Does the nightmare of sleep deprivation ever really fade?

10pm - Little L wakes up coughing, coughing, coughing. She throws up all over her crib just as I arrive in the room.
10:30pm - I climb into my own bed after changing the sheets, washing the baby, dressing her in clean pajamas, and giving her an asthma treatment.
12am - Little L wakes up crying. I go comfort her, get her back to sleep, and go back to bed.
1am - Little L wakes up crying. I go comfort her, get her back to sleep, and go back to bed.
2am - C wakes up coughing, coughing, coughing. I go to her, give her some cough syrup. Go back to bed.
3am - C wakes up coughing, coughing, coughing. I kick M out of bed so he can give her some Albuterol.
3:30am - C is still coughing. I get out of bed and go give her some water.
4am - Little L wakes up crying. Her fever has spiked. I go comfort her and give her some Motrin. Stumble back to bed.
6:30am - Little L wakes up for the day. I go tell her to hush and go back to sleep.
6:50am - I give up and go get Little L. I bring her to bed with me in the hopes that she'll let me snooze a bit. Silly mama. Instead I get poked and tickled until M gets out of the shower and rescues me.
7:40am - M leaves for work and both girls climb into bed with me. I cheat and do something I rarely allow myself to do, I turn on the TV and snooze while the girls watch the Mickey Mouse Clubhouse and Little Einsteins.
8:30am - I give up on trying to sleep with little feet in my side and little fingers up my nose and in my mouth.

Little L has been very sweet both days she's been home and if I'd been able to focus in the least I would have been able to do all the work I need to get done. But when you don't get any sleep focus is the first thing to go. Wait. No. Patience is the first thing to go, focus is second.

Back when Little L tormented me nightly with multiple wake-ups and I had to suck it up and go to work and do my damnedest to focus and be coherent I had a coworker who always made a point of asking me if I'd gotten any sleep the night before. Of course back then I thought she was taunting me and I'd just look her in the eye to see if there was even a glimmer of a smirk hiding there before answering her unwavering gaze.
"No. No, I did not get any sleep last night."
She'd shake her head and cluck, make some sympathetic noises and say something about how horrible that was and how hard it must be. And I would just look at her without blinking before finally shrugging because how do you explain Hell to someone who gets a full night's sleep every night?

Sleep deprivation makes you feel dead and numb. It makes you not care about anything except just getting through the next hour and then the next one and then the one after that. If your sleep deprivation is caused by a child who doesn't sleep you add a layer of fear to that. You're exhausted and virtually catatonic and in theory you pine for your bed and sleep, but really you're too scared to go to bed because you know that as soon as your head touches the pillow you're going to pop right back up like a punching bag clown who gets hit over and over again, but never ever lies down.

Back when Little L was little there was no end in sight. We moved past months 5, 6, 7 and into months 10, 11, 12 without a single night of uninterrupted sleep. I never let myself hope, never let myself assume that I'd sleep. Miraculously at 16 months she just started sleeping through. First one night, then another, and another, until I realized it had been a month and I finally felt alive again. It's been four months now. Four months of glorious sleep with a few excruciating reminders here and there of the nightmare that hasn't quite yet faded from our minds.

Leave your reservations by the rash entrance

The tiny pink dots first appeared on her lovely round belly. Then they spread upward and outward until they covered her torso and back. Last night she developed a fever, almost as though her body was thumbing it's nose at my pathetic attempt to cure the rash with a dose of Children's Benadryl. "This rash ain't no allergic reaction to your brand new 'green' detergent!" Her body taunted as it sent the numbers on the thermometer spinning higher and higher.

102.3. Ouch.

We're not strangers to high fevers around here. As soon as these kids so much as catch a whiff of a virus I know we're going to be seeing some pretty scary numbers on the thermometer. The rash, though, that's a new one for Little L. Especially an all body rash that now spreads from her hairline to her toes without missing a single nook or cranny.

I'm a pretty laid back mom. Because we go to the pediatrician so often for respiratory issues, I tend to treat most other illnesses without much fanfare. If something strikes me as a bit odd or out of the norm I call the advice nurse and ask her if a virus with similar symptoms is going around. If there is, great, we stay home. If there isn't we go in. Simple enough system.

Once in a while however I get struck with guilt and worry. What if the cold/flu/cough/fever/rash I'm blowing off as unimportant blows up into something dire and I have to rush them to the ER in the middle of the night and admit that I don't take all their sniffles seriously? What then?

I would die of utter mortification. And guilt. That I let my child get that sick. That I didn't realize something was really wrong. That I didn't think something was wrong at all.

It's like that time my mother and I wanted to save some money and just rubbed the cat on the dog's back so they could share flea medication. And then the cat started foaming at the mouth. And we had to take her to the vet and admit what we had done. Mortifying. Still remember wanting to dig a hole to crawl into.

But back to my kids. On the odd day when I feel like maybe there's more to the rash/sniffle/cough than meets my skeptical eye I call and make an appointment. And in my heart of hearts I know it's just another darn virus. And I know I'm going to be charged for the visit and expose my kids to a million other germs only to be told it's just a virus and there's nothing I can do about it. But a little voice in my head keeps whispering "but what if it isn't just a virus?" So I pack up my sick kid and I go.

