They Are So Cute When They Are Sleeping...

Going Mainstream : Transitioning to Mainstream Classrooms From Special Needs

2011-05-05T07:08:00.000-07:00

The girls IEPs (Individual Educational Plans) for the next school year are tomorrow morning. My stomach is already in knots. IEP meetings can be an amazing time to hash out what works for your kid and how you can get them the help they need. Or they can be battleground with shouting and crying.

For once, I am going into an IEP totally prepared and knowledgeable about what is going to happen. And (mostly) okay with it. But still the hollow feeling in my stomach is there. Too many IEPs and decisions weigh on my mind. And then there's my nervousness at taking this step.

The plan is to transition both the of the girls to mainstream classrooms. Calamity Jane will take a community spot at one of the local college's preschools. She will go all day (from 8:30 to 3:30) which will be good for her and for our family dynamic. She needs somewhere to channel her energy and intensity and the regularity of the schedule should help regulate her moods. This has been the plan for a while and I feel very confident about it.

But I am not so sure about Desmonda Drama. She's supposed to transition into Title 1 but we're not guaranteed a place in it. We do have a co-op spot for her three mornings a week but without that one on one attention every day I am worried she will sink instead of swim. I know she needs the social push but she also needs the therapy.

At the heart of it is the fear of seeing my girls leave the protected nest of the special needs world. There they are superstars, social butterflies, and the successes of their teachers. I love that they have their moments in the spotlight, on the A list, of being large and in charge.

My challenge for next year is how to preserve that feeling for them. How do I find the places that they can shine if it doesn't happen for them in the classroom?

And Then I Cried

2011-04-18T07:53:00.001-07:00

This is why I kept this space. For a post like this.

This morning I tweeted out "Do you think my girls took a class in driving me insane or it just comes naturally?" A fairly light hearted tweet that many a parent laughed at and agreed with. Then a tweet from someone who has followed/unfollowed me repeatedly tweeted "THIS is what drives me insane"

I knew what she meant but I tried to play it off with a joke and got back an indictment about the way I talk about my kids. This shouldn't shock me, I've heard it before. And I expect it. After all even I joke about how I blog about how I hate my kids.

But today, today I stepped away from the computer and sobbed.

It's been a tough few weeks. Calamity Jane is regressing for some reason and her behavior has become incredibly amped up. AT the same time, her sister is finally acting out in response to the intensity of her sister and all the attention we give her because of it. The days are filled with constant fighting, tears, and lashing out. I struggle with how to handle it, what to do, and this time I can't find the answer. And my reaction is just that I want to run away.

There have been so many recriminations of myself lately. In spite of the assurances of everyone who knows me and my kids that my feelings are natural, that they feel the same way and it's understandable. In spite of all of this, I hate myself. I hate myself for not being able to fix this. And I hate my kids for being like this. And I hate my husband for not knowing how to fix it. And I hate everyone (the schools, other parents, other kids) for only seeing the bad in them. And I hate myself for seeing it too.

All the words in the world can't stack up again my self doubt. So I sit and listen to my girls work with their behavioral therapist in the other room. And I cry. I cry and hope that it will keep me from doing it in front of them.

Back Again!

2011-02-21T14:45:00.000-08:00

Well after month of pondering on what to do with this blog I have decided to keep it. I found myself struggling to post because sometimes I just wanted to write about whatever random stuff popped into my head and that didn't fit into the "theme" of this blog. I thought about doing some niche blogs as companions to this one but finally settled on starting a whole separate personal blog and keeping this focused on parenting, specifically on special needs parenting.

As a reintroduction: I am Kate, mom to four year old fraternal twin girls Calamity Jane and Desmonda Drama. I spend most of my time catering to their fanatical demands but over the past year I have been spending more and more of my time dipping into a professional life as a writer and consultant. I have become very involved in the local social media scene and am really enjoying it. As the girls get older and spend more time in school I hope to do this more.

I tend to swear, be sarcastic, and reference drinking so if that's not your bag, cool. No hard feelings. You can also find me on Twitter and my newly minted but pretty empty personal blog The Guavalicious Life.

Tag Out

2010-09-18T14:26:00.000-07:00

As I sit at the table trying to get through my email and stay awake from the 5:30am wakeup call all I can think is "tag out, I need to tag out!"

Why Kids Rock

2010-09-16T14:17:00.000-07:00

Lately things have been a little rough around here. The adjustment back to school has not gone as well as I had hoped. And well, it brought me pretty down. That's why I have played this video I saw on Modern Super Momma's blog today about ten times. And then played it for the girls when they woke up.

I just love the little girl's total abandonment dancing. And then the add in of all the dancers' doing her routine. Shouldn't we all dance a little more? And don't kids get it right? It's not about the arguments and not getting the snack you want, it's about the snuggling on the couch and car sing-a-longs. My kids have over the top crazy tantrums but once they are done, they're done. They don't stew and obsess over them (like I do.)

So resolution, less stewing. More dancing.

Feeling Lucky

2010-09-15T18:17:00.000-07:00

This afternoon I was struck by an incredible sense of how lucky I am. When your kids have differences it's easy to get caught up in what you're kids aren't not what they are. Hell, it is easy to do that in regular life. The husband and I have been hit by a lot of obstacles since our marriage. But it feels so much better to look at all we do have.

Son in contrast to my post about not feeling lucky, today even with a killer headache, non napping children, and gloomy weather: I feel lucky.

I feel lucky that I have two parents who love me. Who never physically abused me and have always tried, even if they went around it in the wrong way, to make me happy. I feel lucky to have a sister who I wish I was closer to but has always been there for me in the lowest moments. Who has sat on the phone with me while I laid on the kitchen floor and cried, not even into the phone.

I feel lucky that my kids are with me and that for the most part they are physically healthy. That I don't have to sit by their beds and watch them slip away from me.

I feel lucky that I had twins because even though it's about five times harder than one, heaven is watching them play together.

I feel lucky to have a husband who loves me through thick and thin and has stuck by me in the hardest of times. Who I actually miss more than the girls when I am away. Who I share so many of the same tastes with.

I feel lucky to have friends across the country who I can call up and talk to whenever I need them, even if we haven't spoken in months.

I feel lucky that blogging and twittering were invented and I can connect to hundreds of amazing people everyday.

Lucky.

SITS Back2Blogging Repost : Hi, You Don't Know Me but I Have Beer

2010-09-15T11:33:00.000-07:00

To get myself back on the blogging bandwagon I am participating in the SITS Girls' Back 2 Blogging Challenge. Today's prompt was to repost a post with a title you were especially proud of. I originally posted this when I first started my blog over a year ago. I love the title even if I never ended up saying it to anyone.

Yesterday I did a crazy thing. I put the girls in the stroller and set out to meet some new friends. And by that I mean that whenever I saw a house that looked like it contained young children I went up to the door and knocked on it. Yes, to my husband's horror, I thought this would be a good way to meet my neighbors. Well maybe not a good way but that is what staying home all day does to me.

It wasn't all that successful. I talked to one dad whose wife and three year old daughter were out, a young mom who had to unlatch her child to answer the door (i would hate me), and the most promising house had a no solicitors sign and they didn't answer my knock (hey I'm not selling anything except myself and I'm free, hardee har har). I was especially disappointed because they have a kickass backyard filled with toys. And they drive a Toyota Echo. Which to me translates to "not a queen bee mom who scrapbooks and makes judgments about the way your kids are dressed, after all I drive a gas efficient car and am obviously frugal and/or love the environment". Why yes I am speed dating moms based on their cars. I really am that pathetic. I left a note but the girls were screaming so it had a kind of serial killer shaky look to it. Awesome.

The whole idea had started as a joke when IMing with my friend MP. A friend who I made in the most awesome moms group in the world. The group that I had to leave behind when we moved here. I did not realize until I met them how important having mom friends was. I laughed and cried (well not really but I am sure they wouldn't have minded if I did) and had something to do everyday and actually liked their children. Much better than mine own sometimes, why is it that other people's children are always so much cuter? And the girls, well they didn't seem to hate it, and honestly I wouldn't have noticed if they did, I was having too much fun.

So knowing no one in a strange city is doubly hard these days. But we are not moving back so I will be trying my darndest to make new just as great friends here. And if that means knocking on random stranger's doors and enduring Kindermusik classes, then so be it. Eventually there will be that mom I click with it, the one who believes that parenting is not a competitive sport and that many playdates are improved by the addition of beer.

As for that beer, MP joked that I should stick some in the stroller and offer it up, then I would really know if I made a friend. But beer is expensive here and I want it all for myself.

SITS Back2Blogging Repost : Sunshine, Cheaper Than Prozac

2010-09-14T18:44:00.000-07:00

This week I am participating in the SITS girls' Back 2 Blogging challenge. Today's prompt was to post a former blog post you wish more people had read. I've always loved this post because it captures the "I had to laugh or I will cry" attitude I try to cultivate. Forntuately life with the girls is a lot easier these days. But we will not be re-enrolling in Kindermusik anytime soon.

The Mom malaise has been plaguing me today. For those of you lucky enough not to suffer from it, the Mom malaise is an insidious disease that besets you and makes you wonder... What is the point? Why should I go on? I personally believe that Mom malaise is responsible for at least half the mindless TV watching by kids in this country and almost all the eating of bad snacks. Unfortunately the CDC is too busy with swine flu to have developed a vaccine and there is no known medicine though I often turn to the home remedy of wine.

It infected me today in Kindermusik where Calamity Jane turned into a creature from the fifth dimension. First overcome by a shyness that knew no bounds, she clung to me like a monkey and I was forced to dance around the room with her clinging to my neck while I held the hand of Desmonda Drama (who in typical dramatic fashion had one arm shadowing her eye and face). We were a clumsy six legged beast. I do not think the Kindermusik moms were impressed. Little did they know that the worst was yet to come.

About halfway through the class, Calamity Jane seemed to warm up to the idea that I was paying an outrageous sum for her to be amused. So I turned her around on my knee and we proceeded to sing, which song I can't remember. Which it was a pity because it is obviously the trigger for Jane's subconscious baby terrorist. I would really hate for her to start throwing knives, fashioned from board books of course, at me as we dutifully listen to the CD in the car.

She didn't quite throw knives this morning but she did start screaming and hitting me, then kicked her sister in the head, then leaned over and bit me on the shoulder. I promptly picked them up like barrels (Desmonda was screaming indignantly; she does not like being kicked in the head) and set them outside the classroom. As the Kindermusik moms stared at me in horror, I retrieved my shoes and slinked out the door. They all kept singing throughout of course.

Mom malaise was in overdrive. I questioned why I had signed up for the class since my children were obviously not fit for the public sphere. I despaired of their chances of ever getting invited to a birthday party by any of the Kindermusik kids, not to mention my own chance to discuss organic egg souffles (being earnestly and enthusiastically covered as I walked into class). It was obvious to me that Calamity Jane was going to grow up to be an outcast who would never be accepted into society and would, of course, blame me. As for Desmonda, she would probably never remove the hand from over her face and would remain a recluse, teased mercilessly from the moment she walked into kindergarten. Worst of all, after paying for Kindermusik I would never be able to afford their therapy.

This was all sobbed on the phone to my sister. Which I am sure she appreciated since she is pregnant; wouldn't that make you look forward to motherhood? I managed to pull myself together to meet the husband for our Wednesday lunch, where I started crying again. He stitched me back together enough for me to get home and get the terror twins to bed for the blessed nap. But the malaise loves a quiet house and I couldn't stomach any of the usual cures: glass of wine (I do try to wait until four), phone call to a friend (I like to put on a brave front), or mindless TV (why oh why did I watch Rachel Zoe yesterday?!).

So I fretted my way through the afternoon working myself into a frenzy until the girls woke up (for once I didn't mind a short nap). I half read books to them and fed them snacks and meandered around the house before coming up with the idea of heading outside. I spread a quilt out and covered it with books, including a frothy novel for me. And we sat out there for an hour reading and eating pretend food and rolling around on the ground. Mom malaise vanquished, at least for today.

Sometimes it really is the simple things.

Back2Blogging Repost: A Bad Case of the Mondays

2010-09-13T13:51:00.000-07:00

To get myself back on the horse, I am participating in the Back2Blogging challenge from the SITS girls. This is the first post I ever made on a blog. And wow, it still holds true. Calamity Jane even woke up super early this morning. The only change is now I also look forward to Mondays because the girls are back in school!

"Looks like someone has got a bad case of the Mondays!" Oh how gag inducing is that saying? Can't you just see it on a poster with Garfield hanging in your guidance counselor's office? In spite of its cuteness, the disease seems to be sinister. Its progress is all over Facebook and Twitter. Yeah I get it, from you working drudges. I used to bemoan going back to work myself (though my schedule was so weird that I could come down with a case of the Mondays any day of the week, sometimes twice a week. Lucky me.) but I am always astonished when these updates are from other SAHM's. Am I really the only one who kind of looks forward to Mondays?

Even on this Monday where i am dead tired (4:30 "I lost my pacifier" wake up followed by an especially early wakeup two hours later) I feel relieved when my husband walks out the door. Those hours between seven thirty and five are "my time". Everything is just a bit easier and there is no judgment. No one to make fun of my singing and Elaine dancing when "Last Night" by the Strokes comes on. No one to chide me when I let the girls watch a third YGG episode. No one to see that I let the girls have a bowl of cookies just so I could get five minutes to check my email. I can keep myself on schedule or spread the toys out everywhere and keep everyone in pajamas until four. No ones knows. At least until the girls start talking in English rather than twinspeak.

Don't get me wrong, my husband is great with the kids. In fact even using that phrase seems wrong, like he is so great with them in the hour I run to the store. He truly is, in every sense, a coparent. But there is a certain tolerance that comes from being around them 24/7 that can't be duplicated. The crying and whining doesn't affect me the way it does him. I know just from J's ruffled brow that while the orange shoes may have be the favorite yesterday today it would mean torture by screaming if you even attempt to put them near her feet. There are a million little nuances the primary parent picks up and my husband is missing out on all of them. I can't imagine how frustrating it is.

So I put up with the spontaneous weekend car trips that extend just a bit too far into nap time, the occasional ignoring of the poopy diapers, and the "how long until bedtime" whines. As long as he puts up with my slovenly ways and that sometimes I walk into our room and shut the door the second he gets home. And as long as he leaves on time in the morning.

Buy It Now : Do Fun Stuff

2010-08-30T16:17:00.000-07:00

As the parent of special needs kids, the web has been a great resource for me. We're lucky enough that the girls' problems have been minor enough that we haven't had to track down specialists or medical advice (though we have gotten some amazing diet tips thanks to the blogsphere). But what has been super important to me is finding other parents who are open about their kids' special needs. Their advice and stories have been invaluable to me in accepting my own feelings about my kids' special traits.

One of the bloggers who have helped me in this journey is Ryan Marshall. Like a lot of others I found him through links to his beautiful maternity pictures of his wife Cole. And like so many others I was caught up in his story, in their family's story. When I first read about Little Buddy's disease, my heart caught in my throat. Since then Little Buddy's parents and step parents have been a huge inspiration to me.

So I am thrilled to be part of the blog movement for Do Fun Stuff. Ryan was inspired to help raise money for Smith-Magenis research. However unlike my own inspirations that peter out, Ryan shot for the moon and put together an awesome album full of kids music by rocking bands. And 100% of the proceeds go towards research. It's win-win, you and your kids get awesome music and a worthy cause gets much needed money.

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If you would like to blog about this, and why wouldn't you, you can grab the widget here.

I Don't Feel Lucky

2010-08-22T06:46:00.000-07:00

Here is one of those posts that I cry as I write because I really do feel like the worst mother in the world. I feel like I should bookend every line with "of course I love them immensely". But this blog is not about the reassurances, it's about being honest (to a fault sometimes).

Here is the thing, when it comes to my kids having special needs: I don't feel lucky. I haven't had that great life lesson. I don't wish they were exactly the same. I accept them and love them the way they are. But oh how I wish I could take this burden from them.

And yes, I realize it could be much worse. And that they have gotten much better. Those facts though are of little comfort when they are both screaming in the car for an hour straight; when they are throwing fits in public and everyone is staring; when my daughter struggles to play with toys.

I've written before how we are just outside of normal. And I think that is what makes watching the girls grow up all the more bittersweet for me. I see how close they are to not having to struggle and see how close I am to not having had this stress of keeping all the balls in the air. Maybe it's a convenient excuse, but I can't help but wonder how different of a mom I would be if we didn't have these challenges.

Our burden, compared to so many, is small. And I can see the light at the end of the tunnel of these things being gone from our lives. But still, I don't feel lucky. I don't feel lucky at all.

The Pitfalls of Magic Saliva

2010-08-17T06:13:00.000-07:00

When I was pregnant I assumed that in the delivery room a sense of motherliness would come over me. That as they pulled the girls out, a cloud of knowledge would descend and all of the sudden I would be able to open jar with a single twist and know what to tell my kids when they inevitably ask me if I have ever done drugs.

Perhaps because I chickened out and had the girls via c-section (8 hours of pitocin, no dilation at 39 weeks), but that cloud never descended. But what I have found is that they do not know any better and I can make stuff up! I haven't yet used this power for evil or fun like Calvin's dad but I must admit that I pull it out to make the day run a little smoother.

Enter the magic saliva. You know how it goes, a kid falls down and runs to her mom to kiss it and make it all better. What's not to love? And how can I not abuse it slightly? After all it's easier to quickly kiss a skinned knee than to stop and find a bandage. And they take my assurances that it doesn't hurt any more like gospel.

The problem is that now they want kisses all the time: I bumped my elbow, kiss it! My head hurts, kiss it! Ow, my leg, kiss it! Like a Beatle, I fear being torn to bits by their need. And medicine, well unless it bubble gum flavored, they don't understand why they can't just have kisses.

Now I know, this power to make shit up must be used judiciously. Like telling them that soda, like beer and wine, is for mommies and daddies only.

Dropping Out of the Competition

2010-08-16T06:40:00.001-07:00

Last night when I was at the World's Most Earnest Bookclub, another mom started telling me all about the different activities she does with her kids and how she is sorry to be going back to work because she loves staying home so much.

I fixed her with my Larry David staredown and said "But do you really? I mean, honestly." And she told me that yes she did and it has been such a blessing. I must have had a skeptical look on my face because the activity ideas started coming. And I felt bad, but I had to cut her off with:

"I am sure that they are easy. Honestly, I am just not that interested."

And with that I dropped out of the best mom competition.

The thing is, I thought I would be awesome at this. I totally believed I would be the type of mom to have a crafty activity each day and have my kids help with the cooking. But I am not. And I am okay with that.

I'm happy with too much TV and random fort building and telling my kids that something fun is throwing rocks in the front yard. I am down with keeping expectations low so that cutting peanut butter toast into star shapes is met with looks of wonder akin to Christmas morning. I am a supporter of crackers for snacks and garage sale dress up clothes.

I am the mediocre.
Hear me yawn and get another cup of coffee.

Plans, I Have Them

2010-08-15T06:53:00.001-07:00

Lately I have been suffering from writer's block. Perhaps it is the post BlogHer malaise I heard every one talk about. More likely it is the heat that has taken over Missouri like a fog. This is not what I was promised when I moved here last summer.

Or it could be that Twitter sucks all my witticisms and bon mots that my brain has to offer.

I have trouble making myself a priority in any meaningful way. I wish I could say this is because I am busy giving it all to my family but I don't call myself a lazy ass housewife for nothing. My house is usually in quite a state of disarray. Though it is often picked up, is rarely clean. I manage to cook three meals a day for the kiddos and my husband but that's the extent of my go getterness.

So instead of being a household engineer, I am more of a household artist in residence. I laze about starting projects but rarely finishing them, going on book binges, and watching fluffy shows during the all so important naptime. When my husband complains I whine that I am "working", building my "social media empire" (tongue firmly in cheek.)

But now I have nothing to write on the blog, except this post about writer's block.
Oh ideas I have, and plans. And resolutions to not only buckle down on the blogging and put the thoughts in my head on to paper but to be serious about my writing and career direction. And to wear sunscreen, and exercise, and keep my house cleaner. To find some kind of balance between motherhood, wifehood, and me.

For now though, I will eat cookies and salami for breakfast while the kids watch TV and the husband sleeps.

A BlogHer Recap Post of My Very Own

2010-08-11T10:17:00.000-07:00

If I had actually sat down and written a pre-BlogHer10 post like I planned this would be a nice bookend to it. But I didn't, so you will just have to take my word for it that BlogHer was pretty much what I expected it to be.

My goal was just to have fun so I went into it with very little expectations. I planned to just go with the flow, have a good time, and not worry too much about what I was supposed to be doing. I told myself that I would go up to anyone and say hi and introduce myself. And I would ask to join a group if I felt alone.

All of that I did, and it made my experience fabulous.

There were disappointments of course. I missed almost all of the keynotes because of my need for massive amounts of alone time. I was chatted out and needed time to chill and wander by myself. I really wish I had seen Amy sing and had heard the speeches from the international activists.

I didn't walk across the Brooklyn Bridge and my three hour plane delay made me have to cancel my afternoon at MoMA.

There were a few nasty people or just people I thought I would bond with but ended up not clicking with.

But all of this was overshadowed by the random moments that made the trip wonderful...

A play I picked in spite of its bad review turned out to be awesome. And the Tavern Direct dinner that I RSVPd to randomly was delicious and meaningful.

The completely chance way I met Ann and Amy (no, unfortunately Amy did not offer to make me popular): two bloggers who I frequently read and just think are all around awesome.

