Just laugh so you don't cry

Firstly, Happy Halloween.

Secondly, I really hope that coming here and reading about how badly I fail in so many ways makes you feel better about your own perceived shortcomings.

I made it through the month without resorting to running away and joining the circus.  I got the veggie tray to the school and piled it up with all the other veggie trays (and I'm certain it will be devoured by the four-year-olds with gusto).  I made the ugliest deviled eggs I have ever seen and managed to get them to work with me.  I did not find anything remotely Halloweenish for Gavin to wear.   Why?  Because I waited until the very last nano-second to look.  As a matter of fact, he's wearing pants that are rolled up twice and still too long because nothing in the dryer was actually dry this morning.  Poor, poor Gavin.  What a pitiful first Halloween for him.  (Sigh).

What is that smell you ask?  Why that's eau de I woke up too late to shower because I absolutely could not be late for work today, and as a super fun bonus, I spilled coffee all over my shirt.  I did try to clean it up with a Clorox wipe, so there's also that smell competing for attention.  And you know how Gavin is wearing two sizes too big sweat pants?  Yes, well, I'm trying to pass off  work-out pants as work appropriate for the same reason.  

You're supposed to be scary on Halloween.  Right?  

The important stuff is covered though.  Silas is trick or treating tonight with Michael.  Halloween is Michael's favorite holiday, and I am certainly willing to concede that he does it up much better than I do.  So, I don't even bat an eye when Silas insists on spending the day with his dad.

I made it to work on time, and I made it through my conference call without making myself or the office I represent sound incompetent.  

All of the parties I was supposed to pitch in for did manage to have contributions from me.

And while Gavin and I look a total mess, we are at least not running around naked.  Well, I'm not, but he's probably stripped down to a diaper by this point.

So, to wrap it up:  I almost completely forgot about Silas' Halloween party but didn't.  I smell terrible, but I still have a job.  Gavin's first Halloween is, ahem, low key, but his first birthday is totally going to make up for it.

You gotta look for the silver linings, or you'll lose your ever-loving mind around my house.

Happy Halloween, ya'll.  May your children not be subjected to broccoli and carrots like mine is on this sugar-fueled holiday.

OMG, the guilt never ends

So, I made another mom misstep.  I'm claiming my right to a transition period though.  So, crisis averted.

Candice (babysitter; veteran mom): You're a bad mom for not signing Silas up to bring something for his Halloween party!  So, you're bringing a veggie tray :)

Me: I totally forgot!  I took damn candy for the carnival, and he didn't even go (he had strep, and I deserve points for driving out of my way for kids who aren't mine)!  So, you signed me up for a veggie tray?

Candice: Well, kind of :)  She (Si's teacher) approached me about it

Me (mortified): Well, that is embarrassing, and I'm sorry you got stuck dealing with it.  I kept meaning to do it, and I kept forgetting.  Every time I turn around they are asking the parents to do something.  They are going to have to understand that I'm new to dealing with school demands.  I'm in my transition period.

...

I picked up the calendar for November on Monday, and it's looking like I'm going to be transitioning right on through the New Year.  (Sigh).

Prayer Requests...

I have nothing to talk about except all the crap I've been whining about for what feels like months.

Silas is well, so Gavin woke up yesterday morning with a barking cough.  He was up at least 4 times last night with coughing and fever and general whineyness.  At one point, I grabbed my pillows and slept on the floor next to his crib.

I give up.  I can see no light at the end of this long tunnel of illnesses.

Silas is now terribly off routine from having strep, and now we're locked in a battle of wills every morning.

"I DON'T WANT TO DRESS MYSELF. YOU DO IT!" vs. "If you don't get dressed, you're going to get to school too late to eat your breakfast, and that will only hurt you."  Except it doesn't just hurt him.  It causes me to be neurotic and worry and stress about him being hungry until lunch time.