This morning, as Little L's rash spread up her pudgy cheeks and down her meaty thighs, as her fever stayed solidly above 101F, I gave in to the little voice and I called to make an appointment. As the nurses busied themselves taking her temperature and checking her rash, as the doctor took a double take at the extent of the rash, I felt somewhat justified about having made the appointment, taken the time to go in, feeling sheepish standing at the secret rash entrance waiting for someone to let us in, and sitting forever waiting in the exam room.

Then they delivered the verdict. It's a virus. There's nothing we can do. Just like I said.

Weekly Winners - Summer is around the corner

It may just be March, but we had our first taste of summer this weekend. We celebrated by spending some time outside. Enjoy my Weekly Winners and don't forget to stop by to see all the other great shots posted by other participants.

A warm summery evening is perfect for outdoor dining.

And for a nice glass of wine.

And of course for some ice cream.

Yum. Finger licking good.

Fishing for M&Ms.

A warm summery day...

Makes you want to take a dip.
Too bad the pool looks so bad.

Battered and frayed...
but still well loved.

It's hard to pedal on the grass.

This is much better.

And when Daddy helps,
well, that's just the best.

Hang tight. Summer will be here soon for everyone!

Friday Flashback - I shall call him Egmos

I'm starting something new called Friday Flashbacks where I'm going to drag you kicking and screaming into my very own archives. What can I say, I've recently been delving into my own archives and falling in love with some posts all over again. This one was originally published in January 2008.

The huge green slimy monster skulks in the dark recesses of my brain, taking up precious space, emitting noxious smells. He sits there, not speaking, not moving, just being. That is, until I wake up, then he wakes too, he stretches slowly, oh so slowly, and comes to life. First he moves a long green knuckly finger, the endless horny nail scraping against the spongy floor of my brain. Then the rest of his body creaks to life. He leans forward until the weight of his hideous oozing body is resting on his hands and he painstakingly lumbers to the forefront of my brain where he'll spend the day commenting on each and every one of my thoughts and actions.

"Oh, give it up, you know you can't write."
"No one's going to read that you know? Why are you bothering?"
"Don't ask stupid questions, especially when you know the answer."
"Go on, eat that spoonful of Nutella, it's not like you'll ever lose the weight anyway."
"No one likes you. Deal with it."
And his personal favorite, the one he falls back on when inspiration fails:
"You suck." It's simple, devastating, and to the point.

He is Egmos; The Evil Green Monster of Self-doubt. He is my inner critic. He poisons my days and cripples my self esteem. He makes sure I flounder when I should be swimming with confidence. I hate him, but I'm powerless when faced with his slime covered sneer.

Most days I never let him stir. As soon as that first finger starts to twitch I rev up my mantra spitting machine and I start up my power chant: "I'm smart, I'm pretty, I can do anything I set my mind to." Soon enough I can get out of bed, shower, and get on with my day. If the mantra isn't working, I pull on my favorite boots and square my shoulders and I chant louder. Usually that works, but some days I wake up already down; I haven't slept much, I've put on more weight than I care to admit, I remember that my cat is dead, that I live on the other side of the world from my mother and my friends. On those days Egmos is in his favorite spot long before I even make it to the bathroom and by the end of the day I'm a blubbering mess of self pity.

It doesn't matter if you succeed, just as long as you try

Know what I hate hearing the most from C? (Well, apart from the fact that every single sentence she ever directs at me has to start with "Hey? Mommy?" I'm sitting right here kid, I haven't moved in the last 20 minutes. I haven't stopped listening to you, like, ever. You don't need to constantly check that I'm there. K? Thanks.)

I hate it when she whines that she can't do something without even trying. It drives me crazy.

I'm a big believer in the value of failing at something. You try, you fail, you learn, you try again, and sometimes you succeed. So whenever she rushes at me begging me to turn her underwear inside out, open a marker, turn on the light, or do some other little task that I know full well she could do herself if she just tried, I either turn a deaf ear or remind her of our little mantra.

"What does mommy always say?"
"I dunno."
"I say 'Getting it right isn't what's important.' right?"
"Right."
"So, what's important?"
"Trying!"

She beams as she replies, then, more often than not, she actually tries to do what she'd been whining about. She manages to turn her underwear inside out, she pulls hard and opens the marker, and she finds her step stool and turns the light on all by herself. She's always excited when she succeeds. They're small victories, but they're her victories, and that makes them extra exciting, both for her and for me.

I think I need to take a page from my mommy book and apply it to my freelancer book. I realized today that I spend way too much time thinking "I can't" when I should really be thinking "All I have to do is try."

From now on I'm adding "You don't have to succeed, you just have to try" to my existing list of mantras - "Drafts are supposed to suck" and "We're doing this bird by bird*" I want to share the pride that C feels when she discovers she can do something on her own.

*Bird by Bird is 100% credited to Anne Lamott, it's her poetic way of saying one step at a time.

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New giveaway at The Lemonade Stand. Yes, another one. That makes three right now for anyone counting! If you like good music and even better stories hop on over and check out the review and giveaway of Corneille's latest CD.

Still Battling Asthma. Still Winning.

Our battle with asthma gets weaved into blog posts about sleep, about germs, about the never ending hunt for affordable medication. It's such a part of our lives, a part of our daily routine, that I never think to stop and write up an update.

Uh, well, that's because there really isn't an update to give.

