It's been a while...here's an update

            It’s been a while, a long while, but my excuse is that my job sucks the life out of me, and then I have to use my reserve fuel tank (often a caffeinated vitamin or a double shot latte) to get through the evenings with my children who never seem to be tired. I think Ben may be a vampire, however this isn’t yet confirmed, he never sleeps. Lately I’ve caught him awake in his bedroom with the lights on packing numerous backpacks for school, emptying his dresser only to find the one pair of pants that is two years too short for him to wear to school the next day. Apparently he loves preschool, he lets me put his pajamas on him after his shower and then after I put him to bed he gets dressed for the next day. Then there’s Presley, who is lately on a “OMG I CAN’T LIVE WITHOUT MOMMY HOLDING ME ON HER EVER-GROWING HIPS AND I’M GOING TO SCREAM AND CRY IF SHE PUTS ME DOWN” phase. Trust me, it’s easier to hold her! I know what you’re thinking…stop judging! So, yes, my children are WONDERFUL!

            I’ve been keeping myself busy this summer with a wonderful garden that produced plenty of food for the raccoons and my family to share, especially since the children would prefer ground up eyeballs, pig tails, and hooves (in the form of a hot dog) to a nice meal of squash, green beans, or potatoes. Ben enjoyed “helping” me in the garden, I’m quite sure that several carrots, green beans, and watermelon were lost to his feet, but it was fun nonetheless. Presley spent much of her time in the evenings while I gardened sitting in the grass screaming because she wasn’t being held. She’s such a princess.

            Also this summer I’ve been training for a half-marathon. Don’t pretend to be impressed, the majority of my training has included pushing a running stroller with Princess Presley riding along and Benji riding his bicycle next to me. You can imagine that I did not get very far…ever…especially anywhere close to 13.1 miles! So, the race is this coming weekend, and I’ve logged about 6 miles in the 6 weeks or so that I’ve been training, I feel so accomplished.

            Softball season was officially ended without any bloodshed between my wonderfully once in shape but now all he does is pushups husband and myself. He says it was the last year of our summers being occupied with fastpitch softball, but I don’t believe that he’s ready to give it up and join a golf league quite yet.

            Now that Benji is in preschool and Princess Presley is starting to talk, I hope to have some great stories to share. I apologize for the long absence, I miss writing every day, but I feel that rest is probably much healthier than the dose of caffeine that would be needed to bust out a 500 word story!

 

The Jiggle

            Yes, I’m that parent who allows my three year old son to pee outside…and yes, sometimes this occurs in public as he’s not quite learned that dropping your pants to your ankles so everyone can see your bare butt is embarrassing. I just wanted to start off with that disclaimer so nobody was shocked or appalled with the following. So tonight, while at a softball game for my niece, Benji shouts out from the top of the bleachers where he was climbing, “I gotta go potty!” The question that always follows this by any parent after scanning the property for a bathroom and not finding one is, “pee or poop?” I should state that there was a porta-potty, however I have a very serious phobia of those things and avoid them like the plague.  Anyway, I was relieved to hear him answer pee, we quickly ran across the street and hid behind a truck and peed into the weeds…and when I say we, I mean Ben urinated in the weeds, not me! He peed, and peed, and peed some more, I was not aware that his bladder could hold a gallon and a half of liquid, but apparently, it can. So after Benji was finished taking care of business he just stood there, keep in mind he’s almost 4, I shouldn’t have to remind him to pull his pants up, but I did anyway.

Me: “Let’s go bud, pull your pants up.”

Ben: “I am”

Me: “No you’re not, you’re just standing there, let’s go!”

Ben: (after a few more seconds of standing half-nude then finally pulling his pants up) “I was waiting for the jiggle. I always wait for the jiggle then I can pull my pants up.”

And then he demonstrated “the jiggle” which appeared to be a full body twitch that apparently all men have when finished taking care of business. The discussion about the jiggle was so nonchalant, I had no idea how to respond, so I didn’t, just smiled and then of course ran to tell my own mom about it!  It never fails, as soon as I start to think that I’ve got this parenting thing under control, a statement jumps out of Benji’s mouth that makes me question how I’m ever going to raise a boy! It also seems like statements like this always happen when daddy isn’t present. I’m quite positive that Adam would have had the perfect response to “the jiggle.”  

It Won't Work...