How I kept running into the same people over and over which led to me spending lots of time with MaryMac and MissGrace.

That so many of the people I tweet with were people I just adored in real life and want to be best friends forever with (there's way too many to name but Lauren, Fadra, Sue, and Allison all have photographic proof with me so they get special shoutouts).

Having Kelli, who had met me once at the pre-BlogHer meetup in St. Louis, generously reach out to me time and time again during the conference and in addition give me an awesome hug every time I saw her. She wrote a great recap post that really sums up the love I felt from new and old friends.

Meeting Ryan and telling him how much I love his writing and how it's made such a difference to me as the mom to special need kids. I only wish I had told Jenn the same thing when she was nice enough to have me up to her room at 12am.

That I didn't get into a single argument with my roomie/sister in law.

Pretty much I went all out and was dorky, sarcastic, silly me the entire time for better or for worse. If you don't believe me, you can check out the Sparklecorn video which features me twice thanks to the Baby Pop Designs mask I was wearing (thank you A Girl Must Shop swag bag!) (for friends that didn't go, I am at around 2:43 and 3:00 if you don't want to watch the whole thing. You should though, because it rocks)

I will probably write a bit more about BlogHer in the next few days, because hey free blog fodder, but I want to sum it up by saying: if you've wanted to go, go next year. It really is what you make of it. Just go and have a blast.

Break Their Hearts and I Will Kill You

2010-08-09T19:24:00.000-07:00

While at BlogHer, I am re-posting some of my favorite posts. This was originally posted on October 4th, 2009. I will be back with original content on August 10th.

On the weekends I try to escape to the movie theater to get a little relief from the twinsanity. Occasionally the husband and I will tag team a movie. One person goes to see the first show then immediately comes home and tags in so the other one can catch the next show. Then we discuss it later. It is almost like a date and we don't have to pay a babysitter.

Usually though I see mind candy movies, rom-coms or action flicks, that my husband will never want to Netflix. What can I say, I love movies and will see almost anything. This weekend I went to see Whip It, Drew Barrymore's new movie about roller derby. And I really enjoyed it. Drew and I are around the same age and much of the music and fashions seemed to be taken straight from my own early twenties (also in spent in Austin). It was just a fun two hours, remembering my own misspent youth.

One scene, though, struck an unexpected chord. Ellen Page's character Bliss drives to her childhood home after having her heart broken by a guy. As I am sure every other woman in the theater was doing, I immediately thought about my own first heartbreak. Looking back on it I am not even sure what it was about this guy that made me so in love with him. The sex was pedestrian and I never really felt like I could be myself with him (I was much quirkier than his friends) but dammit I was so into him.

And he was into me, at least for awhile. I truly thought that I had found the one, that my life was settling into place, that this was it for me. Did I mention I was nineteen? Ah young love. When we broke up I was so at loose ends that, like Bliss, I fled home in the middle of the night.

The thing was though, as I watched Bliss sit on the floor and cry, my attention was more focused on her mother and the pain on her face. And I thought, oh fuck, that's going to be me. Times two. I am going to have to live through heartbreak all over again. Only this time, it is going to be a million times worse.

I felt sorry for my own mother, thinking back to when she came home from work that day and walked into the kitchen to find me. I immediately burst into tears when I saw her. She gathered me in her arms and said "my poor baby" just like I do with my girls when they fall. She watched me cry through dinner out at a restaurant, a movie, and ice cream. I think I may have still been crying when she put me on the plane back to Austin.

That's when the phrase "I don't know how she does (did) it" comes to mind. How do you watch your kids be hurt and not be able to do anything about it? How do you not wrap them up in protective gear and fight their fights for them? So far I think I have been pretty good about letting the girls be independent and fight their own battles. But their battles are small. It is easy to stop myself from stepping in when someone steals their swing, but it is going to be a lot harder when it is someone stealing their heart.

Maybe my girls will be the heartbreakers instead of the heartbroken. A mom can dream right? If not I will let them cry in my arms. I will try to empathize and let them know that I was there too and that it does get better. That someday they will have a hard time even recalling that guy's name (or girl's, I'm open). All I know is, that whoever it is, they better be happy I am a namby-pamby liberal who believes in gun control.

Hi, You Don't Know Me But I Have Beer

2010-08-08T08:00:00.000-07:00

While at BlogHer, I am re-posting some of my favorite posts. This one was originally posted on August 25th, 2009. I will be back with original content tomorrow.

Yesterday I did a crazy thing. I put the girls in the stroller and set out to meet some new friends. And by that I mean that whenever I saw a house that looked like it contained young children I went up to the door and knocked on it. Yes, to my husband's horror, I thought this would be a good way to meet my neighbors. Well maybe not a good way but that is what staying home all day does to me.

It wasn't all that successful. I talked to one dad whose wife and three year old daughter were out, a young mom who had to unlatch her child to answer the door (i would hate me), and the most promising house had a no solicitors sign and they didn't answer my knock (hey I'm not selling anything except myself and I'm free, hardee har har). I was especially disappointed because they have a kickass backyard filled with toys. And they drive a Toyota Echo. Which to me translates to "not a queen bee mom who scrapbooks and makes judgments about the way your kids are dressed, after all I drive a gas efficient car and am obviously frugal and/or love the environment". Why yes I am speed dating moms based on their cars. I really am that pathetic. I left a note but the girls were screaming so it had a kind of serial killer shaky look to it. Awesome.

The whole idea had started as a joke when IMing with my friend MP. A friend who I made in the most awesome moms group in the world. The group that I had to leave behind when we moved here. I did not realize until I met them how important having mom friends was. I laughed and cried (well not really but I am sure they wouldn't have minded if I did) and had something to do everyday and actually liked their children. Much better than mine own sometimes, why is it that other people's children are always so much cuter? And the girls, well they didn't seem to hate it, and honestly I wouldn't have noticed if they did, I was having too much fun.

So knowing no one in a strange city is doubly hard these days. But we are not moving back so I will be trying my darndest to make new just as great friends here. And if that means knocking on random stranger's doors and enduring Kindermusik classes, then so be it. Eventually there will be that mom I click with it, the one who believes that parenting is not a competitive sport and that many playdates are improved by the addition of beer.

As for that beer, MP joked that I should stick some in the stroller and offer it up, then I would really know if I made a friend. But beer is expensive here and I want it all for myself.

Being Special

2010-08-07T08:00:00.000-07:00

While at BlogHer, I am re-posting some of my favorite old posts. This was originally posted on February 15th, 2010. I will be back with original content on August 10th.

After a few weeks of cyclical sickness (two kids to pass between plus two parents mean flu and colds last forever) I am finally having a normal morning where I sit down and drink my tea while the girls watch their shows. So it is time to post.

There have been a lot of posts circulating in my head these past few weeks. A funny one about the Alpha Mom brigade, one admitting to my own Alpha Mom tendencies when it comes to birthday parties, Posts sparked by a great wine night out with a new friend where we talked about work and what we would do differently next time is there ever was a next time (we both fear having twins again).

But I haven't been able to write those because there was this post waiting. It needed to be written but I could not bring myself to sit down, write it out, and hit submit. This is a blog about the dark side of parenting but I could not get honest and write about this.

I am the mother of special needs kids.

And I hate myself for even having trouble writing those words. I have referenced it before in this blog. Friends in "real life" know the girls have delays. But there is just something about writing the words down that make it seem very real. I am ashamed of myself for having to "come out" on this issue. I have always thought of myself as the open sort who doesn't care about differences. It turns out I just care when it is my own kids.

The thing is I don't want people to think differently of or prejudge the girls. I want them to be seen the way I see them. Would I love it if they were both intelligible? Yes. Hell I would settle for one; then she could translate. But though their quirks make life harder but they also make them, them. The kids I love.

The problem is my own. I can't let go of the image of what my children would be like, what motherhood would be like. I can't seem to accept that we are on a different path than the norm, even if that path is what leads us to "normal". All the research on preschool, all the activities, all the play dates seem worthless. All the worry over social groups and exposure to the arts and other modern parenting problems only kept me from what I should have been worrying about.

Of course I blame myself. When you sit through five hours of listening to every single thing that is wrong with your children, it is hard not to feel like The Worst Mother Ever. But all I can do now is buck up and face the fact that motherhood is loving your kids; not living up to an image. Loving them is easy, letting go of the image is the hard part. Writing this is a first step.

If Only I Could Read Minds

2010-08-06T08:00:00.001-07:00

While I am BlogHer, I am re-posting some old favorites. This was originally posted on October 12th, 2009. I will be back on August 10th with new content.

Yesterday I finished up my weekend read Petite Anglaise by the writer of the blog Petit Anglaise (which I was kind of glad I had not read, I might have not been as enthralled by the book). A lot of what she wrote about touched a nerve in me about my own identity crises and relationships worries post kids. But it is the recollections of her daughter that stick with me.

It really touched a chord with me, the frequent references to conversations with her daughter, who in the book is the same age of the girls. The recordings of the utterances that, literally, could only come from the mouth of a child. The funny little back and forth exchanges they had. I envy that so much.

As I look up from writing, I watch my daughter lay out napkins (old cloth wipes that the girls now use for pretend) out in a pattern on the floor, I wish I could see into her head. For me, it is the hardest part of their delays... the loss of their voices.

With Desmonda it is as if I am listening to a language I am only starting to master. Her muttered sentences are full of words that I can't quite understand. Often I get the gist of what she is saying but sometimes one indistinguishable word is enough for me to not be able to translate. I hate telling her hopeful, expectant face "Sorry, honey, I don't know what you want". Communication is so close with her but feels so far away.

With Calamity Jane, I am left to just wonder. Her few words are utilized for only her most basic needs and often only understandable to us. The words all are shouted at us in the same insistent, angry tone. I cried the first time she called out Mommy to me in excitement when I walked in the door. Here was proof I could hold onto that she could communicate, that she wanted to. All along her babbles have been full of expression and variation, rising and falling as she talks in her Janespeak. There is always so much going on in her head but we are not privy to any of it.

Often when I observe their play, I imagine their thoughts for them. Sometimes I unconsciously speak them out loud. Occasionally they will riff on what I am saying, allowing me into their world, but often they just look at me, befuddled. They have no idea what I am talking about. And I have no idea what is going with them.

It feels wrong that I am missing out on their thoughts. This is a unique time when they are completely unselfconscious. Their thoughts are unfettered by the limits of reality and the judgments of others. It is radical honestly in its most pure form.

When they do start communicating it will be precious to me whether it is next week or next year. The words will be no less sweeter and I know I will treasure each one. Until they drive me crazy with too much talking. But I think a small part of me will always mourn all that I have missed.

The FD Phrase

2010-08-05T08:00:00.000-07:00

While I am at BlogHer I am reposting some of my favorite posts. I will be back with new content August 10th.

What? You don't think fucking dammit is the most appropriate phrase for a mommy blog post? You don't think it is going to get me invited to any private BlogHer parties? It isn't going to win me any nominations for Mommy Blogger of the Year?

But it must be kid appropriate because that is what my kid is saying lately. And how I wish I was kidding.

At least I can comfort myself that Calamity Jane is only pulling the FD phrase, as my husband and I have taken to calling it, at appropriate moments. She is no casual swearer like her parents. She waits until she is really really mad, you know fucking mad. Then she lets it rip. I admit that I am kind of waiting for her to add "Goddammit" as an emphases.

I knew the day was coming; I am only surprised that it took this long. My husband and I are prolific swearers. We can't even blame each other since her phrase is a blending of each of our favorite swears. I do admit that the worst sounding one, fucking, is mine.

While we have tried to tone it down since we had kids, toning it down still leads to a lot of swearing. And having kids is fucking stressful and science just proved that it makes you feel better. But while science is on my side I don't think my mother-in-law is going to buy into that when Calamity Jane lets fucking dammit rip the next time she can't get the puzzle piece to fit.

So where do we go from here? Luckily due to her speech delay only my husband and I seems to really understand it. At least that's what I am telling myself. I didn't notice any stares of death while we were at my town's scenic memorial day parade today. It seems we have a little time to solve the problem.

Right now I am going with ignoring. And shooting stares of death at anyone who laughs like my sister-in-law who said: "Come on, it's pretty funny". Even if yes, it kind of is.

Because she will grow out of this at some point right? Otherwise, I'm fucking screwed.

If You Want To Be My Friend

2010-08-04T08:00:00.000-07:00

While I am at BlogHer I am posting some of my favorite previous posts. I will be back with new content August 10th.

So the blog has been pretty depressing and sad (in the words of my husband) as of late so I thought I would bring a little levity to it. Since I have picked up some new readers and I am living in a new town actively seeking a new clique (that one was for you A), I thought I would publish a list of friend requirements.

Being Guavalicious's Friend 101

~Don't be a one upper. Yeah I think it's awesome that your kid is reading already and showing an aptitude for ballet and loves every kind of vegetable. Just don't brag about it to me or I will be forced to mention how my kids sleep from seven until seven and take two to three hours naps.

~Along the same lines, don't show me tons of pictures of your kid. If I want to see them I will ask. And to be honest, pictures of my own kids kind of bore me unless they are doing something especially darling or embarrassing so pictures of your kid probably aren't going to thrill me.

~When I say HSAHD alert (Hot Stay at Home Dad Alert) check the guy out instead of giving me a sideways look. Get it straight, I love my husband. the guy has stuck by me through thick and thin, watches SYTYCD with me, and wants to have sex with me even after I have given a soliloquy about my muffin top. But I am married not dead. Not appreciating a HSAHD is just wrong.

~On that note, feel free to brag about your husband. I like hearing the stories and cooing. Plus it gives me something to tell my husband about. Just don't be surprised if he gives you the stink eye the next time we all hang out.

~Yell at my kid. Well not really, but feel free to discipline them. And don't freak out when I do the same with yours. It takes a village, cheesy but true.

~Feel free to drop by anytime. Just don't expect my kids to be dressed or my house to be clean.

~Go out with me, at night, without the kids and/or partner. Remember who you were before the partner and kids entered the picture? That chick rocks and I love hanging out with her. Everyone will be fine without you, I promise.

~Love me for who I am. I will say it loud and proud: I am an atheist, drinking, cloth diapering, swearing, former breastfeeding mama who loves a good pedicure and dropping money on sushi and shopping. You, total opposite? That's cool. I don't judge, so don't judge me. Hanging out with people exactly like you is boring.

~You don't have to be a mom to be my friend. Really. I promise I don't talk about my kids all the time and I won't make you look at pictures of them.

If you read all that, you must be my friend already or someone who I want to befriend. So call me up. I will buy the first round.

Someday This Will Be You

2010-07-31T13:53:00.001-07:00

It's easy to feel old in a college town. Every place is packed with hipsters and cooing couples and smartly dressed collegiates reading the paper and sorority girls who can still wear short shorts. It's not the best place to be out with your kids. Especially if your kids are not the adorable kind who happily drink their organic juice and color quietly while occasionally dancing adorably to the latest hip music playing.

Unfortunately my kids are more the screaming, running type. And they insist on wearing the souvenir t-shirts my parents buy them. I am not convinced those t-shirts aren't a cruel joke my mom plays on me, revenge for all those times I insisted on wearing thrift store clothes instead of the Gap outfits she bought me.

It was against my better judgment that we went out to eat with the girls in downtown today. We started off badly by getting ice cream before the meal. I implored my husband to get food to go but he was lulled into a false sense of security by the girls' sugar comas. About ten minutes after we had ordered but five minutes before the food arrived, all hell broke loose. Soon we were holding onto them for dear life while anxiously looking for someone to put our food in to go boxes.

As we left some of the hipsters smoking out front gave us what I would have loved to be resentful glances but were really more of pitying "I will never be you sad rejects from American Beauty". Oh what I longed to do was turn to them and say "Someday This Will Be You!!!" like an evil fortunate teller from an avant garde Disney film.

But it is true hipsters, someday this may very well be you. How do I know you might ask? Well I was once you. I dated experimental musicians and quirky artists. I worked at an independent bookstore. I lived in a San Francisco loft. And a real loft not just one gussied up with stainless steel and exposed ductwork. I stayed out late and went to shows and bars that close at 5am and wore tight clothes and drove a Vespa.

Yep that was me and now I am a stay at home mom in the Midwest. Oh how the mighty have fallen. So yes hipster kids, this may very well be your life someday. Perhaps in the greatest irony you and we will both stay here and someday my girls will be the ones standing outside the restaurant giving you pitying looks as you drag your screaming children by.

And I'm back...

2010-07-28T12:37:00.000-07:00

As you may have noticed, I took a little break from this blog. I was devoting a lot of time and energy to getting my local blog Capturing Como going. Plus the combination of potty training and summer vacation was killing me. I hadn't spent a lot of one on one time with the girls this past Spring and being faced with their delays was pretty hard.

But the biggest reason I took a break was some negative feedback I was getting. It wasn't really anything nasty or particularly pointed. But in my low state, it was crushing. Was I a bad mom for writing all this out? Were my kids really that bad? Was parenting really that hard?

The answer to the first question may still be up in the air but as for the next two, the answer is most definitely "HELL YES!" My kids are a handful and parenting is really hard. I will say it. I will admit it. And I will blog about it.

Hope you will still keeping reading it.

Oh hello there!

2010-07-13T20:30:00.001-07:00

Just checking to make sure I still had this blog.
More to come. Soon.

Alternate Job Titles for the Stay At Home Mom

2010-06-18T07:29:00.000-07:00

Life as a stay at home mom can get pretty boring. I mean there are only so many facts you can learn from Sid the Science Kid. So to amuse myself I like to come up with crazy titles when I fill out forms. I mean why be a "Homemaker" when you can be a "Unicorn Seeker" (we just can't keep track of that darn thing)? I am sure the data entry people just love me.

These are some of the titles I have used on forms:

"Wardrobe Mistress to the Stars"
"Royal Food Taster"
"Bonbon Eater"
"Midday Drinker"
"Personal Chef"
"Child Psychologist"
"Cruise Director"
"Destroyer of Dreams"

What would your title be?

Going Down The Rabbit Hole

2010-06-13T06:10:00.000-07:00

Last week I spent more time focused on my daughters than I have in a long time. With the rush of the past two years my thoughts have always been in perpetual motion. Even when I was still, my mind was focused on the next thing. I was rushing towards... something. Something, somewhere other than where I was at.

As I spent hours sitting on the bathroom floor with my daughters last week, I was struck by in spite of how much I knew about them how little I was seeing of them. How my viewpoint of them was through my perceptions of them, what I wanted to believe about them. I felt like for the first time since they were small I was viewing them with open eyes.

And as that viewpoint changed so did my viewpoint about who I am as a mother, as a friend, as a person. About what my relationships with people are and how I value or devalue them. It has struck me to the core and changed my viewpoint about my life and where I have been going. About who I thought I was and what was important to me.

I struggle to find the words to explain why this has affected me so much. Why such a simple thing has changed me. I don't think i was even sure how deeply I felt about this until I sat down to write a post about Desmonda (which I still need to write) and instead wrote this.

There have been a lot of tears over the past week. A lot of hurt feelings. My nerves are raw and it has been hard to take a step back and not make drastic moves. My tendency is to draw into myself and I cannot do that, it's not fair to my husband or my kids. And really, not fair to myself either.

I keep thinking of Ramona's "renewal" on RHONY (see, even in my introspective posts there is still some funny). Is it possible that she is on to something, that what I need is a renewal. I am laughingly nonspiritual so it's not surprising that I would look to a materialistic bitch as my guru. I don't think there will be any yachts in my future (sorry friends) but taking a step back, getting a new haircut, and starting anew. Yes, I think I can do that.

I think this blog may be on this path for while. I promise to one day be funny again.

When to push

2010-06-11T18:45:00.000-07:00

A image has been in my head a lot lately. It's a snapshot from the first few months of the girls' lives. I couldn't get either of them settled and I hadn't slept more than three hours in a row in weeks. My nerves were so raw that I was ready to walk out the door and not look back. I ended up pouring myself a Guinness, grabbing a bar of chocolate, and settling them each on a breast. I sat there tandem feeding them for almost two hours, silently crying most of the time as drank my beer and ate my chocolate.

I remember thinking: this has got to get better.

And of course it has. I regularly sleep seven to eight hours, the girls play for long stretches together, and they are old enough to go to school. I can do things like blog and clip my toenails and shower everyday. But the raw nerves, they're still there.

This week we've been home potty training and by today I could have powered a city block off of my nervous energy. Little did I know that those hard moments when they were babies were going to be the easy ones. I could still meet their needs, do everything for them, shape their world for them. I could imagine their emotions and make them happy with the simplest things.

Now we struggle with each other and I watch the emotions storm across their faces. I know their limitations and I see them fight against them. My heart breaks for Desmonda. I watched the pee puddle around her feet today and her look of surprise. I struggle to control myself when she poops the minute after I let her off the potty. I hold her and reassure her that she will get it, reassure myself that she will.

I never know when to push, when to make allowances. I expect too much but worry about expecting too little.

And in this, I don't know where to turn. I don't have friends close enough here that I can cry over it to. And I haven't kept up the friendships I've made in past cities with all the stress here. I feel out of place in special needs forums because the girls are so close to "normal" that I feel like a fraud. But the standard advice just doesn't work.

So I close the bathroom door and cry out of sight of the girls. I call my husband and my sister in law and ask them to tell me I am doing the right thing. I drink a glass of wine at four and remember that this too will pass. And I hug my daughter and tell her I love her and how proud I am of her.

