Just When You're Feeling Invincible

Ok, maybe not invincible, but "pretty good" didn't make such a catchy title. I was ignoring the mess, just scrapbooking in my little corner while Mike and the kids played outside. He was putting up the slide on the swing set. It's called "the sidewinder."

Mike was so excited once it was up he insisted I try it. I had watched from the window as I set at my desk while he went barreling down the slide and then laughed his head off. I watched each of the kids try it through the window. When Mike came in and demanded I drop what I was doing and take my "turn", I sighed. I just kept thinking, but it's quiet in here and I was busy.

When I went outside I examined the slide and thought "maybe this was a bad idea." Mike lifted me and helped me onto the top of the slide. Now, I was sure I didn't want to do this. I haven't gone down a slide since the back surgery. It seemed to late to back out so I let go and slid.

It was really fun for a second and then I hit the ground with a thud and the pain was so intense I started to cry. I'm been sitting on an ice pack ever since. Injured by a trip down the slide, embarrassing.

When Kids Go MIA

Every parent has had one of those moments when their child terrifies them beyond the ability to take breath. When the whole world becomes an irrelevant haze around you and your stomach turns inside out. Human beings have the ability to frighten one another in general, but there isn't even a word for what children do to their parents.

A few months ago we loaded the whole family in the car and headed down to the splash pad. Normally, Riley and I go with our mommy group friends on weekday afternoons. This time it was a Saturday. Even though Riley and I were meeting a mommy group friend I felt I'd need Mike as backup since I was bringing Isaac too. It was hot and Mike was cranky about being roped into going along so the mood in the car was muted. Until we pulled up.

Isaac had never been to this park before. He was screaming with excitement at the splash pad and playground before him. Mike and I surveyed the huge crowds and felt less than excited. I'd always gone on quiet weekday afternoons before and I felt stupid for not considering how crowded it would be. Mike grumbled as he unhooked the baby. I was talking to Isaac as I climbed out of the passenger seat. By the time the baby was out of the car and I was upright Isaac was gone. I assumed he was just standing on the other side of the car at first. As Mike walked in a circle around the car and calling his name was ineffective the panic grew. The park wasn't in the best area and it was so crowded. I went numb with fear.

I have no idea how long we stood by my car searching the crowded playground and sputtered sentence fragments at each other: "He was wearing..." "I was just talking to.." "Where could he..." After what felt like eternity I spotted him running across a piece of playground equipment. By the time I pointed him out Mike was already at a full run towards the playground. I don't think I breathed until he buckled his seatbelt. My stomach was full of hot sandspurs and my hands were shaking. I was grateful not to have to drive home. Which is where we went immediately after that.

It was only a matter of time before Riley gave me the same kind of heart failure. Last night Mike came to bed after I was asleep and turned on Close Encounters of the Third Kind. I woke up to that horrible scene where the little kid goes through the doggie door and gets abducted by aliens. So, scary, but why does she let go? She clutches him to her chest all through the house and then she sits down on the kitchen floor and lets him go. Not a nice way to wake up.

Today the kids were playing out in our big beautiful fenced yard. Mike had run to Home Depot. He's adding the slide to the swing set this weekend. Isaac was hogging the big kid swing at first, but he decided to give Riley a turn and push her it was super sweet. I ran in for my camera, but by the time I got back with it the moment had passed. Later they got in the box the slide came in and were laughing like hyenas. After that they drew on the box with sidewalk chalk. I helped Riley find a yellow piece and she ran back to the box while I ducked inside for a minute.

I was coming back out when Isaac came to the back door. It had been 30ish seconds (long enough to pee) and I'd been watching through the window from the back bathroom. He wanted to come in so I told him to go get his sister. Very matter-of-factly he told me "I don't know where she is." He had smile on his face so I told him to stop teasing and get his sister. I adjusted my shoe and followed him out. He walked to the middle of the yard looked around and then turned to me and shrugged. Now, I started to worry.

The Earth rotated slower as I instructed him to double check the slide box. I checked the latch on the gate and both shed were locked. I called her name. Isaac thought this was amusing. I half expected her to be behind me giggling, but she was nowhere. I snapped at Isaac, "This isn't funny!" and instructed him to keep looking. I picked up my phone to call Mike. At that moment Isaac yelled "I found her, mom." She was sitting in the bike trailer which was facing away from us. I suspect she climbed in and couldn't figure out how to climb out. The neighbor was mowing so she made have answered my calls, but I wasn't able to hear her tiny voice.

I helped her out, hugged her and pressed send on my phone. Mike was a block away. When he got back Isaac breathlessly recounted the tale of the missing Riley. I gave Riley another hug and tagged Mike in for a round. I dry heaved in the bathroom before crying in the shower. Now they've each had a turn and I'm done being terrified in that way, right? Oh, I hope so.

Uphill Movement is Still Movement

Friday was a pee-pee soaked, exhausting day. Riley refused to go on the potty even once. She wet five out of the seven pairs of panties in the pack. She peed on the floor in every room in the house (except the bathroom ironically). Long day, it ended with Riley sleeping in a pull-up.

When Riley woke up this morning she waddled in with a very wet pull-up and served me breakfast in bed (a plastic muffin on a Barbie plate). It was definitely a "you're lucky your cute" moment. I rolled my tired bones out of bed and pulled off the pull-up and instructed Riley to throw it in the garbage can. Normally she complies today she dropped it in the hallway, sigh. She refused all morning to pee on the potty. She sat and ate on the potty, watched tv on the potty, but no peeing. She wanted some milk and after I gave it to her I turned around to leave the kitchen and heard a noise like the faucet running. I thought she was dumping the milk out so I wheeled around and yelled "what are yo-" before I realized she was peeing. As she was peeing she was shaking her little finger and saying "no, no".

I calmly explained, AGAIN, that pee-pee goes in the potty. Riley helped me clean it up. Once, the floor and the baby were clean and dry I resigned myself to day two of accident-a-thon. A little while later she stopped playing and turned to me and pulling at her Minnie Mouse undies saying "Help! off, pee-pee."

She wet her pants a tiny bit and refused to go on the potty. I let her go au natural after that. She even insisted on getting in the shower to pee-pee. Clearly it grosses her out. Breath in, breath out. She played happily for awhile and then she marched herself to the foggy potty and peed. She proclaimed "Geen!" before she stood up (yellow pee in the blue potty bowl). I gave her a sticker and a piece of candy. She lead me to where she had been playing and said "No, no. Guck!" You guessed it folks she pooped on the floor and then peed in the potty. I calmly thanked her for showing mommy and once again thanked God for the tile and then bought it to her potty.

After, the poop-poo goes in the potty chat Daddy helped her flush it all bye-bye. We had the where bodily waste goes chat a lot usually in the style of Yes, Yes. No, No. I also tried to encourage her by telling her that a dolly had to go pee-pee. Riley would grab her baby doll rush her to the potty and then hug her when she was done it was cute. Early in the morning (before she peed on the kitchen floor) Mike had snapped at me that the panties were just confusing her, but by the end of the day I knew I had done the right thing yesterday.

She felt everything yesterday and she didn't like it. Today was only day two and she isn't quite 21mos yet, give her a break. We made some big steps. We went from refusing to go on the potty all day yesterday to coming to use the potty on her own. She had some accidents, but she understood that's what they were. She pointed out the poop on the floor, helped clean up the pee puddle and later when we had switched to pull-ups took it off and threw it away because it was wet. We're moving forward. She really does understand and want to "get it".

Despite all her sweetness and determination Riley was tough to take today. Her two year molar is coming in and she's frustrated about not instantly getting the potty thing, sounds like her momma. I'm hurting, tired and so over today. Tomorrow is day three of serious potty training, cross your fingers...

