of this coach's mouth. And I'm watching my little guy trying to figure this whole thing out, and I'm seeing how uncomfortable and confused he is, and I'm literally biting my tongue from blurting out something really obnoxious like, "Mommy's right here! Here I am, baby! Listen to your teacher! Make good choices! Put your listening ears on! Mommy's so proud of you!" And then I look around and realize all the other moms and dads are casually sitting around chatting and enjoying the time and trusting their child to do the right thing, and all in a matter of 5 minutes, I'VE BECOME THAT CRAZY, WACKY MOM. The one we've all seen, and probably had a stern little internal dialogue with. The one who we probably roll our eyes at and maybe even tell our friends or husbands about later at dinner. Uh, yeah. That was me.

They begin their stretching exercises, and of course to me, this looks like a true Kodak moment that needs to be captured all on camera. Second by second. I'm just snapping photos like it's my job, when suddenly Coach Chris (STRANGER) casually looks up and sees me in my motherly hysteria and what do I do???? I NERVOUSLY GIGGLE AND WAVE TO HER! Like she was looking for me and finally caught me, and just wanted to send a friendly hello my way. Like she doesn't have anything better to do with her time. Oh, the horror. It was then that she took the little gymnasts alllllllllllll the way to the other side of the gym and basically remained there for the duration of the class. Coincidence? I think not.

So Ben does pretty amazing- lots of somersaults, trampoline jumping, balance beam & hanging on a bar with your hands & toes type of work. My independent little 3 year old doesn't miss me for one second, doesn't even think to look for me until he was somewhat nearby and I cheated and yelled out, "Good job, baby!" It was precious to watch and melted my heart to see how incredibly excited he was to be a part of something so active. And I could tell, even from 50 feet away that he is not only listening, but completely engrossed with Coach Chris. And what starts happening? My heart wells up and my eyes get all misty. Of course. How can my baby be so big- big enough to do all these exciting and dangerous things without me? Now I'm The Mom who's cheerfully yelling and camera happy one minute, and crying the next. What is this emotional roller coaster that gymnastics has taken us (me) on?

It's funny because as a preschool teacher and director in my previous life (pre-mommyhood), I was around this scene every single day. I could easily pin-point those moms- the ones who were fairly emotionally attached to their kids, the ones who needed to learn a thing or two about the letting go process that I learned all about in my dozens of Early Childhood Education classes. Well, apparently today was a day for a crash course lesson in "You Can't Really Understand Until You've Been There Yourself", or that wonderful little book, I Was a Really Good Mom Before I Had Kids. As it turns out, all those years of E.C.E. classes and experiences really didn't prepare me for my life as a mom. I mean- sure, I learned a whole lot about child safety, and if a child is choking and in need of help, I'm your gal. You need help understanding the laws and protocol for running a preschool, I'm there. But saying goodbye to your baby as he walks away with some strange woman to go and have fun WITHOUT YOU? Brutal. Why do I have a feeling I'll have the same distinct sentiment come prom, 2023?

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