Fun Outdoors, Playset Free

2010-06-01T17:23:00.001-07:00

Welcome to the June Carnival of Natural Parenting: Outdoor fun

This post was written for inclusion in the monthly Carnival of Natural Parenting hosted by Hobo Mama and Code Name: Mama. This month our participants have shared their stories and tips for playing outside with kids. Please read to the end to find a list of links to the other carnival participants.

***

The girls are my parents' first grandchildren which means they have been lavished with all kinds of attention and presents since birth. Their shoe wardrobe at six months was more extensive than mine.

Let's not hold punches, they're spoiled every time my parents visit. I usually indulge my mom and dad, after all they have been waiting for this day for years. And honestly I would let them buy them buy the girls diamond tiaras if it meant a week of free babysitting.

But I finally drew the line at their latest scheme: an outdoor play set. Don't get me wrong, I have dreamed of having one for the kids too. Who wouldn't want their child to have their own wonderland in the backyard? But then I started really thinking about it.

Doesn't a play set take away some of the magic of the backyard? Isn't the backyard itself a wonderland? When I was a kid my most fun times were digging holes in piles of dirt and having picnics in the clubhouses I created. We just moved to a new home with a backyard that is ripe for those kind of adventures.

So this summer we plan to spend a lot of time outside in our new space. Yes there will be the turns at the water table and the trips in the Cozy Coupes. But there will also be lots of lying on quilts looking up the clouds, outside story times that involve piles of books, and much blowing of bubbles. Lots of just being.

And I think, or at least hope, that there will be lots of secret twin confidences and lots of giggling as they run off to explore. And when we start jonesing for a slide? Well it's lucky we live a block from two different parks.

As for my parents, they took it in stride though I am sure some other scheme is being cooked up as I write. I did hear whispers of a Disney trip even though the girls have only seen one of the "princess" movies. Oh well, as long as I get a child free meal out of it, I'm good.

***

Visit Hobo Mama and Code Name: Mama to find out how you can participate in the next Carnival of Natural Parenting!

Please take time to read the submissions by the other carnival participants:

Garden Treats — Asha at Mom Costume has once again been bitten by the gardening bug — and this time her baby's tagging along for some fresh air and dirt exploration. (@titbagsandsnoot)
Outdoor Free Roam — Mamapoekie at Authentic Parenting follows her daughter's lead whenever they go outside. (@mamapoekie)
Summer fun in Austin with a toddler — Jessica at This Is Worthwhile is brainstorming ways to beat the heat in Texas. (@tisworthwhile)
summer fun… — Mandy at Living Peacefully with Children is looking forward to spending the summer outside with her children the way she used to spend summers with her mother.
Outdoor Fun for Pre-Walkers — Maman A Droit has figured out ways to let her pre-walker enjoy the outdoors. (@MamanADroit)
Summer Homeschool Fun at Camp Review — Deb Chitwood at Living Montessori Now discusses how Camp Review motivated and captivated her homeschooling family. (@DebChitwood)
Digging, Tree Climbing and Puddle Jumping — Laura at Laura's Blog bemoans the loss of her girls' climbing tree but knows they'll find something else just as naturally tempting.
The Sweet Smells of Summer — Erin at A Beatnik's Beat on Life is looking forward to the many smells of summer she and her daughters enjoy and identify. (@babybeatnik)
June Carnival of Natural Parenting: Outdoor Fun — Sybil at Musings of a Milk Maker is a confirmed couch potato who can't help but be inspired by the outdoor opportunities Seattle offers her family. (@sybilryan)
Take a Hike — Michelle at The Parent Vortex connects with her family and the Earth on frequent hikes in their Pacific wilderness. (@TheParentVortex)
Following Paul — Julie at Simple Life gives her kids unstructured time to dig in the dirt and pick mulberries. (@homemakerjulie)
Instilling a Love of the Outdoors in Your Baby/Toddler — Tessasdad at Stay At Home Dad in Lansing offers a photo book of tips for helping your little ones enjoy the outdoors. (@tessasdad)
Camping, baby! — Jen at Grow With Graces has easy tips for tent camping with a little one. (@growwithgraces)
Think Outside the Easel for Summertime Fun — Acacia at Be Present Mama finds several ways to bring art fun to the outdoors.
Outdoor Learning in our Urban Environment — Andrea at Ella-Bean & Co. has found ways to get grass between her daughter's toes, even in the city.
Outdoor Education — Alison at BluebirdMama offers parents tips and resources for making each outdoor excursion a learning experience. (@childbearing)
Turning Inside Out — Christie of Childhood 101 finds kids get a kick out of taking indoor toys outside. (@Childhood101)
Watching Peas Sprout — Deb at Science@home combines fun with purpose in this educational outdoor activity. (@ScienceMum)
How To Create a Pirate Treasure Hunt & Other Easy Outdoor Pirate Activities (June Carnival of Natural Parenting) — Dionna at Code Name: Mama has pirate-themed play ideas for ye scurvy landlubbers. (@CodeNameMama)
What We Do — Luschka at Diary of a First Child has managed to expose her 8-month-old to a wide variety of outdoor fun, even with the notoriously dreary UK weather. (@diaryfirstchild)
Summer Fun — Darcel at The Mahogany Way finds her family's visits to the beach refreshing in so many ways. (@MahoganyWayMama)
Playing outside without a backyard — Sheryl at Little Snowflakes doesn't let the lack of a backyard stop her family from enjoying the outdoors. There are plenty of things to do outside of your yard! (@sheryljesin)
Having Fun Outdoors, Playset Free — Guavalicious at They Are So Cute When They Are Sleeping has resisted a backyard playset in favor of the regular backyard. (@guavalicious)
Moon Gazing with your Toddler — Paige at Baby Dust Diaries is keeping her toddler up at night, but it's for a good reason: to share the wonders of the night sky! (@babydust)
the great outdoors — The grumbles at grumbles and grunts wonders whether her urban child can experience the same free-range childhood she enjoyed. (@thegrumbles)
Let's Take It Outside! — NavelgazingBajan at Navelgazing is looking for ideas: how can she spend time with her pre-walker outside this summer? (@BlkWmnDoBF)
A home by the sea: June Carnival of Natural Parenting: Outdoor fun — Lauren at Hobo Mama is living her dream of a home near the beach, and taking full advantage of it. (@Hobo_Mama)
An Outside Girl — Zoey at Good Goog moved her family to (almost) the middle of nowhere so that her outdoor-loving girl could have more grass and less concrete. (@zoeyspeak)
Neighborhood Nature — Kelly at Kelly Naturally has learned to connect with the nature she has instead of mourning the nature she misses. (@kellynaturally)
Building Lovely Memories of Swimming, Spiders and Gravestones — Joni Rae at Tales of a Kitchen Witch and her family are simply outdoorsy people. (@kitchenwitch)
"Buh-Bye" Season — Danielle at born.in.japan must leave laundry behind and follow her son's call to the outdoors. (@borninjp)
Backyard Camping — Becoming Mamas took her family camping very close to home! (@becomingmamas)
The Color of Dreams — Seeking Mother at Woman Seeking Mother makes gardening magical by teaching her son that each flower is a faery. (@seekingmother)

Girl vs. Food

2010-06-01T14:29:00.000-07:00

I have never been on board with the whole identifying personality traits in childhood. After all I was a quiet, shy, neat child. And well now, much to my husband's dismay, I am none of those things.

Now that I have my own kids I am praying (atheist praying) that I was right. Because Calamity Jane didn't get her nickname by chance and if she continues on her current path, she will either kill herself by sixteen or put me in an early grave due to stress.

When she is not swearing up a storm, she is giving me mini heart attacks with her every increasing daring antics. One of greatest tricks? Engaging in her own private extreme eating contest.

Things Calamity Jane has eaten:
*one of those sponges that expand in water
*a raw egg
*bite of a magic eraser (luckily I caught that one in the act)
*16 gummy vitamins
*dog food

(She also regularly bites into fruits like kiwis and bananas while the skin is still on)

At first I thought it was Pica. Hell I almost wanted it to be Pica so I would have an explanation. But according to her pediatrician, no dice. She does it too irrgularely and seems to limit herself to food like objects.

Yep, she is just living up to her nickname. Or maybe instead of an extreme eating contest, it is really a contest to drive me insane. Guess what? She's winning.

Fucking Dammit

2010-05-31T13:00:00.000-07:00

What? You don't think fucking dammit is the most appropriate title for a mommy blog post? You don't think it is going to get me invited to any private BlogHer parties? It isn't going to win me any nominations for Mommy Blogger of the Year?

But it must be kid appropriate because that is what my kid is saying lately. And how I wish I was kidding.

At least I can comfort myself that Calamity Jane is only pulling the FD phrase, as my husband and I have taken to calling it, at appropriate moments. She is no casual swearer like her parents. She waits until she is really really mad, you know fucking mad. Then she lets it rip. I admit that I am kind of waiting for her to add "Goddammit" as an emphases.

I knew the day was coming; I am only surprised that it took this long. My husband and I are prolific swearers. We can't even blame each other since her phrase is a blending of each of our favorite swears. I do admit that the worst sounding one, fucking, is mine.

While we have tried to tone it down since we had kids, toning it down still leads to a lot of swearing. And having kids is fucking stressful and science just proved that it makes you feel better. But while science is on my side I don't think my mother-in-law is going to buy into that when Calamity Jane lets fucking dammit rip the next time she can't get the puzzle piece to fit.

So where do we go from here? Luckily due to her speech delay only my husband and I seems to really understand it. At least that's what I am telling myself. I didn't notice any stares of death while we were at my town's scenic memorial day parade today. It seems we have a little time to solve the problem.

Right now I am going with ignoring. And shooting stares of death at anyone who laughs like my sister-in-law who said: "Come on, it's pretty funny". Even if yes, it kind of is.

Because she will grow out of this at some point right? Otherwise, I'm fucking screwed.

Mark Us With A Scarlet S

2010-05-15T11:45:00.000-07:00

I've mentioned before the girls have special needs. You wouldn't know it to look at them, except possibly thinking they are younger than they are. I don't even think about it most of the time but it's there lurking at the edge of our lives. One little thing can upset the applecart.

Like this morning when we got in the car to head out for our weekly Farmer's Market trip. The CD player wouldn't play and Calamity Jane couldn't understand why (neither could I for that matter, 6mo old Mazda 5.) By the time we got to the market, every one of her nerves was tingling and it took several negotiations to get her to leave the car.

Everything was going smoothly until something set her off while I was waiting to buy eggs. When I keeled down to help her and readjust her bags, a woman stopped to glare at us. My husband asked her what was wrong and she told him "You should take her out of here. Children should not be allowed to behave that way!"

I felt the tears begin to burn at the back of my eyes, the tears every parent of a special needs child has had. The tears that start off as embarrassment and then become angry tears. Anger at yourself for being embarrassed by your child and anger at the person who feels the need to judge you.

What I want to say to this woman and any one else who stares is: what would you have me do? Should we leave every place every time one of my children acts out? Because that pretty much means staying home all the time with them. And who would that benefit?

It certainly wouldn't benefit my daughter who has to learn to control her emotions and adjust to change. It doesn't benefit her twin who had been looking forward to the trip all week. Nor does it benefit me or my husband who have to eat. It definitely doesn't benefit the local farmers who we make an effort to support by shopping at the market.

Yes, a few shoppers wouldn't get bumped into by my kids, they wouldn't be bothered by their occasional outbursts, And yes you, the woman who told us off, your day not have been bothered by the sight of my child. Next time I will remember that your needs outweigh my own.

My husband told me not to let this incident get to me. Obviously I wasn't able to follow his advice. But as I stewed over it while grocery shopping I remembered last week's grocery shop.

We had pushed it too far, trying two big activities in one day and by the time my husband and I met at the checkout both girls were freaking out so I took them outside while my husband paid. As I pulled them, screaming, past staring shoppers a woman told me "I've so been there sister, hang in there!"

I never confronted the woman who was rude this morning but I did take time to thank that woman at the grocery store. And in addition to her I thank every parent, every random stranger who has stopped to help, sent me a sympathetic look, or just smiled at me instead of glaring. You don't know how much I, and every other parent in my situation, appreciates it.

On Moving, With Three Year Olds

2010-04-30T14:29:00.001-07:00

You know how E-books are all the rage these days and bloggers are making thousands off of them? I should totally write one called "how to move three times in a year with small children without killing yourself or them". However after this last move I may have to amend the title to "...while only killing one twin, that's why you have a spare".

Because seriously even though we are all moved and "settled in", I am still stressed to the nth degree.

See while this is my third move in 18 months, this is my first one with the kids actually involved. The first time my husband and I flew back to Texas and spent a few glorious days drinking with our friends and gorging on TexMex. Sure we packed and loaded the entire three bedroom house in a day because we wasted most of our time dunking ourselves in Shiner Bock, crab wine, and salsa but we were away from our kids so we could have been breaking rocks and it would have been a nice change of scenery.

The second time we moved the relocation package included a full service move. Having experienced this only once before when we owned a futon and an Ikea bookcase (the truck was so empty that they were able to fit our cars) I wasn't sure what to expect. So I sent my husband to his new job and my kids off to the grandparents so I could supervise. Turns out that full service moves are like staying at the Four Seasons when you're used to Motel Six. I handed them my keys and they packed and loaded everything while I supervised by laying on the porch drinking Black Bavarian and reading a pile of garage sale novels. In spite of having the swine flu it was the best two days of my year.

So I rolled on into this move thinking how much of an expert I was and how this would be a piece of cake since we are just moving across town instead of across the country. What I did not factor in was my two "helpful" assistants.

The girls are in that "I do it! I help!" stage so I tried to engage them in packing which worked out to them holding each item up and saying anxiously: "Going to new house Mommy?" At first I lovingly got down to their level, held their hands, looked into their eyes, and reassured them that the precious item they were holding be it a barrette or their blanket would be going with us to the new house.

But after reassuring about fifty times in a row that yes, each Megablock would be moving with us I lost it and semi-shouted "Yes! All the TOYS are coming with us! Yes! Daddy is moving with us! Yes! Peanut is moving with us!". They looked at me with big eyes then ran off to unpack all the boxes I had packed. Amazing what two determined three year olds can get into.

Finally we managed to pack ourselves up and move the new house which is amazingly big and has a beautiful room for them to share as well as a giant playroom and an even bigger basement that they can ride their toys around in. So what do they want to do? Go back to the old house. Sigh.

But there are a few tips I have managed to pick up throughout the three moves that actually work:

1) If possible, give them a complete change of scenery between the old house and the new house. Take the long way if you're moving from your city or get someone to take the kids overnight or just take a day to go somewhere like an amusement park. This has worked like a charm in the past and I wish we had done it this time.

2) Set up their room(s) first. It doesn't have to be perfect. For months the girls' room in St. Paul only contained two pack and plays, stuffed chairs, and a pile of books but they were just happy to have their own space.

3) Routine, routine, routine. Keep it going even when it seems like it isn't working. It will remain a constant for your kids much the way Desmond is for Farraday.

4) Bring out a few new toys. I find big boucey balls and new bath toys to be the biggest moving hit.

5) Stock up on alcohol, you're going to need it. Just don't give it to your kids no matter how tempting.

Tucking the Moment Away

2010-04-15T17:51:00.000-07:00

Since I haven't blogged in while due to an impending move and repacking all the boxes the girls unpack as soon as my back is turned, I decided I would write a quick post while my husband watched Countdown. But when I sat down to write I couldn't get any of my thoughts focused on a subject. Naturally I had to ask a good friend for advice so I turned to my best friend Twitter and asked for a topic.

Of course the first suggestion would be a deep one. @thewifeytweets directed me to her very thought provoking post on death, the afterlife, and living in the moment. Ack. There's no way I could even come up with a thoughtful comment much less a post on the same subject.

Not only am I kind of bad at being serious but I don't have a lot to say on the subject of death. I do not fear it but would prefer for it to wait until after my girls are on their own. I already told my husband that if I die before my parents I would like a Catholic funeral (for them) but if they die before me, I don't care what he does. I would prefer to be cremated because it's cheap. Yep, deep. I guess death is the one arena where it is easier to be an atheist.

But living in the moment, that I can do. Not the actual living in the moment, I am horrible at that, but I can talk about it. Today I had one of those moments that you wish you could bottle and take out to relive over and over. It was the simplest thing.

After a frantic morning of running errands during preschool time and a whine filled lunch the girls' quiet time (read: enforced by the doorknob cover playing in room) was cut short by an unexpected showing of the rental. I begrudgingly pushed the girls into the backyard.

As I getting out their toys I noticed a dandelion and realized that they had never seen one, never watched the seeds whoosh into the air. So I pulled them into my lap and showed them how to blow on it and then secretly blew the seeds off myself when they couldn't do it. Their faces were transfixed with delight and just for a moment all my annoyance and cynicism disappeared. Those are the ones, the moments I am trying to live in.

Home: The Only One I Got

2010-04-06T17:21:00.000-07:00

After a torturous ten hour drive home in which I almost lost it four separate times and had a random man at a gas station in Blackwell offer to buy me a beer, the girls and I are home. After taking two very reluctant girls to school this morning, I came home and just sat on the couch for twenty minutes or so. For the first time in a week, I felt myself really relax.

This was a hard visit to my parents, a good one but hard. Relationships with my family and friends are changing, maybe growing and maturing but at the same time retreating. Their is a separateness there that is not uncomfortable but unexpected.

Of course I still love and adore my parents and my sister but their lives are especially intertwined now that my sister has had a baby and I felt slightly out of place, not quite a guest but not quite not one either. Having left home so early I haven't been there to see my parents lives change. And we are at that weird place where our relationships are beginning to shift to me being the responsible one. It leads to a tension charges atmosphere.

Friendships have changed too. Though I haven't lived in Dallas since I left home at eighteen, a few of my close friends have either returned or never left. But their lives are so far from mine, in so many different ways. We rarely want to do the same things and I feel slightly at a loss as to what to say at times. Where do I fit into their lives now that I am just a "mom" and no longer the girl they knew?

The whole week brought into focus something I knew but hadn't really fully accepted yet: my parents' house isn't my home and my family is my husband and the girls. And it feels just right.

Road Trip: I'm Not Raising My Kids, I'm Raising My Parents' Grandchildren

2010-03-31T12:47:00.001-07:00

If I had known how happy having kids would make my parents I would have had them years ago. Of course had I known how much my mother would drive me crazy with her helpful advice I might not have had them at all. Actually it's not so much the advice that makes me insane; it's the assumption that my mom knows how to raise my children better than I do.

There is nothing more annoying than being told that your child would be perfect except for the fact that you are doing every thing wrong. Actually there is something more annoying, having that told to you as you try to administer to your tantruming child. Sometimes I feel like screaming at her "It's amazing how I manage to take care of them every day yet somehow you know better than I do." Okay, I actually have screamed this at her before.

But I thought I had moved past all that. I had come to peace with my mother's warped view of my children as perfect little dolls. I had gotten over her befuddlement when they act out. Her little comments were just tuned out as I thought about how I wouldn't have to get up with the "perfect angels" in the morning. Little did I know that my zen like state would be destroyed by Doorknobgate 2010.

You see, we lock our kids in their room. It sounds awful but it's really for their own health. Not only does it keep them from wandering about in the middle of the night it also keeps me from killing Calamity Jane since she is no longer scaling down from the crib and
waking me up at 5:30 in the morning. Sleep is important: to me, to them, to our family harmony. And if a doorknob lock means they spend five minutes playing then falling asleep together rather than an hour of us replacing them in their room and beds, so be it.

But according to my mom, I am damaging their emotional health and should just have the patience to walk them gently back to sleep. We argued about it for almost an hour. My sister came over to discuss it and agreed with my mom and then switched her position when she realized that her five month year old would eventually be able to move about on her own. My dad just said he agreed with whatever I was doing while my mom shot death rays at him. Finally I whined "well it's MY kids and I am going to do it MY way" like I was 12 because being home turns me into a petulant teenager.

However like the mature woman I am I didn't even gloat the next day when Calamity Jane went into full on rage mode because she didn't have doorknob enforced quiet time. I just smiled victoriously when my mom said "maybe you were right". Four sweetest words in the English language. I savored them for almost a full moment before my mom told me I should be ironing the girls' clothes.

It's going to be a long week.

Road Trip! : Traveling With Two Three Year Olds

2010-03-30T06:36:00.000-07:00

One of my husband's big selling points of moving to CoMo was how much closer it was to our families: a six hour drive from his and an eight hour drive from mine (we were a full day's drive away). What he neglected to mention is that I would be doing those drives alone, well alone except for two very demanding passengers.

To be honest though, it's my own fault. Whenever the girls have a break from school I think "well we'll just take a quick trip to Grandma's!" After all, twenty four hour free babysitting everyday is hard to resist. Yes, it seems like a great idea until I am actually in the car trying to cater to the demands of the girls while I careen down the highway. My husband called to yell at my for texting while driving yesterday (I typed up a tweet at a red light, don't hate me) but the real danger is just in trying to keep everyone sane.

It's as if I have discovered a new extreme sport. Skateboarding flips? Pashaw. Try traveling with children. Events include reaching a fallen cup while doing eighty, pouring water into said cup and replacing the top all without taking a hand off the steering wheel, and breaking up fights while belted in. All I can say is, thank god I don't drive a stick anymore.