Happy Back-A-Versary

One year ago this week, May 24,2010, I had spinal fusion surgery. After my pain intensified to the point that I could no longer lift my baby I decided to do something. After alot of tests, doctor's appointments and drama it turned out surgery was the answer. All of that is documented in the blog. However, the ensuing year is not as well documented.

Partially because it's impossible to type when you can't sit upright. On top of that it's time consuming healing with a newly mobile, still breast feeding 8mo old at home and I often didn't have words to describe what it was like (hard to believe I know). It was a long dark journey after a "terrible insult to my body." It will be a whole year before I am completely healed.

I'm so lucky to have had the wonderful friends who came over every night with dinner in the early days and never forgot about me during the long periods I couldn't get out. Thank you new mommy group ladies! Thank you friend who spent your vacation days visiting me and washing my hair. Thank you friends and family who came to visit and lend a hand. Be patient with me I'm halfway there.

Wardrobe Change

Parenting is full of moments where a seemingly insignificant day suddenly has huge meaning. Today, I took Riley to Target to get socks. She seemed in tune with the kind of day we were going to have because she insisted on wearing her Easter dress.

We were a little cranky from the heat as we lumbered into our favorite store with a short list: socks and barrettes for Riley, socks for Mommy, cereal, milk and crackers. Shoot, as I write this I remembered I was supposed to get dryer sheets (I'm going to have to stock up on laundry supplies). I digress, socks are always next to underwear (although, am I the only one who always looks by the shoes?) which got me thinking.

Yes, I would do it. I would buy real underwear. It was one more leap of faith. One more tiny step outside my comfort zone. If we're going to get serious about potty training we have to get serious. Just like sleeping in her own bed or weaning her I had to commit out loud (or make a gesture) to cement my decision. I have to push past all my overwhelming emotions about my only baby growing up and let her.

She's clearly ready for this so it was time for me to get on board. Her potty reward stickers sheet is a little over half empty, she holds it through naps, she's peed in the potty at all different times of day and at least once she even pooped in the potty. We are at a threshold where I either keep her in diapers and reliant on me or I turn over some control with pull-ups and panties.

This morning my poor girl had held it all night and in a sleepy haze had peed in her diaper until it was soaked and pee flowed out onto the bed. A rude awakening, for sure. She was so upset. "Mom-ma!" she wailed "pee-pee. guck (yuck)". Yeah. it was time to get serious. We just got over the late bed wetting stage with Isaac and I'm so tired of washing linens, but if you're going to make an omelet you have to break a few eggs. So, it will go: daily linen and pee-pee clothes washing and rugs that need shampooing. Thank God we have so much tile.

She's so proud strutting around with her Minnie Mouse panties on under her Easter dress today. It kills me how natural it seems. She went down for her first nap with underwear instead of a diaper. I couldn't bear to even suggest a pull-up she was so proud. Where's my baby? She's a little girl and she's just going to keep needing me less and less. Every time I'm proud of her accomplishments I'll be holding back tears because I'm so happy and so sad.

You've Spent Too Much Time With A Toddler When...

1.Upon hearing the news of a friend's promotion you clap your hands and say "Good Job!"
2.You announce to a room full of adults, "I'm going to go pee-pee in the potty" and once there leave the door ajar
3.You start fixing yourself a drink and realize that without thinking you pour it into a sippy cup and snap on the lid.
4.If you know the location and contents of the baby bag, but haven't seen your “going out” purse in over a year.
5.If you cut everyone's meat and blow on it as you set the plate down.
6.You can sing the Elmo song in your sleep, but have not spoken an uninterrupted sentence in months.
7.You use toddler-ese without realizing it (ex: "I'm sleepy, I think I'll get in my me-mes and go night-night.")

8.Instead of saying yes when you like an idea you just repeat a key word (ex: Do you want steak for dinner? Steak!, Do you want to take the first shower? Shower!)
9.You sweetly reply, “almost” when someone asks for an eta instead of an actual estimate. OR you relay time information by a small child's schedule (ex: Can you pick up X at the store? Um, maybe I'll run there after snack, but before nap>).
10.You start referring to EVERYONE in the third person. "Does Susie have a pretty new dress?"
11.You immediately bring any transparent object to your eye and look through it.
12.You can recite episodes of Blue's Clue, but have no idea what's going on in the world. Or you know the price of diapers in every store in town, but have no idea what size clothes you wear anymore.
13.All of the activities you want to accomplish (showers, cleaning, paying bills)have become "me time".
14.Your first impulse when entering any living room is to sit on the floor.
15.You can name every character on Sesame Street, but have no idea what's happening on your favorite shows (or even what your favorite show are).

I know there's more...Help me out parents, leave any I missed in the comments. Thanks.

This Is Now

If you had known me before, not before becoming a mother, (I've kind of beat that horse to death), but before all of it. Before I left LA. If you had known me in the happiest part of my single adult life would you like me now?

If you had known me living in LA, working a good job to pay the bills, perusing my dream (and getting somewhere), having an active social life (not just dating although, I did that too) and taking care of myself would you even recognize me now? I was a someone on my way to big things. I was pretty then because unlike now I showered everyday had hair and nail appointments and slept as much as I pleased.

My body ignored my happiness and betrayed me. I felt things changing and then after so many years of waiting there he was. Someone asking me to come be with him and I went. I was raised to guard my independence fiercely and I always had. Now I took the first conscious step towards leaving the life I knew behind.

Life just kept relentlessly happening. Now I find myself on the end of a long rough patch. I am breathless and shocked at my reflection. I actually told someone very excitedly today "I know it's only Wednesday, but I've had a shower every day this week!". Just to put that in context I moved down here (suddenly raising a toddler) lost my job, got depressed, found a job, got pregnant, lost the job, got put on bed rest most of the pregnancy (trips to the bathroom only), delivered a premature baby via C-section, post partum breast feeding every two hours, derailed by horrible pain, underwent major back surgery (still breast feeding), minor hip surgery with a first grader and a toddler in a house that was too small. That's the summary version anyway (and doesn't take into account what was happening with anyone else in the house). So, I let myself go a bit.

I'm still here and breathing. My relationship stayed together, that was no small feat. I made it to a bigger house. I made it to a place in my recovery where the future holds potential again. If only I didn't look well like "I'd been through a lot." I hope I can bounce back physically the way I've recovered emotionally.

I have dreams and aspirations again, even if they are mutant cousins of the ones I started with. I have goals for myself physically as far as recovery/strength building and weight/appearance. I also have a deadline because I'm planning my wedding. I tried on the dress I bought three years ago and it's clear I'm not the same shape I was then. The change is nothing drastic, but some work is in order (on both me and the dress). Please stop by the new blog to read all about my wedding adventures and deep thoughts on marriage: Ready, Set, Happily Ever After

I put one foot in front of the other, albeit shakily. Could this be, me getting on with my life? Lookout, world.

Settled On vs. Settled In

I know everyone's tired of hearing about the move, but It's given me some perspective. You know how in the movies some sage old man is always telling some heartbroken young man that he'll know when he finds "the one" because he'll see his future when he looks in her eyes? I'm having that experience with this house.

The old house was a dark cave where I mourned my past and couldn't picture my future. The sidewalk just ended at the edge of a cliff at the end of the world. I was angry at the stifling nature of the physical dwelling (by virtue of lack of space) which in turn stunted my imagination. Every time I pictured the future I pictured it somewhere else.