Yesterday I wrote a long email to a family member who is struggling with an adult child (read: almost 40) being incredibly irresponsible.  The child is in another jam, and the mother is tired of bailing the child out.  The child is telling the mother that to make the child clean up her own mess makes the mother a horrible person. And the mother feels tremendous guilt mixed with tremendous frustration and indignation.

My advice was that we as mothers have to allow our children to fail and learn lessons and deal with consequences and stand on their own two feet.  Everyone needs help once in a while, but it is not helpful or beneficial to always bail someone out of their messes.

And I believe all of those things.  Nothing is more frustrating than dealing with an adult who is completely incapable of running his or her own life and constantly runs to mom and dad to get bailed out.  I've dealt with it quite a bit, and I do not want my children growing up to become those people.

Doing my part to make them self-sufficient doesn't start when they are pre-teens or teenagers or adults.  It starts when they are small.  It starts by me not coddling my children and doing everything for them.  It starts with me showing my children how to do things and encouraging them to slowly and steadily learn the skills they need to be successful in their own right.

But it's hard, right?  Or is it just me?  I mean, Silas is four.  And he sees me doing everything for Gavin because Gavin is still learning how to do, well, pretty much everything.  So, his inclination is to try to manipulate (yes, he is a master manipulator) me into doing things for him that he should be doing for himself.

It is a constant internal battle to remind myself that I have to teach him how to take care of himself.  The guilt and fear of making him feel unloved or like I care more about Gavin than him is always there.

Then weeks like this roll around where I see the outcome of really spoiling your children (doing absolutely everything for them because they were sick), and it is a harsh reality check of why I am just going to have to swallow that mom guilt and force him to become a worthwhile human being.

Could you just pray for my mom guilt to at least slightly subside?  I feel it takes up way too much of my time.

Also please pray that we get a genuine reprieve from all this coughing and sneezing and misery!

K, thanks.  Bye.

Welcome to my big, fat week of failing at life

You know that stress you feel when your 4 year old gets diagnosed with strep throat and you take one day away from the office (and you do actually work from home) to be with him but your phone and email blow up the whole time, and you know you have to figure something else out for the rest of the week?  

And the insane guilt you feel when his fever finally breaks and he is no longer contagious but still feels terrible but you have exhausted all of your options and so have to send him to school? And he cries and begs you not to leave him but you have no choice and you go out to your car and cry?

And the overwhelming, anxiety-meds-doing-not-a-lick-of-good, oh great are those Braxton hicks contractions? anxiety you feel when you get a call telling you that your boyfriend is about to get a call giving him bad news and you need to get home now so that he isn't alone when he gets it and then you sit in traffic for two hours because there are wrecks everywhere and you are crying and doing everything in your power not to have an anxiety attack and then you have one anyway?  And then you get home and he takes one look at you and instantly panics that something is wrong with the baby so you have to break the actual news to him, and you hate everything about that moment?

Probably you don't know that specific mess, but you've had a week like that.  I'm certain of it.

And I could tell I wasn't holding it together very well.  I could tell it was all about to come ripping apart at the seams.  I could feel it welling up.

The kids got into a fight about milk this morning, and I just lost it.  Silas did not feel good and was whiney.  Gavin was just being his mischievous, almost one year old, into everything self.  
I made the mistake of leaving Silas' milk down on his table which Gavin can reach.  Gavin grabbed it and spilled it everywhere.  Silas began wailing and yelling at Gavin.

And that is when I snapped.  I yelled.  We all cried.  I apologized and hugged and apologized and hugged some more.

And now I am so upset with myself.  

Why did I come apart on my kids?  Why not an adult who could handle it?  Or better yet, why didn't I just step back and take a moment to collect myself when I could feel that tension welling?

These are the days that haunt me.  The days when all I know to do is pray to do better and be a better mom.  

These are the days I wish I could take back.

But I can't take it back.  I can't undo it.  The only choice I have is to learn from it.

So, learn from me.