One of the many things I said I wouldn't do when I had kids was use DVD players in the car. I was going to make up stories and sing to to them. We were going to listen to books on tape. Now I can't get enough of them. Bless my sister-in-law for loaning us hers for the trip home. Eight straight hours of TV? Okay, if it means us getting there alive.

One Step Foward, A Gaping Silence of a Step Back

2010-03-23T14:58:00.000-07:00

It's a beautiful day and we should be outside soaking up the sunshine but the girls enjoyed an expanded quiet time today and post quiet time absolutely calls for Elmo and/or the Wonder Pets. And who am I to challenge the routine. So instead of picking up the clothes project I started during not-naptime, I em enjoying the weather by myself. And by enjoying the weather I mean I turned the computer so it is facing the window.

The few glimpses of the sunshine I do catch taunt me with whispers of "good mothers would be outside teaching the children how to ride tricycles." Oh sunshine, good mothers would buy their daughters tricycles instead of spending all the money on wine and fancy laptops with surprisingly subpar battery life. Why fight it?

As if the sunshine wasn't enough I am torturing myself by reading mommy blogs. I have a love hate relationship with "mommy blogs". For me that term refers to blogs written by "good mothers" who often post pictures of their children and their accomplishments along with recipes and pictures of their decorated homes. So sadly most of my friends with your hilariously awesome snarky blogs, you are bad parents like me. Sorry to be the one to break it to you.

Anyway, I don't know why I love reading the mommy blogs but I do. They are like visual candy for me and make me happy in the same way that the Sound of Music does. They are just so good. But sometimes they make me sad. Because their kids are all so adorably verbal. Evidently in their worlds children throw out amusing bonmots about the tres hilarious things their preschool classmates do during the day. Dinnertime is rife with observations about crafts and story time and made up adventures.

Contrast this with our own tortured mealtimes where we try to eek out anything about the girls' day. We ask all sorts of leading questions and I often end up doing a call and response where I say something that happened and the girls then repeat it to Daddy. It's crushing.

Sometimes it feels like we have come so far and really we have. My sister heard my daughter speaking words to her for the first time last week. That's huge. I need to remember that. And treasure it when we're suffering through another silent supper. Oh well, at least they aren't screaming through it like they did before we instituted the three bites and you're excused rule.

And I am just going to pretend that the mommy bloggers spend hours making up their child's observations. Poor, poor deluded mommy bloggers.

Honey Don't Bother Mommy, I'm Too Busy Having a Life

2010-03-15T16:04:00.000-07:00

The twittersphere has been, well, atwitter with talk about Jennifer Mendelsohn's article for the New York Times on mommy blogging. Written in a somewhat snarky tone, the writer who is herself a mommy blogger, wrote about her experiences at Bloggy Bootcamp. Which to be honest sounds kind of awesome. They had me at sippy cup mimosas. Okay they had me at mimosas.

Since I ignore my kids and read blogs all day it was all I had to discuss with my husband last night. So of course he had to read the article for himself. And his reaction which boiled down to "this is sexist" is why I love him. It really hit the nail on the head. Would an article about any other genre of blogging, let's say a review of one of the meetings at SXSW, include a rebuke of parents spending their free time blogging?

These are valid criticisms of the mommy blogger industry (exposing your kids, trading your time for swag) ones that have been raised by several self identified mommy bloggers and at blogging conferences. But that kind of discussion would be better suited to a news article, not a style piece. Which begs this question, what was the point of this article? If it wasn't an honest look at the world of mommy blogging was it just for something for people to have to chuckle over: "Oh those silly moms and their nattering on about their kids lives. They are so naive."

What the article doer refer to but overshadows with its snarky tone, title, and illustration is that the value so many women have found in blogging. Yes a lot of women blog about their kids and their lives as moms because it is the largest part of their lives. For some it's their job. And when your job consists of clients who scream at you for their cereal then throw it on the floor it's great to find a virtual world of coworkers out there who understand. Blogs, twitter, etc are fantastic sources of support for modern parents, many of whom feel isolated from the moment their child arrives.

For me blogging is my hobby. It's what I do to blow off steam, to engage my mind, to relive the stress of raising twins with special needs and crazy personalities. I am not trying to build a brand, unless that brand is being cynical and sarcastic which I am sure sponsors love. But if I was, who cares? Don't we moms deserve to make money when we can, especially in rough economic times? The article compares the blogs unfavorably to the Tupperware parties of our parents' generation which again begs the question: what's wrong with Tupperware or any other way people can make extra money doing something they enjoy?

I'm a mom. And I blog. And I don't think it deserves being made fun of.

Links to several people who wrote more eloquently on this subject:
Grumbles and Grunts: In Defense Of Mommy Blogging
Pundit Mom: An Open Letter to the New York Times
The Social Path: Why moms shouldn't feel guilty about blogging
Mamma Loves: You May Write For the NYT But You're a Mom Blogger Too

The Pacifer Fairy Cometh

2010-03-12T14:35:00.000-08:00

The pacifier fairy made a special delivery this week for Calamity Jane: a Zoe (of Sesame Street fame) doll, plus an extra in case Zoe joins Mom's mobile and those elusive puzzles pieces in the Littles' world. But every time we try to get her to make the trade she shakes her head and runs for her crib to assure herself that the paci is still there. And me, I just go "oh well, maybe tomorrow" while my husband glares at me.

After all it was it was my idea to offer this trade and the husband and I have been pumping it up for weeks. At three Calamity Jane is still a hardcore pacifier addict and even though I love it too i really do think the time has come to give it up. We thought she was weaning herself off of it but no such luck.

Hence the pacifier fairy idea. I was emailing someone about Calamity Jane's deep love for the pacifier and a google ad came up on my side bar for Paci B Gone. Naturally I trotted myself on over to check it out. The price tag seemed a little high and i didn't know if a duck would motivate Miss C. Jane enough so I decided to forge ahead with just the story of the fairy.

But now I can't bring myself to do it. Life seems so hard for Calamity Jane sometimes. Her brain does not process things the way "normal" brains do. Her thoughts move a million times quicker than her mouth. She soldiers on but I can see the toll it takes on her. Sometimes she just puts her arms out and wriggles her hands in frustration. It is as if she is reaching out for something to grasp onto, something physical she can use to express herself. Her comfort in the hardest moments is always her pacifier.

The little voice comes into my head:
"what does it really matter? She JUST turned three!
"And it's not like she carries it around with her, it barely leaves the crib".
"I wouldn't trade my paci for that Zoe doll, it's barely three inches tall. Better to put it off and find something better."
"Let's just do this next week, or after the move, or when's she four. What's the rush?"

I wish I could just outsource this but it's not fair to make my husband the heavy especially considering the long term implications. Can't you just see this being discussed in therapy... "it was the one thing that made me happy and they RIPPED it away from me!" I just don't want to give up being the hero. The supermom who knows just what to offer to make her happy.

Perhaps the Paci B Gone system is that much for a reason. If nothing else it gives the parents assurance in large charts and happy stickers that you are doing the right thing. The bright colors practically scream "You're a good parent!", what more could I ask for? Besides a professional pacifier wrangler. Ah, new career idea. I am totally taking that up. After I break Calamity Jane's heart.

Mom Did Know Best, About Diapers At Least

2010-03-09T06:03:00.000-08:00

Welcome to the March Carnival of Natural Parenting: Vintage green!

This post was written for inclusion in the monthly Carnival of Natural Parenting hosted by Code Name: Mama and Hobo Mama. This month we're writing about being green — both how green we were when we were young and how green our kids are today. Please read to the end to find a list of links to the other carnival participants.

As the phrase goes, I was such a good attachment parent... before I had kids. The entire time I was trying to conceive I imagined myself as the type of mom who wore her baby everywhere and breastfed in public like it was no big thing. I wanted to do it all: cosleep, child led weaning, positive discipline, etc. The the twins came and everything I thought I knew about parenting went out the door. I forgot to figure in that my kids would have their own ideas of what they wanted and that those wants wouldn't always mesh. Breastfeeding in public? That was the easy part. Being so exhausted from breastfeeding two infants that I just wanted to sleep for an hour straight even if it was on another planet from my kids, that was the reality.

I guess it isn't surprising that the AP philosphies that have worked for me the most are the ones my own mom practiced. My younger sister came when I was six so I was old enough to see her breastfeed. I never thought I would do anything different. It helped that almost every mom I knew did the same. At this point I feel like breastfeeding is the mainstream, at least in some form. But the other thing my mom did, cloth diapering all three of us even after disposables were common, that is still considered kind of weird. It's often where the greenest moms I know draw the line.

I admit that sometimes I feel slightly smug about cloth diapering. It's my cred card, the thing I can bring up when other moms talk about how they breastfed until two, when they are still Ergo-ing their toddler at the park, when they talk about how their kid has never seen TV or eaten sugar. It's a shortcut to friendship with moms I meet out and about. I see the telltale bubble butt on their kid and instantly have something to talk to them about. And it's the one thing I feel totally successful at as a parent. Sure my kids are hellions, I let them watch two hours of TV a day, and my daughter still takes a paci but hey I cloth diaper so I am totally preserving the earth for my girls' future every single day. I am obviously the most awesomest mother ever.

My dirty little secret about cloth diapering? It's actually really easy. Don't tell all the smug alpha moms, but yeah it's super simple. I actually find it easier to deal with than disposables. Diaper changes go faster because I am not wrangling those devilish sposie tabs. I keep them in a dry pail and wash them every other day then fold then while I watch my trashy TV. Done.

And it is amazingly cost effective, especially with twins. Even with having used a diaper service for the first six months (provided by my MIL and generous friends), going through three separate systems, and the extra money on our water bill a high estimate of money spent on cloth diapering the girls is $600. And I will probably make back about $150 when I sell our current stash of diapers and covers. My quick figuring of the cost of disposables for the past three years goes something like this: store brand diapers, $8 pack for 35. At least a pack a week times 52 weeks is $416 times 3 years is $1248, more than double the cost of cloth diapering. It's amazing to me how people manage to even afford disposables for their kids.

So go on, give it a try. At the very least it will give you several victories a day. It's not just poop, it super poop that's saving the world.

Visit Code Name: Mama and Hobo Mama to find out how you can participate in the next Carnival of Natural Parenting!

Please take time to read the submissions by the other carnival participants.

(This list will be updated March 9 with all the carnival links.)

My Momma Was a Hippie — Jessica at This is Worthwhile is continuing her Earth Momma mother's way of honoring nature by taking her child outside every day. (@tisworthwhile)

Mom Did Know Best, About Diapers at Least — Guavalicious at They Are So Cute When They Are Sleeping has a dirty secret about cloth diapers: They're easy. (@guavalicious)

The Force that Drives the Water Through the Rocks — Shana at Tales of Minor Interest remembers her first spiritual connection with nature, granted to her through her father's care for the spirits of the earth.

Confessions of a Cabbage Patch Kid — Joni Rae at Tales of a Kitchen Witch Momma learned about landfills and recycling through gardening. (@kitchenwitch)

Seeing My Grandmother Through Green Colored Lenses — Michelle at Seeking Mother was raised by a grandmother who wouldn't let anyone throw out used clothing — ever — and who believed baths were water enough for two or more people at least. (@seekingmother)

Through Green Tinted Glasses — Thomasin at Propson Palingenesis realized her family didn't so much choose green as it chose them, since not being green would have cost a lot more.

Green or Die! — NavelgazingBajan at Navelgazing remembers berating her family for not turning off the faucets — and notes that her efforts to save the planet for another 20 years must have worked.

Natural Parenting Carnival: Green Living — Sarah at Natural Parenting is doing more to make her children's generation green than what she had as a child.

Natural Parenting Carnival: Vintage Green — pchanner at A Mom's Fresh Start used to fill her own water bottles from a spring — before doing so was cool. (@pchanner)

Getting Dirty — Molly at Molly's Place is inspired by her mother's camaraderie with nature. She's going to get back in touch with the real food cycle, as opposed to the "shrink-wrapped nutrition" you can buy. (@KPMolly)

My Vintage Green Raincoat — Mama at Maman A Droit is wearing her brother's bright green raincoat — 16 years later! (@MamanADroit)

Vintage Green — Darcel at Mahogany Way hasn't realized it yet, but she is slowly turning into her parents. ;) (@MahoganyWayMama)

Vintage Green — mrs green at littlegreenblog reminds us that children can be green simply by being kids. (@myzerowaste)

March Carnival of Natural Parenting: Vintage Green — Lauren at Hobo Mama was eco-chic before it was en vogue. (@Hobo_Mama)

Growing Up Green — Chrystal at Happy Mothering honed her green instinct from an early age. (@HappyMothering)

greener pastures — The Grumbles at Grumbles and Grunts has a list of ways she's transitioning from green living as a novelty to green living as a lifestyle. (@thegrumbles)

Vintage Green: The Hot Water Tank Is Not Sexy — Zoey at Good Goog had to go green when moss started growing around her feet. (@zoeyspeak)

We Walked Softly — Starr at Earth Mama wrote a beautiful post about how her parents instilled a love of and respect for Earth and nature in her, and how she is passing that gift on to her own children.

Save the Mermaids! — CurlyMonkey is learning from her daughter how to keep the mermaids happy. (@curlymonkey_)

March Carnival of Natural Parenting: Vintage Green — Dionna at Code Name: Mama sees glimpses of her mother's greenness frugality in her own life — but she draws the line at pantyhose soap. (@CodeNameMama)

I Thought I Made Them Green, But Really They Made Me — Melodie at Breastfeeding Moms Unite! thought she made her parents green — until she took a closer look. (@bfmom)

A Culture of Less — Alison at BluebirdMama explained why homebirth is the green childbirth choice. I love this thought! (@childbearing)

5 Ways to Embarrass Your Children While Going Green — Acacia at Be Present Mama shares some of the embarrassing things her parents did to her in the name of being eco-conscious.

Ending Is Better than Mending? — Paige at Baby Dust Diaries is teaching us how to darn socks armed only with a light bulb. (@babydust)

There and Back Again: A Green Girl's Tale — Lactating Girl offers a gentle reminder that certain eco-conscious practices shouldn't be "ideals," but realities. (@LactatingGirl)

Oh Happy Day

2010-03-07T14:06:00.000-08:00

This morning I woke up in a bad mood. There was no good reason for it. My husband had so nicely let me sleep in even though it was my morning to get up. The weather was finally warmish and sunny after weeks of gloomy coldness. And I had enjoyed a perfectly lovely low key birthday yesterday.

In spite of the small delights of the weekend I was still grumpy. I was cantankerous with the girls especially after my husband escaped for a shower. I yelled at them for the little things and made Desmonda cry. Not that it's hard but I felt bad because she is under the weather so her dramatic sobs were punctuated with coughs.

When my husband emerged and suggested we all go to the park I grumped at him: "I'd like to just finish my TEA, can I just do THAT?!" He gave a look out at the sunshine but backed off. The girls gathered around me as I tweeted and sucked down my tea. Then I heard Calamity Jane call out: "Come play Desmonda!"

That simple phrase, perhaps unintelligible to most but clear as a bell to me, was the most beautiful thing I had heard in weeks.

It was better than all the sunshine in the world.

I immediately put down my tea and went to the park with the family. We soaked up the sunshine, even as we shivered in the wind. Then we went and had the best Mexican meal we have enjoyed since leaving San Antonio. Bad mood gone.

They were driving me crazy again by (not)nap time but my daughter's voice speaking words? The most wonderful sound in my world. If only I could bottle it up and open it for a listen in cranky times.

Not This Again : In Search of Sleep

2010-03-03T11:40:00.000-08:00

When asked what my daugthers do well the first thing I tend to answer is "sleep". My husband always rolls his eyes at this but really I think it is pretty impressive. They were going down at seven every night and not waking up until seven thirty most mornings. And still taking a two hour nap most days.

Notice I said were. Lately the naps have been few and far between for Miss Calamity Jane. Occasionally she crashes out but usually she plays and continually opens the door and slams it when she sees me. (Desmonda Drama naps in a pack and play in the guest room, for two hours still. Guess who is moving up the favorite child list?). And it's fine, she is three. I know a lot of kids stop napping around this time.

But this morning Calamity Jane strolled on in our room, naked, at six thirty in the morning. Oh hell no. THAT IS NOT ACCEPTABLE.

You see, I need my sleep. You may scoff at the validity of this but my body needs about nine hours a night. I can survive well on eight and just be slightly exhausted on seven but anything less than seven and I am a raging bitch from hell. I can't be held responsible for my actions.

So yeah, infant twins was just awesome for me. Especially since they weren't sleeping through the night until thirteen months. I gained back almost all the baby weight I had lost; I turned into a raving lunatic; I hated the world. It wasn't pretty. It's part of the reason i don't see us having another child unless said child comes with a sleeping through the night at six weeks guarantee.

This morning was a reminder of those insane days. I was so blurred and on edge. I found myself yelling at the girls and putting them in time out for things I would laugh off on another day. Though really girls every morning the toaster has to toast the bread, bread does not come out of the bag toasted as nice as that would be. screaming at me that you want toast is not going to change that fact.

When my husband came out of the room I told him that he was going to have to start getting up with the girls because I couldn't exist on this little sleep.

His suggestion was that I start going to bed earlier but I NEED those four hours between seven and eleven. It's when I clean the house up, readjust my stress levels, and get in my TV. Not to mention it's the only time I have with him. Something's got to give and it's not going to be me getting up before seven.

Now how to explain this concept to a three year old with s stubborn streak and limited verbal skills. That my friends, is the million dollar question.

Big Wheels Keep On Turning

2010-02-25T17:33:00.001-08:00

If there is any proof that, despite all evidence to the contrary, I am a Southerner it is the fact that I love the song Sweet Home Alabama. Like it was on the list for the DJ at my wedding love. The only time I don't love it? When it starts playing at six am every morning.

This story all starts with the disappearance of my mobile. One afternoon it was there, the next morning it was gone. Poof! Let me tell you it's been awesome since I had the girls because my husband can no longer blame such a disappearing act on my tendency to lose things. Because obviously the girls must have spirited it away to their secret twinsie hiding spot along with the tax form for my car and the number 4 puzzle piece that vanished into thin air in the space of thirty seconds.

So after sighing heavily, my husband helped me turn the entire house upside down looking for it but it never appeared. A normal person would have trotted themselves up to the AT&T store and gotten a new phone, maybe even a fancy smart phone. But I am cheap and stubborn. So I just did without for three weeks. With no land line this was an annoyance but hey who anyone who really wants to talk to me should get themselves on Twitter and DM me, right?

Finally Calamity Jane's speech therapist got so annoyed at not being able to reach me that she brought me her teen daughter's rejected phone. Besides the fun of reading through text messages like "GURL U R SO HOTT" and discovering that there are text chain letters ("Ur tru luv will die in a car crah if U dont snd dis 2 10 ppl" scary!), I was also thrilled to find dozens and dozens of songs downloaded as ringtones.

You see I am something of an idiot when it comes to technology. So I have been stuck with the factory rings which since I am lazy remains on the default. Which means I think my phone is ringing a lot when we're on public. Evidently there are a lot of lazy people out there.

You can imagine my glee when I found all those songs. Now I get to hear Sweet Home Alabama a few times a day and have a little dance party. Fortunately I am not too popular so I haven't looked like too big of an idiot in the preschool pickup line yet.

The only problem? It's playing every morning at six am. And my husband is ready to kill me. I keep meaning to turn it off, really. It's just that at six am I am too tired to do anything except scream and hide it in the couch. Then as the day goes on I forget all about it. Until the next morning when the sweet sounds of Skynard rouse me from slumber.

So what was this post about again?
Oh yeah, tweet me to turn that thing off before my husband kills me.
And at least I am not so technologically challenged that I can't talk about random stuff on the internet.

Mommy Needs a Valium

2010-02-23T11:07:00.000-08:00

Sometimes as I cue up my second TV show of the day while the girls nap or drink my third cup of tea of the morning while they play together quietly in their room I feel a little guilty. Golly gosh, my husband is working so hard all day and I am just eating cookies and watching the Vampire Diaries.

Then I have a after school experience like this morning where both girls are freaking out over minor but to them tragic things. I had to chose who to bring in and leave one standing in the snow because the garage door is broken. Hand washings involved forced holding over the sink and the carefully prepared for and requested sandwich was thrown to the ground in disgust. Naps didn't happen even though they were clearly needed and I had given them the exact formula of blanket, toy of the moment, and particular Sesame Street book needed for sleep.

Then I feel like a million dollars is not compensation enough for this and that I need a glass of wine at 12:30pm because my heart rate and stress levels are reaching heart attack status.

Besides a few romantic interludes (all with my husband of course ;)) the most intense moments of my life have been with my children. It was not surprising to me how much I love them, how sometimes just the sight of them can bring me to tears.
What was surprising is how intensely I can loathe them. How they can enrage me to the point of screaming. How many times I would have to walk out of the room or put them in the crib or hold them at arms' length, literally pushing them away from me.

My sister took me slightly to task for something I put on Twitter about this subject, joking that I better watch out or CPS would be calling me. And I have gotten the impression that other mothers are a little startled by my blog. It makes me wonder: is it really only me who feels this way?

As harsh as my words may read sometimes on the computer screen, I don't fear that my children will feel as if I didn't want them or love them. Because they know, I know that they know. I love on them and hug them and tell them how beautiful they are to me and how they are everything to my life. And I plan to never stop.

And sometimes I am even grateful for the rage because I know that it is the same force in me that lets me love them some openly. I wear it all on my sleeve, for better or worse. The intense emotions are what keep me going after mornings like this one, that make me want to stay home, that as cliched as it is, make it all worth it.

