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!

The Other Parents

            They have red hair. Their shirts are grey. They drive a red car. Their only job in life is to cook spaghettios and chicken nuggets. They are both boys. They live in “the other neighborhood.” Only boys can go to their house, they chase girls away. They put “sparkles” on Ben’s shirts when he visits. No mommies can  go there because the road  to their house is blocked. There are lots of other boys there to play with. They have red elbows…because they colored them red.  Who are these wonderful sounding beings? Well, they are Ben’s “other parents” and that is precisely what their name is…”my other parents.” Ladies and gentlemen, our family has entered a new stage in life and rather unexpectedly…Ben has developed imaginary “other parents.” Presley is not invited to their house, because she is a girl. Their house is full of fun things to do and when you arrive at their house, assuming you are a boy because they only allow boys into their home, you walk down the stairs and the main living space is a family room in the basement. Yes, the details are very elaborate, and comical at times. These other parents allow Benji to do things that his biological parents don’t allow…such as extra ice cream after dinner, which always consists of spaghettios and chicken nuggets apparently. And they teach him how to do push-ups while elevating his feet upon yoga blocks. They have also taught him different techniques to build things when playing with play dough. These guys sound like great parents! So, why does my son have a new set of red-headed gay parents who are women haters? I have no idea. At this point I’m not quite sure if he’s becoming a paranoid schizophrenic or using these “other parents” to manipulate his way into another bowl of Superman Ice Cream, I hope it’s the latter.

            After talking to a few friends and co-workers, the intense changes that little Benji has faced in the past few months were brought up. Changes that would not necessarily affect an adult, but could greatly impact the way a young kiddo views the world. I began to think about what is different…within the past few months we have moved to a new house in the country from a house in a neighborhood, daycare has changed locations, daddy rather than mommy does most of the transporting to and from daycare now, a grandfather that Benji was used to seeing almost daily now visits less frequently since the move, mommy got a new job, and our daily routine has been hectic lately. Yes, these are things that adults face often, but not usually all at once, now imagine a 3 year old trying to make sense of all of this! And there you have it, he’s created a second set of parents that cook him the food he likes, play games and play dough with him, live in a neighborhood, and have lots of friends for him to play with when he visits! They are much more reliable and stable than his biological parents right now…I’m just not sure why they are red headed gay men, maybe someday we’ll be able to figure out that piece of the puzzle!

Spaghettios won't cause brain damage...

                As I’ve probably mentioned several times within the past few months, I’ve recently started a new job that is always high stress, never dull, usually very sad, and seldom rewarding.  Within these few months in this job I’ve seen children living in filthy homes, kids covered with bed bug bites and sleeping in infested bedding, children with broken bones, homes with only a beer in the refrigerator…no food, and a few kids that just like to tell very concerning stories that are often far from the truth and very embarrassing for their parents. Working in this job every day has taught me a few things about my own children…

1. Frozen pizza or spaghettios once a week won’t kill my kids, I’ve found that they actually love me more when I feed them these items!

2. Keeping them up a few minutes past their bedtime (often for some extra snuggle time) doesn’t ruin their schedule permanently.

3. Skipping a nap on the weekends isn’t all that bad…especially if time is spent playing with cousins!

4. Being dirty is fine…bathtime will roll around in a couple of hours!

5. It’s okay for kiddos to hear or see mommy and daddy disagree sometimes…yes, I said MOMMY AND DADDY!  Many children are not fortunate to have both in their lives, mine are.

So, the days when I’m too tired to read 2 books at night, I have learned not to let myself feel too guilty about reading just one to the kiddos, and spaghettios won’t cause long-term brain damage…I hope. 