I remember simply being incapable of imagining a having a family with my ex-boyfriend. I loved him and believed at the time I'd be with him forever, but I couldn't even daydream our kids. It just wasn't there. It was like that with the old house. I couldn't see the kids growing up there even when I tried. I could only see the present and sometimes the past (shudder) there.

In this house I see Isaac's high school graduation party, I see Riley's prom, I see all the milestones lined up like little bright stars on the horizon. I can see so many birthday parties, play dates, slumber parties and games of tag in the yard. When Riley's been trying to communicate something with me and she finally gets what she wants she always says "yes, dis!". Well, that's it exactly "yes, dis."

It isn't just the physical structure, but more what being here has done for my perspective. I feel like making this change brought oxygen rushing back into my lungs again. Now, I have hope. My dwindling social life is returning to a healthy place, my painfully slow recovery from the spinal fusion got a push in the right direction, my sense of ownership is renewed and therefore my powerlessness is fading. My relationship with the world is different because when I go home I have my own space. Not just room, but my own little corner just for my writing, crafting, scrap booking, etc. I no longer return to the place where I store things and sleep. A clean slate and a project to attack as a team has done wonders for my relationship. It "reversed the signs of aging." I know that where ever you go there you are, but it turns out the old happy smiley Katie was waiting for me here.

Toddlers Are The Entertainment Around Here

When Riley was about18mos old we were in the car and I was watching Riley in the baby mirror and trying to get her to parrot names.
Riley say mama
Mama!
Riley say dada
Dada!
Can you say brother?
Bud-da
Good! Can you say Isaac
Eye-ssss-kah
Can you say Grandma?
No!

This morning Riley woke up before the sun so I brought fussy butt to bed with me. We dozed on and off and then exactly 5min before the alarm was due to go off she was up for good. She tugged her diaper and said "on." (she uses on to mean off and on right now). So I took her diaper off. She stood up on my bed in a way that would have been in slow motion if it were a movie and pointed to the bathroom and said "pee-pee!".

I lowered her from the bed and she was off like a shot with sleepy Daddy trailing behind her. She sat right down on her little froggy potty and got to business. It was seconds later that I heard cheers from the other room. "You did it! Good girl." I called out to remind Daddy to give her a potty sticker. She gleefully picked a "potty perfect" sticker and stuck it to her dragonfly nightgown.

At this point she turned around and examined the contents of the froggy potty thoughtfully.
Yellow!!
That's right, your pee-pee's yellow.
Yellow!! Yellow!! Yellow!!
She runs around chanting "yellow" gleefully.

On Friday I took Riley to the consignment store by the old house. I wanted to use up my remaining credit and get Riley some shorts. This particular store has always been my go-to place for toys. I knew I wouldn't get out of there with just clothes if Riley had anything to say about it.

She picked out a bag of play food that was dessert themed. It had Ice cream cones, banana splits, McFlurrys, cake, and some dishes and spoons. When we got home Riley was zonked, but there was no way we could go straight to bed because we had to play with our new toys. We played until Riley couldn't keep her eyes open.

She crawled into bed with an ice cream cone in each hand.
Silly Riley.
Night-night.
Are you putting the ice cream night, night?
She gives me one raised eyebrow look and in a very serious “duh, Mom tone” she says, "Melt."
You're right Riley. It would melt. (and then I laughed until I cried)

That's Entertainment

Riley do you want to take a shower with mommy in a minute?
No, no
No? Why not?
Silence
Riley let's go take a shower.
No, no.
You want to be a dirty bum?
Bum!
I laugh for a mintue
Riley, you're funny.
Dirty!
Ok, dirty bum let's get a shower.
Towel!
She runs striping as she goes towards the bathroom.

Mom-And-Dad-A-Pedia

When I grew up there was a lot (or at least as a child I perceived there to be) a lot of "because I said so" and "go look it up" in my house. I know they seem completely unrelated and probably insignificant, but they steam from wanting to know "why". I always wanted to know "why". It was not something most adults understood or had patience for.

I wasn't sassy or rude, most of the time, I just wanted to know "why". My kids suffer the same relentless desire to know "why". They are curious little monkeys. Only, in our house there is no "because I said so". We explain things as thoroughly and honestly as possible at all times. Barring of course, when Isaac is stalling going to bed by asking for a complete history of communism or the meaning of life. It's a constant challenge to find ways that are accessible to an eight year old or a 20mo old to explain complicated issues, but I enjoy the challenge. I want them to be armed with as much accurate information as possible.

This is why when we "go look it up" we look it up together. I am still recovering from all the ridiculous nonsense my friends told me growing up that I accepted as fact. These days false information spreads like wildfire on the web. Just like kids on the playground explaining how you can die from farting and burping at the same time there are hundreds of emails circulating at any given time proclaiming "facts" just as laughable. Also, just like the playground most people seem to just accept these "facts" and worse continue to circulate them.

I am always honest with Isaac when I just don't know the answer to his question. Usually, I'll tell him what I do know and we'll look up the rest. For example, I explained that muscle fatigue has to do with the buildup of lactic acid (thanks AP Bio). However, when Isaac asked where the lactic acid came from I couldn't remember. So, we looked it up. It's produced when we exert ourselves as a way to convert glucose (energy) without oxygen. That way we can conserve oxygen and make energy.

I love that from the time Riley was born if she showed interest in something Daddy explained it to her. "Yes, Riley that's a flower. It makes food from sunlight." etc Intellectual conversations abound here from science, philosophy, engine repair, cooking to common courtesy on a daily basis. I remember that Isaac came home very excited one day because a classmate had told him about reincarnation. We explained what we knew about it and which religions believed in it, to his absolute wonderment. I don't think the adults in my life would have been as forth coming with such information when I was seven. Another time Isaac visited my dad after his heart surgery. My dad never had boys so he's always happy to get gross with the grandkids and thinking Isaac would be amazed he showed him the line of staples holding his chest together (with my blessing). Isaac was not amazed, he was horrified. We had a long talk about medical staples vs. office supply staples, what bypass surgery is and how grandpa's heart got sick. After that the staples were cool.

The world is a big place and I want the kids to be armed with as much solid information as possible. I want them to make choices based on facts not just because their parents tell them to. I try never to state my opinion as fact or to be judgmental when discussing other world views. I want them to always be able to come to me for answers without being afraid or embarrassed. When I was in Middle School I asked my mom, who was a nurse, about periods. Her response was to bring me home pamphlets. I read them, but I wish she had felt she could openly discuss those things with me. I think especially for girls, knowing how your body works is essential. Knowledge is power.

I want my curious little monkeys to stay curious. I want them to never fear judgment for seeking information. I want them to be the kids on the playground debunking myths. I want them to know there's always more to learn. I want them to always read, observe and ask questions freely at home. I always said we'd have a house of fairies and scholars.

Isaac's Greatest Hits

Here in the style of Sh*t My 6-year Old Says and back by popular demand is another funny/weird stuff Isaac said post.

Yesterday, on the way to school I asked Isaac if he had any dreams that night. Historically, this always inspires an "interesting" answer. He thought for a moment and then said:
Not really.
That's too bad.
Well, I did, but they're not really...I can't tell you.
Oh, because you don't remember?
Um, yeah. Also, it's secret.
It's ok Buddy, it's hard to remember dreams when you wake up.
(Whispering)Especially when they're...secret.
I proceed to explain what dreams are to Mr. Know it all. He finds the idea of the conscious and unconscious mind interesting, but insists he already knew all that. There's a moment of silence at this point and something occurs to me.
You didn't dream about the scary car, did you? (He had a recurring dream when he was little that resurfaced after the move. We told him that we left the scary car at the old house and it didn't know where he lived now and he was safe.)
Well, it was a car.
Oh, Isaac-
NO!! It was different, Mom. It was a different car.
Like a fun car?
It was a British taxi! It's name was 'Ello Gov'nah! AND it had teeth.
So it was scary?!?
Not really.
I reflect on that for a minute.
Isaac is this something from a Dr. Who episode?
(highly offended, but laughing)NO!! It was a DREAM, remember?!?
If you can believe that was the most normal part of our conversation that trip.

