The Wall

I think I’ve finally hit the wall. I’ve seen it looming in the distance for months and months extending out in both directions as far as the eye can see. At first I tried to ignore it. Then I tried to figure out a less painful way to traverse around it (vs. climbing the monster), maybe a shortcut or ramp or something, but there isn’t an easier way. Once I thought I had hit it, but I was only kidding myself. I was still too full of excuses and running on empty where motivation and willpower were concerned. And sleep, precious sleep.

As I get closer the wall seems to get taller, towering over me. It’s taunting me, telling me to give up, that I don’t have a chance. I know better though, I’ve been here before, clambered up this same wall a time or two. I look up and it seems to go on endlessly. Any hopes that it will have steps or at least crevices to grab hold to are dashed. It’s a slick wall, straight up, and it’s going to take a ton of sweat, determination, and a lot of time to climb it. I’m sure I’ll slip a few times and come sliding back down. I can only hope that I grab back on quickly and start climbing again to reduce the damage to my momentum. That I don’t crash back down to the ground and give up all together . What’s on the other side you ask? My normal, pre-pregnancy body is on the other side of that wall. It’s the body that I’m NOT ashamed of when I see its reflection. The body that is strong and healthy.

It’s time to reclaim my body.

Cutting Teeth, Growing Up & Pushing Boundaries

That about sums it up! Sammy cut his two bottom teeth yesterday. On John's watch I might add. All praise infant Motrin! Loretta is suddenly seeming like such a big girl, holding real conversations and grasping some fairly complex ideas. Caroline has started testing our limits and her power. She's like something out of a sci-fi movie, sending out exploratory blasts in every direction in hopes of finding a weakness in our protective shields. But all is well in our world.

Enjoy!

BitterSweet Modern Mommyhood

When I was a little girl and someone asked me what I wanted to be when I grew up my most common answer was a Mom. Sure sometimes I fantasized about being a movie star and then I thought being a teacher would be cool b/c I could work with kids and still get summer vacation. But, for as long as I can remember, I wanted to be a mom. I wanted to be the one making the lunches and leaving little notes to my kids in their lunchboxes, meeting the bus, taking the kids to gymnastics or dance or whatever, baking the birthday cakes and making each holiday special. I fantasized about taking the kids to well check ups and sick visits and story time at the library. What I couldn’t have understood then was how hard it would turn out to be the kind of mom I wanted to be while working full time.

I did envision a husband who was a great dad. One who wasn’t afraid to change a diaper and who would rough house on the floor. One who wouldn’t yell at the kids if they turned the hose on him on a warm summer day. One who would play catch in the back yard until it was too dark to see the ball. One that would take them for hikes and bike rides and swimming in a lake – of course I’m always a part of this too. I didn’t want to hang back at the house doing chores while the kids were “out from under my feet”. Dishes can wait until the kids are asleep, but an after dinner walk on a warm night searching for lightening bugs can only happen so many times a year (especially up here).

Early on, I have to admit, I had it so great. I worked reduced hours (although still considered full time) and had Fridays off. I got to take Loretta to gymnastic and both girls to the sprinkler park and zoo. Places that are almost unbearably busy on weekends, we got to enjoy on a quiet weekday. John and I decided early on that we would arrange to have the kids out of daycare more days than in daycare and after all this time we’ve managed to maintain that. John would keep the kids one day a week and I would keep them home on Fridays. It seemed like the perfect balance. We were equally involved in parenting in a way that many couples don’t get to experience. Our kids know, without a doubt, that their dad can meet all of their needs. He can dress them up and put their hair in ballerina ponytails, soothe and bandage their boo boos, everything and anything they need.

Shortly after Caroline was born it became clear that I needed to return to work full time so we could get my full salary and the scale began to tip. John began keeping the kids twice a week (on top of his 55 – 60 hour work week) so that we could maintain “the more out then in” daycare goal. John began taking Loretta to gymnastics. I know how lucky I am to have a wonderful husband who is an amazing father. He is not only willing to do these things with the girls but genuinely enjoys it. But, I can’t help but feel left out. I’m the one I always imaged doing these things and I hate the idea of missing an opportunity to cheer them on or impart an “as long as you try your best” lesson here and there.

Please don’t read this as I wish I were a full time stay at home mom. I definitely do not. I firmly believe that having this adult outlet is good for me and in turn makes me a better mom to my children. I enjoy having the opportunity to excel in the workforce and build relationships away from my family. I think it centers me and also helps me keep some sort of perspective. There is also a sense of pride in contributing to my family's overall financial health in a very meaningful way. However, somewhere along the way my work/life balance scale took a dip in the wrong direction and I haven’t been able to right it.