Yoga Time

            There’s nothing like a child to make you feel a little bit guilty. Adam and I arrived home about the same time today, which is highly unusual, but it worked out perfectly. Benji jumped out of Adam’s car and quickly ran to my car to inform me that “daddy’s car won because it has nitrous.” Now, there was a time when I believed that my husband’s previous vehicle, a kia sportage, was fully equipped with nitrous…until I learned that it was just a passing gear, however I’m very positive that our family Durango does NOT have nitrous! Anyway, I let Benji go on believing daddy’s story. After informing me of the questionable substance used to race mommy’s car home, Benji ran to help Adam unload wood. He was obviously full of energy today. After loading and unloading wood, Ben finally came into the house and walked onto my yoga mat, which had remained on the floor from the last time I did yoga, which was….maybe 2 nights ago. As I’ve said before I’m not in the running for best housekeeper this year! Anyway, Benji asked to do yoga which surprised me because he had only done it with me once before and lost interest very quickly. I informed him that he could do yoga, however he would have to do it alone because I needed to get dinner ready, he agreed. I found my P90X Yoga DVD and pressed play, he began and continued for 15-20 minutes. Rather than getting dinner around, I sat my lazy butt in the chair and watched him. As entertaining as it was, I was quickly reminded that my 3 year old son was energetically performing advanced yoga while I was sitting in the lazy boy! After he was finished he said, "I'm tired with yoga, I feel like I need a snack and I think it needs to be candy." Instead of candy I jumped up as soon as Benji was finished, got dinner around, which consisted of a frozen pizza and dinosaur shaped chicken nuggets (today happens to be Adam’s and my 4 year anniversary…yes, this was our anniversary meal.) After a couple slices of pizza and a handful of dinosaur nuggets, I was feeling incredibly lazy and very full of processed foods. Who ever thought of molding chicken parts into the shape of dinosaurs anyway, why not process them into the shape of chickens? After dinner was cleaned up, baths had been given to the kiddos, and a few other mundane household chores were completed, I felt it necessary to restart the P90X yoga video for myself. This time it was me, a little less energetically, but performing yoga nonetheless, while Adam sat in the lazy boy. I’m quite sure that he didn’t feel the guilt, and I don’t think I’m as entertaining to watch, but it wasn’t long before he left the room and I had 30 minutes of peace and quiet to myself…and a few animals who always feel the need to be a part of everything I do. As I sit here, again on the couch, I’m still feeling that I need to do something more to outdo my 3 year old. Maybe I’ll hold off for tonight and convince myself that I’ll wake up at 5:30 AM to run a few miles!

I'M NOT SICK!!!

            The relationship between siblings is not one that can be described as “typical” or “average” or anything else that we hear on a daily basis when parents talk about their children. Growing up in a sib set of 3 and being the youngest by a great margin, the relationship that I once had with my brothers is not the relationship that I have with my brothers now, and the relationship that I currently have with one brother is completely different than the relationship I have with my other brother. The bond that siblings have, or in certain cases, the lack of a bond is private and intimate, and not something that is really ever verbally discussed, but physically displayed among one another, but I’m not sure that as a parent, you can ever really know how your children feel about each other.  As you all know, I have two children, one boy and one girl and as I have often said…they love each other. I’m always very impressed with how caring Benji is with his sister, and although he feels the need to tattle on his baby sister for pushing him (keep in mind, she’s 1 year old), he takes care of her. It’s not uncommon for me to happen upon him sharing food, toys, and games with her, and tickling her to “make her laugh” if she is crying about something (usually the fact that Benji is in her face and she is annoyed.)

            Last week, I truly realized how blessed I am and how thankful I am to have two kiddos that are so close. I realize that I will most likely be singing a different tune in a few years, but I felt the need to write about this now so it could forever be remembered…and shown to my children when they are 16 and 18 and are fighting about who gets to use the car on Saturday night. A couple of weeks ago the cold, or flu, or “it’s viral, we can’t prescribe anything” type of sickness rolled through our home. Presley first, and then a few days later, Benji.  Adam agreed to take the day off to stay home with our sick cowboy. Well, our sick cowboy did everything his three year old mind could think of to convince Adam and me that he WAS NOT SICK! Although he had a fever from hell and continued to vomit continuously while screaming…obviously he hates to vomit, he WAS NOT SICK! With good reason, we didn’t believe him and couldn’t figure out why he didn’t want to stay home and watch movies all day while Presley went to daycare. He was upset, more than upset, and sad. As I explained to Benji that I was going to take “Pooey” to daycare so he could relax and watch movies all day with Daddy and not have to worry about her stealing the remote, he cried and wanted to go “get his dress on” (this is what he calls getting dressed…someday when I get over the humor of this statement I will address the fact that he needs to re-evaluate what he is actually saying.) As I was putting Presley’s coat on her, Benji yelled out, “she can’t go to school without me, she’s too little.” I’ve always known that Benji loves his lil sister Pooey, but it wasn’t until this moment that it really struck me how much he cares about her and her well-being. Benji was truly upset and concerned that he needed to be around her to watch out for her. I know that once he is at daycare he pays no attention to his little sister, but the fact that he is so aware that he is able to watch out for her hit a nerve in the “mom” part of my heart.