When Isaac was 5yrs old I showed him Monster House around Halloween. He loved it. After his third or fourth viewing he reported this nightmare to me:
I had a bad dream.
What happened?
Well, it wasn't too bad, actually.
Oh?
The scary old man from Monster House was there, Mr. Nebercracker. I was scared of him and he was yelling.
Oh, no.
But then I said, "Follow the Rules!" (he points his finger at an imaginary scary guy and in a very authoritative voice commands this) and he stopped.
I can't possibly put into words how hard I hard I laughed at that. It's just about four years later and I still think that's funny. Later that night I relied the dream to Mike and said:
I guess that's like the kid version of F you.
Mike thought for a while and said, "Well, isn't that what adults are saying when they say F you? Aren't we just telling them forcefully to follow the rules?"
I think he's right about that one.

When Isaac was around six years old he had a prophetic dream that I was pregnant with a girl and on bed rest. It was uncanny, although at the time it sounded like nonsense. For all his foresight though sometimes things sneak up on him.

When he was six it was nearing Christmas time and he and I were watching as movie together when he asked me about the nice list. I'm pretty well versed since I worked for Santa (Macy's 34th Street, NYC, 2004) and I gave him the run down.

He had only been in kindergarten a few months and everyday his teacher would mark his agenda with a color denoting his behavior which I would have to sign and send back with any comments. After my recap of the basics of the naughty and nice list Isaac's face contorted with worry and after a long moment of silence he pleaded:
Mom. don't let Santa see my agenda, ok?
(I stifled a laugh) Oh, Isaac. He already knows, Buddy. He already knows.
He went white as a ghost and had perfect behavior until school let out for the break. On behalf of parents everywhere "Thank you, Santa."

If Love Were an Airplane Nobody'd Get On

Recently, some couples close to me split up. Married people with families. I'm so confused by this turn of events in all the recent cases because they'd all been together many years and had at least two kids.

I feel for them and I sincerely hope everything works out for the best, but I was surprised that my knee jerk reaction to the news was not what I expected. I had the reaction of a selfish child. I balled my fists and screamed, "but what about me!", at least in my mind.

I suddenly felt hopeless. They had it all together, they were happy and they didn't make it. I'm a disaster and we're always working through things. Our odds must be negative numbers.

Marriage was something I hadn't even considered for most of my life. I saw marriages fail all around and in later years I watched people enter into them with completely unrealistic expectations. I watched people set themselves up to fail. I knew that statistically almost half of all marriages in this country fail and now I was seeing the context.

When my parents split up I didn't kick and scream inwardly or out. I simply felt relief. I was glad they could go be happy. I've never completely understood why my parents got married to begin with, but I've heard both of my parents say repeatedly over the years that they stayed married because "kids should have two parents." I knew in that case exactly what had happened and it seemed for the best when it ended.

Lately, my world is tilting on its axis because the news has come over and over that people I thought had the answers are calling it quits. Maybe I'm simply too far away from their day to day to understand what happened. From where I sit they were what I aspired to. They had love, children, friendship and it seemed to me that had "it". "It" being the immunization against the statistics. They would make it, I'd tell myself. If I could find the answers they had so would we.

Maybe I see too much black and white where there are only shades of gray. I have this first child, over-achiever outlook that if you follow the rules and do the right thing it should work out for you in the end. Again, I've been wrong before. I thought if only Mike and I could be like the "together people" we'd be bullet proof.

I've spent my whole life thinking of marriage as an impossible promise to keep. Why would I, rule follower that I am, ever make a promise I can't keep? When Mike and I got together we discussed marriage at length and I decided it may not be the hopeless cause I thought. As obstacle after obstacle took priority over a wedding these last couple years I've fluctuated between hot and cold feet several times.

I often think if we can work though this issue we'll be ready or if we get past that we'll get married. I don't want to go into this with my eyes closed. I want to talk about things, work things out and feel secure, but recently it occurred to me that I had it wrong, again. I don't think you're supposed to get an A+ on being a couple and then earn the gold star of marriage. Maybe the idea is you get married and agree to spend the rest of your lives getting it right. Of course like breastfeeding (the third biggest commitment two people can make) both of you have to be on board. If one of you is committed and the other one isn't, it's no dice. You can lead a baby to the breast, but...well you know. It's the same with marriage, you can't spend your whole life as Sisyphus. Take it from an all too often Sisyphus, some impossible tasks are worth it. I have an uphill battle just getting my pants on some days. so it tarnishes my view of marriage greatly. Sometimes, like in my parents case, walking away is the best option for everyone.

"If love was a plane, Nobody'd get on. Imagine now, the pilot's voice, on the intercom right before we leave the ground. sayin, folks thanks for flyin with us, but theres a 6 in 10 chance we're goin' down."

Why You Wish You Lived Next Door

This week I finished the invitations to our housewarming, Ta-da!

As you can see I made Martha Stewart proud with my Smurf themed paintshop invite. My printer had an issue which caused my Smurf to come out pink. He looked sick, but when Mike fixed the issue and he came out blue he looked very healthy. Smurfs are the reverse of humans in that way.

I'd been meaning to make the neighbors cookies since we moved in. I decided it was time to make the cookies so I could hand deliver the invites with them. As always my trusty helper was by my side as I prepared some oatmeal chocolate chip cookies.

Yeah, they're from mix. Sue me.

Mix, mix

More mixing. Oatmeal cookies have stiff dough.

Giving it a taste.

Ready for baking.

Riley's first "licking the spoon" experience.

Once the cookies were baked it was all about presentation.

My artsy shot of the materials.

The front of the invitation.

The finished product.

I delivered them while they were still warm.

The Seventh Circle of Hell

Aka the car circle...If only I could reclaim the hours of my life sucked into that vortex of misery. When Isaac started kindergarten I thought the spectacle was kind of cute. The way parents would park their cars to avoid the car circle and scramble up to the gate and wait. When the first kids begun trickling out parents would stand on tip toe to get a glimpse. With ninja like speed they would grab their child's hand and flee to their waiting cars. The whole thing reminded me of baggage claim at the airport.

We, too, spent the first half of that year parking the car and walking to avoid the car circle. Not long after Christmas break I was pregnant and working nights, so Mike always picked Isaac up. By spring break I was on bed rest. It wasn't until Riley was born in the fall and Mike got his new job that I was back on pick up duty again only this time I had a newborn so there was no avoiding the car circle.

In the early days of Mike's new job he worked at the office Monday-Friday. I often refer to this as the "golden period" of being a stay-at-mom because Mike's absence and my physical state still allowed me autonomy and independence in domestic matters. It was just me and my brand new baby and all those new mommy infatuation chemicals, until pick up time. We would get ready and head over to the school 10-15min before dismissal. If I got lucky, which was rare, Riley would sleep through the whole ordeal. Most days she would sleep for all but the last 5mins and then wail all the way up to claim her brother and the whole ride home. On the worst days she'd wail through the whole thing.

At the end of kindergarten there had been a parent survey sent home in which 98% of the parents who filled it out listed car circle as the biggest problem we had with the school (Mike and I among them). This resulted in two car circles with the students divided in half by grade level. One was in the front of the school where the original had been and one was on the side which had previously been buses only. It did help some, in the way that an Advil might "help" after a root canal.

