parenthood

picture imperfect

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ImageIt’s fall in Texas. The mornings are cool and afternoons toasty. Only a handful of trees have received notice of the season change. And, the only true indicators of fall are incited ourselves.

Here in Texas, where the weather boycotts cold fronts, we celebrate the spirit of fall. We do pumpkin lattes in 80 degrees, oversized wreaths exploding with leaves and scarecrows, and we do pumpkins. Lots and lots of pumpkins. Did you know there are at least 10 pumpkin patches all within a 10-mile drive from my house? I love it.

This fall, a number of obstacles have kept us from a trip to the pumpkin patch. But, I decided to throw sanity and priorities aside – who needs to grocery shop? -, so we could have our day at the patch. I’m a sucker for perfect pumpkin pictures.

I recruited my mom to help wrangle the boys. We took them to this great farm called Big Orange Pumpkin Farm in Celina, Texas. It’s a beautiful farm with pumpkins, animals and tractors. A little boy’s dream. I couldn’t wait to let loose the camera.

After dragging the boys across the farm for picture after picture, and halfway blinding them with the flash, I gave up. If one wasn’t crying, the other was trying to make a break for it. And, Austin didn’t even care about the pumpkins. What was the point? So much for those fall photos. Begrudgingly, I handed Austin the cup of animal feed that I had been leveraging for cooperative, smiling pictures. As he ran off with his prize, I continued to scroll through my photo fails when I heard it.

Giggles. Sweet giggles were erupting from my Austin. He laughed and smiled as the goats gulped feed from his tiny hands. At first, all I could think was how badly we would need some hand sanitizer after this. But, then I watched. I really watched. There was pure joy and wonderment pouring from him. We stayed there for a while, soaking in the moment. Austin pet the goats, inspected each one and begged for just enough food to feed the rest of the animals. He even found a posse of goats and dubbed himself their leader, chattering away at them with explicit instructions not to eat the rocks they appeared to be licking.

This is what this trip was about. Not about the pictures to remember this day, but about making the moment itself and making that memorable. Pictures sure do tell a sweet story, but it’s even sweeter living it.

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dear husband

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I’m bad at sympathy. I’m awful waiting hand and foot. And, for most things, I kind of adhere to the “Suck it up” motto. I would have been a 1950s wife fail.

So, five days post-op from sinus and throat surgery, this is what I handed the hubs.

Edited Urgent Memo

Call it a nudge to get back to reality. Tough love, maybe? Or, maybe, a last ditch effort to salvage my sanity.

I know he feels bad, and I do feel sorry for him. But, he can get his own medicine and pudding at this point. I already have to do those things for the two in diapers in the house. And, I can’t even fathom the thought of waking up with him in the middle of the night for medicine in between parties with the other two.

Can I blame my lack of sensitivity and sympathy on exhaustion?

I wish I were better at this. I wish I had the energy to race up the stairs at his every need. I wish I had the patience… and stomach… to hear about all his ails. I wish I had another set of hands to tend to his medicine, snacks, blankets and movies as soon as he wanted. And, I wish I had the time to keep him company while he feels crummy. Cue Best Wife Ever award.

I’m lousy at these things for any longer than the first few days, and the two littles suck any extra time I might have to become decent at such. But, don’t think he is being abandoned.

He is loved. He knows he is. There are pudding, popsicles, ice cream, soup and applesauce to feed an army. I have changed more bloody gauze than I thought my poor, weak stomach could handle. And, I battled with the pharmacy and drove one and a half hours yesterday to ensure he did not run out of this pain medicine in the middle of the night.

So, even though I can’t bear to change any more gauze or hear about his clots or mix up another cup of meds, I will always take care of him. He’s in good hands – extremely sarcastic hands, but it’ll do.

a marketing miracle

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I bought Austin a new toy today. It was met with the same enthusiasm as if I had handed him an ice cream cone dipped in chocolate and covered with sprinkles. You know what it was? A broom.

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I would personally like to thank the person who first began marketing cleaning supplies as toys. Child labor? Perhaps. Brilliant? Absolutely.

“Look, kids! Cleaning is fun!”

Whoever you are, pure genius.

Vacuum cleaners, kitchens, brooms, dust pans, mops. Every kind of domestic item in pinks and blues, all the perfect size for your toddler. Why does anyone pay for a housekeeper anymore? Put your feet up and let the kids “play.” They can even provide us with a half-baked cupcake from the EZ bake oven. Score.

I love when Austin wants to help, even if it means a bigger disaster than when we started… which it always does. He never lets me vacuum alone. He always wants to sweep. And, if I would let him, he would be covered in suds washing dishes.

But, I wonder, when does it stop? When does “helping” and cleaning become a drudgery on their lives? What changes that makes us realize cleaning is a chore?

Perhaps, it is when we learn to rationalize. And, cleaning just doesn’t seem rational.

Who actually wants to sweep up a mess that will only reappear five minutes later? Or, make the bed that we will crawl straight back into? Or, wash the same plate for the millionth time? Yeah… Playing tag or making mud pies sounds a bit better. Our children must think we are nuts for spending so much time keeping things tidy, or at least, semi-sanitary.