C has had a spectacular winter with minimal use of big guns. She gets her daily dose of Singulair every day and has had very few flare-ups all winter. Knock wood, but her doctor and I are even toying with the thought of taking her off the Singulair this summer to see how she does without it.

Little L is another story. When she's healthy she gets a daily dose of Pulmicort, the only medicine that seems to keep her symptoms under control. At the first sign of a sniffle or a sneeze I double that daily dose and do a hasty please-no-asthma-flair-ups dance. A cold can mean one or two asthma attacks in a single night and the destruction of our very tenuous sleeping through the night habit. (Cut me some slack, OK? She only started sleeping through the night a couple months ago. The nightmare of no sleep is still very fresh in our minds.)

But even though I hold my breath when I hear coughing from their room, I'm still awed by how commonplace all of this seems to us. Yeah, our kids have asthma, so what? They're active, happy, normal kids. So what if they get a bit winded after dancing around the room? So what if I have to double check that I'm carrying their inhaler when we go for a family walk? We've never had to run to the hospital in the middle of the night. And they sure don't act like they're any different. As long as I don't forget to order their medicine on time we're a regular normal family. (Mental note: Order more medicine tomorrow morning.)

Even as I make light of all this, I know that 20 years ago our life wouldn't have been the same. If Little L didn't have her control meds she'd probably be having breakthrough episodes nightly and we would, for sure, have made many late night trips to the ER. The same is true for C, even if her asthma isn't quite as severe as her sister's. Fact is, even as we take our evening nebulizing treatments for granted or chuckle when we see Little L strap on her mask before turning on the machine by herself, a small part of me says a quiet little thank you for the medicine that allows us to pretend we are a normal, healthy family.

(Dear Karma, please ignore this post. K? Thanks.)

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Two great giveaways still going on at The Lemonade Stand, and I posted a new review! If you haven't yet entered to win a LeapFrog Tag Reading System or a cool Yoplait Yoplus Prize Pack hurry on over!

Goodnight Moon - The eternal classic

In the great green room...

Odds are, if you have a child, your mind filled in the rest of that sentence.

There was a telephone
And a red balloon
And a picture of ---

That one too...

We own at least three copies of Goodnight Moon. One in French, two in English. There might even be a fourth bouncing around my car. It is, hands down, Little L's favorite book.

"Moon! Moon!" She yells every night as we're gathering up the large stack of books that will get us through her evening nebulizer treatment. It's one of the only non-lift-the-flap book that she tolerates and definitely the only book that she doesn't slam shut in frustration after a page or two. Nor does this particular book ever join the hefty stack of rejects hurled to the floor when they fail to entice.

She likes to point out the balloons whenever they appear and she's discovered that she can stick her finger into the hole on the side of her mask to "hush" right along with the old lady. Then, on the last page we always linger on the image of the little mouse looking out the window.

I couldn't tell what the huge attraction was with the book when C was enamored with it and I still can't really tell now. Is it the sing song tone of the words? Is it the predictability of the repetition? Is it the organized approach that is so soothing to anxious toddler minds? I don't think I'll ever know.

Three years ago I found Goodnight Moon to be the most annoying book on our shelves. Today it's my favorite if only because of all the memories that have imprinted themselves on the shiny pages.

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New giveaway up at The Lemonade Stand - Hop on over to enter to win one of three fun Yoplait Yoplus prize pack.

Writer blog vs Mommy blog

People tell you (you know people, those in the know and all that) that to be a successful blogger you have to have a niche. A niche like blogging about the best running trails, cooking a crockpot meal every day for a year, or posting super cool shopping tips.

Whenever I hear that I want to say, "uh, I have a niche, I blog about parenting, and ah, writing." Sure I'm not the only one in either niche, in fact, I'm not sure either could even be called a niche, but I don't really care. After all, I'm not going to go blog about best pooper scooping techniques*, when I really want to be writing about diapering techniques instead. (OK, fine, it's a very fine line, but quite a shaggy one, so bear with me.) And I'm not going to talk about skydiving off the coast of Hawaii* when I care so much more about novel writing and freelancing.

Now, I'm fine with all that. The hiccup comes when I try to merge those two very different topics under the auspices of the same blog title. Which I'm more than entitled to do, because, did you check it out, it's called "It's My Life..." and, well, my life is all about parenting, and writing, and all the other messy stuff in between.

I just hope that you, my wonderful, awesome, gorgeous readers are OK with all that too. I'd like to assume so since most of my favorite blogs cover all the different aspects of the blogger's life, but you can never take anything for granted these days. So, what do you say? Is it ok for me to wax poetic both about my parenting life and my writing life?

You're OK with it? Phew! Because I really, really, really like all the writing I've been doing and I get really excited when I discover new writing blogs** or new writing resources and I'd love to share all that with you. Secretly, I hope to eventually also share with you choice morsels of my novel-in-progress, but I'm most definitely not ready for that yet.

In the meantime I'll leave you with: Squee! Novel coming along SO well. Have written over 11,000 words so far, which roughly translates to 41 pages and a quarter, double spaced (not that I'm counting). The story is developing so well I can't quite believe it and I'm still in love with the characters, though there is one gal I don't quite yet have a grasp on, and I'd better figure her out soon or I might have to cut her completely, which would be a shame because she's pretty darn cool.

Know what's even better better than writing this novel and loving every moment of it? Imagining my favorite readers enjoying the finished product.