The problem really is the parents. No one wants to pull all the way up. I swear the people in front of me today were waiting for engraved invitations to move. Is it that the trauma of getting into the actual line to get your kid shocks you into a state in which you believe you are the only person in line? Are two car lengths a reasonable space to leave between cars on your planet? There are people behind you hanging out in the busy intersection and you're leaving extra space? Keep it up, one of these days the parents behind you will descend on your car like the angry mob we are and show no mercy.

These days there's no danger of having to jump in the backseat and nurse the baby, but life's not easy. I still have Riley in tow, parents are not anymore apt to follow the rules and just when you think it can't get any worse it does. I don't leave early anymore, in fact I leave the house no earlier than dismissal time. That was a parking garage revelation. Why does everyone clamor to be on the first two floors of the parking garage? A space close to the elevator on any floor gets you there just as quickly. So, why would I wait in my car burning gas when I can let things die down from home and ultimately we get home at the same time anyway.

The school year's winding down and today I was smiling to myself that we were leaving this car circle behind us forever. Isaac's new school is less than two blocks from our house. You can see it from the corner. So, to the idiots who went the wrong way on the one way, the Lexus and VW who refused to ever pull up a reasonable distance, the guy who parked and got out at the front of the freaking line and the mom waiting at the wrong number (that's only today) I will not miss you. I only hope your children have better capacity to follow simple directions! I mean geez, there's less than two weeks of school left, nobody's new here.

I will conduct myself as I always have by following the rules and showing common sense and consideration, but once the last pick up is made on the last day car circle can kiss my butt!

It Really Tied the Room Together, Man

We got a rug for the family room today. It doesn't sound like a big deal, but it is. In general, I find rugs to be like wedding dresses for the most part ugly and over priced. I also have a complicated relationship with them. I love the feel of them, but I always find a way to trip over them. Don't worry we're going to get those little grippers for under the rug.

Beyond all the practical reasons I also have big emotion about going out as a family to pick out things that contribute to the over all aesthetic of the house. It is so different than invading a bachelor pad and eeking out tiny places for your own. It also feels insanely good to call a room "finished."

The kids watching tv from the new rug.

We also got a little rug for Riley's room. You would have thought we got her a pony! She squealed with glee picked up a baby doll and yelled "rug! sit!" before she plopped down laughing. Later in the day she climbed into an empty laundry basket in the family room and pointed to the rug and said "water." Apparently she was sailing her boat across the rug sea.

She's a Whiz

Grandma gave Riley a very apt "Mommy's Little Alarm Clock" onesie recently. This morning she was up early, even for her. Some hazy sleep drenched hour before 7am, Riley was up. She was standing in the doorway she had already removed her own diaper. She was saying "Mama, pee pee!" and pointing between her legs.

I'm not exactly quick on my feet wide awake so I shook Mike awake and yell-mumbled "potty! the baby! help her.." He clamored up, grabbed Miss Roo and fumbled with her potty seat before depositing her on the toilet. It was a bit of an anticlimax from there. She babbled happily and made peeing sound effects, but did not pee.

After she asked to get down she scampered over to my side of the bed and said "up." We cuddled dozing for a bit and then she said, "Pee pee!" I shook Mike again, lowered Riley off the bed and told her to go back to the potty. Mike met her there and lifted her up just in time for her to (drum roll please) pee in the potty.

It was at that point that I pulled myself out of bed and went looking for the "Potty Book". Boo's mom gave it to Riley and it has reward stickers in it that say things like "potty super star". I was too tired to locate it in the still dim house so I grabbed the gold foil stars I keep on the fridge for Isaac's sticker chart and "raced" back to the bathroom. I rewarded Riley with a gold star sticker on her hand. She beamed with pride and then after a second exclaimed "all done!"

I cuddled with her in her bed after that and told her she was a good girl. We fell back asleep briefly and then it was up and at'em for me and the kids. The potty triumph seemed worth my missed sleep though. She didn't use the potty again all day. She was incredibly verbal about needing diaper changes, got things started for us once or twice and even tried to put the new diaper by herself.

Potty training is not a progression. It's a long strange (often gross) journey. As a matter of fact I had just exclaimed the day before I thought we had "stalled out on the potty training front." Have I mentioned that I've been wrong before? Here's hoping the downhill part of this crazy adventure is close at hand.

When to Say When

I have decided no more biopsies. All they have wrought is false hope and more biopsies. It's been years. I have run the gambit of procedures and I have had enough biopsies. Nothing seems to change I sit tittering on the edge of disaster for years. They can monitor the situation through other less invasive ways.

Not to be morbid but if it does turn into full blown cancer at this point that's not up to me. Mysterious ways. I've been a compliant patient for 6yrs. I'm not ignoring medical advice otherwise. I just don't see any benefit to continuing them.

It's like an alien abduction movie. Going in there with bright lights, strange smells and the cold metal. Having pieces of you torn out. The pain and the fear. After all of that you wait. The news is always the same and it leads to more biopsies and more waiting.

No, thank you. I'm good. What ever will be, will be.

Ghosts

I've never been one for regrets. I'm generally incredibly direct with people and very decisive. That being said I think every one at some point in their lives has a ghost. Not necessarily a person they've left behind, but maybe a decision they made that they replay for themselves. Wondering “what if” once or twice is normal, but being plagued by graphic memories of where you may have gone wrong, that's a haunting.

Despite my best efforts I have a ghost. In fairness I signed up for this one. I made huge, life changing, permanent decisions knowing I would, no matter how happy I was, carry them with me forever. Sorry, for the melodrama, but think of this post as an homage to my old cryptic, emotional blogs before motherhood.

I am sad and haunted, but not sorry. I did what had to be done. What I am haunted by are the powerful emotions that went with that choice and the things I will never have the opportunity to say. In the scheme of things my motivations are irrelevant, but I wish that I had been more clear. If I could do it all again I would have made myself heard one last time.

So after all this time of carrying around these feelings and memories I feel so swollen with them I could burst. Some vulnerability I hadn't counted on let the ghost right in. It's made itself comfortable and I can't escape it. It is everywhere pressing on old wounds so that the pain feels entirely fresh.

I would exercise this ghost somehow, but if I'm being honest a part of me enjoys its company. A wash in not all together painful memories I'm comforted that I still remember after all this time. I also shudder at the notion that they will be this strong forever.

My phantom brings images to my mind, pictures to hand, songs to my ears and feelings to heart that make me weak remembering. I comfort myself by convincing myself that I am only now ready to have closure with all that was and my ghost is bidding farewell in grand style.

Whatever the reason the apparition has come I'm making room for it now. In my rational brain I keep demanding the lesson I am supposed to being learning or the action I'm supposed to take to end this. Sometimes we can't simply admit our unfinished business to ourselves.

One Leg at a Time

You've all heard the expression, but in my case it is not to be taken literally. As a matter of fact there have been long stretches recently when putting on pants was quite impossible.

Starting in toddlerhood I have always been more of a jeans and t-shirt girl than a dress girl. They just always seemed more practical and comfortable. They were never, however, easier to get on. I have always had terrible balance, thank you Cerebral Palsy, I've never put on my jeans by hopping from foot to foot like they do in the movies. In fact I have never put on a pair of pants from a standing position without assistance in my life.

I always start sitting thanks to my superb balance, then there is the "ankle issue". Even before the ankle fusion surgeries I had in elementary school I had pretty limited range of motion. Think about it for a minute, put on your jeans without flexing your ankle. Pretty tricky, isn't it. I used to put my foot in and then grab the leg of the jeans and pull on alternating sides until I had worked my foot through the hole in the bottom. Viola!