One of Us, One of Us, One of Us

2010-02-22T20:14:00.000-08:00

Yet another weekend has passed without me really getting much done. Not that it is a bad thing. It was rainy instead of snowy here but just as nasty so the four of us hunkered down and ate lots of good food and played and watched lots of Olympics and HGTV. But I let another weekend go by without getting the one thing done I really need done: a hair cut.

Since I stopped dying my hair wild colors and wearing glitter in it (yes, seriously) I have varied between two hairstyles: a bob, and wait for it, a bob with bangs. Boring but when you have baby fine hair that tangles at the slightest touch much like doll hair, well bobs work. Plus they are cheap to get and hard to mess up.

Perfect hairstyle right? So what's the problem?

Well I noticed a disturbing trend when I moved here: in CoMo the bob is the mom cut. And I don't want a mom cut. Yes I dress exclusively in the mom uniform of jeans and tee. Yes I drive a mom mobile. Yes, I can no longer stay up past eleven. But dammit, I want to cling to my last bit of my former cool identity.

Since giving birth to the terror twins I have had to go longer and longer between haircuts and, out of necessity, have perfected the ponytail bun hybrid that looks somewhat decent. But it has been way too long and the bun has gotten a little frightening. The tangles have started to take over and I may have to forgo the mom cut and have my head shaved. And while that would be edgy and definitely not scream mom, I have a really bumpy head and I don't think I would be able to rock a buzz cut.

So fine, this weekend I will get the bob. For real. And maybe some blue streaks just so I can cling to a shred of cool. Or glitter. Glitter would totally match my mom mobile car's paint.

Tomorrow

2010-02-18T14:33:00.000-08:00

Tomorrow I will...

*wake up in time to have a shower, get dressed, and maybe even have a cup of tea before the day starts
*will actually give my husband a big kiss before he leaves the house instead of sulking about him only saying goodbye to the girls and never to me
*instead of salami and chocolate I will have granola and yogurt for breakfast
*i will go to the gym for the first time in weeks
*lunch for the girls will be something other than mac and cheese
*instead of turning on a second program I will shut the computer and play with them whether they want me to or not
*dinner will be started before five thirty
*the cleaning checklist will be worked through and checked off

Oh tomorrow, tomorrow how I love you tomorrow.
I am always perfect a day away.

Being Special

2010-02-15T07:16:00.000-08:00

After a few weeks of cyclical sickness (two kids to pass between plus two parents mean flu and colds last forever) I am finally having a normal morning where I sit down and drink my tea while the girls watch their shows. So it is time to post.

There have been a lot of posts circulating in my head these past few weeks. A funny one about the Alpha Mom brigade, one admitting to my own Alpha Mom tendencies when it comes to birthday parties, Posts sparked by a great wine night out with a new friend where we talked about work and what we would do differently next time is there ever was a next time (we both fear having twins again).

But I haven't been able to write those because there was this post waiting. It needed to be written but I could not bring myself to sit down, write it out, and hit submit. This is a blog about the dark side of parenting but I could not get honest and write about this.

I am the mother of special needs kids.

And I hate myself for even having trouble writing those words. I have referenced it before in this blog. Friends in "real life" know the girls have delays. But there is just something about writing the words down that make it seem very real. I am ashamed of myself for having to "come out" on this issue. I have always thought of myself as the open sort who doesn't care about differences. It turns out I just care when it is my own kids.

The thing is I don't want people to think differently of or prejudge the girls. I want them to be seen the way I see them. Would I love it if they were both intelligible? Yes. Hell I would settle for one; then she could translate. But though their quirks make life harder but they also make them, them. The kids I love.

The problem is my own. I can't let go of the image of what my children would be like, what motherhood would be like. I can't seem to accept that we are on a different path than the norm, even if that path is what leads us to "normal". All the research on preschool, all the activities, all the play dates seem worthless. All the worry over social groups and exposure to the arts and other modern parenting problems only kept me from what I should have been worrying about.

Of course I blame myself. When you sit through five hours of listening to every single thing that is wrong with your children, it is hard not to feel like The Worst Mother Ever. But all I can do now is buck up and face the fact that motherhood is loving your kids; not living up to an image. Loving them is easy, letting go of the image is the hard part. Writing this is a first step.

The Nightmares of Moms

2010-01-24T06:56:00.000-08:00

It's a glum weekend around here since 3/4ths of the family has been felled by a cold (Calamity Jane can not be felled by a mere cough!) My nights have been filled with fitful sleep interspersed with cold medicine dreams. My dreams are rarely fantastical; they almost always involve people and places from my life, just rearranged in weird ways. So my cold medicine dreams are similar except more richly detailed.

Last night, I had a major nightmare about my husband leaving me. Of course I was devastated. After all I had just caught my husband getting a BJ from a woman in a red bikini in the deep end at a pool party. I, of course, was stuck in the pee infested shallow end trying to keep track of two non swimmers who were intent on paddling away from me as fast as possible. Needless to say, I was wearing a boring one piece. Even in my dreams I can't get rid of my stretch marks.

But the real dream devastation was yet to come. Instead of letting me scream at him he simply walked away. Only to reappear a couple of days later in a new BMW SUV that he had traded my mom-mobile in for. He dropped off the car seats, announced he was moving back to Minnesota to be with his new girlfriend and that I needed to get job ASAP as he wasn't planning on supporting us.

Let's review, stuck alone with two kids, no car, and no money. In small town Missouri (no offense CoMo!). I would much rather be chased by the bogeyman.

My husband would like me to add the disclaimer that this would never ever happen. There is no way he could afford a BMW SUV and besides, he prefers Audis.

That Mom Moments

2010-01-21T14:42:00.001-08:00

Have to admit, I was one of those moms today. The ones who dope their kids up with motrin and drop them off. I have been feeling poorly the past few days and when the girls woke up coughing, I thought "uh oh". But no fevers and decent moods all around so I bundled them up and packed them off to school, dosing them with a spoonful of motrin each at the first red light I hit.

Judge if you must but I assure you me having the four hour break was very healthy for them. And some other mom sent their kid with a stomach virus last week which the teacher and everyone else but the girls caught. So a little cough is child's play right?

Right?

*crickets*

Arguing With An Almost Three Year Old

2010-01-20T13:54:00.000-08:00

Desmonda Drama's oratorical skills may be lacking some vocabulary but she more than makes up for that in her tenacity. She is going to rock those backseat battles with Calamity Jane some day. Until then she just has me to argue with and she always wins.

A sample of today's throwdowns:

The Scene: I attempt to put her shoes on so we can all go to the gym.

Desmonda: I want a hat.
Me: Okay honey let me just get your shoes on and I will get you your rain hat to go with your raincoat.
Demonda: I want a hat.
Me: I know you want a hat honey, let me just get your shoes on.
Desmonda: I want a hat.
Me: First shoes, then hat.
Desmonda: Want. A. Hat.
Me: I understand you honey, I know you want a hat. And I will get you a hat as soon as I am done with your shoes.
Desmonda: Want a hat, want a hat, want a hat. HAT!!!!
Me: Fine, here's your hat. Now can I put your shoes on?

The Scene: We have made it into the car and are driving to the gym. Somehow I have been suckered into buying them a snack from the vending machine every time we go.

Desmonda: Pretzels at the gym!
Me: Yes baby I am going to get you some pretzels at the gym.
Demonda: Pretzels at the gym.
Me: I promise you, we will have pretzels when we get to the gym.
Desmonda: Want pretzels at the gym now.
Me: We're not at the gym honey, we're in the car. I don't have any pretzels.
Desmonda: Pretzels!!!
Me: Desmonda, I told you we would get them at the gym, are we at the gym?
Desmonda: Yes.
Me: Really, we're at the gym? The car is the gym?
Desmonda: Yes, want pretzels.
Me: At the gym.
Desmonda: Pretzels!
Me: At the gym.
Desmonda: Pretzels!
Me: At the gym.
Desmonda: Pretzels!
Me: At the gym.
Desmonda: Pretzels!
Me: At the gym.
Desmonda: Pretzels!
*I bang my head into the steering wheel.*

The Scene: Desmonda rolls up with her stuffed MingMing in the stroller and hands me a giant pile of tangled Mardi Gras necklaces.

Desmonda: Want necklace for MingMing.
Me: Okay honey.
*I untangle a necklace and hand it to her*
Desmonda:
*throws necklace on ground, it is obviously not good enough for a stuffed duck from the Most Annoying Show Ever. How could I not know this?*
Want necklace for MingMing.
Me: How about this one?
Desmonda: Okay! (this is a favorite trick, saying "Okay" like it was your idea to give her what she wants)
Me: Okay honey.
*I untangle a necklace and hand it to her*
Desmonda: Want necklace for MingMing.
*I untangle a necklace and hand it to her, repeat ten times*
Me: Honey, don't you think MingMing has enough necklaces? I can't even see her anymore.
Desmonda: Want necklace for MingMing.
Me: When is your dad getting home?
Desmonda: Want necklace for MingMing.
Me: Want to watch Sesame Street?
Desmonda: Okay!

Moving Towards the Middle

2010-01-17T07:33:00.000-08:00

This week I can really feel it, the pull towards the middle. On Monday in one stressful hour I got two calls: one from the school district about preschool observations that upended my entire schedule for the week and one from my mom telling my my sister's mother-in-law had died. Then later in the week I come to find out that my own mother-in-law had a bad fall that necessitated a visit to the doctor.

In between shuttling the girls to their school district evaluations, I have been talking to my sister about wills and arrangements and pestering my husband to find out more about what is going on with his mom.

Then on my dad's birthday after getting a prompted Desmonda to say "happy birthday! I love you Grandpa!" I had to hang up because my dad kept getting distracted and I was worried he would crash. My mom says he really can't see at night anymore. She can't either, restricting them to the early bird activities. On Fridays they volunteer at an old folks home, playing bridge with people who need partners. I can't help but wonder how many years I have left before they are the ones needing partners.

I see it everywhere, several friends lost parents last year. More are dealing with sick parents, having to step in and talk to the doctors, clear up their parents' finances, and help them adjust to their limited abilities. And though I haven't had to dive into any of those sticky situations with my parents or in-laws, I can feel it rushing at me. The middle is coming and the dynamic of our relationship will soon change.

When it happens, I know I will want to drop everything and be there for my parents. They have always been there for me and I want to do the same for them. But I can't because I have my own kids to think of, my own kids to be there for. It is the struggle between my two family places, the baby in our tight foursome and the mom to my own little girls. Right now I am figuring it out, my new place in the middle between the two.

You'd Like Me, You'd Really Really Like Me

2010-01-08T08:05:00.000-08:00

Happy New Year! Happy 2010!

Yeah, I know that was last week but time moves slowly around here. Technically my new year didn't even start until Monday January 4th because who can start all those healthy new years resolutions on a weekend? Especially on a weekend when one has full time free babysitting (parents in town). And especially not on a New Year's Day that was preceded by a NYE that involved ten straight hours of drinking.

But I am not going to bore you with a list of my resolutions, which are quite typical: save more, eat less, be happier, blah blah blah. I am just going to share one goal with you.

Make some damn friends.

Before you write me off as some internet weirdo, though how I love you my internet friends (shout out to LJ and Twitter), I actually do have a great group of friends. You know that mythical group who has casual fun playdates, mommy happy hours, tries new restaurants, goes on girls weekends, and has no drama? They exist and they are my group of friends. Unfortunately they all live far, far away now.

Before I left i should have gotten them to write me a recommendation letter:

To Whom It May Concern:

Please consider befriending Guavalicious. She will be happy to have you over. Often she has food available and always has coffee, even if you have to make it yourself. If you like to go out without your kids, Guavalicious is your girl. She likes to get out of the house everyday and will laugh at your jokes and be there when you need her.

Because, here in our new town, I am wondering if I have halitosis or a freaky vibe since people avoid me like the plague. Okay, that might be overstating it. It's more like I don't exist. Women here travel in giant packs of strollers and snacks and lots of kids (I swear you are not allowed to only have one child and I count the girls as one since they came at once).

They take up all the chairs at the library. Classes are filled with fast friends. Play groups are arranged and full. The girls and I circulate around the edges and I smile and hand my contact info to people I connect with. But no one calls. I imagine they are all off on a group trip to a pick your own farm.

So I kind of gave up and now I pull out my iTouch or book when the girls are happily engaged somewhere. I speed in and out of preschool drop off (eager for my alone time) and pickup (eager to get them home for nap). In the evenings, the husband and I are watching the entire Battlestar Galatica series and I am reading a ton more (three books already this year).

However, I still miss friends so I am back on the horse. Random knocking on doors didn't work. Handing out my email and phone number to strangers with kids hasn't worked. But I will keep at it. I will join moms groups, I will keep talking up random parents, I will start lingering at the preschool. I have lowered my standards: I will play Bunco, do scrapbooking, and go to a paint your own pottery place. The only thing I draw the line at is Bible study.

Bring it on 2010.

Torturing Our Kids With Santa Since 2007

2009-12-22T06:49:00.000-08:00

Have you seen this cuteness that has been circulating the web this week?

All together now, awwww. So cute, a kid who actually likes Santa. Though I am not convinced that that child is actually not animatronic because my own kids are terrified of Santa.

In a way I can't blame them. The situation does seem a little preposterous. I can just hear them thinking:
"You want me to go sit on that big man's lap and tell him what I want for Christmas? He's a stranger mom! With a scary beard!".

But because I get off on seeing my children cry we pump it up every year.

"That's Santa!!! He brings you presents!!! He's nice!!!
"If you sit on his lap I will buy you a cookie!!!"

We're like the best corner men in the world ready with water bottles and encouraging words and upbeatness in the face of utter defeat. Only to every year end up with a picture like this:

Ah, the memories.

Social Media Kills Your Children

2009-12-18T14:06:00.001-08:00

In case you didn't pick up on the sarcasm, that title was made in jest

One day I said to my mom I was amazed at how much she got done with three kids. Her wry response: "Well we didn't have the internet." Touche mom, touche. I kept thinking about this after the controversy this week on Twitter about the sad death of Shellie Ross's (@military_mom) son.

If you didn't read about the story anywhere (I only found out about it by noticing a post a Twitter friend had made in reference to it), the short version is that an active blogger/twitter mom's son drown in the family's swimming pool.

Since then she has been the focus of scrutiny by the press and other bloggers because of her Twitter time line. She twittered throughout the day and up until the moment 911 was called then after he was taken to the hospital, asking for prayers. They question her time spent on developing her online personality insinuating that if she had spent more time watching her child the tragedy would not have happened.

My own reaction is somewhere between the defense of her friends and the castigation by other bloggers. As a mom of small kids, my own approach to parenting is more hands off than most. I do not always have them within my line of sight and often ignore them longer than I should just to get one more post read. The lesson in this tragedy for me it is to step back from the screen. To be more present. Because life takes unexpected turns and there are no guarantees.

And this to me is the downside of the "mommy blogging world". It is ironic to be that to be successful as a mommy blogger you have to spend much of your time not actually mothering your kids. A prominent woman in web work once told me she had a problem with BlogHer because it was asking women to trade the lives of their children for swag.

While it was a over simplification (that came from a working mom with s stay at home spouse) it did go to the root of the dark side of this new uncharted world of social media. To get the trips and the products you have to give of yourself and your time. You put yourself out there in a big way and Shellie Ross experienced the downside of that at the worst possible time.

Some might question why I would chose to write about this. Simply put, when I was ten while I watched TV and the housekeeper ironed, my younger sister drowned in our swimming pool. As a parent, I have always known that the worst can happen. Though my mother was not home at the time I know that there are family and friends who blamed her for her permissive attitude towards her children, letting a three year old play outside by herself. I know she must have felt the pain that Shellie feels, just not the judgment of strangers.

Please, please go read this excellent post on pool safety. People think it's slightly crazy but my children don't wear water wings or any kind of floatie (give a false sense of security to parents) and are never out of arms length of an adult while in or near water.

Some links on the story:
http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2009/12/17/shellie-ross-moms-tweets_n_395833.html
http://www.ksdk.com/news/local/story.aspx?storyid=192076&catid=3
http://abcnews.go.com/Technology/shellie-ross-twitter-mom-tweets-son-death-pool/story?id=9353490

My Kids Are Going To Hell

2009-12-09T14:32:00.000-08:00

Though my kids may be devilish at times, I am pretty convinced they are not actually destined for hell. However, the daily church advertisements in my mailbox are doing their best to convince me otherwise. I have never lived in a place where religion is so prevalent, where everyone I meet is a church goer. It's slightly unnerving how much a part of the fabric of daily life it is here.

Unnerving for me because we are not religious. At least that is the whitewash answer I give to people when they ask what church we attend. The starker, real answer is that I am an atheist, my husband is an atheist leaning agnostic, and we are raising our kids without religion.

We, the parents i know both in real life and online, talk a lot about not losing themselves in parenthood and I agree. And that is why I can't be anything than who I am with religion. It is not a choice for me not to believe; it just is who I am. And while I will not lead the girls down my own path I can not send them down one I am not on. I can not lie to them about something as important as this.

My husband and I have discussed at length (raise them Catholic? Attend the Unitarian church? Wait and see?) but we keep coming back to not having it be a part of their lives, at least for the foreseeable future. It is the right choice for us but a small part of me worries that it will negatively impact them, make them the ultimate outsider. Out of all of the alternative parenting choices we make, this is definitely the most unusual.

But then what can we be sure about as parents? We try everyday to create the lives we want for them, better than our own, but we in the end we can not control what will happen to them. They have to and will make their own choices about where to go, about who they will become.

What they chose will be theirs. It's not that I don't want them to ever be religious. I had a positive upbringing in it (raised Catolic) and being an atheist can be a lonely path, no church and its community. No prayer to turn to. So I will support whatever they chose. And I will know that it is an authentic choice because it was theirs to make.

Not Me Monday

2009-11-23T11:38:00.000-08:00

Welcome to Not Me! Monday! This blog carnival was created by MckMama. You can head over to her blog to read what she and everyone else have not been doing this week.

You know those moms who drug their kids for long car trips and plane rides. I would never do that. I just gave them some bendaryl his afternoon because they were sniffly and snotty (actual snot, not their attitude) not as a test drive for the Thanksgiving drive. I entertain my kids with stories and songs on the road, for ten hours. *whistling innocently*

Weirdo Cranberry Maker

2009-11-23T08:52:00.001-08:00

Really I thought I was on track for this holiday week. Christmas shopping is 99% done and I am on budget. The road trip to Dallas for Thanksgiving is all planned out. I even packed out suitcases and prepared a list of what order to put stuff in the car. One thing I can never prepare for? Turning into a twelve year old around my family.

After being told what I should pack for my girls for the weekend, my mom asked me if I was still bringing cranberries. I said yes and preceded to talk about the recipes I was planning on making (one sweet and one savory). her response: "I am making the classic ones because everyone wants the normal stuff".

Thanksgiving has always been my husband and I's holiday. Not in any offical lovely dovey way, just kind of an unspoken thing. We met Thanksgiving weekend one year and never again spent it apart. At first we went to friends or drove to Mexico or ate out but for the past eight years or so I have cooked. I love cooking and plan my menu early on making something slightly different every year, usually gourmet versions of traditional Thanksgiving foods.

We've spent it alone a couple of times but usually his parents come to us and it works great. They always compliment me on my cooking and even better, do the dishes after. And then they and my husband take the girls out on Friday morning while I finish putting stuff away and do some Christmas shopping. I love it.

The only time my family has spent the holiday with us, my sister and I dissolved into a fight over whether a fancy Hyundai was just as good of a car as a Mercedes (see, 12). The end was my sister storming out of the house and then returning to tell me I wasn't a very good hostess. Can you feel the love?

Now my sister and her husband have laid claim to Thanksgiving. They host a huge feast in Dallas (my hometown) every year for extended family. They are both fabulous cooks and the tales I have heard of the food have my mouth watering. We've never been able to make it because of work or living eighteen hours away. So this year I am excited to finally go.

But part of me is sad. Thanksgiving has always been mine and now it's not. It was the holiday where we stayed home and had time together as our own family of two, then four. For once relatives come to us (I fully expect to travel for Christmas for the rest of our lives because both of our older sisters want to be home). My sister has already been given my mom's Christmas cookie cutters (because "she's the baker in the family") and I am destined to be the eternal visitor, relying on others' traditions.

So when my mom mentioned the cranberries, I did the only reasonable thing in that situation: whined "why am I even bothering then" and hung up the phone after a cursory goodbye (my mom may have been saying "I love you" as I hung up *guilt*). Instantly twelve again, the awkward kid who always says the wrong thing and feels left out.

Sigh. Is it too early to start the Thanksgiving drinking?

Just call me Schadenfreude Mom

2009-11-21T12:55:00.000-08:00

scha·den·freu·de (shäd'n-froi'də)
n. Pleasure derived from the misfortunes of others.

This past week at Kindermusick should have been our best ever. The girls didn't cry in fear when it was their turn to be sung hello to. They even communicated the action they wanted, even if I had to translate. When it came time to go to "leaping land" they actually grasped the hands of the people next to them with nary a whimper. As we walked in a circle, I basked in the smiles of the other moms. The smiles may have been a wee condescending but I will take it considering the previous times we have had. So yes, it was close to the best class ever.

But it wasn't my best day at Kindermusik, not by a long shot. See that happened weeks ago when not one, but TWO kids had to be removed because of the absolute fits they threw. It was truly sublime. I know it is awful of me to take pleasure in another parent's misery. But what can I say, I am a schadenfreude mom.