When you know that you are approaching your breaking point, step away and do not traumatize your children and perpetuate the ugly mom guilt cycle.

Learning to share

Here’s the thing about having to share your kids with a whole other household: sometimes it’s kinda sucky.

I try mightily to be fair and to always put my kids’ best interest first.

Selfishly, it’s nice that I get my kids all but 4 days out of a month.  I don’t care for sharing them.  

Yes, it’s nice to get a break, but most of the time all I ever want is, like, a two hour break.  After that, I miss them terribly.

Unselfishly, I don’t really know that 4 days a month is enough for Silas.  He misses his dad all the time.  He asks about his dad nearly every day.  He makes a point to let me know multiple times in a week that he loves his dad.  Basically, we have a lot of dialogue about his dad.

So, when I arrive to the meet-up spot to pick up the kids after Michael's weekend is over and am handed only one child, I am not surprised to hear, “Si wants to know if he can stay another night.”

The law says I don’t have to let him go.  I have the right to tell him to get in my car and take him home.  

Some parents who are in this situation find it best to just stick to the court ordered schedule and never deviate.  I have been advised by a few people to do that.  I understand that the logic is that it cuts down on having arguments with the other parent.  It keeps the kids on a consistent schedule and allows them to know what to expect.  And if that is what works for your family, I say, do that.

However, I find that I cannot do that to my son.  I know I'm taking the risk of winding up making things sticky between Michael and me.  And I know that kids need consistency.  But they also need both of their parents, and, frankly, the law isn't particularly in tune to the specific needs of every child on every day/week/month.  And so the reality is that the choice falls to me.

In this instance, instead of telling Silas to get in the car, I go over and ask, “you want to spend another night with daddy?” And his big brown eyes moon up at me and he says “yes.”  And I give him a kiss and tell him I love him and miss him and will see him tomorrow. 

And I get back into my car and deflate because I’ve spent the last several hours staring at my phone waiting for the call or text from Michael saying he is ready to meet.  Waiting for my house to be full of noise and chaos once more.

When I tucked Gavin in last night, seeing Si’s empty bed mixed all together with the pregnant crazy, and I cried.  I missed him.  I wanted to tuck him in and give him a hug and tell him I love him.

And then this morning was just all wrong because he wasn’t there driving me nuts taking too long to get dressed and then asking me to turn up some country song on the radio in the car and then singing it at the top of his lungs.

But I try to remember that when you love someone with the fierce love of a child, being told you cannot spend just one more night with them when there is no good reason is just cruel.  And that Michael probably spends a lot of nights missing the kids and wanting to give them hugs and tuck them in.  

And so this is the part of being a split household that is sucky.  Trying to do what is best for the kids and trying to decide what exactly that is on any given day.  Stick strictly to the schedule?  Deviate?  Okay, but how often?  On school nights?  Just special occasions?

It’s still, oddly, the best thing I could have done for my children.  There is no doubt in my mind.

But damn these waters get hard to navigate sometimes.  Trying to always do the exact thing that is right for them.  

And what I've decided is that I have to go with my gut.  If my instincts tell me that they need the deviation, they need that extra time, I go with that.  If my instincts tell me that it's best to get them back on schedule, I go with that.  And I pray.  A lot.  I pray that we're getting it right and doing everything we can to raise them to be good people.  It's all I know how to do.

For now, he got his extra night.  I survived.  And the countdown to day’s end is on.

I can’t wait to have my little four year old back home driving me nuts where he belongs.

Yep, it's Monday

As I've previously mentioned 400 times, Silas didn't sleep through the night until he was 9 months old.  It was hell, but now he sleeps like a champ.

Gavin was sleeping through the night at 6 weeks old (no, I swear).  It was amazing, and I felt like I had won the lottery...until he started cutting teeth.

Now, this is our life:

I'm pretty sure we did that a solid eight times last night (so, now I look like a slightly more dressed up version of that lady).