My goals for the evening:

1. Feed my kids something that isn’t pre-packaged.

2. Vacuum the living room.

3. Fold the laundry.

Adam successfully took care of goal 1! Dinner finished, kids in bed, I make two trips through the entire house and come to the realization that a burglar has broken in and taken the vacuum cleaner. It’s gone, forever. I’ll file the insurance claim for that a little later. And goal 3, well…I just sent a text message to my  niece telling her that there’s $25 in the pot if she wants to clean my house…and she’s in! So, the way I see it, all of the goals will be met….tomorrow! As for my writing, I haven’t done it in a very long time as my mind has been preoccupied, but I’m ready tonight…I think. Here’s my story…

 

As some of you have read before, many of my summer weekends are occupied at the ballpark “supporting” my husband. Now, before the kids, these games and ball tournaments were a great time as it wasn’t uncommon for me to be lounging in the outfield with an icy adult beverage in my hand watching my husband hit homeruns and gossiping with the other girlfriends about who was getting married next or who would be the first to be pregnant.  But in recent years we’ve all had babies and we’re all married…and now we tell stories about who’s kid pooped in the potty and what the best diaper rash cream is. So, here’s my poop story.

We’re on our way home from what seemed like a very long weekend and Adam and I were positive that Benji and Presley would sleep the entire way home providing a nice quiet break for the adults in the car. Well, Benji was asleep in the car before we could even get his seat belt buckled, and Presley…well, she just screamed the whole way home…”Mom, Daddy…Mommy…Daddy…Mom, Mom, Mom….MOMMY…” But about 25 minutes into our trek home, Benji wakes out of a dead sleep screaming, “My butt hurts, MY BUTT HURTS.” After a series of questions it was determined that he had to poop, bad. We have struggled with this child for a very long time, he does not like to poop and gets very upset with his butt when it does poop (I don’t understand, don’t ask), so when he tells us that he has to go, we’re on it like white on rice! Adam pulled off the side of the road, the action was going to have to take place in the weeds, we were on some back country roads with no gas stations in sight. It was a no go, nothing, darn butt. We buckle back in, begin to drive and then….again, it hurts, “IT’S COMING OUT.” So, again, we pull off the side of the road, I go to retrieve Benji out of the car, Adam digs through the trunk for wipes…and then he says it, “I HATE MY BUTTTTTT!!!.” “IT WON’T WORK, IT’S NOT COMING OUT, I DON’T WANT MY BUTT ANYMORE.” And I finally figured it out, this is why potty training has been such a struggle, his butt is defective, it will not work, and he doesn’t want that butt anymore. We’ll be on the hunt for a new butt soon, I hope we can find one that is a little more cooperative, sure would make this potty training thing a little less stressful.

I got a 'prise for you...

            My Monday morning started off with a crying 3 year old not wanting his mommy to go to work. He did not want to go to school, he did not want daddy to stop at the store and give him a chocolate pop-tart, and he definitely did not want me to go to work. Let me tell you, it’s never a great start to the day when you already feel guilty about something before 8 AM.

            Around 10:00 AM I sat and listened as an upset single mother pour out her guilt to me about not having enough time to spend with her kids because of the responsible decision she’s made to work full-time to financially support her family. I assured this woman that later in their lives her kids would appreciate the fact that they had a responsible mother who worked hard to support the family singlehandedly. As the words were coming out of my mouth, it almost felt like a lie. As a child, I had the best of both worlds, my mother was a school teacher so she had three full months off with me each year, Christmas vacation, spring break, everything, yet I was still able to see her work very hard in a full-time position to provide for the family. Not all children have school teachers as parents and I often feel like my kiddos are being raised by our daycare provider. Luckily she is amazing and is more of a grandmotherly figure than a daycare provider, and the small bits of time that I do get to spend with my children is very much quality time, however I still feel guilty about the lack of physical time that I have with my family. Working outside the home is however a conscious decision that I’ve made, honestly I think I may go stir crazy if I were a stay a home mother. Bless the women that are patient enough to make this their job, many times it is easier for me Monday-Friday to go to work than the weekends that I have my children for 48 hours straight!

            Once again on this day, I was reminded of the conscious decision that I’ve made to work outside of the home and the impact that it has on my kids. It was nearing 8:00 PM and here’s what happened:

Me: “Benji, go brush your teeth and go potty, it’s almost bedtime.”

Benji: “Okay.”