*Though seriously, how does someone maintain regular postings for such small topics? Wouldn't you get incredibly bored after say, a week?
** I discovered the awesome blog of the KT Literary agency this weekend and I'm totally and utterly hooked. I'm taking copious mental notes about what to do and not do to when I eventually get around to querying.

Weekly Winners - Sleeping Beauties

Some weeks there's so much running around that I never get to pull out my camera and snap a good shot or two of the girls. Nothing wrong with waiting until they're asleep, right?
I bring you my Weekly Winners - nothing sweeter than sleeping beauties. Don't forget to check out Sarcastic Mom's site for other great Weekly Winners participants.

One little sleeping princess...

And her little sister...

Sleeping the sleep of the innocent.

Morning madness causes mommy forgetfulness

This morning I...
... Made the bed.
... Ran a load of colors.
... Folded a load of whites.
... Made a pre-schooler's lunch (cheese, cheese, drinkable yogurt, carrots, apple sauce).
... Got two little girls dressed.
... Had breakfast.
... Answered emails.
... Checked in on Twitter.
... Helped a friend decide whether she should get a LeapPad or a Tag Reading System* for her son for his birthday. (She opted for the LeapPad.)
... Put one girl's hair up in a single pony tail.
... Put the other girl's hair up in two braids.
... Cleaned up the bathroom.
... Put on a smattering of make-up.
... Found the baby playing with a mostly empty glass of leftover wine and a red crayon.
... Decided that the red goo on her face was crayon. I hope.
... Found two pairs of little shoes and put them on the right feet.
... Found my shoes.
... Put the wet clothes in the dryer.
... Got some milk ready for the baby.
... Found the baby eating a stale cookie.
... Let the baby keep eating the stale old cookie to avoid a tantrum.
... Collected three slugs for the school turtle.
... Snapped both girls into their car seats.
... And finally left for the day.

I'd been up all of one and a half hours. So is it really all that surprising that I forgot to pack the bassinet I'd promised to loan an ex-coworker? Is it surprising that I forgot it for the third day in a row? At this point, I'm just hoping she doesn't have her baby before I remember to bring it with me one morning.

*Want a LeapFrog Tag Reader for yourself? It's not to late to enter the big giveaway over at The Lemonade Stand.

My absolute favorite time sucks

Along with all it's invaluable resources and treasure troves of information the Internet offers an endless supply of time sucks. You know, sites that are hilarious, quirky, odd, fascinating, distracting, puzzling, anything but, uh, you know, useful.

I have my favorites, sites I check every day, at least once. They're my little pick-me-up. Sadly what's supposed to be a five minute break and can turn into a marathon of web surfing, which is fun, but not always, OK fine, never productive.

Lucky you, I'm going to share my favorite time sucks with you, because I care. And because I don't want to be the only one wasting hours minutes every day.

1) I can haz a cheezburger - AKA Lolcats. - You might not like cats, in fact you might hate them, but I guarantee you'll still laugh when you visit this site.
2) Cake Wrecks - This site will change how you look at cakes in bakery windows forever. Guaranteed. And it might make you bust a gut laughing, it's that funny.
3) Failblog - this is a bit cheating because it's a sister site to Lolcats, but it's my new personal favorite. If you used to laugh at the Darwin Awards you don't want to miss this one.
4) PostSecret - This isn't so much funny as incredibly thought provoking. Anonymous secrets mailed in on hand designed post cards. Sad, funny, quirky - can't ever miss it. Only posted on Sundays.
5) YouTube - but you probably already knew that. Go there looking for one measly music video for the kids and spend an hour watching a ton of random clips.

If I really search I can find you more, but these are really the top five*. If you're desperate for one more you can always check out True Mom Confessions, I try to steer clear because really, there are only so many hours a day you can fritter away, and I have absolutely no willpower when it comes to anonymous confessions from other moms. Once I start reading I can't tear myself away no matter what.

Enjoy, and, ah, don't blame me if you lose a couple of days of productivity. K?

*I am intentionally not including Twitter in this list despite the amount of time I spend there because of the amazing work related connections I've made. As such it just doesn't qualify as a true time suck for me.

Keeping my reviews honest, just how my readers like it

I love writing reviews. I write darn good reviews. You don't have to agree with me, but at the very least you have to agree that I write very honest reviews. I share both pros and cons and I'm careful to give a complete representation of every product. The most important thing in my opinion is that readers know that if they come to The Lemonade Stand they're going to get a full, honest review, not just a rave about whatever latest product has been pitched to me or caught my fancy.

Here's the deal. If I review something and I give it a thumbs up, you're not going to be disappointed when you get the product. If it has drawbacks, I'm going to list them. If it has great selling points you're going to know about them too. There are a ton of products out there and we don't all have time to go out and test drive every little thing before handing over our credit cards. My goal is to make your job as a consumer a little easier. And maybe to introduce you to products you might not already know about.

So far, it's been pretty smooth sailing. Get product, test it out, come tell you what I like or don't like about it. It's been pretty easy because until today I hadn't been asked to review a product I hated. I'm a pretty easy going gal, some might even say I have slight Pollyanna-esque tendencies, so it's hard for me to imagine reviewing something with absolutely no positive attributes.