It all started when I began taking the girls out in public. To be a twin mom is to instantly attract attention. And that is doubled when you are a mom like me, who often forgets snacks or to be more honest, a diaper bag all together. People were always nice but I got a lot pitying glances and "i don't know how you do its".

Now that I have what some might call "spirited children" I am always that mom. It's true. I can often be found carrying one child barrel style while frantically searching for the other one. We have almost been kicked put of the library at least three times. And yep, that's my girl Calamity Jane hanging from the monkey bars cackling gleefully in the face of imminent death while I try persuade her sister to come down the slide and stop holding up the line.

All in all, I have come to embrace it. Having gotten over the worry of what people think a long time ago (yep that was me breastfeeding my baby at a bar while drinking a margarita), I am usually able to shrug off any glances or dirty looks and enjoy my kids. When all three of us make it to the end of the day in one piece, I consider it a success.

But that doesn't mean I don't take a little pleasure when someone else is that mom. I will be the first to lend a helping hand, especially since you just gave me the day off.

Blog Spotlight : The Chocolate and The Cheese

2009-11-18T17:41:00.001-08:00

Know when you're having a bad day and all you want to do is stick your kid in the crib and drink wine while she cries? Don't you wish you had someone to call and tell that to on those days? Someone who is not a member of the momfia? Well I do. Her name is MP and she rocks. And now you can have her as a friend too because she has a (frequently updated!) blog called The Chocolate and the Cheese.

I love MP's blog because is a peek into her life. Don't you just love getting snapshot of how someone really lives? It is not the polished version that so many people present, just the real thoughts that go through her head. Not only does she cover parenting and marriage with an honest voice she also posts about her loves like baking and reading and dreaming. And now that she has started posting pictures of her cooking, her blog is a visual feast too. I am lusting over the ginger cookies she posted today.

So if you like a blog by a mom that's not a "mommy blog" go check out The Chocolate and the Cheese. Add it to your reader; you won't be disappointed.

Not Me Monday

2009-11-16T17:52:00.000-08:00

Welcome to Not Me! Monday! This blog carnival was created by MckMama. You can head over to her blog to read what she and everyone else have not been doing this week. This is my first blog carnival post. By the way that whole phrase is one of those internet things that totally confuses me. I mean if it's a carnival where are the creepy rides, rigged games, and deliciously bad for me food?

Anyway, I haven't read MckMama's blog much yet but it has got be fun. And I found this particular topic perfect for my blog. So here goes...

I didn't hear the girls this morning and put the pillow over my head instead of going to get them up. And I certainly didn't let them watch extra shows because I needed an extra cup of tea and didn't want to referee the Wonder Pets vs. Yo Gabba Gabba throwdown.

We didn't all stay in our pajamas until five minutes before the therapist showed up. And I certainly did not allow Desmonda Drama to go in the other room when she started sobbing about not wanting school time. I totally went right back in and sat in on Calamity Jane's OT session instead of checking Twitter and having another cup of tea.

A mom like me would never give her kids saltines ten minutes before lunch time just to get a few minutes of peace and quiet. And I am way too laid back to get all worked up over getting the perfect Christmas card shot. That's so not me. I would never put my child in time out because she wouldn't look at the camera and was instead banging the ornaments together.

After a day like that I would not have garlic bread and wine for dinner. No, no instead I would cook a nutritious meal and pick the house up instead of drinking more wine and reading during bathtime. No way, not me!

Hating My Job

2009-11-13T14:55:00.000-08:00

It is one of those days today. We barely made it out of the house and when we finally did the girls were more irritable and tired after playtime than they had been before. Of course they didn't nap and now they are hanging on me like monkeys demanding one more hug, cracker, episode of the Wonder Pets, etc. I am literally holding them off with my elbow while I try to type this in.

At this moment I am sure you are thinking, well then why don't you get yourself off the computer and play with your kids! Isn't that why you stay home?! And you're right. Except that I have already played several games of dress up, read ten books, prepared two meals and two snacks, built with blocks, broken up fights, enforced time outs, and picked up the house only to have it completely destroyed again. Frankly, I am done.

It's days like this that I think I need to go back to work.

Except that I have no idea what I would do. With two non potty trained kids the same age, I have to make a more than decent salary to make going back to work financially worth it. And I couldn't go back to my old career because the hours were crazy and totally unpredictable. I did it for a few months when the girls were fifteen months and it was exhausting. Not to mention that there would be some days that I wouldn't see the girls for more then ten minutes or so.

And I don't think that working again would be fulfilling for me, at least not more fulfilling than raising my kids. I've never been one of the people that takes pride in a job well done or the satisfaction. I am more of a "work hard while I am here and then walk out the door with a paycheck" kind of gal. My motto about work it: they pay me to be here.

So here I sit, loving every thirty minutes or so of it. Begging the kids to leave me alone for just a minute. Waiting for the opening of the garage door so I can check out. And by checking out, I mean clean up and make dinner, enhanced by a glass of wine. Still wondering what I am going to do when I grow up.

Bad Mom Moments

2009-11-06T15:00:00.000-08:00

Today was a banner day for Bad Mom Moments:

2. let Desmonda Drama eat saltines for breakfast and morning snack because that is all she wanted
3. put the RHOA reunion show part two on while I folded laundry
4. didn't feed them lunch because they were full from a morning full of crackers
5. still haven't changed Jane even though I am pretty sure she is poopy because my diapers are still drying
6. told them to go outside without shoes because I was too lazy to put them on

Blog Spotlight : Medicated in Minnesota

2009-11-06T06:23:00.000-08:00

NaBloPoMo fail! I meant to post this yesterday and never did.

The more blogs I read the more amazed I am at how many good ones there are. But finding them among the pile of mediocrity is time consuming. So I decided to feature a blog I love. Don't say I never did anything for you!

My inaugural blog spotlight blog is Medicated in Minnesota written by a real life friend of mine. Emily's blog is a refreshingly honest account of her postpartum depression and continued struggles with depression. I feel like talking about this issue openly is so important. And Emily is perfect for the conversation because of her open and hopeful approach to life.

I really wish that everyone that read her blog could meet her in person because she is an adorable bubbly (sometimes) blond. The first time I met her I thought "great, a perfect mom with a perfect adorable kid" and thought we would have nothing in common. How lucky I am that she made an effort to become my friend. She has been a wonderful support person for me as a mom and I am so glad she is putting her voice out there.

So what are you waiting for? Go check out Medicated in Minnesota. And by the way, I have to make a little joke about needing to be medicated to survive the Minnesota winters. Put it this way, after living there I know why people in Russia drink vodka all the time.

Five Things

2009-11-04T19:34:00.000-08:00

This month I have been actively working on being more thankful for what I have. It really has been helping my mood and I think it is key in a path I seem to be taking myself on. But less on that and more on my five today. I spend a lot of time bitching and moaning about motherhood so I wanted to focus my five on the girls today.

1. That I have a true partner in raising my kids. It is invaluable to have one person who is always ready to tag in when needed. And there is nothing better than someone who loves your kids as much as you do.
2. Twelve hours of peace and quiet starting at seven every night. I am probably jinxing myself but the girls never wake up at night. Even if they do cry out it is always something that takes a minute to fix and happens before we go to sleep. I can get a solid eight hours in of sleep and spend the evening child free.
3. Being a superhero everyday. I love this stage, where almost any problem can be solved be a kiss from mom.
4. Seeing how hard they work is amazing. Through all their struggles, they never give up. I don't know where they got this resilient spirit but I hope they never lose it.
5. Pigtails. Is there anything cuter? And seeing them on my daughter makes me smile everytime.

Social Media is Exhausting

2009-11-03T14:55:00.000-08:00

Honestly I can't believe it took me this long to start a blog and get going on twitter. All the social networking (or notworking as Marymac puts it, ha!) sites out there are really made for someone like me who thinks in soundbites and is allergic to the phone. Seriously, I hate the phone. If I have called you and it it not to ask directions or where the hell you are/explain where the hell I am, know that I am very close to the breaking point. Or in the car and bored.

However as much as I love not having to communicate beyond 140 characters, I have to say that I am finding it exhausting. Perhaps it might be because I am slightly addicted (seriously I have 450 twitter updates in the one month I have been using it ). I used to think I had a problem with Facebook but was like snorting smarties compared to the heroin that is Twitter. After all, on Facebook there was only so much I could update on what I was doing and I was limited to reading and responding to what my friends had to say.

But on Twitter, thousands of strangers are eager to tell me what is going on with them and the world and the news. And so many of them want to help me make money! Really what's not to like? But it never stops and I am starting to get fatigued from trying to keep up. I can barely get everything read much less craft anything witty to say. And trying to find new people to follow while weeding out the spam followers, how do people keep it straight?

Add to that writing on this blog, reading all the blogs I already read plus the new ones I have found, and don't forget finding new ones to link to. Really, it's a full time job. That pays nothing and keeps me from my other nonpaying job of mothering. There's got to be a balance right?

I am going to start working on finding one.
Right after I post this and link to it on Twitter.

Which One of Us is the Addict?

2009-11-02T13:56:00.000-08:00

As the girls' third birthday approaches we have been working on shedding the baby habits. Though they are still in cribs (and will be until they scale out on a regular basis, cribs are my favorite parenting tool) we are really ramping up the potty training and are planning to make the switch from high chairs to boosters soon. The last remaining "baby" toys have been cleared out and preschool starts Thursday. That just leaves one looming hedge to leap.

The paci.

Oh how Calamity Jane loves the pacifier. She has a very specific type, the pink and yellow latex Nuk. Woe to any child who might have one at the playground for they are the object of Jane's fury. And that is not a position you want to be in. One of the few words she has? Papa! And she is not talking about her daddy.

The past couple of weeks we have gently started the pacifier removal campaign. It has always been limited to the crib but now it is put away immediately upon waking in the mornings and after naps. No more using it during time outs, no more sneaking it when mommy isn't looking. Or when mommy pretends not to see because she is happy to have some peace and quiet. Which gets down to the one remaining problem with giving up the pacifier.

Me.
I am a total paci addict too.

It became very clear to me today how addicted I am it when I was dragging a full on temper tantrum throwing CJ to nap. As she kicked at me during the diaper change, I quickly pulled out a pacifier and shoved it in her mouth. Ah, instant happy child. The glazed look came over her face and I was able to change her diaper and put her down for a nap (without a book even) in total silence. Like the boob once was, it is the cure all. And I just don't know that I am ready to let it go. Is there a support group for paci addicted parents?

Why Do You Write?

2009-11-01T11:53:00.000-08:00

As I start off NaBloPoMo, I am wondering why you write on a blog. Is it therapeutic? A way to keep up with friends and family? A path towards income? Is there something you must share with the world? Or is it just for you?

Why?

My answer...

When my sister-in-law first started blogging, I was inspired to start one too. But I just sat and stared at a blank screen. My brain was shot from waking up every two hours and I found that I had very little to say. And I was paralyzed by the idea of creating a blog identity. Blogs were just breaking through as a business, a way to make money or gain things. Panicked at my sudden stay at home mom identity, I grasped onto the wonder of this. But in the end, I just couldn't make up my mind and did nothing.

This time it seems to be working. I have found the most important thing for me if to sit down and write, as often as possible. My friend MP who started her blog right before I did has committed to writing every weekday and while I haven't been able to copy that, it has been an inspiration to just write. Every time I hit submit it feels like I am shedding a layer of myself. A burden lifts when I let something go out into the world. And since I haven't found my social niche here yet, I am enjoying the social outlet that blogging and twittering gives me.

Though I have been planning two niche blogs (soft launch this month, if I write it it will happen) with goals and ambitions, this space remains without any. For now, it is just for spilling my thoughts onto virtual paper. Sometimes it is funny, sometimes it is sad and the level of writing varies widely from post to post. But that is okay with me. For now, right here, in this space, it is enough just to be writing again.

How To Be A Lazyass Housewife Like Me

2009-10-30T12:37:00.000-07:00

While pregnant I spent a lot of time fantasizing about how awesome my house would look after I had kids. *pausing for your laughter* You see, I had spend a few years working as a manager at various upscale home stores and had accumulated plenty of holiday decorations and gourmet cooking items. I just knew that once I had all day my house would look like something out of Domino (RIP) and I would be serving gourmet meals to my husband while I fed organic pureed carrots to my little angels.

And it all might have happened, except that the girls did not sleep at all during the day for the first six months. And then they didn't sleep through the night until fourteen months. By the time I came out of the first year haze my lazy ass housewifer habits had been established. But for the following tips, my children would be living in squalor and my husband would be asking me what I do all day every night instead of once a month (still not sure honey but when I figure it out you will be the first one to know!).

1. Let your kids eat off the floor. It's a win-win situation: your kids build their immune system, you get a passably "clean" floor. My friend MP can attest to how well this works.

2. Get a dog. Eventually your kids will stop eating off the floor. Your partner or mother in law will notice and scold them and you will feel bad or at least won't want to send a mixed message. Or their favorite show will tell them food on the floor is full of "dirty, yucky germs" (thanks a lot Yo Gabba Gabba). This is where man's best friend comes in. Just be sure to vary your snacks, even dogs get sick of saltines.

3. Do The Four Thirty Scramble. It's been one of those days, you're still in your pajamas, every toy is on the floor, the TV is playing The Real Housewives while your kids scream at each other in their room. Quick, jump up and do the four thirty scramble. Get dressed, slap on some makeup if you wear it, and start picking up. 30 minutes of concentrated picking up/cleaning works wonders

4. Make the bed everyday. Your mom was right. It really does make a difference.

5. Conquer the dishes in four easy steps. one: unload clean dishes (see step four) two: fill one side of sink up with soapy hot water (don't let it get too high) three: rinse dishes of food and let soak all day in soapy water four: load soaked dishes into dishwasher and start before you go to bed.

Though I am full of tips, I can't give them all away in one post. Baby steps my friends, soon you will be a lazy housewife like me.

I Poisoned My Kids Yesterday

2009-10-29T11:12:00.000-07:00

Not only did I let people poison my kids yesterday; I waited in line two and a half hours for the privilege. After an awful morning of numerous tantrums and tears (the girls too), I packed the girls up to head off to the county clinic. In the true spirit of Trick or Treat, they were handing out free H1N1 shots and Flumist yesterday.

I am somewhere in the middle of the vaccine debate. At heart I am all "they really are poison and why in the hell would I let you shoot my kid up with that!" but my head counters with "look at all the good they have done and do you really think the risk is worth it?". And my Id is jumping up and down screaming "AUTISM!". My husband is more of a right on schedule kind of guy so he and my three personalities agreed to a slightly delayed schedule for the girls' regular vaccines.

Being optional and all, the flu shot just never happens for us. For I am lazy. And cheap. They haven't gotten it before because that would have involved an extra trip to the doctor and two more copays.

This year however, the H1N1 hysteria has hooked me and I started to fret about them dying of the flu. And how my husband would leave me because I let his precious darlings die because I was too lazy and hippie-ish to get them one simple shot. Or they would infect my newly born niece BabyP and it would cause a huge rift in the family which would leave me spending all my holidays with the in-laws and they hardly drink. Not good, not good.

Beyond my runaway imagination, I was worried about them getting sick and me being stuck at home with two sick kids. That would be really bad for their health and even worse for mine. So when I read that the county had the mist (mercury free) and it was free (FREE!) I decided to head on down there.

Along with half the parenting population of my small city. If nothing else, it may have been worth going for the people watching. Standouts included:

*The first time parents, easily spotted by the loving father and mother team. Ah, I remember those days when the husband came everywhere with us. Doctor appointments were fun since they were followed by Mexican lunches with margaritas while the girls slept peacefully in the buckets.
*The over accessorized woman with a scarf tied around her leg (a trend I am happy to have missed), a wide belt around her waist, and another scarf wrapped around her neck (these Missourians are wimps).
*The overly prepared mom complete with stroller, grocery bag of snacks, bag of activities, and her mom to hold the place in line just in case
*The stressed out underprepared mom with two screaming kids hanging off of her

Oh wait, that last one was me. The whole thing was a bit of a clusterfuck . It started at one which is of course prime naptime for the under four set. Naptime is pretty darn sacred in our house but I was worried if we waited they would run out AND MY CHILDREN WOULD DIE or I would have to find a doctor and pay for it. You know, one of the two.

My brilliant plan was to head to the church after Kindermusik (a whole other post) then get the girls food and go get in line early so we could be the first to be misted up, then head home directly and nap. Good plan huh?

Except we never made it to Kindermusik because of all the aforementioned tantrums and a clothing strike by Desmonda Drama. So we were running late, then all the drive through lines were packed, and I got lost. So we ended up 215 in line with no food and no diaper bag (which is always stuffed with bribes). A to the Some. The girls hung off of me like monkeys while we waited in a line to get into the building. And damn was Desmonda not happy about not being allowed to enter. She kept running to the door and shouting "I want to go in" anytime it opened a crack.

Boy was she disappointed when we got inside to find... another line. That led into a room containing a mysterious roulette of tables where we had to sign statements we knew that the shot contained mercury. They hadn't. And after that the other moms stopped talking to me; even the one prepared one with snacks to share. Darn my paranoid nature.

After waiting for two hours, our table number came up on the roulette wheel and we were finally ushered to... another line. Finally we made it into an office where a nurse shot their noses full of viruses. Woo! Now they won't catch the dreaded swine flu. Of course all the side effects of the mist are the symptoms of the flu. But don't worry, the girls are fine. I, on the other hand, woke up today feeling like I had been run over by the fever-sneeze truck. I must be allergic to the general public.

Dear Mommy Bloggers, Reality is Calling

2009-10-27T18:16:00.000-07:00

Edited to add a link to an amazing new blog that I have been waiting anxiously for, Medicated in Minnesota Thank you Emily for your honesty. You are one amazing and brave woman. And a pretty kick ass mom too.

One of my favorite "parenting" blogs is Sweet Fine Day. I put "parenting" in quotes because though it is written by parents Jenna and Mark the blog itself is more a mishmash of their lives, baking, business running, decor, food, life. It shows the full life that people can attain if they put themselves out there. And it shows amazing parents who allow their kids to be themselves seemingly without the addition of all the modern day must haves.

While I will never attain the balance and style that Jenna and Mark seem to have I love their blog for the possibility. Plus it is just a beautiful visual feast; I have to physically stop myself from ordering from their online bakery Whimsy and Spice every time they post a photo of one of their delicious treats. If I go to BlogHer next year a visit to the Brooklyn Flea will definitely be on the agenda.

Because I find their blog so inspiring to me as a parent I was shocked at the negativity that Jenna experienced after her
post about the daughter chewing on her brand new (I am assuming not cheap) bed. The message seemed to be "Never be less than absolutely happy with your child" and definitely never swear. Not swear at your child or even about your child mind you, do not even swear at a situation, in writing. If these parents can't hack it, there's no hope for me.

The true friends I have made since being a mother are the ones that are not afraid to be open and honest about their feelings about parenting. Like the adage, don't trust anyone over thirty five I can't trust anyone who loves being a parent every moment. The multitude of mommy bloggers who post about "OMG , I love my kids SOOOO much" and how they feel guilty for ever being short with them horrify me. Because isn't that impossible? How can you love your kids every second? How can you never be annoyed/tired/short/absentminded/mad at your kids?

I really think that blogs and posts that are too good to be true do a disservice to all parents. After all, parenting is hard enough without feeling like you are the only one who isn't loving every minute of it. And don't all those bad moments make the good ones that much better? They say that being happy starts the moment you truly accept yourself. So thanks to my friends and the parent bloggers out there who talk about the highs and lows. You have made me a better mom.

Guest Post : Mom Rage

2009-10-26T14:43:00.000-07:00

Hello! I am back from vacation but suffering from the post Hawaii blues so here is a guest post from my friend MP. MP is my mom soulmate. She was a one woman support system when I lived in the frozen north and I miss her like crazy. Luckily she has an awesome blog so I almost feel like I still get to talk to her everyday. Check it out!

Hello, my name is MP.
I am a Mom Rager.

Let's get one thing straight. I love my kid, in fact there's not much that I love more than my kid. She's the cutest, smartest, funnest and funniest kid on Earth. See? I can totally be one of those moms. However even I can fall prey to the not so rarest of diseases...Mom Rage.

You can see it for yourself everyday in the grocery store, Target or non-cartoon character themed restaurant. You see a mom bent over, teeth clenched, angrily whispering threats. She straightens up only to hurriedly pick up the toy/clean up the mess/apologize to the waiter and then she's out the door like a flash. In fact, unless you have a trained eye you might miss this display of 'Motherly Affection'.

Mom Rage has no known trigger. It could be the thousandth time a kid has said, "Mom!" in one hour, the third toy that was angrily thrown to the ground, a lunch that wasn't eaten, a tantrum or sometimes just simply when your kid smiles when you tell them "No". My Mom Rage has been set off from all of these scenarios; and then some.

Fortunately Mom Rage seems to dissipate as quickly as it appears. Almost the instant that you get it, you can feel it melting away. You take your kid and rush out only to be met with some fresh air. Mom Rage gone. That smile that was so annoying not five seconds ago is now endearing as your kid reaches in to give you a hug. Thank goodness our kids are cute, otherwise I'm pretty sure the other cure for Mom Rage would be a full bottle of wine...and I only start drinking after five. Ok, four. But only if it's been one of those days.