Fast forward to last May when I had major back surgery. Not only did this event severely alter my relationship with gravity, but it also rendered me motionless for weeks on end. So, all the tight spots got tighter, hello hips. Here I was with no option to bend my now perfectly straight spine, only mildly flexible ankles and ever tightening hips.

At first I simply had to rely on others, ugh. It's not like I was going a lot of places back then so stylishness wasn't a priority. After a few months went by I figured out that I could get my left foot into the pants and use the same pulling method to get it all the way through. After that I'd use a grabber to pull the other side wide and hold it so I could get my right leg in.

There have been a couple of sticky pants/shoes moments in doctor's offices because I can't exactly fit a grabber in my pocket. These days as I near the halfway point to a "full recovery" from my spinal fusion it's slightly easier and I've adapted a bit more. I simply drop my jeans on the floor in front of me. I kick them gently with my right foot until I've got a start. Then I lean sideways bracing myself on whatever wall/sink/dresser I'm sitting next to and grab the waist. Once I've pulled them up halfway I raise my left leg, with the slightly more flexible hip, and put it in. at which point I can usually pull myself to standing and button them up.

I suppose it's backwards from most people's jeans experience. I'm pretty sure for most people getting their legs in is the easier part and pulling them up and fastening them is where it gets tricky. So, now you know why getting dressed is such an undertaking. On a good day it takes a few tries when I'm really tired it can be upwards of 10mins. There you have it, that's why putting on pants leaves me panting (for now).

Not Far From the Tree

Apparently, blogger ate the orginal incarnation of this post. Gone. So, here I sit wondering if it's worth it to rewrite my cute little post with pictures of tiny me and Riley.

Recently I came across a treasure trove of childhood photos and I was struck by how much they made me think of Riley. I don't just mean looks, it's attuitudes, expressions and so on. See for yourself.

Cute little pig-tailed me with braces that velcro around the waist. "Who me? I would never steal a soda."

Cute little pig-tailed Riley. "Who me? I would never steal your ball."

Who's cuter me or the puppy?

Riley's an animal lover too, even the concrete ones.

I am too cool for this picture and my yellow sunglasses.

Riley is also too cool.

Investigating a football.

investigating her brother's scooter. Note her Godzilla onesie and ballet slipper socks, so me.

Pensive little me.

Pensive little mini me.

Shame and the Impossible Job of Motherhood

I was reading a friend's blog recently in which she was admonishing herself for her unhealthy eating habits since her daughter's birth. I thought about it for awhile and then I got mad. Here was this beautiful, intelligent woman with more obstacles to getting through a normal day than the average mom can imagine, upset because she wasn't also eating healthy. The idea of it struck a nerve for me. We don't cut ourselves any slack. I'm a good person and a great mom, but I never feel "together".

I used to compare myself to Kate Gosselin all the time. I really and truly admire her organizational skills. I'd think, "Kate would have had time to write a beautiful thank you note", or "Kate would have packed a healthier lunch", or "Kate would have remembered the sippy cup", or "Kate would have made dinner and cleaned the kitchen". Well, at least in recent times Kate has a staff. I do not. Kate is an able bodied woman. I am not. Kate is willing to put the kitchen getting cleaned above all relationships (at least that's the way it seemed). I am not. Then again she has eight children. I do not. I remember an episode of the show from the early days where she remarks on still being in the clothes she slept in at dinner time. That was something I could relate to, but the polished career woman who's kids' lunch boxes always contain a balanced meal that she became is something else(at least at this stage in the game).

Even when I'm not comparing myself to someone who does have it "together", I feel ashamed. I want to get all the housework done, have the kids flawlessly dressed, have myself presentable and get all the extras done on top of day to day mom stuff. I want to be super mom. I'm at a disadvantage, but in my mind there are NO excuses. It's do or die. Why, though? Where was this idea planted in me?

What have I ever done, but my absolute best? Why should I be ashamed? Is this standard my generation seems to strive for an attainable one? When did the mass brain washing that made us all feel "not quite good enough" happen. Was it a campaign to get us to buy parenting books, kitchen equipment or plastic surgery?

Whatever planted the idea it has firm roots. I am already an overachiever by nature so this compulsion is pushing me to extremely unhealthy levels of activity and anxiety. I wonder what would happen if I really got it "together" and "did it all". Would that make the feeling more or less intense? Somehow, it's easy to conceive that better mothers than I have "died trying".

Mother's Day Strangeness

It should surprise no one that Isaac's Mother's Day card this year was a little odd after what happened last year. I don't have any real context to offer there wasn't any.

He presented me with a large pice of pink construction paper folded in half with two worksheets stapled inside. The one on the left had questions he was supposed to answer like My mom is great because ___________. Hard to go wrong with one of those because they've done all the heavy lifting for you. Here's what it said:

I can see where he was going with "Mom is special because she is disabled" in light of "special people", "special ed", and the special olympics. I even understand the mild laziness of "I Like it when my mom helps me with something" way to be vauge kiddo. What got me was his final answer: "My mom is smart! She even knows how to drive disabeled!" He even ended it with an exclaimation point. He wrote a whole story about how smart his dad is at the beginning of the year and the only example he could think of for me was that I drive?!? It made me wonder if someone said something to him implying that it was remarkable in some way that I can drive a car. What a load of bologna.

I know I'm supposed to love everything the kids give me, but come on. I asked him to tell me another reason I was smart since being physically capable of driving didn't really count and he couldn't think of one. Ouch. When I rattled off a of things I do for him that require inteligence later in the day Isaac laughed and said "Oh, yeah."

The weirdness kicked up a notch on the right side of my card. It said mother down the side and he was supposed to write something for each letter and then a little paragraph about why mom's great. Here's what he came up with.

Rising, crashing, breaking, Oh My! Maybe he thought he was supposed to be doing nature haiku. I really have no idea.

Bonus points for drawing a hedgehog on the back.

It's the thought that counts I just wish I knew what he was thinking. The brain of an 8yr old is an interesting place.

Mother's Day Cards

Happy Mother's Day

My workspace in the new house was functional enough for me to get crafty so I made some cards. Let me start by saying cards aren't my thing. I have only ever made them by hand under supervision by people who know what they're doing (unless you count Riley's birthday invitations).

As with all crafts, I felt I had created a masterpiece when the first one was done only to discover that each subsequent one was better than the last until I was embarrassed at having given the first one away. I just moved so I didn't use the best materials I grabbed the closest thing to what I was looking for that came to hand and ran with it.

Here's the front of the first one I made. Nothing complicated there, just red card stock cut to size and folded. Some pretty stickers and my handwriting with a fine tip Sharpie.

Here's the inside of the same card. Tip #1 NEVER (I learned this the hard way) stamp directly on to your card stock. Test out the stamp's positioning, ink color, etc (especially when writing a long word) on scrap paper first.

I have a beautiful set of "elegant letter" stamps from Stampin' Up. I used those with this ink pad with six colors from the dollar bin at the craft store. All the colors are like pie pieces and the pad itself is a circle. I centered the stamp in a color and then put the next letter in between that color and the next one and so on. I stamped it on white paper and used a pair of edging scissors around it. I like the effect even if it's a little more birthday party than Mother's Day.

The stamped text was the bulk of the work on that one, but I also wanted a heart before our names. If you remember from my scrapbooking party post I learned a neat inking technique to make paper look distressed. This time I just cut a smaller heart. The tricky part came when I wanted to make the heart raised and my little sticky foam pads I bought for just that purpose where nowhere to be found. I ended up cutting up sparkly red adhesive backed foam letters into chunks. I stuck all the letter chucks together and than fabric glued the bottom piece to the card stock. Tip#2: I do NOT recommend re-purposing sparkly anything for this task as those damn letter chucks ended up shedding glitter everywhere.