Today I had to email a PR rep and tell her I couldn't write a positive review for the product she'd asked me to test, review, and giveaway. Actually, if we're being honest, I told her that I couldn't think of a single positive aspect of the product. I really, honestly tried. I hated potentially upsetting someone with whom I hoped to have a good working relationship, but I just couldn't see myself hyping a product that I couldn't back*. Also I really couldn't see myself pushing a giveaway for that same product.

I hope you trust my opinions and I hope that you come to me for advice because of that trust. Really, that matters to me more than anything. So, how about this, you guys keep reading and I'll keep being honest. Deal? Sweet.

*In this instance I didn't feel comfortable writing a negative review. I'm not saying that I'll never do that in the future, but this time it just didn't feel right.

Time flies way too fast 'round these parts

How did this......become this?

How did this...

...become this?

By the same token, how did this*...
become me?

*I'm the one with the glasses. That little one is my little sister. Who, frankly, is still just as adorable today.

Part of the Borg and Damn Proud of It.

It would appear that the wonderful Peter Shankman of the infamous HARO (Help a Reporter Out) ruffled a few mommy feathers at South by Southwest yesterday by likening the mommy blogger community to The Borg Collective.

That people got their panties in a bunch over his rather funny, and if may say so, pretty accurate description of the mommy bloggers is a true testimony to the lack of understanding of sci-fi TV and of the major problem that consistently weakens the community.

People! Being compared to The Borg is a good thing. Yes, fine, so they were the "bad guys." But anyone who's spent even five minutes watching the show knows that they were awe inspiring in their power and ability. Just like the mommy blogging community is awes inspiring in it's power and ability.

Or at least we would be if we could get over ourselves and stop getting all bent out of shape every time someone calls us a name we think might maybe have some pejorative connotation to it.

You know what? People call you names when they're jealous, when they're intimidated by you. And really, those names only hurt when you feel there's a hint of truth to them. The only mommy bloggers who are offended to be called mommy bloggers are the ones who aspire to be more and are frustrated with what they do. The only people who are going to be offended by the comparison to The Borg are those who secretly fear that their voice won't be heard, or maybe those who fear that they don't have a voice of their own.

I'm a mommy blogger and I'm proud of it. I write about my life and my kids and I'm fine with that. I'm part of a huge community of mommy bloggers and I'm equally proud of that. We have our individual voices and our communal voice, and yes, we are a force to be reckoned with!

Maybe today we should have patted ourselves on the back and hosted a round of high fives instead of getting pissy about being called a name. One of the most influential men in the media sphere warned companies to take notice of us. It was public recognition of the power of our words. That's huge! That means we've made it, that means we're finally as important as we've always wanted to be. Nicely done ladies!

Now, can't we please stop quibbling about the terminology and rejoice over the sentiment? Please?

What have you done that you're proud of this year?

I went to a wonderful birthday party today where the hostess served up a very thought provoking ice breaker. Last week she sent out an email asking all the guests to tell her one thing they had done this year that they were proud of. The stumper? It had to be something that had nothing to with either family or work.

Seriously.

She asked a large group of women to name one thing they were proud of that had nothing to do with family or work.

Do you know how hard that is? Do you know how sad it is that it's so hard? We women are notoriously too wrapped up in our families and our jobs. We all too rarely take time to focus on being ourselves.

Point in case: I wussed out and said that I was proud to find the courage to quit my 9-5 job to start a freelance writing career. Which, clearly, is work related, but it's definitely the thing I'm most proud of. In retrospect I could have said something about, oh I don't know, running, or mastering the laundry, or something. But whatever.

At the party we were tasked with going around, list of all the proud accomplishments of the guests in hand, and introduce ourselves. Our goal was to try to meet lots of new people while matching guests to statements. As I walked around and chatted with different guests I was blown away and really inspired by all the things people were proud of doing in the past year. One party goer learned to swim. Another finished her novel and found an agent. A third resurfaced her kitchen, all by herself. Yet another rediscovered a love for reading great literature.

I spent over two hours talking to a ton of different women about anything and everything except for kids, husbands, or work. It's amazing how animated a conversation can get when you open with "So, what are you proud of this year?" It's amazing how inspiring it is to hear everyone's answers.

So, what are you proud of this year?

Escape to the beach

M sent me an IM as he was leaving work "I'm craving sand and sun."
So I replied, "That's cool, let's go to the beach."
You have to love living in California.

We arrived just in time to catch the sunset.

Clearly the loveliest way to start the weekend.

From the Mouths of Babes: Proclamations of Love

"What is going on in here?" I asked Little L who was making more noise than a herd of hysterical elephants despite having been in bed for well over a half an hour.
"Mama! Mama!" She greeted me with sheer delight before letting go of the crib railing she was banging on and searching around for her bottle. "Ah doh! Ah doh! Ah gone!" She said, shaking her empty bottle in my face.
"Yes, I can see you're all done with your milk and that it's all gone. That happens when you drink it all up. Now it's time for you to have a great big nighnigh."
I settled her back onto her mattress and tucked her blankie and MooMoo cow next to her before going to tuck C in again.
"Mama? Mama?" She called again from the crib. I turned to look at her and she flashed me her biggest, goofiest, most mischievous grin. "Mama? I dov ou."
"I love you too baby. Sleep tight."

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Fabulous LeapFrog Tag System + two book giveaway over at The Lemonade Stand in honor of National Reading Month. Don't miss it!

I've lost that lusting feeling, for babies.

Blogging about how it's starting to feel right to be a family of just four got me wondering about why it felt so right all of a sudden.

