Um, Hello?....Is This Thing On?

How can I break this down in its easiest, simplest form?

To be succinct, I'll say this:
Nicole + full time Mama job + full time wife/household engineer duties + new part time high-stress job + holiday madness = a sad little blog that has been neglected for two months, 1 week & 4 days.

I did it! I broke it down, and it only took one sentence! See, I've been dreading this blog posting for quite some time. Especially when I consider those of you who have remained so faithful to me, sometimes emailing me or asking me in person, "Uh, what the hell happened to your blogging?"  If you were one of those people, did you sense my nervous laughter and my stressed-induced tic? Or the stammering for the words to explain? It's hard to REALLY explain where I've been, and why blogging went out the window, except to say- a high stress lifestyle, such as the one I've been introduced to the last two months, apparently sucks the life out of every creative brain cell I own. There were many days I'd sit down in front of the computer, ready to write after a long day, and all that I could muster was something along the lines of "my feet hurt and sure do sweat a lot when I'm working".

So, I thought I'd spare you.

But as my glamorous part-time job as a seasonal sales associate at Williams-Sonoma seems to be slowly waning (as expected), suddenly there's room in my brain for other things. Like people, showering, exercising, weekend football. Lately, I've noticed there is a creative itch that has (re)surfaced. And I'm here to get scratching.

After all, Ben has his first loose tooth (WHO GETS A LOOSE TOOTH AT 4.5?), and Ella is flirting with the idea of potty training. And there was a recent incident in which Dan ended up explaining to Ben how babies are made without me there to control the conversation.

So, yeah. We've got some things to talk about, sweet blog of mine.

Baby steps to getting back on the saddle again.

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

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):