The thing about Mom Rage is that everyone gets it. From the time your kid is born you feel it. The sleepless nights, the long days, the incessant whining, the never-ending time/love/attention that our kids demand. Best piece of advice I ever got was right after my kid was born. A friend told me that almost every mom thinks about shaking her baby. Ninety-nine percent of them would never, EVER do it. Nobody ever mentions that. But you know why acknowledging that feeling makes them good moms? Because talking about it and being truthful to yourself makes them sane. Because they love their kid enough to know that they need to put them in a safe place, walk away until they can go back calm and collected.

Hello, my name is MP.
I am a Mom Rager.

On Not Having Kids

2009-10-21T14:52:00.000-07:00

Aloha! I am vacationing in lovely Oahu, Hawaii (feel free to hate me) but my friend Becky was nice enough to do a guest blog for me on being child free. Becky and I have been friends for almost seven years now but have never actually met. Ah, the beauty of the internet. Be sure to check on her blog Casa Caudill for lovely posts on home, cooking, and travel.

When Kate asked me to write a guest post on being child-free I was pretty nervous; I mean, her's is a blog about raising her twin daughters, I can't really relate. (I'm very close to my sister and her kids, but I realize it's not the same thing.)

Even though (or maybe because of?!) I am one of five kids and grew up with an incredibly large extended family, I've never felt desire to have kids. When I was six my first grade teacher asked me how many kids I wanted when I grew up. I scowled (and thus began the giant line down the middle of my forehead that grows with age) and told her I wasn't having kids, thankyouverymuch, because ... wait for it ... "I don't like kids." You see, I was the six year old that would rather hang out with the grown ups than play in the sandbox. Go outside and play baseball in the street with the neighborhood kids or sit with my grandma in the cool air conditioning, listening to talk radio and brushing her hair? No question which one I enjoyed more. I vaguely recalled telling my second grade teacher that I found other children "dirty and tiresome." (I never said I wasn't precocious.)

Fast-forward to junior high and another teacher asked me the same question. Armed with better dirty looks and a larger vocabulary I explained to her that I wasn't having kids because I didn't feel any great desire to procreate. And then again in college a professor (?!?!?!?!) casually asked when I would be getting married and starting a family. Having found my boyfriend - now husband - at the ripe old age of 18, I knew marriage was on the horizon but yet again I was asked to explain myself: I'm not having kids, I've never wanted kids, I don't need to have children to feel fulfilled and not having kids is actually the economically and environmentally responsible thing to do.

As I've gotten older the explanations have grown to include the fact that I probably can't have kids without a lot of medical intervention. (Note: several of my friends and my sister have suffered with infertility and so yes, I know what this means and how hard it can be.) So here I am at 32 and (1) people are still asking and (2) my desire for children hasn't changed.

I think the hardest part of having this conversation over and over again is that I find it so disrespectful (especially when it's with the same people over and over again). By continuously asking me year after year when I am having kids or telling me that I am only getting older you're essentially telling me that you don't believe I'm firm in my convictions and that you somehow know what is better for me (and my husband) than I/we could ever know my/ourselves. When you act disinterested in anything I tell you that's not related to us having children, you're telling me that you believe my life lacks value and meaning because I don't have kids. While I have friends who love their children - and by extension, I love their children - the sum of my life is no less then theirs. It's just different value and meaning. I assure you, my life quite full and rewarding. You should be happy for me, and yet, you're not - not unless I'm having kids.

The latest - from my mother in law, no less - is that we could always adopt; after all, who will take care of us when we're old? Yes, apparently that's reason enough to give birth these days. No thanks, I've got a pretty awesome 401k portfolio to take care of my golden years.

It's Official, I'm Old

2009-10-18T07:28:00.000-07:00

Right now it is seven thirty am and I am the only one in the house awake. When was the last time that happened? Since I had kids? Oh, never! Of course right now my kids are across the country while I am kicking it in LA, so that helps. Why you might wonder am I up at seven am then? That would be because I am OLD.

This morning I kept tossing and turning but was determined not to get up. After all, no kids = sleeping in. So I shut my eyes and fell back asleep three or four times until I allowed myself to look at the clock. I assumed it was around nine, yeah it was seven.

Friday when we got in, I valiantly stayed up until almost twelve (two am my time) but last night at ten thirty I was falling asleep on the couch. My body is just not used to this much activity: Brunch! Two hour urban hike (in flip flops)! Echo Park meandering! Two hour, four course Thai dinner! I was falling asleep on the sofa for about thirty minutes before I just gave it up and established that I was lame and going to bed.

This is all proving my theory that kids age you two years for every one. After all my friends are kidless and though older than me, look younger. There is nary a wrinkle to be seen on their faces. The first night we were here they stayed up until two in the morning with the husband looking up people on Facebook (they all went to college together) and A still got up for and attended a body sculpt class at nine. All I can think is, how in the hell are you doing this?

Sleep is all I crave these days. Vacations have become for sleeping. I am like an eighty year old, wanting to eat early and then go to bed. This is not inline with the husband since he thinks, rightly so, that vacations are for going out and living it up since we don't have to pay a babysitter. Evidently I am the only one who got old. Maybe it's breastfeeding, not kids.

Hopefully naps will be on the agenda in Hawaii because I can't pawn the husband off on friends there.

I Will Miss Them (but not too much!)

2009-10-15T13:17:00.001-07:00

So tomorrow the husband and I leave on a trip to LA and Hawaii, thanks to Marriott (they still have three more trips to give away so what are you waiting for: http://www.marriotthawaiitweets.com/ ). I am in that pre-trip frenzy state where I am not only trying to get the last minute things together (finally going to sign those wills!) but also embarking on the all the unfinished projects I have around the house that I always, for some crazy reason, try to finish before I leave on a trip.

But really there isn't much left to be done. The house is unusually clean but will be cleaner when I get home since my pathologically clean MIL is coming to sit the girls (a post on that tomorrow!). I already packed my suitcase (did it last Sunday, who doesn't like packing for a trip to Hawaii) and the girls and I did a run to the grocery store this morning to stock up on their breakfast and lunch basics. The only thing left to do it hit the library.

We need to lead up on the picture books because the girls, who have always been top notch at being sat, have been exhibiting a lot of separation anxiety lately. Of course they would, how better to make even a mean mommy like me feel guilty as she lays on the sand and drinks blue lavas. They really are clever, those two. Not going is not even in the realm of possibility so I am picking up Llama Llama Misses Mama and The Kissing Hand and call it a day.

But just in case I start feeling bad between my massage and gourmet dinners (seriously, have you entered this contest yet?!) I decided to make a list of all the things I will not miss.

Things I Will Not Miss
-Calamity Jane shouting "Pawts!" (translation, "Put me on some Wonder Pets woman!") throughout the day
-Watching the Wonder Pets
-Desmonda Drama's exceptionally grumpy mood in the morning. I mean, it's perfectly understandable that she be grumpy after twelve hours of uninterrupted sleep but I do wish she would stop screaming at me after I have the audacity to serve her the milk she has been asking for since I removed her from the crib.
-Arguments over toys, why is any toy that your sister has always infinitely more interesting than the one you have?
-Struggling through Kindermusik
-Having to unload half my savings into the vending machine so the gym daycare will be tolerable anytime I want to work out (when I don't even WANT to work out)
-Making the bed, clearing the dishes, and generally being clean so my kids don't live in filth
-Listening to Desmonda screech at the dog who has been around since she was born but is suddenly terrifying. I mean what's more terrifying than a five and a half pound daschund chihuahua mix, right?
-Getting up between six thirty and seven every morning

Yep, I will miss their cute little faces but isn't that what pictures are for?

If Only I Could Read Minds

2009-10-12T08:04:00.000-07:00

Yesterday I finished up my weekend read Petite Anglaise by the writer of the blog Petit Anglaise (which I was kind of glad I had not read, I might have not been as enthralled by the book). A lot of what she wrote about touched a nerve in me about my own identity crises and relationships worries post kids. But it is the recollections of her daughter that stick with me.

It really touched a chord with me, the frequent references to conversations with her daughter, who in the book is the same age of the girls. The recordings of the utterances that, literally, could only come from the mouth of a child. The funny little back and forth exchanges they had. I envy that so much.

As I look up from writing, I watch my daughter lay out napkins (old cloth wipes that the girls now use for pretend) out in a pattern on the floor, I wish I could see into her head. For me, it is the hardest part of their delays... the loss of their voices.

With Desmonda it is as if I am listening to a language I am only starting to master. Her muttered sentences are full of words that I can't quite understand. Often I get the gist of what she is saying but sometimes one indistinguishable word is enough for me to not be able to translate. I hate telling her hopeful, expectant face "Sorry, honey, I don't know what you want". Communication is so close with her but feels so far away.

With Calamity Jane, I am left to just wonder. Her few words are utilized for only her most basic needs and often only understandable to us. The words all are shouted at us in the same insistent, angry tone. I cried the first time she called out Mommy to me in excitement when I walked in the door. Here was proof I could hold onto that she could communicate, that she wanted to. All along her babbles have been full of expression and variation, rising and falling as she talks in her Janespeak. There is always so much going on in her head but we are not privy to any of it.

Often when I observe their play, I imagine their thoughts for them. Sometimes I unconsciously speak them out loud. Occasionally they will riff on what I am saying, allowing me into their world, but often they just look at me, befuddled. They have no idea what I am talking about. And I have no idea what is going with them.

It feels wrong that I am missing out on their thoughts. This is a unique time when they are completely unselfconscious. Their thoughts are unfettered by the limits of reality and the judgments of others. It is radical honestly in its most pure form.

When they do start communicating it will be precious to me whether it is next week or next year. The words will be no less sweeter and I know I will treasure each one. Until they drive me crazy with too much talking. But I think a small part of me will always mourn all that I have missed.

Pass Me A Jello Shot and Put on Biz Markie

2009-10-09T11:39:00.000-07:00

Once I get myself off the internet (seriously people, stop being so clever) I am packing up and heading to Boonville, MO for a weekend of getting wild with multiple moms. Not only will there be many of them, they all have multiples. It's the Missouri state convention and I am going. I know, I am surprised too.

I have always avoided these conferences in the past. Twinmamas seem to trend towards the twee. Maybe it is all the cute matching outfits. Maybe it is the lack of sleep and free time. Or maybe a large percentage of the normal mom population is like this and I am just making excuses. Whatever the reason, the fear of scrapbooking and long emotional talks filled with groups hugs has scared me away from ever attending a conference. Why be free from my family only to be imprisoned by a large group of women wearing matching tshirts?

Then at my first Moms of Multiples meeting here in CoMo the club president brought up the jello shots she was perfecting. And I started to think about how lovely it would be to have a weekend away from my kids with TWO mornings of sleeping in. And I do love making an ass of myself. Especially in front of people I don't know,who are also making asses of themselves. Plus I don't really know that many people here and what better way to form fast friendships than by drinking, eating, and singing karaoke. Isn't that what sorority rush is like?

The cost is having to overcome my fear and loathing of the "cheese". There will be matching tshirts, there might be group cheers, and there definitely will be lots of scrapbooking sessions. Much like being on a cruise, the only way to survive and thrive it to embrace it. So I will be putting on the Hawaiian shirt, cheering on mom jokes, and cutting a rug before the karaoke starts. Hand me a jello shot and cue up Biz Markie "You say he's just a friend". I am ready to go.

If You Want To Be My Friend

2009-10-07T16:37:00.000-07:00

So the blog has been pretty depressing and sad (in the words of my husband) as of late so I thought I would bring a little levity to it. Since I have picked up some new readers and I am living in a new town actively seeking a new clique (that one was for you A), I thought I would publish a list of friend requirements.

Being Guavalicious's Friend 101

~Don't be a one upper. Yeah I think it's awesome that your kid is reading already and showing an aptitude for ballet and loves every kind of vegetable. Just don't brag about it to me or I will be forced to mention how my kids sleep from seven until seven and take two to three hours naps.

~Along the same lines, don't show me tons of pictures of your kid. If I want to see them I will ask. And to be honest, pictures of my own kids kind of bore me unless they are doing something especially darling or embarrassing so pictures of your kid probably aren't going to thrill me.

~When I say HSAHD alert (Hot Stay at Home Dad Alert) check the guy out instead of giving me a sideways look. Get it straight, I love my husband. the guy has stuck by me through thick and thin, watches SYTYCD with me, and wants to have sex with me even after I have given a soliloquy about my muffin top. But I am married not dead. Not appreciating a HSAHD is just wrong.

~On that note, feel free to brag about your husband. I like hearing the stories and cooing. Plus it gives me something to tell my husband about. Just don't be surprised if he gives you the stink eye the next time we all hang out.

~Yell at my kid. Well not really, but feel free to discipline them. And don't freak out when I do the same with yours. It takes a village, cheesy but true.

~Feel free to drop by anytime. Just don't expect my kids to be dressed or my house to be clean.

~Go out with me, at night, without the kids and/or partner. Remember who you were before the partner and kids entered the picture? That chick rocks and I love hanging out with her. Everyone will be fine without you, I promise.

~Love me for who I am. I will say it loud and proud: I am an atheist, drinking, cloth diapering, swearing, former breastfeeding mama who loves a good pedicure and dropping money on sushi and shopping. You, total opposite? That's cool. I don't judge, so don't judge me. Hanging out with people exactly like you is boring.

~You don't have to be a mom to be my friend. Really. I promise I don't talk about my kids all the time and I won't make you look at pictures of them.

If you read all that, you must be my friend already or someone who I want to befriend. So call me up. I will buy the first round.

Just Outside of Normal

2009-10-07T11:55:00.000-07:00

Often people stop me and tell me how cute the girls are. Whenever it happens, I can feel myself start to tense up. Because soon the question or assumption will come about their age and it will be far less than they are. Part of it is their hair, they still look so babyish with their short cuts (Desmonda's out of necessity) and round faces. But most of it is their behavior. They just stare when people ask how old they are and what their names are. They burrow their head in my shoulder or put their hands over their eyes.

It feels like we are like a Monet painting, from far away everything looks picture perfect but as you get close it all starts to disintegrate. We are just skirting the edge of normal. The behaviors that seemed explainable when they were younger start seem weird now. As I watch Desmonda "jump" in Kindermusik without ever leaving her feet and feel Jane's head burrow further into my shoulder while the other kids run around and sing, my heart breaks. For them and for me.

I feel like I am putting on an act, pasting a happy indulgent smile on my face as I look at them. A face that says "This is all okay, they are just being two!". After class today the teacher spent some time talking to me and in a unguarded moment I told her how hard it is. How much I miss the enveloping warmth of my moms group in Minnesota. That they knew the girls and me and loved us both. That here I am just the struggling mom with the freaky twins. I feel like we have "SPECIAL NEEDS" tattooed across our foreheads.

And though I try to remind myself that it could be so much more and how lucky I am that there is nothing physically wrong with them, no childhood cancers, no disabilities, on afternoons after a tough day or after a long therapy session my spirit starts to fade. And I think, why them? Why me?

Writing this post is gut wrenching in its own way. So much of me wants to pretend that it is not happening, that they are just delayed and it will all work out on its own. I do not want to let go of that picture perfect family that I dreamed of. Saying it out loud or writing it here makes it real. But I have to do it because I have to let go of the unreal image I had of what I thought my kids would be. Because I don't want those kids, I want mine. Eccentricities and all.

One Less Magazine to Make Me Feel Bad About Myself

2009-10-06T14:31:00.000-07:00

The internets were atwitter yesterday with the news of the demise of four Conde Nast titles. Most were off my radar, I am already married and shockingly I am not cooking gourmet meals every night, but one of the titles was a magazine I actually subscribe to (albeit for free) I am speaking of course of the Alpha Mom bible Cookie.

I first heard of Cookie through Domino (R.I.P) and thought "How awesome, a modern parenting magazine". When I became pregnant, a friend gifted me a subscription and I awaited it eagerly never guessing that it was going to send me into a crazy nesting state. After just the first issue I became convinced that we needed Dwell bedding, circular cribs, and a six hundred dollar stroller. The husband had to talk me down after every issue.

Finally one day when I was in a breastfeeding stupor holding the magazine in one hand and shoveling chocolate peanut butter chex mix in my maw with the other, I just couldn't take it anymore (sidenote: yes I breastfed hands free, tandem even. I was that good. Too bad wet nurses went out of style or I could be raking it in right now, not to mention be stick skinny. Of course that would seriously interfere with my hard drinking lifestyle. I kid, I kid! I totally drank when I was breastfeeding.).

Where was I? Oh yeah, I think it was the feature on budget family vacations that did me in. It suggested a $350 a night tent in northern California. A resort that I had dreamed of staying at when I lived in SF but deemed far, far out of reach. Only to find out that evidently is a budget place for families.

I think I may have actually said "Fuck you Cookie!" as I flung the magazine across the room. It really is a miracle that the girls are not miniature bullies, swearing and throwing stuff over. Well Calamity Jane does throw stuff and she might be swearing at me in Janespeak but I don't speak her language so let's just go with the idea that I haven't negatively influenced them.

So that was the end of me and Cookie until earlier this year when I got a free subscription somehow. As a two year veteran mom, I am a lot more cynical and was able just to laugh at the features on children's fashion and the families who go live in the woods and frown upon television ("Jasper just loves to make hand shadows on the wall at night!"). Yeah whatever, my TV loving, hand me down wearing kids are totally going to beat up those hipster kids someday. Did I mention Jane has great aim?

As I leafed through it every month chuckling at the must have items ($300 skin cream) and dry clean only kids clothes, I would wonder to myself: why do we read these magazines? I do not live in a world where my daughters swan around in cashmere cardigans and play with their modern PBK kitchen that is far nicer than any kitchen I will ever own. And I do not want to. The few features I did love (food and book related mostly) were not enough to make up for the utter unreality of the rest of it.

We have enough insecurities as parents and glossy features on the perfect modern kids room complete with the perfect children dressed as miniature adults are not helping. A few more doses of honesty mixed in with the glamor might have kept the magazine around. Because I don't want to look at pictures of glossy toys and clothes for my kids; I want to look at glossy pictures of stuff for ME.

Break Their Hearts And I Will Kill You

2009-10-04T19:55:00.000-07:00

On the weekends I try to escape to the movie theater to get a little relief from the twinsanity. Occasionally the husband and I will tag team a movie. One person goes to see the first show then immediately comes home and tags in so the other one can catch the next show. Then we discuss it later. It is almost like a date and we don't have to pay a babysitter.

Usually though I see mind candy movies, rom-coms or action flicks, that my husband will never want to Netflix. What can I say, I love movies and will see almost anything. This weekend I went to see Whip It, Drew Barrymore's new movie about roller derby. And I really enjoyed it. Drew and I are around the same age and much of the music and fashions seemed to be taken straight from my own early twenties (also in spent in Austin). It was just a fun two hours, remembering my own misspent youth.

One scene, though, struck an unexpected chord. Ellen Page's character Bliss drives to her childhood home after having her heart broken by a guy. As I am sure every other woman in the theater was doing, I immediately thought about my own first heartbreak. Looking back on it I am not even sure what it was about this guy that made me so in love with him. The sex was pedestrian and I never really felt like I could be myself with him (I was much quirkier than his friends) but dammit I was so into him.

And he was into me, at least for awhile. I truly thought that I had found the one, that my life was settling into place, that this was it for me. Did I mention I was nineteen? Ah young love. When we broke up I was so at loose ends that, like Bliss, I fled home in the middle of the night.

The thing was though, as I watched Bliss sit on the floor and cry, my attention was more focused on her mother and the pain on her face. And I thought, oh fuck, that's going to be me. Times two. I am going to have to live through heartbreak all over again. Only this time, it is going to be a million times worse.

I felt sorry for my own mother, thinking back to when she came home from work that day and walked into the kitchen to find me. I immediately burst into tears when I saw her. She gathered me in her arms and said "my poor baby" just like I do with my girls when they fall. She watched me cry through dinner out at a restaurant, a movie, and ice cream. I think I may have still been crying when she put me on the plane back to Austin.

That's when the phrase "I don't know how she does (did) it" comes to mind. How do you watch your kids be hurt and not be able to do anything about it? How do you not wrap them up in protective gear and fight their fights for them? So far I think I have been pretty good about letting the girls be independent and fight their own battles. But their battles are small. It is easy to stop myself from stepping in when someone steals their swing, but it is going to be a lot harder when it is someone stealing their heart.

Maybe my girls will be the heartbreakers instead of the heartbroken. A mom can dream right? If not I will let them cry in my arms. I will try to empathize and let them know that I was there too and that it does get better. That someday they will have a hard time even recalling that guy's name (or girl's, I'm open). All I know is, that whoever it is, they better be happy I am a namby-pamby liberal who believes in gun control.

Where's the 2003 me?

2009-10-02T06:36:00.000-07:00

My friend Becky tweeted this yesterday: "saw my reflection in the window and thought "who is that old lady staring at me?" . Amen sister! I don't know what I am doing in my sleep but every morning I look like I have been run over by a Mack truck. Wrinkles, crazy hair, and sagging skin greet me as I wonder what the hell happened to me.

Then what happened starts hollering from the other room to let me know that they are ready to get up and be served their breakfast. Motherhood has done a number on me. Fourteen months of broken sleep left a permanent wrinkle under one eye, the not so happy hour drinks and the desperate visits to McDonalds because the kids will play on the playground and leave me alone (they get yogurt parfaits but I end up eating fries) have added an extra twenty pounds. And the general screeching of two two year olds has caused a permanently tense body.