It's beginning to look like I'm going to follow up two years of pregnancy with two years of sleeplessness.  (If you just murmured something like, "you did it to yourself."  Then let me respond with, "you are so incredibly clever to have thought up that retort.  Now, SHUT UP.")

I hate the teething.  It's almost worse than colic because Gavin is cranky pretty much all day.  We have very few moments of his blissful, angelic smile peppered into the monotony of his perpetual screaming and falling pitifully out in the floor.

We had friends over for a playdate on Saturday.  Had it not been for the fact that I've known them basically since I landed in Texas, I would have actually felt bad for inviting them by the time it was all over.  Luckily, it is one of those friendships that can endure cranky teethers and slightly burned pizza.

So, here is to weekends spent enjoying your family, laughing with your friends, and cheering for your Cowboys.

Because some of you aren't on Instagram

Maybe you're bugging me about seeing pictures of the boys.  Maybe you should get on Instagram.  This is all the cuteness you're missing.

Sometimes the only solution is to give up

Hold your breath and cross your fingers.  I think (aside from our seasonal allergies) we may be getting a reprieve from snot and coughing and whining and medicine dispensing.

Just in time for the weekend and inviting friends over to play in our new playroom.  Yay for finally having enough square footage to put out a welcome mat and actually invite non-residents to wipe their feet on it.

Maybe I'll finish painting Vivian's room.  (Probably not because why do today what you can put off for four more months?)  Or maybe I'll catch up our laundry (ha. hahahahahahahahahahahahaha.)

In party planning news: I quit.  (Maybe I lied about the reprieve from whining).  

You see, the more children I have, the more I prefer to shop online and avoid hauling my minis into brick and mortar stores.  Cause sometimes (read: way more often than not) Gavin is cranky and doesn't feel like shopping and so announces it to the entire store and all of its patrons as loudly and as often as he can.  Silas on the other hand loves to shop.  He has absolutely no concept of the my paycheck to our bills ratio, and he has entered the phase where he asks if we can buy  all of the things.  And when I tell him we cannot buy all of the things, he joins in with Gavin's protest.

So, now a simple trip to the store looks like this (just pretend one of the kids is in my stomach kicking the crap out of my bladder):

That brings me to why I want to quit planning Gavin's party.  

Thinking up all of the ideas for the party was so much fun.  And if I ever decide to un-quit, it's going to be so stinkin cute.  And I've kinda already had the invitations printed and shipped, so I'm going to have to do something.

Buuuuuuuuuut all of the ideas require supplies I do not have readily available, which means they have to be purchased.

As we've established, I do not want to take my children shopping.  

However, I cannot find all of the things I need (want) for the party on one website.

Therefore, I will be forced to pay shipping charges multiple times.  I loathe spending money on things like shipping.

My choices are now: shop with the children or pay lots of shipping.

So, I quit. 

(J/K, I don't really quit.  But maybe someone spread the word that my entourage and I will be out shopping this weekend, and maybe they want to just catch a movie instead of making that trip to Party City.)

Leave it to your kids to keep you humble

I haven't really been feeling that crappy about  myself this pregnancy.  

Frankly, I've gotten a lot of compliments about keeping my weight under control.

I can still wear my work pants, I'm more than halfway done, and I've only gained  7 pounds.

To my complete amusement, I even got hit on by what I'm guessing was a 17 year old kid at the fair on Saturday.

So, as long as I put in a modest amount of effort for the day, I feel pretty good.

And then there was last night.  Standing in the kitchen.

Silas lifted my shirt to inspect my belly, pinched what can only be described as a layer of fat, and said matter-of-factly, "mommy, your belly is very fat" and then walked away.

Touche, young Silas.

(Insert grouchy mommy emoticon here)

We're sick.  Yes, again.  Because that's what we do now.  We run fevers and get sinus infections and croup and upper respiratory infections.  We politely pass them back and forth to each other.  We buy Kleenex and Tylenol and Benadryl and saline every time we go to Target...just in case.  We have the pediatrician's number on speed dial.  And I don't think anyone has been completely well in six months.