After the heart was in place I hand wrote our names with the same fine tipped Sharpie and added a butterfly sticker to finish the card.

Here's the front of the second card I made. For this one I choose a printed piece of scrapbooking paper. I then lined the inside with green textured card stock for integrity as well as looks. I also framed the front with light pink ribbon. I like to pull the ribbon over a glue stick first, place it where I want it and then secure it with a few dabs of fabric glue. It gives me a little bit of freedom to change my mind and prevents it from going anywhere. I also used a thicker version of the same color ribbon to tie a bow. I dabbed fabric glue into the knot to keep it tied. I debated for a long time about gluing the ends of the ribbon down because porous ribbon often soaks up even clear adhesives leaving ugly spots. I gambled on fabric glue for the job which turned out fine, but hot glue may have been better. I hand wrote her name with a fine tip Sharpie as well.

Here's the inside of the card.
This is a close up on the embellishment on the top. Again I stamped them onto white paper and cut it out with tiny sewing scissors. I used a leaf stamp in dark green ink (both from Joanne's Fabric) and a flower stamp that I've had since high school (I think it's Lisa Frank. Is that stuff still around?). I colored in the flower by hand with (you guessed it) fine tip Sharpies. I thought it really popped on the green card stock.

For the message I used a "Happy Birthday" stamp from Stampin' Up (pink ink on white paper). I altered it by using tiny alphabet stamps I got from Joanne's Fabric (blue ink on white paper) cut out with the same edging scissors. I glued pink ribbon in the seem with fabric glue and than refolded the card. I used the same trick with the foam letters to make it stand out from the card stock. This time I left the heart flush and un-distressed. Tip#3: Crooked hearts are so much cuter than perfect ones.

Here's the front of my third card. See what I mean about getting better as I went? Same "elegant letters" stamps and alternating ink technique as the first card, but I stayed in blue and green this time. I used the same paper outside and card stock inside as the second card.

This is by far my favorite inside layout of the day. The branch the bird is perched on is from the same stickers as the front of the first card and the bird sticker is from "Love Birds" scrapbooking set from Stampin' Up. I glued the card stock inside slightly off center to the right and ran pink ribbon down the edge. This time I ran the ribbon over the tops and bottom of the paper just slightly and it seemed to hold better.

This time instead of a hand cut heart I used a foam heart I had left over from Valentines Day (see what I mean about the perfect ones? They're just not as endearing.) and hand wrote a message with Sharpie. I cut an abstract shape from white paper with edging scissors and then colored in lightly with pink crayon. I especially like the darker coloration that makes around the edges and than you have a flower petal to sign your names on.

Here's the last card I made. I used my flower "for you" stamp in blue and red ink and the same leaf stamp from the second card with some stickers on the front.

Here's the inside of the last card. I think they all turned out great, but every consecutive card got better.

Boundaries and You...

When Riley was 6mo old I wrote a post about boundaries and my then still small baby. Notably one horrific incident when someone crossed the line. Recently my friend Kati wrote about the same disturbingly-insistent-on-helping-not-taking-no-for-an answer behavior in one of her posts. I went back and read my old post and fumed at "the nerve of some people" a little while later, when another disabled mom friend of mine (it's not like a club or anything I know four of them tops from my 29yrs on the planet) posted this. This left me really pondering the root of this kind of behavior because while Kati and I have little ones 2yrs or under, Misty has a 4yr old. I always believed people acted this way around my newborn and myself because she was so tiny and helpless. If I was right, it would stop some day. After reading Misty's post I had my doubts.

Doubts and questions to be exact. So much for getting credit for raising my child through infancy. First of all on a completely unrelated note why do all the disabled moms I know (yes all 4) have girls? Second of all why do people make such brazen assumptions? Is it because we are physically disabled women? I don't know any disabled daddies to research that quandry, so it's kind of a moot point. Maybe it's because we're all young? All this seems too general and over simplified.

Moreover, on what planet do you politely offer your help, get refused and then insist? Especially in my example where it involved a strange man removing Riley from the carrier on my chest and walking several feet away with her?!? Even in a case where your help is accepted why would you (Sorry, Misty's story makes me a little ill) stalk someone and undermine their parenting authority? What could you possibly be thinking? When would you ever barge into the parent/chlid relationship of a stranger (other than a case of child abuse)?

Kati makes an important point, about this behavior whatever your intentions are when you insist or clearly overstep social boundaries you are making us feel judged. I take care of my child everyday and you are insinuating that I am incompetent. I am a mother first, if at anytime I feel incapable of safely taking my child somewhere, I don't go. Most of the time I either have a system in place or I'm feeling it out and it's important for me to get my bearings.

Think of it this way (an exxageration so everyone can relate to the embarrasment), you're out somewhere and you see an attractive person of the opposite gender. You get an opportunity to hold the door and you are you greeted with a warm smile. Feeling encouraged, you follow them inside. They do not acknowledge/encourage you in anyway at this point so you follow them around "just in case." When they leave you follow them to their car and try to hold that door too. They say "no thanks" and turn their back to you. You're not deterred and insist on opening the car door AND buckling them in. Hmmm...wonder why they're not smiling?

If you wouldn't do it to another parent, why would you do it to me? I love it when someone holds the door for me when my hands are full. I appreciate a friendly offer, but no means no folks. Just like hitting on strangers in bars, there are boundaries.

The Stuff of Legend

Why are stepmothers in fairytales always ugly or cruel? They never save anyone or have fairy godmothers on their side. They are rarely beautiful and their intelligence is always used to manipulate and control. Why?

Maybe in the society these stories were penned in a woman old enough or worldly enough to marry a widower was thought of as impure. Maybe they were rewarding virginal young girls with royal marriages and punishing the biddies who were willing to be with a man who was married before to send a moral message. That's not quite right though.

Are they saying that any woman who would marry a man who has children already must be after something. Were they warning against gold diggers and society climbers. Maybe they're commenting on the practical rather emotional reasons a man with children would rush to remarry after his wife passes. Loveless marriages can take all kinds of turns. Perhaps single fathers were simply uncomfortable disciplining their daughters. They could berate or slap an unruly boy, but not their sweet little girl. Many fathers in modern times have trouble with this. If this is the case it's conceivable that stepmothers are just getting a bad rap for doing daddy's dirty work.

A more disturbing theory would be that the men who wrote these tales simply couldn't conceive of loving a child that wasn't biologically yours. We've all heard the clique "I won't raise another man's child". This simply isn't how most women are wired. A child in need of love and care becomes ours in a different but no less powerful way than one we bear ourselves.

It seems to me that all the stepmothers I remember from these stories marry widowers none of these men have been estranged in any way from living spouses. Maybe because they couldn't conceive of a woman abandoning her children, it's a difficult notion even in modern times. There is no story in the dusty volumes of fairy tales for me.

I am the nonexistent beautiful stepmother who saved the child abdomen by his mother. I gave him love and care not bread crumbs and chores. I never denied him happiness. In time I gave him a sibling who is his equal not the crowned princess to his foot servant. I brought sunshine back into the house and completed a family. I never stole, lied, cheated or plotted anyone's murder. I never placed anyone under an evil spell. I simply choose to love a man who had a child with someone who left them behind. It was not a simple choice and is always a difficult job, but I didn't take it on to snatch a kingdom. Where is the true in all the fiction?

I've Said It Before...