But in my head I am still twenty seven when I slept nine or ten hours a night, worked a nothing job or not all, and did whatever I wanted with my time. I felt I was at the height of my attractiveness and actually told my husband, with a straight face, "you're lucky to be married to someone who is getting more attractive the older they get". Oh how the mighty have fallen! My vain self did not realize that what I said was true, just not for my husband but for me.

Because as I head downhill, my husband just gets hotter. And I know the key: he spends around an hour with our kids during the weekdays and works out every afternoon. Oh, and his skin seems impervious to wrinkles. It is annoying really, he should have the decency to have a potbelly. Aren't wives supposed to be the hot ones in a relationship?

Last night driving to a meeting, I realized I was in the car alone and could actually listen to real music. My husband had the latest Kings Of Leon cd in and as I listened to it, windows rolled down, I felt kind of hot again. It might have been the lyrics "always mad and usually drunk, but I felt like the song was calling out to me: "2003 Guavalicious, come back". And for a moment I was.

The 2003 may be lost forever in my reality but it is totally back in my head. Perhaps the answer is not diet and wrinkle creams but instead rock music and low lighting. And picking up some Chubby Hubby ice cream for my husband once a week.

BTW, the "2003 me" phrase is totally and shamelessly stolen from my friend Amy who is still looking for the pre marriage version of her husband. Perhaps he is out having a beer with 2003 me.

Still hurting

2009-09-28T06:40:00.001-07:00

I just closed the post I was halfway through after reading this. It was a little shocking, how quickly the post brought tears to my eyes, how raw the wound of moving is. I felt like I had moved forward or at least made peace with it.

But I have not.

It's hard to see my friends and the moms group I was so involved in go on without me. It's hard knowing that I may never see them again. One comment to the post put it perfectly: "Whenever I think about all of my good (and fading) friends and how much I miss that city, it feels like my heart is falling over a waterfall and I start to have a panic attack. So I don’t think about it anymore. :( I say mourn it as long as you want, but try not to let it hurt your marriage–I’m learning this the hard way."

I have tried to take this advice to heart; after all it something I have said to myself over and over again. We made this decision together, the husband and I. And this move was the best thing for us and for our family. But this city (small town) feels so foreign to me. Neither midwest nor southern I have no real grasp on it. I can't figure it out.

These days I find myself puttering around the house at odds with myself. One moment I am full of energy and making plans, the next I am eating peanut butter out of the jar and watching the Rachel Zoe project (so you know it's bad). In Minnesota, I took vacations almost reluctantly. I didn't want to miss a thing. Everyday was about something new to do, friends to see, places to go. Here I find myself planning for the next thing beyond where we are. The next vacation, the next trip "home" to see our families whether it is my home or the husband's, the next whatever.

It is really no way to live.

Tonight I am taking myself out on a date. First martinis and manicures with a new friend and her friend. Then I am going to walk around downtown and eat sush, maybe have a beer in a new gastropub that just opened. I do feel like there may be a wonderful life here if I can just find the key to it. I guess I am hoping I will stumble around the corner and find a magical street, a shop, something that makes me fall in love with Columbia.

Take Me to the Happy Place

2009-09-24T07:32:00.000-07:00

The biggest shock to me after going through infertility and all the pain and longing for kids is how much I sometimes hate being a mom. Those first few bleary weeks when I hardly slept and would be crying at three in the morning because Desmonda would not sleep unless I held the pacifier in her mouth and Calamity Jane just wouldn't sleep at all. As I cried my dear husband would turn to me and say "Remember, you wanted this" which somehow was comforting. Though if he said it to me now I would probably want to smack him.

The "I wanted this" mantra worked for the first year or so but as the the girls have gotten older and the tantrums have gotten more intense I have had to step it up by replaying all the happy times in my head just to remind myself why i want it (much like I have had to replay my best of when I am not in the mood,if you know what I mean). So during the screeching I think about all of those sublime moments of motherhood (having them snuggle on my lap as I sing "You Are My Sunshine", laying on quilts and looking at the clouds, watching their first movie on a rainy afternoon, seeing them break into a smile when they see me) and go to my happy place.

Especially on a late afternoon like this one where most of the day has consisted of arguments over toys and chasing of the dog with maniacal glee. And Desmonda repeating "I want to Go! Go! Go! I want to Go!" ad nauseum. By the way Desmonda, go WHERE?! Just tell me and I will gladly take you there if only to escape from the endless whining for a few blessed moments. But there is no answer on where to go, only definitely not on the potty. Because both adamantly refuse to even think about going near the potty and I will be changing diapers until I am forty, why did I even bother using cloth...

Happy Place!
Sunshine! Quilts!
Ahhhhhhh

until the cycle starts again.

My husband, after being left alone with them for an afternoon while I run errands (read: go to Target and wander around aimlessly for hours) or when I take a shower (Sunday morning showers = best twenty minutes of my week), often tells me "Damn this is hard". Yes honey, that's why I am twenty pounds overweight and a borderline alcoholic. When the happy place doesn't work, I turn to wine and her best friend Snacky.

Lately though the stress eating and drinking is getting to me. I feel sluggish and more grumpy. Okay not really, that's something I read in one of the numerous "women" magazines i get. Actually I was horrified by the little donut I was sporting in all the pictures from my recent girls weekend. And I am not talking about the chocolate covered kind (chocolate donut with sprinkles, droool Homer style-see this is my problem). So like all my healthy streaks, this one is fueled by vanity.

For now, no more stress eating and for as long as I can do it, no more wine (two whole days, no applause please). So my happy place needs a new addition. Yoga for me and the kids? A babysitter? Maybe that Baptist preschool wouldn't be so bad. In case none of these ideas work out: where is your happy place?

Abandoned Already

2009-09-21T20:56:00.000-07:00

So my poor little blog was abandoned for a couple of weeks. but for good reasons, really!

-My SIL came to visit
-I won a trip to Hawaii
-The girls and I went off to Dallas for my sister's baby showers
-I took a girls trip
-And after two weeks I am halfway into a ten hour car ride home solo with the terror twins

But all of the above is some good blog fodder so there is much to look forward to here in my headspace spilled onto the internet. Including:

-Southern Alpha Moms and Why I Will Never Move Back to Dallas
-I Think I Love My Husband, No Really
-Why Mom Friends Are Better Than Any Baby Product, Even Status Strollers
-Hate Air Travel? Try It Post Kids.
-I'm Not Raising My Kids, I Am Raising My Parents Grandchildren

and if we make it home tomorrow...
-Why My Kids Are Lucky That I Love Them More Than My New Car

See you soon!

Love,
Me

Stella must have my groove

2009-09-04T14:18:00.000-07:00

Bleh.

You heard me, bleh!

I just can not seem to get it going today, or really any day lately. In the past couple of weeks I have stepped it back up. Actually doing (most of) my Motivated Moms chores and cooking dinner every night. But the heart ain't in it. I am having trouble settling in here. Things up in flux still, in so many ways, and we haven't found those routines that make our days pleasant or at least filled. The girls are brimming with discontent and Desmonda is especially at odds with the world, wandering around the house doing the toddler version of wringing her hands.

Now it is four thirty and my husband will soon be taking his leave of work. He will call and I will scramble because I feel guilty that things are not quite the way they should be and the girls are watching their fourth episode of the day and I broke down and turned the AC back on. All though I don't think any of the above bothers him that much (maybe just a little) I still feel bad that the day has not quite lived up to the rosy vision I had. That at the corners of the picture, the paint is fading and the paper is crumbling. Still, Not feeling bad enough to not ask him to bring dinner, gyros. Yum!

The next few weeks will be bustling with activity as the girls and I and the husband head off to my hometown to shower my sister. And then the girls and I will stay and I will have loads of free time before winging off to see my dear Minnesota moms. Yet I know I will wring my hands over all the things I should be doing and the girls' therapy they should be having. And the delay in finding those groups and classes and storytimes and schools and a house to live in and all the rest.

Yes, I really must hunt that groove down.

For now though, I will drink my tea and waste some minutes before I jump back up and straighten frantically. And then drive to the store to procure weekend picnic and grilling supplies. Then clean up our home before my lovely SIL and my favoritest nephew and niece arrive.

Sunshine, Cheaper Than Prozac

2009-09-02T15:36:00.000-07:00

The Mom malaise has been plaguing me today. For those of you lucky enough not to suffer from it, the Mom malaise is an insidious disease that besets you and makes you wonder... What is the point? Why should I go on? I personally believe that Mom malaise is responsible for at least half the mindless TV watching by kids in this country and almost all the eating of bad snacks. Unfortunately the CDC is too busy with swine flu to have developed a vaccine and there is no known medicine though I often turn to the home remedy of wine.

It infected me today in Kindermusik where Calamity Jane turned into a creature from the fifth dimension. First overcome by a shyness that knew no bounds, she clung to me like a monkey and I was forced to dance around the room with her clinging to my neck while I held the hand of Desmonda Drama (who in typical dramatic fashion had one arm shadowing her eye and face). We were a clumsy six legged beast. I do not think the Kindermusik moms were impressed. Little did they know that the worst was yet to come.

About halfway through the class, Calamity Jane seemed to warm up to the idea that I was paying an outrageous sum for her to be amused. So I turned her around on my knee and we proceeded to sing, which song I can't remember. Which it was a pity because it is obviously the trigger for Jane's subconscious baby terrorist. I would really hate for her to start throwing knives, fashioned from board books of course, at me as we dutifully listen to the CD in the car.

She didn't quite throw knives this morning but she did start screaming and hitting me, then kicked her sister in the head, then leaned over and bit me on the shoulder. I promptly picked them up like barrels (Desmonda was screaming indignantly; she does not like being kicked in the head) and set them outside the classroom. As the Kindermusik moms stared at me in horror, I retrieved my shoes and slinked out the door. They all kept singing throughout of course.

Mom malaise was in overdrive. I questioned why I had signed up for the class since my children were obviously not fit for the public sphere. I despaired of their chances of ever getting invited to a birthday party by any of the Kindermusik kids, not to mention my own chance to discuss organic egg souffles (being earnestly and enthusiastically covered as I walked into class). It was obvious to me that Calamity Jane was going to grow up to be an outcast who would never be accepted into society and would, of course, blame me. As for Desmonda, she would probably never remove the hand from over her face and would remain a recluse, teased mercilessly from the moment she walked into kindergarten. Worst of all, after paying for Kindermusik I would never be able to afford their therapy.

This was all sobbed on the phone to my sister. Which I am sure she appreciated since she is pregnant; wouldn't that make you look forward to motherhood? I managed to pull myself together to meet the husband for our Wednesday lunch, where I started crying again. He stitched me back together enough for me to get home and get the terror twins to bed for the blessed nap. But the malaise loves a quiet house and I couldn't stomach any of the usual cures: glass of wine (I do try to wait until four), phone call to a friend (I like to put on a brave front), or mindless TV (why oh why did I watch Rachel Zoe yesterday?!).

So I fretted my way through the afternoon working myself into a frenzy until the girls woke up (for once I didn't mind a short nap). I half read books to them and fed them snacks and meandered around the house before coming up with the idea of heading outside. I spread a quilt out and covered it with books, including a frothy novel for me. And we sat out there for an hour reading and eating pretend food and rolling around on the ground. Mom malaise vanquished, at least for today.

Sometimes it really is the simple things.

An Ode to a Mom : Good Enough

2009-09-01T13:39:00.000-07:00

Over the past week since I started writing this little blog, I have been thinking about being a mom a lot more. As I go about the mundane chores and the daily tasks that make up my life these days, I am living in the moment a bit more, thinking of the little things I would like to write about. As these topics come into my mind I so often think to myself being a mom is nothing like I thought it would be. That the days are made up of little stolen moments as much as they are of diaper changes and snacks and cries and laughs. That while I am not that mom I thought I would be, that the reality is something different but just as good.

It always brings to mind all the women who have told me over the years that they are not sure they would be a good mother. I wish I could go back to these moments and tell them that I have learned there is no such thing as a "good mother". There is only a mother and that they will be really good at it some days, but really bad at it too.

Yesterday morning I thought about all of this because of one friend who confided her fears to me at my baby shower; how she knew that her soon to be husband would be a wonderful father but she wasn't so sure about herself as a mother. But yesterday morning this same friend welcomed her own baby girl. At home in her bed with her husband by her side she pushed and labored and ushered her child into this world. I had thought of natural labor myself, in the same way that I think I will only have one thin mint, but can't really fathom the strength and love it takes to do that. Already she is one amazing mom.

We are far from her now and I wish I could be there, if only to be there when that moment eventually comes. You know that moment moms, when the magic seems to break and nothing seems to work and you look down at this squalling child and think "Oh my god, what have I done". You need a mom friend at the moment to tell you that they know how hard it is and it will pass and you are such a great mom and everyone thinks these things and if they don't well they must be some kind of bionic robot. That you are such a good mother! Forgot the "breastfeeding support" kits when you leave the hospital, they should hand out a card with all of that written on it instead.

Yeah, there are bad moms out there; hell I am one of them some days. And there are women who are not meant to be a parent. But none of them are the ones who have confided in me that they couldn't do it, that they wouldn't be a good mother. Because they can and if they do, I hope I can be there to remind them of how wonderful they really are.

So while this was meant to be an ode to one lovely new mom, it is really an ode to myself and to all the other mothers out there. In case you need to hear it, yes you are a good mother, you really are.

If A Blog Goes Unread, Does the Free Stuff Cease to Exist?

2009-08-27T17:30:00.000-07:00

Over the past couple of days I have been questioning myself on the point of this blog. And as I delve more into the blogging world the questions only multiply. It was all so much simpler when I just went into my folder of bookmarks and checked to see if anyone had updated the blogs I read. Yes not only do I do not have a blogroll, I don't even use a reader. I kick it old school. But I don't think my old schoolness is going to hack it in this world of niche blogs, twitter updates, and blog badge buttons.

Who knew that blogging was such an industry? Well maybe I did but I don't think I understood the scope of it. That you could go from posting about free diaper samples to appearing on the Tyra show and blogging about your free brand new luxury fridge. I am pretty amazed by these people but also somewhat annoyed by the gimmie-gimmieness of so many blogs. Yeah if you have a blog devoted to it, it makes sense but pimp outs every other post on a nonniche blog bugs a bit. It makes me feel kind of dirty. And yeah, a little jealous. Who doesn't love free stuff. So while I admire all the woman who have made themselves into an industry it definitely is intimidating.

But they are still out there, the blogs I enjoy reading the most. The ones that are simple windows into people's lives. They are ones that I came across by chance or links from something I already loved. And while I may not always agree with them (Mandajuice what's up with the Palin love?) I appreciate that they let me glimpse into their world, that they are willing to offer up the unvarnished truth about parenting and just life in general. That is what I love about blogging, what draws me to it now.

And of course the opportunity to make new friends and have an online support system appeals to me. Maybe even the most, especially now that I have left behind my MSP posse and usage of Livejournal among my imaginary internet friends seems to be dying down. But as I read all these blogs I feel like if I want that community I need a time machine to go back to when I had the girls in 2007. If only I had started a blog then and attended BlogHer and networked, etc. I wold be set. What was I thinking? Well, not much at all. I could barely function. My days were spent crying and downing bags of Chocolate Peanut Butter Chex mix while two little creatures fed on my boobs. Taking on the blogsphere just wasn't on the agenda. Now I have to wonder, is it even possible to break into these groups and communities that have been formed. Am I just taking the trials of mom dating to the virtual level?

But at the end of the day, even if this blog goes nowhere, if it stays unread (though thanks to the pimp out from my SIL I think at least three people have actually seen it now) it feels good. I used to be a decent writer and I think that kernel of me is still buried in there somewhere under the sleep deprivation and devotion to two not so benevolent dictators. It may not get me a free video camera (but call me anytime Flip, those cute twin moments are few and far between so it would be great to preserve them so I can replay them on those afternoons when I am ready to put them on Craigslist). But perhaps it will give me some sanity and a small piece of "me" back.

Bad Mom Moment #1

2009-08-27T12:35:00.000-07:00

In the spirit of honesty that motivates this blog, I plan to share my bad mom moments. And though this only the first on this blog, be assured it is not the first I have had.

Bad Mom Moment #1: Put Desmonda down without Motrin even though she is running a fever. I just knew she would take forever to fall asleep if I gave it to her (yes I have one of the five children in the world who gets more active when given pain reliever) and I couldn't take another afternoon of trying to get her to sleep (which hello child, you're sick- NAP!).

Hi, You Don't Know Me But I Have Beer

2009-08-25T12:29:00.000-07:00

Yesterday I did a crazy thing. I put the girls in the stroller and set out to meet some new friends. And by that I mean that whenever I saw a house that looked like it contained young children I went up to the door and knocked on it. Yes, to my husband's horror, I thought this would be a good way to meet my neighbors. Well maybe not a good way but that is what staying home all day does to me.

It wasn't all that successful. I talked to one dad whose wife and three year old daughter were out, a young mom who had to unlatch her child to answer the door (i would hate me), and the most promising house had a no solicitors sign and they didn't answer my knock (hey I'm not selling anything except myself and I'm free, hardee har har). I was especialy disappointed because they have a kickass backyard filled with toys. And they drive a Toyota Echo. Which to me translates to "not a queen bee mom who scrapbooks and makes judgments about the way your kids are dressed, after all I drive a gas efficient car and am obviously frugal and/or love the environment". Why yes I am speed dating moms based on their cars. I really am that pathetic. I left a note but the girls were screaming so it had a kind of serial killer shaky look to it. Awesome.

The whole idea had started as a joke when IMing with my friend MP. A friend who I made in the most awesome moms group in the world. The group that I had to leave behind when we moved here. I did not realize until I met them how important having mom friends was. I laughed and cried (well not really but I am sure they wouldn't have minded if I did) and had something to do everyday and actually liked their children. Much better than mine own sometimes, why is it that other people's children are always so much cuter? And the girls, well they didn't seem to hate it, and honestly I wouldn't have noticed if they did, I was having too much fun.

So knowing no one in a strange city is doubly hard these days. But we are not moving back so I will be trying my darndest to make new just as great friends here. And if that means knocking on random stranger's doors and enduring Kindermusik classes, then so be it. Eventually there will be that mom I click with it, the one who believes that parenting is not a competitive sport and that many playdates are improved by the addition of beer.

As for that beer, MP joked that I should stick some in the stroller and offer it up, then I would really know if I made a friend. But beer is expensive here and I want it all for myself.

Naptime: how I love you, how I loathe you

2009-08-19T10:06:00.000-07:00

It is 12:30pm, do you know where your kids are?

Unless something has gone awry or the husband has decided to drive by one last house, mine are in their cribs. Probably not asleep but in their cribs nonetheless. Or more accurately one is in her crib and one is in a pack and play in the other room because sharing a room works great except at naptime. Draconian? perhaps, but sanity saving. Trust.

During naptimes on the weekend my husband and I can actually talk to each other, watch a movie, or work on a house project. Or more likely I can escape for a couple of hours to garage sale or wander around Target aimlessly while the husband watches the futbol (scocer if you're not feeling European though football makes an appearance during the fall).

During the week though, naptime is a double edged sword. I live for it and when it arrives I am ready just to plop down and veg. But the guilt starts to set in... clothes need washing, toilets need cleaning, calls to be returned and bills to be paid. And a husband who knows that those girls nap for a good two hours during the day. But instead of doing any of those many tasks I am eating soup and watching Miami Social. Now if I could only do it guilt free.

A Bad Case of the Mondays

2009-08-17T12:37:00.000-07:00

"Looks like someone has got a bad case of the Mondays!" Oh how gag inducing is that saying? Can't you just see it on a poster with Garfield hanging in your guidance counselor's office? In spite of its cuteness, the disease seems to be sinister. Its progress is all over Facebook and Twitter. Yeah I get it, from you working drudges. I used to bemoan going back to work myself (though my schedule was so weird that I could come down with a case of the Mondays any day of the week, sometimes twice a week. Lucky me.) but I am always astonished when these updates are from other SAHM's. Am I really the only one who kind of looks forward to Mondays?

Even on this Monday where i am dead tired (4:30 "I lost my pacifier" wake up followed by an especially early wakeup two hours later) I feel relieved when my husband walks out the door. Those hours between seven thirty and five are "my time". Everything is just a bit easier and there is no judgment. No one to make fun of my singing and Elaine dancing when "Last Night" by the Strokes comes on. No one to chide me when I let the girls watch a third YGG episode. No one to see that I let the girls have a bowl of cookies just so I could get five minutes to check my email. I can keep myself on schedule or spread the toys out everywhere and keep everyone in pajamas until four. No ones knows. At least until the girls start talking in English rather than twinspeak.

Don't get me wrong, my husband is great with the kids. In fact even using that phrase seems wrong, like he is so great with them in the hour I run to the store. He truly is, in every sense, a coparent. But there is a certain tolerance that comes from being around them 24/7 that can't be duplicated. The crying and whining doesn't affect me the way it does him. I know just from J's ruffled brow that while the orange shoes may have be the favorite yesterday today it would mean torture by screaming if you even attempt to put them near her feet. There are a million little nuances the primary parent picks up and my husband is missing out on all of them. I can't imagine how frustrating it is.

So I put up with the spontaneous weekend car trips that extend just a bit too far into nap time, the occasional ignoring of the poopy diapers, and the "how long until bedtime" whines. As long as he puts up with my slovenly ways and that sometimes I walk into our room and shut the door the second he gets home. And as long as he leaves on time in the morning.