Benji: (after racing back into the living room with his hand behind his back) “I have a ‘prise for you!!!”

Me: “Ooooohh, what is my surprise?”

Benji: “You don’t have to go to work anymore!” (And then he pulled a $5 bill out from behind his back.) “Money! Now you don’t have to go to work to buy money.”

    And then I gave my lil man a huge hug and thanked him so much. Adam witnessed this and was a little upset that Ben had found his $5 bill on the sink in the bathroom and watched it disappear into my pocket (where it still resides.) I proceeded to explain to Ben that I really appreciated the money, but that I still had to go to work. I also told lil man that if I could stay home all day, every day and have fun with him and Presley that I would. He had been so proud of his findings that he once again disappeared and returned shortly with a handful of change to give to Adam. So once again, my child has brought me to doubting one of my very important life decisions of working outside the home. I fully intend to remain in the workforce outside the home, but I do sure as hell wish that $5 would get me as far in life is a 3 year old believes it can!

Where did the Confidence Go?

            I distinctly remember being about 10 years old, maybe 14, who really knows, and not afraid of anything. There was no fear in jumping off the school bus and racing to the horse pen only to jump on the back of one of my less than cooperative horses with no saddle, no bridle, nothing. I wasn’t scared to fall off and it never worried me that I was home alone unsupervised and at any time something horrific could have happened and nobody would have known until my mother arrived home from work.  I was fearless in all of the sports I played and never backed down even though I was often one of the shortest people on the team. Slide head first into home plate with a 300 lb catcher…no problem! And when I turned 21 and was able to go to clubs, I never failed to walk through the doors knowing that I was the hottest girl in the bar and if necessary I could beat the tar out of any other snotty girl that said otherwise, or at least take off my 4 inch heal and hit her with it!

            So, now I’ve celebrated the 4^th anniversary of my 25^th birthday, been married for over 4 years and not without some battles, have two wonderful children, survived 4 moves into new homes in less than one year, have tackled a new job, run a half marathon, made some new friends, taken up some new hobbies, and learned how to use the grill (finally)…and I wonder, where did the confidence go? It seems like I’ve accomplished some pretty spectacular things, at least in my own opinion, and yet I walk into a club now and feel completely out of place, put a helmet on when I ride a horse, and sliding in softball or diving in volleyball…simply out of the question! I gained a few years and many more amazing experiences and apparently lost my coolness, or maybe gained a sense of reality. I’m not quite sure which it is, maybe I’m stuck somewhere in the middle.

            I went for a long run tonight, alone this time, because I wanted to think. I thought about how it was when I didn’t have these fears, no sense of real life, and no real responsibilities other than going to the gym and making sure my dog was fed twice a day. It was okay to have some dishes in the sink, and it was okay to skip a day of school or work to watch re-runs of 90210, and sometimes it was even okay to have a beer before going to work! And now…rush home from work, make dinner, wash the kids, put them in bed, do the dishes, get the laundry clean (who cares if there’s no time to fold it), and then…if I’m lucky enough to have any energy left…a glass (or bottle) of wine for the night. And although I’m able to tackle all of that in a couple of hours, it’s still sometimes difficult to get back on the horse!

Ferdinand

It was bedtime for Benji, I was not really in the mood to do much of anything but drink a glass, or bottle of wine. Presley had pooped on the floor, stepped in it, picked it up, then smeared it on her leg about 30 minutes ago. Oh, and then the dog tried to eat it. Don’t worry, Adam sat in the chair gagging, that was helpful…but the last thing I wanted to do was read books to Benji.  He so sweetly asked if I would read him a book, so of course I couldn’t say no without feeling intense guilt for the next three days for knowingly depriving my child of a chance to learn…so, “sure buddy, only one book tonight though, mommy is tired.” He excitedly ran to one of the many bookshelves that we have in our house, he picked up an old, worn book that looked a little rough around the edges. I stood up to see what it was because I did not recognize it which is unusual because I was quite positive that I had read all of the hundreds of books that we have in our home at least 89 times each. It was The Story of Ferdinand, my favorite book from my own childhood. I remember making my mom read this book to me several nights in a row, and I am quite positive that I now know what she was feeling every night when she read to me. After a full day of work and never quite feeling rested, the last thing that sounds appealing in the evening is reading the same children’s book that you read the previous 14 nights. But she did it, because I wanted her to, and because she realized the importance of the quality time and reading to children. Initially I wasn’t too excited to go read, all I could think about was how lonely the bottle of Moscato was looking in my fridge. (Stop judging me.)  As I carried Benji to bed with The Story of Ferdinand in his hand, I began to remember my old bedroom, and my mom sitting next to me reading this exact book. This exact book that started with me, was handed down to my nieces and nephews, and now has found its way into my home and to my own child’s bed. I couldn’t help but to smile a little and read with just a little more excitement than I usually do.  As I read the words, I felt like my mother. The person that I idolized as a youngster and couldn’t stand to be around as a teenager. The person that carried me for the first few years of my life because I screamed if anyone else held me, and the person that I screamed and slammed doors at when I was 14.  I felt a connection tonight, although she wasn’t here, I felt what she felt when I was reading. There’s nothing stronger than the love that a mom has for her babies…babies of any age I’m sure, even the babies that grow to slam doors in your face and “hate” you.