I used to look at people who proclaimed that they were done, done, done like they'd grown a second head. What did they mean "it just felt right?" How could it ever feel "right?" How could you ever not crave another pregnancy, another baby?

I've had baby fever for as long as I can remember. I've been babysitting since I was 14 and even before then I'd go all weak kneed at the sight of any and every baby. Babies loved me and I couldn't get enough of them. I used to freak out my college boyfriend by raving about how sweet babies smelled and how much I wanted one, like, right now. Then he'd go all white and trembly and I'd have to take that back, but I still wanted babies of my own, or babies to hold, or babies to cuddle. I wasn't picky, I'd even change nasty diapers just for the chance to be close to a baby.

It was baby fever, I had it bad, and it never went away. I couldn't fathom how it could ever abate, let alone vanish.

C and Little L have the same fever. I see it in both their faces when they spot a baby. Their eyes light up and they instantly start cooing and reaching towards the tiny infant. They take turns rocking car seats. They sing songs and fuss with blankets. And they do it every, single time.

I don't any more.

I've lost my baby fever. I no longer long to hold every infant that comes my way. I have a special place in my heart and in my arms for some particular infants - daughters and sons of close friends and family - but parents can now wheel their strollers by me without fearing an onslaught of baby talk and absurd cooing from me. I still adore babies, I just don't crave them any more.

I'm not sure when I lost my baby fever, but I think it's the real reason I feel like I might be ready to call it quits. Even as I write that though I'm shaking my head in wonder. Where's the girl who ran to hold all her colleague's and friend's babies?

I don't know how it's possible to not crave another infant, but I think I might be there anyway. This morning I got more excited at the thought of passing off our bassinet than at the thought of meeting the baby who would be sleeping in it.

But will they grow up to love their bodies?

"I have a big fat belly!" C crows, walking around slapping her adorable round stomach.
"No you don't, you have a sweet little belly." I reply every time, wondering where she first heard someone talk about her body like that. Was it in jest? Was it lovingly? Was it a critique or a compliment? Her tone doesn't clue me in. She's delighted with her big fat belly, proud to show it off, entranced by the sound she can make by slapping her hands on it.

"Bellah! Bellah!" Little L cries as she runs into the room, shirt lifted to her chin, glorious roundness of her baby belly jutting out proudly in front of her. I react accordingly and dive at her, fingers at the ready for the tickling she's begging for. She laughs hysterically and pleads for more "Bellah! Bellah!"

They're in love with their bodies. They're still at that age when being naked feels amazing, where they're convinced that all you need to be beautiful is lots of pink and tons of sparkle. I'm in love with their bodies. I love the roundness, the plumpness, the dimples that show up in unexpected places like the crook of their elbows. I can't get enough of their soft supple skin, their full cheeks, and yes, their full bellies.

How long do we have before those cries about bellies are no longer full of pride but rather full of despair? How long before they no longer preen in front of the mirror, but use it to isolate more flaws that they can bemoan?

My kids are young, very young, but I was a teenager once and I know that those days are looming. I remember feeling fat and awkward. I remember feeling like I'd never lose enough weight to look as pretty as I wanted to be. Today I look at pictures of myself back then and I'm blown away by how pretty I actually was. I want to reach back in time and hug that insecure girl and tell her she's gorgeous inside and out, that anyone who can't see that is blind and needs their head examined.

But I can't. There's no going back. There's no helping the girl I was back then. Instead I'm focusing on the two little girls running around baring their bellies for all to admire. I'm telling them how gorgeous and smart they are. I'm praising their actions, their thoughts, and yes, their bodies, because it never hurts to know that someone thinks you're beautiful.

I don't know if that will be enough to spare them from a future eating disorder. I don't know if I can help them love themselves no matter what. I'm doing the best I can. Aside from all the love I'm showing, I'm also teaching them to eat balanced meals and to enjoy sweets in moderation. Only time will tell if that's enough.

This post was inspired by It Started With Pop-Tarts... by Lori Hanson as part of the Silicon Valley Moms Blog book club. Click here to read other posts inspired by Lori Hanson's battle with bulimia.

The ideal number of kids

How many kids do you plan to have?

That was one of the questions that M and I had to answer during our first pre-marital counseling sessions. There we were, sitting at opposite ends of the rabbi's office, quiz papers on our laps, answering all the topics she thought we needed to cover before walking down the aisle.

We kept giggling as we moved from question to question. Giggling because we knew exactly what the other was answering.

Who's the big spender? Uh. Duh, me.

What's your ideal Saturday night? Movie. Couch. Cuddling under a blanket. It was true in 2002, it's still true today.

How many kids do you plan to have?

I answered 4, M answered 2. It was the only question that we answered differently, and even as we wrote the answers we knew we were answering them differently. I wanted more kids, he wanted fewer, we figured we'd come to a consensus eventually.

I wanted lots of kids. Lots of delightful, funny, curly blond kids. Four seemed like the perfect plan. We'd have two, wait a couple years, and have another two. I'd have more than two kids and each kid would have a sibling close in age. Ideal.

M wasn't such a fan of my four kid plan. I figured he'd meet the first one, fall head over heels in love, and come around. I was dead wrong about that. In fact, it ended up taking a lot of convincing for him to agree to a second. (And maybe even a little underhanded scheming that we won't mention here. Ever. Shhh.)