And I'll say it again. It NEVER fails. Every time Isaac brings home cooties from school he kicks it in a day or two. Then Mike gets it and carries on like he's dying for a day or two and then Riley gets it. I am somehow, maybe just through sheer determination, always the last standing. After the entire family is better it hits me like a ton of bricks. Every single time.

The problem being Isaac and Mike return to work and school and I am left to tend to the completely recovered ball of energy that is a 20mon old who got extra sleep the day before. For extra fun she's teething. I felt at least 3 razor sharp teeth coming through. Now Riley can explicitly tell me this is the case, she points to her check and says "sharp".

On top my illness and her teeth Mike needed to be on an all day conference call with work. His "office" is still full of boxes of his stuff and not a suitable workspace yet. He's been working in the family room or the back patio. Today it was raining so he had no escape from the wailing toddler. He simply muted the phone long enough to deposit her in bed with her sick mother and shut the bedroom door.

Ugh, where do I start? I needed me to come take of me like everyone else got. I needed the sleep everyone else got. I felt I had at least earned the right to watch what I wanted while I was sick. Luckily for me Miss Roo was pretty interested in Quantum Leap. Mostly though she fussed like she's rarely fussed before and tore up my bedroom. She pulled clean laundry out of baskets, "unpacked" boxes that were stacked against the wall and pushed whatever she found around my room in her doll stroller. I wish I was still breastfeeding because I wouldn't have had to get up to get Riley drinks and snacks, I could have passed her the immunities to whatever I had and it would have calmed down the teething fussiness.

No rest for the mommies. Calming teething babies, barking orders for homework completion or teeth brushing and praying this strengths their immune system from their sick bed.

All The Answers

The Bylaws of the Toddler Union (strictly enforced).

1) NEVER under any circumstances continue doing what you were doing when Mommy/Daddy/Grandma ran for the camera once the camera is out. (see fees and citations section for related penalties)
a)If adults are trying to take pictures of you and another toddler at no time should you both/all look in the direction of the camera. If you have no choice, but to look at the camera it is permissible so long as at no time both/all toddlers are smiling. At least one toddler in tears is preferred, but if a costumed character is involved it is required.
2)If a room is being vacuumed (or otherwise cleaned) it is your sworn duty to return the room to it's original state of messiness as quick as possible by any means necessary (ideally before the room's cleaning has been completed).
a)If you visit a home that is not baby proofed it is your solemn duty to immediately find the most dangerous thing in the house right away.
3)If you achieve a milestone at home under no circumstances should you repeat the word/action in front of other adults for at least a calendar month.
4)If adults seem very busy preparing for an event/company/date night make sure to slow them down as much as possible and make them rethink their decision. Never forgot our motto "Let an adult's task never go uninterrupted."
5)If at anytime you find you have behaved/eaten/slept well for a period of three moths or longer you must change your patterns for a period of no less the seventy two hours.

Did I miss any? Leave any toddler union rules I've forgotten in the comments.

Ms Helpy Helperton

My little one takes care of everyone. After she discovered my injured toe she was very distressed. She gave it a pat and a kiss and made sure everyone was very careful around Mommy. She loves to rock and feed her babies. To be clear, everything is a baby to Riley. She is equally happy to push a baby doll or stuffed animal in her stroller as she is to push bunny shaped sidewalk chalk or a picture of a baby. It's in her blood to be a nurturer. I used to carry band aids and Tylenol at all times even when I was single. I often baked cookies for my coworkers and my first car was a station wagon.

Today I pulled a t-shirt and shorts out of pile of hand-me-downs my friend's daughter gave me. I didn't even look at it until I sat down in the living room and Riley pointed to me. It turned out it was a black shirt with Joker from Batman drawn on it. I started to wonder if maybe it was scary. Miss Roo toddled over to me. She made her fakest fake cry, as it turned out on behalf of the scary clown on Mommy's shirt. She then proceeded to "share" her chicken nuggets. After she had made the appropriate eating sounds she noticed crumbs from Joker's "snack". When Riley sees a mess she doesn't just say the word in her sweet little high pitched voice she says it in a low gravely voice that reminds me of the “ Whaaaaaat's Up!” guys. So having exclaimed, "mess!" she immediately started brushing off my shirt. So helpful.

She's also very concerned about where things go. The other day she brought me a sample paint container and paint brush. I smiled and politely requested she put them back. Hours later I wondered into my room excepting to find the items in the middle of the floor. To my surprise she had put them back in exactly the same spot they came from. Amazing. Not a lot of toddlers are actually helpful very often, despite their best efforts.

Aside from being nurturing, tidy and very sweet Riley is also mechanically inclined. She helped Daddy put together the new lawnmower. She brought him his screwdriver, which she can correctly identify thanks to Handy Manny. She brought him instructions, wheels, the bottle of oil it was adorable. They were like a surgeon and scrub nurse. She was very taken with the oil bottle she brought the empty bottle (with the lid screwed tightly on) over to the flower bed and "oiled" the flowers. She is only one after all, but her heart was in the right place

Catch a Katie...

By the toe.

Awakened by screaming baby + midnight + crappy balance + Mike's mess in the middle of the bedroom floor + Boom=
All the photos were taken a little less than 24hrs after the injury.

Under Pressure

I have felt enormous pressure since the moving process started. Get packed, unpacked, painted, put away and cleaned in time for the Easter party. Phew. Get packed, unpacked, cleaned out so you can turn in the old house key. Get the kids organized, closets organized, etc moving stuff. All this while keeping the kids on their respective schedules. I've felt enormous pressure not to rock the boat.

Aside from the pressure within myself which is always the worst and within my household there is external pressure. Pressure to meet deadlines for old landlords and new landlords. Pressure to stretch a budget that is taxed with moving expenses. Pressure to still make it to family functions smiling after hellishly long days sweeping behind large appliances and literally cleaning the fridge from the inside. Pressure to keep everyone motivated and on track. Pressure to keep up my social life when all I want to do is crawl into bed for a week.

Pressure not to show my stress or pain. This is a big one right now because the move and potty training are happening concurrently. When your toddler has an accident you have to smile sweetly and explain where their bodily fluids are supposed to go. If you spook them it's game over. I'm pretty good at this usually, but today Riley sat happily on the potty watching cartoons and then took a huge poop on the floor next to the potty. It was big and smelly. I breathed through my mouth detained the pooper and called for back up. While Mike handled the floor I went to rinse off Riley's shoes. They looked like tiny cakes frosted with fecal matter. It was not the first time in the process that she stepped in her own poop. I kept looking at the floor so that Miss Roo wouldn't see my disgusted face. I gagged with my back turned while saying things like "almost big girl, in the potty next time."

Now I feel pressure to explain myself. I feel, maybe wrongly, judged for potty training my not quite 20mo old right now. I feel pressure to end the horrible rashes and infections once and for all, but for the most part I'm just following Riley's lead on this. Later in the day she went to the bathroom door and knocked. When I opened it she lifted the lid on the toilet and put her Sesame Street seat on it. She said "up." and I obliged. Sure enough this poopy made it in the big potty. She throughly enjoyed wiping and flushing while sweetly calling "bye-bye". She even got a potty super star sticker for that one.

Let us not forget the pressure of finding things. Finding the right pan, a certain shirt or a pair of scissors leads to major meltdowns right now. It gets a little better everyday. It occured to me, watching Mike build the swing set, that tools and kitchen utensils are similar. There's is a perfect tool for every job in the kitchen a wonderous utensil or machine, but I don't own most of them. I cook with what I have which is less than perfect, but gets the job done. Mike doesn't always have the exact right tool (although his dad is striving to fix that one Christmas at a time -air compressor, nail gun, etc), but he gets the job done.

Things are letting up...kind of...slowly...God willing...I hope.