It's like toilet water.

            The evening started off as many of our evenings have lately…Presley insisting on being carried on my hip until dinner time and screaming at the threat of being placed on the floor or in a chair and Benji requesting “different colored cereal” (Apple Jacks…duh!) for dinner…not once, not twice, but 14,002 times within a half an hour. Oh, and to top everything off, Adam is sick, so as much as he tried to pretend to help, he was fairly useless.  Oh, and by sick I mean a runny nose…which for a man is apparently comparable to a woman having diarrhea, vomiting, and giving birth to twins with no epidural all at the same time. Anyway, I hope he feels better soon. J As the night crept on, dinner was finally finished (and it was NOT different colored cereal), we sat together as the wonderfully chaotic family that we are, and then it was time for a quick work out before it was time to come back and put Presley to bed. As Benji and I returned shortly from our run, as you can imagine we didn’t make it very far as a three year olds little legs fatigue quickly, it was time to get Presley into her pajamas. It was apparent that Adam was too unwell to do this…he really should rest.  Presley was dressed in her sleeper and very unhappy about it, she has just recently figured out that a change of clothes in the evening means bedtime and she is far too grown up at age 1 for a bedtime, unfortunately for her and Benji  I need some kidless time for wine therapy at night.  Presley had several songs and a long session of the “mom sway” in my arms before she was laid down in her crib, tonight this was pointless as she is continuing to scream as I write this, there is no consoling a one year old that has the intellect of a teenager.  Continuing on with my evening with a “fake it til I make it” attitude…it’s almost Ben’s bedtime and then I’m FREE, I began to urge Benji to get his jams on, potty, and brush his teeth…of course he’s not tired either. He is a big kid and he’s “tired from going to sleep, it takes too long” (whatever that means.) While I was arguing with Benji to take his clothes off and get his pajamas on, Adam was able to make it into the bathroom to look at himself in the mirror…it’s important for a man to have a visual of how sick he really is. I followed him in, found some Nyquil and demanded that he take it, “It’ll help you feel better!” To my surprise he took the medicine and walked to bathroom sink where he planned to put his sickly mouth under the faucet to fill his sickly mouth with water to swallow the pills, and then he found IT! By this time I had walked back out of the bathroom to continue negotiating with my three year old about putting his pajamas on.

Adam: “BEN! Get in here, what is this doing in here?”

Ben: “What?”

Adam: “Right there, look, what is that doing in the sink?”

Ben: (Giggling) “I didn’t do it.”

Adam: “Why the hell would you do that?” (We don’t make a habit of swearing at our kids…usually)

Ben: (laughing harder)

Adam: “Get it out…now.”

Ben: “No.”

Okay, enough dialogue….but it was a turd. Yes, a turd. Not a big one, but a turd nonetheless and it must have been picked out of the shart stained superhero underwear by hand and placed in the sink. Why the sink? No idea. My mother who I’d like to think is an expert on child behavior (weird that she was never an expert on my behavior), always tells me that as a child’s body is physically growing, their brain tends to stop…and when the brain is growing, the body is stops. So…I have noticed that Benji’s pants are ALL very short on him lately, so it’s confirmed…his body is growing, and his brain has temporarily shut off. Who the hell puts a turd in the sink? I have to brush my teeth there, that’s like brushing my teeth with toilet water. Well, not really…but sort of and I’m forever grossed out by the turd in the sink. Adam was finally able to swallow the pills and now….as I finally finish my story, the whole house is quiet. Time for a bottle of wine therapy!