When I first held Little L in my arms I refused to believe that it might be the last time I'd hold my own newborn. I couldn't fathom that I wouldn't be putting a babe to my breast for the first time ever again. I acted like it would be. I savored every moment. I refused pain medication so that each memory could be crystal clear. But a small part of me assumed I'd be doing it again eventually.

For months that was my rationale. I acted like she would be my last, and hoped that she wouldn't be. She didn't let me sleep for 16 months and it almost drove me insane, but I still assumed I'd be doing it all again sometime. I'd rock her to sleep and think "next time, next time, I'll do this differently. Next time maybe the baby will be a better sleeper. Next time..."

And then miraculously Little L started sleeping. And talking. And really communicating with us. All of a sudden we aren't spending every waking hour reacting to a baby's demands, instead we're enjoying quality family time.

This weekend we went for a nature walk and we made cookies. We laughed at each other's jokes and ran around the house chasing each other, giggling hysterically. We played games. We talked. We ate all of our meals as a family. C shared inside jokes and Little L kept telling us we were "founy." It was a good weekend, a really good, fun weekend.

Last night I went to bed and I realized just how nice it was to be done with the newborn stage. To be past that screamy-angry-baby-crying-but-you-have-no-idea-why phase. To not have to wash a million bottles, or change diapers every ten minutes. To not need a special tub to wash the baby. To constantly be guessing about the next best way to get the baby to sleep/eat/poop/etc. And for the first time ever I caught myself thinking that I would be OK with being done. It feels right being just the four of us. It feels complete.

Weekly Winners - A hint of Spring

After weeks of non stop rain Mother Nature took pity on us and sent us a ray of sunshine. Well, OK, quite a few rays. It was a glorious day here. A pure Spring day filled with sweet breezes and warm sunshine. It was exactly what we needed after this no-good-horrible-endless week.

So we packed up the kids and headed to the park to hunt for signs of Spring and shake off the last germs. I grabbed my camera and shot some amazing Weekly Winners. Hope they send a breath of fresh air your way.

She's not so much a climber.
More of a hanger-oner.

This one on the other hand,
is definitely a climber.

Little chubby fingers and delicate flowers
don't always go hand in hand.

Sometimes picking flowers takes intense concentration.

So does figuring out your next wish.

Is it a plane? A bird?
We'll never know.

See? A climber.
And a poser.

And now for some signs of Spring.
Purty flowers!

Green!

Buds!

And a daisy for you!
Happy Spring everyone!

Hats off to all the work from home moms and dads.

Between all the coughing, runny noses, lack of sleep, and cranky children it's been a very, very long week. Friday 6pm just couldn't roll around fast enough for me.

But frankly, I think I've whined more than enough this week. So instead, I'm just going to say this:

Hats off to all you work from home moms and dads.

Seriously. I was home with my kids three days this week. I got virtually nothing done. Zip, nada, zilch, bupkiss. I sent a couple emails, wrote a few blog posts, but aside from that my to do list just tormented me. Every time I tried to sit and write or even think about what needed to get done I was interrupted by an urgent request for water, glue, snacks, coloring pages, crayons, or by a indignant howl from one of the girls.

For the most part my kids play pretty nicely together, and yes, they are very young, but still, I don't know how work from home parents do it. It must take some insane amount of organization and self discipline to be able to get anything done, and maybe the ability to function on very little sleep. Between housework and caring for kids it's hard to string together a coherent thought let alone a coherent sentence.

So I bow low to you all who do it all on a daily basis. You are truly an inspiration. I promise that next time I feel like whining about how hard it is to concentrate in a busy coffee shop I'll stop and remember this week, then I'll have an extra shot of espresso in your honor.

Mommies who complain about not getting sick days get punished

I went to bed last night and was woken up shortly after by a coughing, coughing, coughing child. I went to tend to her, gave her some asthma medicine and went back to bed. Her sister immediately woke up and started crying. She was running a fever, a pretty high fever actually. Then she started coughing too.

I'd love to tell you that the night got better after that, but it would be a total and utter lie. In fact, the rest of the night included vomit, changed sheets, more vomit, more changed sheets, more asthma medication, lots more asthma medication, standing in front of a steaming shower, and finally, two very, very brief hours of sleep.

The only conclusion I can draw from this is that karma is reading my blog and decided to punish me for whining about not getting a sick day. Because clearly not getting a sick day is nothing compared to not getting a sick day because you have to care for two very cranky, feverish, needy children on barely two hours of sleep.

Luckily, about an hour after my head exploded from all the whining and fussing M came home and rescued the children from me.

Mommies don't get sick days

When I woke up this morning I felt nauseous, stuffy, and all around icky. A lifetime ago I would have turned off the alarm, rolled over, and made a mental note to call in sick an hour or so later. This morning I suppressed the urge to puke, got up, and faced the day.

There was a toddler to hug and a preschooler to feed. There was asthma medicine to be dispensed. There was a lunch to be packed and there were children to be dressed. The laundry was calling and the kitchen was a mess. And even though I wanted to pack it all in and beg M just to take the kids to daycare so I could go back to bed, all I could hear was C say to her daddy "I get to paint today! Did you know they have an easel at school daddy? An easel with lots of different colors!"

On May 17, 2005 it stopped being all about me. And yes, I know it's important for mommies to take care of their needs, blah, blah, blah, but it's also a fact of life that we have to take care of our families. And if that means sucking it up when we don't feel very well, or pushing through the day when we haven't slept, well then so be it.