I'm blaming the school.  

The school that is sort of starting to wear on me.  Yes, already.

Do they ever stop sending home flyers needing crap from parents?

In October alone, we have 1) a fundraiser ("our goal is for every kid to sell 10 items"...they're four, people.  That means I'm selling ten items.); 2) a carnival ("please sign up to bring two bags of individually-wrapped candy per child"); 3) the pumpkin patch ("please send money for your child's pumpkin"...that you will then have to deal with either carving or painting) and 4) the class party ("please sign up to bring treats for your child's class").

That's just the school's crap.  That's not real Halloween and real pumpkin patch and real pumpkin decorating.  That's not Gavin's birthday which is two days after Halloween.  That's not the work potluck and the work pumpkin decorating contest. 

I'm about to be to Halloween as Ebeneezer Scrooge is to Christmas.  Bah humbug!

(I mentioned we're sick, right?  And that translates to an excused period of whiny and bitchy, correct?  Great.  Thanks.)

(Oh, and in a pause from the whiny and bitchy, Jimmy felt Vivian kick for the first time last night and that was just super awwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww.)

(Ok, back to hot tea and hating my ears, nose, and throat.)

They are completely deranged

I love my friends.  All of them for different reasons.

Surprisingly, I have several single, childless friends.  Our lives have about zilch in common, but they are fabulous women, and so it works.

Except when I try to gush about all the excitement that is planning Gavin's first birthday party (squeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeal!!!)  Because they?  Don't get it.  At. All.

They say (delusional) things, like, "I'm not going to throw my kids parties until they're at least four and old enough to appreciate all the work." And, "My kids are only going to have one toy each and they'll have to get rid of that one before they get a new one because I don't want kid crap all over my house."

Who does?  None of us want a house full of legos and Barbies and toy trucks, buuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuut the trade off is that these things entertain and quite often teach our children motor skills, coordination, sharing, etc.

So, I roll my eyes at them and say (in that annoying "I used to be like you and now I know way more than you about this" voice), "Just wait."

I obviously know that Gavin a) will have no idea it's his birthday, b) is much happier with my pots and pans than anything I can buy him at the store and c) doesn't care a lick about a birthday party.  

They say the first birthday party is for the parents.  And it totally is.  A lot of ways selfishly (i.e. it's so much freaking fun to organize these things and hear "oh, wow, that was a great idea." blah, blah, blah).  

But why is it so much fun?  Because this party is in celebration of this life that you spend your days nurturing and loving and worrying over and praying for.  It's a calling together of family and friends to make note of just how much joy this little person has brought into your lives.  It's an outpouring of love in honor of all the milestones reached and the hugs given and the smiles created.  

That is why I know my friends who aren't parents yet are delusional.  Because it's true what they say about our inability to comprehend the love we will feel for our children until they are born.  Until they are a part of our lives.  We think we know how we will feel, and then we become parents, and that feeling is so much bigger than we ever could have imagined.  

Things that once seemed so important (like not having a house full of GI Joe's and crayon drawings) suddenly seem trivial.  The thought of not throwing a party for your one year old because they won't "appreciate it" is unfathomable.

For better or worse, bringing those little people into our lives changes us.  I don't know a single person who doesn't look at the entire world (not just their own small slice of it) differently since becoming a parent. I was watching a DVR'd recording of The Voice last night and heard a story about how a grown man had a motorcycle accident that nearly killed him.  I was instantly transported into his momma's kitchen when she got that phone call, and I ached for her (and I cried like a big 'ol baby cause that's how I do).

So, continue living in fantasy land my sweet friends with your still perfect bodies and your uninterrupted sleep and your notions that Disney-themed sneakers aren't in your future.  Enjoy your blissful ignorance while you can.

The rest of us have parties to plan and action figures to trip over in the middle of the night.