This means toddlerhood is a critical point in the cleaning circle of life. Take advantage, moms. Let’s load these kids with the best vacuum cleaners, dusters and mops while it’s still fun and games. We don’t have long until they catch on.

Long live marketing.

a little cheese with a lot of whine

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I’ve had a difficult time writing this week. Not for a lack of things to write about, but, really how to put these thoughts into words without leaving behind a garble of whininess. There is no guarantee this entire post won’t be littered with such. In fact, it will be. Because writing it down always make me feel a smidge better. Reader be warned. Bring on the whine.

I’m having a pity party this week. I’m tired and overwhelmed. And, if I have to endure one more mega meltdown from my toddler this week, especially in public, well, I might just join him. Cue dual temper tantrums in Target, Aisle 5.

It’s been a dizzy couple of weeks between discussing Everett’s need for a new helmet, a diagnosis of his sensory aversion, and various other family stresses. And, this week has just been the cherry on top.

We started the weekend traveling with a snotty, feverish sick baby. Not much of a break there. Zero sleep as well.

Enter Monday, and I decided it would be a brilliant idea to take my miserable baby and defiant toddler to have the oil changed on my car. Good thinking, Mom.

They estimated it would take an hour and 15 minutes to have the oil and maintenance done. Not as fast as I would like, but we could make it work. It was overdue, and it had to be done. The first hour and a half were stressful, but everyone had managed to stay content-ish throughout. When an hour and 40 minutes passed, Austin’s time was up. He lost it – over nothing. He threw a fit right there in the middle of the dealership. He screamed and cried and tried to hit me repeatedly. And, I had nowhere to go. It was raining outside. There was no reprieve inside. And, the dealership had basically kidnapped my car.

While hauling the stroller, holding back tears, carrying Austin and restraining him from smacking me in the face, I located the nearest technician begging him for a status on my car. He swore it was almost done. Just a few more things. “Hurry,” I sputtered. “Hurry.”

After two hours and 15 minutes of waiting, the car was ready and parked in the rain. Awesome. The manager apologized profusely and took a significant chunk off our bill, hoping it would ease some of the “distress.” I sincerely hope the rest of the customers who had to witness Austin’s performance received a comparable discount. It was an ugly, ugly sight.

On the way home, Austin fell asleep in the car just before arriving home. I didn’t have the strength to deal with his wake-up, so I just drove. And, drove. And, drove. Eventually, Everett fell asleep, too. For one hour, we continued to drive in the pouring rain, while I tried to refuel my patience and energy. It didn’t last long. Everett was the first to wake. By the time, I opened the car doors at home, both boys were screaming in unison. Happy Monday.

Tuesday was a poor report from the occupational therapist. Everett is farther behind on tolerating food than she previously thought. He is still young, but he’s going to have quite the uphill battle.

Wednesday, the hubs had surgery first thing in the a.m. to correct his sleep apnea. Basically, it’s a miserably uncomfortable surgery and recovery that included a tonsillectomy, uvulopalatopharyngoplasty, endoscopic sinus surgery, nasal septal reconstruction and turbinate reduction. Yeah… he feels as awful as it sounds. But, they hooked him up with some excellent cocktails. See you in a month, honey.

And, this morning, after an all-nighter full of “quality” time with the kiddos, both boys had well checks. Shots all around. A referral for Everett for Synagis vaccines. And, let’s top it off with an ear infection for him, too.

I am done. I don’t want to know what Friday, Saturday and Sunday hold. Can I just pull the covers over my head, enjoy a glass of wine and call it a week? Or, maybe call it for the next two weeks because I’m not a fan of what next week’s schedule is stacking up to be either.

How does this whole “call in sick” thing work for moms?

Pity party, party of one. Would you like some cheese with that whine?

sing along

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The first time I heard Austin sing “Jesus loves me,” my heart melted. Such a precious, innocent voice singing such sweet words. My heart was full. What a proud day for me as a mom.

The first time I heard that same sweet voice sing a little Jay Z, I nearly slammed into the back of a truck. What did you just say?

Little ears. How they manage to hear everything and nothing at the same time.

Since Austin was an infant, I tried hard to keep only family friendly songs in the car when we rode together – Christian music, nursery rhymes, lullabies. But, occasionally, when I begin to feel twitchy from the 46th repeat of Six Little Ducks, I switch it to my pre-children music.

It’s a rare occasion. Most times, I opt for silence after I’ve hit my wall. But, some days, I’m weak, and I yearn for the days when I didn’t have to censor my song choices or turn the volume to a less deafening level. One of my favorite things to do when I steal away on a kid-less errand is blare my music and sing off-key at the top of my lungs. Yes, fellow drivers. I am the girl rocking out to her music in the car. Yes, I see you looking at me. And, no, I don’t care at all. Okay… Maybe I care a little.

Some days it’s tough to sweep that part of me under the rug and just be Mom. Mom who knows every single word to every single nursery rhyme. Mom who will play the duck song over and over because it makes Austin giggle. Mom who hasn’t updated her iPod with something other than kid tunes in the last two years.