This morning I sipped lemon ginger tea to settle my stomach while I brushed Little L and C's hair. I dressed them and popped them into the car. After dropping them off I took up residence in my usual coffee shop and sipped more ginger tea while I waited for preschool to let out. I didn't feel well. I didn't want to be there, I wanted to be in bed. I kept a close eye on the clock, counting down the hours until I'd be able to nap, but I was where I had to be and I made the best of the situation by getting some much needed work done.

I finally made it home and after putting out a few work fires I dropped into my bed and closed my eyes. My head was pounding and my stomach was achy, but it felt amazing to finally rest my head on my flannel pillow. I didn't open my eyes again until I heard a familiar little voice chirp "Where's mommy? She was supposed to be there on the couch working, but she's not here. She must be out eating lunch."

I smiled, dragged myself out of bed, and went to welcome my little family home. I swallowed some ibuprofen and hoped it would take care of my headache. Little children needed to be fed, bathed, and put to bed, and lots of hugs and kisses needed to be dispensed. Mommy was needed again.

Kissing my birth control goodbye.

Yes, I'm kissing my birth control good bye. No, it's not why you think. We're done having babies for the time being. Four people in a two bedroom house is plenty for us. Plus, I'm never, ever sleep training another child in my own room. Ever.

But I really am kissing it goodbye. For real, not all birth control, just this particular kind.

I went off The Pill for the first time almost 5 years ago. Sure, at the time we were gearing up to start trying to conceive our first little munchkin, but I was also really, really tired of having my moods controlled by artificial hormones. I'd been on The Pill for over 10 years and I was just done. So I stopped taking it and I felt great, really, really great.

After C was born I refused to go back on it. The thought of being controlled by those hormones again made my skin crawl. So instead I tried a diaphragm on for size. It worked for us. It wasn't ideal, but it wasn't bad either.

Let's skip forward a few years past the birth of our second baby. The birth of the baby that left some painful scarring that made it suddenly impossible for me to wear the diaphragm, leaving us with limited options. Granted, options we weren't against using, but still, limited.

Plus I started getting migraines. And painful cramps. And the controlling hormone hell memories had somewhat faded. And so I let myself be swayed by the smooth talking, Pill pushing OB.

I went back on The Pill.

Three seconds later I had put back on the 5lbs it had taken weeks for me to lose. Three more seconds after that I had put on another 2. Then my face broke out. I whined to a friend, who told me to suck it up and give it a couple months, that my body would get used to the changes.

I sucked it up. I gave The Pill not a couple months, but four months. Four long months. And now I'm calling it quits. I'm kissing The Pill goodbye. In fact, I'm kissing all forms of hormone birth control goodbye. Buh bye. Tah tah. Go torture someone else.

Not convinced? Think I'm being too hasty? Consider this:

Pill Pros:

• No more babies. Phew.

Pill Cons:

• More migraines, not fewer, more, yes more.
• Odd intolerance to tomatoes. Linked to the migraines, as in they trigger them.
  
• Pimple face. All. Month. Long.
• Crazy screaming she-witch at completely random, unpredictable times of the month. Ask M.
• Insane weight gain, despite a healthy diet and exercise.
  
• Depression. Apathy. Complete and utter lack of motivation.
  

See? I'm not crazy. I think The Pill is slowly killing me, and frankly I can't think of a benefit in the world worth that. Well, maybe a humongous life insurance policy, but we don't have that, so instead I'm just going to stop taking the hateful little things. There are other ways to keep from adding on to our family. We'll just have to find one that doesn't destroy me along the way.

Some Little Girls Want to Be Just Like Daddy

Little girls can brush their hair and put bows in it. They can put on mommy's shoes and clothes. They can even plaster their faces with make-up. But looking like daddy sometimes takes a little inventiveness... and a couple bath bubbles.

I just can't get used to the sight of a fully bearded baby.
Even when it's a bubble beard!

Oddly enough, the goatee look on the 3-year-old isn't as disturbing.

Well, to me...
The little sister didn't agree.
Or, you know, she was just tired. Whatever.

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I don't just love my kids, I actually like them too.

You're supposed to love your kids. It's part of the contract - spit-up, baby smiles, and buckets of love. It's that love that keeps you from chucking colicky babies out the window or running for the border when you haven't slept in months and you don't think you can take another night of no sleep. And it's that love that keeps you beaming at your offspring long after every other person in the room has moved from being bemused to being beyond irritated with their antics.

OK, fine, so I love my kids. But I also happen to really, really like them too.

My kids are funny, caring, smart, and compassionate. Hanging out with them is actually fun. They both have a great sense of humor, which makes it possible for us all to laugh and joke together. The hours of barely suppressed boredom that used to crawl by are finally taken up with crafts, projects, books, games, and outings that we all seem to enjoy.

Now that everyone is talking and communicating needs, wants, thoughts, and even silliness, I feel like we've hit another stage in family togetherness. It's no longer just about caregiver/care-needer. There's more of a give and take; it's all more multi-directional.

I think we're on the threshold of the infancy stage where everything is just about basic needs being met, and the stage that's about taking care of people who have distinct personalities, thoughts, and aspirations.

We're just getting to know those people, and so far, I truly love, and actually like, who they're becoming.

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