But, then again, who else in this world will beg me to sing to him over and over again other than my kids? So, maybe I can handle a few more nursery rhymes… and a few less unsavory lyrics from my toddler.

Lesson learned. Jay Z does not equal kid-friendly music nor does the rest of my playlist. Bring on the ducks. I’ve got 99 problems, and this song is certainly one.

sharing a lifetime

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It all started on a porch in Ohio. On a cool spring day, boy met girl. There was chatter, and there was laughter. Six months later, there was a wedding.

Sixty years ago today, my Grandma and Grandpa said, “I do.”

Sixty years. Sixty years of living and loving, of heartaches and joy, of angry spats and treasured moments. Sixty years of a life shared.

In 60 years, they raised three wonderful girls, moved at least 15 times, lived in two countries, loved one another from across oceans, struggled through several wars, planted roots in Texas, and lived whole-heartedly.

There is love in their home. There is kindness. There is generosity. There is overflowing of laughter. Compassion seeps throughout. They are the hardest working people I have ever known. And, they are cherished beyond belief by family and friends alike.

What a beautiful couple to celebrate on this monumental milestone. Sixty years.

Too few couples last 60 years, and, in this day, too few care to make it that far. But, marriage is a sacred bond. It’s not meant to be trivial or a fleeting moment. It is hard and messy. There are days full of dislike and exhaustion, but so many more filled with love. Marriage is lifelong and lasting. True love never fails.

“Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. Love never fails …” 1 Corinthians 13:4-8

Today, my grandparents celebrate 60 years of marriage.

Happy Anniversary! I can only pray that my marriage will last as long and be as beautiful as your own. You inspire me.

seeing double

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E riding horse

When Everett received his helmet, we were given a list of strict instructions. One of which was that he needed to wear it 23 hours a day. The one-hour reprieve was reserved for bath time and cleaning the helmet. Basically, one hour to scrub the stench out.

On occasion, kids need a second helmet. The explanation from one of the technicians was parents tend to get “sloppy” about having their child wear it 23 hours a day, leaving extra time for their head to grow outside the perimeters of the helmet.

Insurance covered Everett’s helmet the first time – hallelujah! – and we didn’t want to take our chances a second time. So, we were a smidge obsessive compulsive about him wearing it.

Despite no sleep the first two and a half weeks in it, he still wore it. With the fussiness and discomfort, he wore it. When we spent a week at the beach, we made that hour off work as best we could, and he wore it. Even though that helmet made his head smell like a high school locker room, he wore it.

Most days, Everett doesn’t even have it off for the full hour. We were going all in, and we wanted it to work.

And, it has. His head looks phenomenal compared to what it was eight weeks ago. It definitely looks less alien and more Gerber baby. The initial plan was for him to wear it for four plus months. At his appointment on Monday, we were told he has three weeks.

Before you release the confetti and balloons in celebration, she didn’t mean his treatment was over in three weeks. He will have outgrown his helmet in three weeks. We found this out the same day I received Everett’s adorable watermelon costume for Halloween in the mail. We may have to rethink that one.

On a rare occasion, kids need a second helmet because their heads grow faster than expected, even when there is extreme diligence in wearing it. Not completely surprising since both my boys are in the lower percentiles for weight and height, but take the top percentiles for their head size. Big heads… Wonder who they get that from…

Insurance is not quite so kind this time around, as we basically maxed out our allowance in the helmet previously. Now, we are left with a decision to make, Round two or call it quits. And, we also have to question whether a second helmet will make a substantial difference in the treatable time he has left. I could really use a crystal ball right about now.

Little boy, I’m afraid you may have spent your entire college tuition this first year of life 😉

waiting on that rainy day

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I love cold, rainy days when there’s nowhere to go, nothing to do, and no one to see.

We spend a bit of the day in bed, snuggled beneath the covers, cartoons in the background, toddler feet in our faces, a bubbly baby rolling between us, and laughter to fill the room.

These are the sweet moments that I lock away in my heart. For a time, there is no fighting, no crying and no whining. Just smiles and giggles and precious whispers between us. Just our family of four.

How fleeting these moments seem as we have mile-long to do lists, a rowdy three-year-old to chase and a finicky infant to please. It’s not easy to push that list to the back of my mind. More than ever, I feel our family runs on efficiency, making the best use of our time. Fewer time for snuggles and lounging and just being.

When I think about how we interpret what is best, we focus on laundry, cleaning, work, errands, bills, and so much more. Today was our first cold, rainy day of fall. We spent it not relaxing, but, instead, running a garage sale and cleaning house. As I recap the day, I feel regret. Wishing we had made time for those special moments I cherish. Wishing there had been less time spent on edge and frustration and more jokes and enjoyment.

It’s a hard line to walk between feeling productive and trying to snag those moments with our kids. But, we run, run, run all week. So, what if we take a breather from all that running, and move snuggles, playing with our children and laughing to the front of that list? Sure, the laundry would pile up more than ever. The house would truly be a disaster. There would be less running over work. And, I would have to find a way to condense the dozens of errands.

But, being together, loving together, laughing together seems to be the best use of our time. Period. Everything else should have to wait.

When that next cold, rainy day arrives, you’ll know where to find me.