This week John begins parent/child gymnastics with Caroline and they are both so looking forward to it. If I’m being totally honest here I have to admit I’m equally grateful and bitter. I’m grateful that John is able to take her and I know how much she’ll enjoy it. I’m bitter that while she’s balancing on that beam or hanging from the uneven bar with John spotting her that I’ll be in meeting 3 of 6 for the day trying to concentrate, knowing that I would rather be at the Y with my girl watching her with that determined little “I WILL DO THIS” look on her face.

Who knows what the future may bring. John could find his dream job, I could go back to reduced hours. Those things are not interdependent after all. The scale could balance again. I hope so. I’m optimistic that it will all work out for the best. It’s unacceptable to me to be the parent that misses the school play or concert recital because of work. It’s unacceptable to me to miss the softball, soccer games and swim meets. I consider these things to be what life is all about. These are moments to treasure, the ones that are fleeting. These are the times that we are warned about again and again by well meaning friends, family and strangers, being over in the blink of an eye and I DON’T want to get the play by play after the fact. I intend to cheer and comfort and laugh and experience the moments in real time. I intend to be there… period.

Little Man

Oh our Little Man. That's what the girls and I call him. Just this morning Loretta was squealing "Good morning Little Man!" and last night Caroline was saying, "Do you want your paci Little Man?". We are all so infatuated with him. Even when he's sick and congested he's just so happy and smiley. Although, he has already grown weary of the camera, you should have heard how hard I had him chuckling before I got the camera out and the jig was up.

It's amazing to me, after Caroline was born I knew that I would be content if we didn't have any more children and I'm sure I would have been. The girls bring us joy beyond measure. But, I didn't have this wonderful sense of completeness that I have now that we have Sammy. I didn't realize it then, but something was missing. We weren't quite whole. I wonder if Sammy will ever understand how much he is loved and cherished. Will he ever know that he is equally integral and essential to our family?

Reading to Baby

Reality Slap

I think life has a wonderful and potent way of giving us reality checks when we least expect it. Sometimes those checks are subtle in nature, sometimes more a slap in the face.

This morning I was frustrated and impatient. We took the kids ice skating (their first time) yesterday and near the outdoor rink is a playground covered in mud. We let the kids play once they had had their fill of spills on the ice. When we got home their boots were covered in mud and we put them on the plastic mat to dry out and then promptly forgot about them. This morning I told the girls to get their boots and jackets on while I got Sammy in his car seat. When I looked up I saw with dismay that the running, giggling girls had tracked the clumps of dried mud all over the house. Then to top things off when I was buckling Loretta into her seat, Caroline put her boots on me (for the 100th time) but this time getting mud (now wet with the snow) all over my work pants.

Let's just say I wasn't as cool and collected as I would have liked. More like "Mommy gone postal". I dropped the kids off and then proceeded to fume about it the rest of the way to work. Not just the muddied pants, but the stress of getting all three kids out the door alone on the mornings John opens and how I never seem to rise to the occasion, but rather fall into psycho mom, screaming like a banshee.

So, I arrive at work and boot up my laptop 15 minutes late and there it is. I saw the first few words and knew I didn't want to continue. "It's with sadness that I write to you this morning..." The dreaded email which we knew would come sooner or later. A work colleague's wife passed away this past weekend after a courageous battle with cancer. She was 39 and she and my work friend have two daughters, 6 and 4. His wife had their second just before I had Loretta and we were working on the same project at the time. We had built a camaraderie over the shared experience but, unfortunately, when he relocated we lost that daily opportunity to share the ups, downs and humorous parts of our personal lives.

I've been teary eyed all day thinking about those girls. Feeling uncomfortably grateful that she learned about her diagnosis 18 months ago and had time to leave them memories, videos and notes to open later...after...

Not a very subtle reminder of how lucky I am. I've got it pretty damn good.

From a song I can't get enough of lately. 'I'm Alive' by Kenny Chesney with Dave Matthews:

And today you know that’s good enough for me

Breathin' in and outs a blessing can’t you see

Today's the first day of the rest of my life

And I’m alive, and well

I’m alive, and well

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=B56UjiLuWkk

Dust Bunnies and Dinner Parties

Not too long ago, the idea of having friends or family over was extremely stressful and overwhelming for me. I’m blessed with wonderful and caring friends and in-laws and I truly enjoy spending time with them, but I rarely extended invitations to the house b/c I would fret over it so much. What would I cook? I’m a terrible cook! Can John cook? When can I give the house a good cleaning? Will they enjoy themselves? Usually my best chance to get the house in order was several days before the get together and I knew what a mess it would be in again before the big day. Will I have time to sweep and clean up the zillions of toys? It all seems so silly writing it down, but these things would keep me up at night. Even with John being a huge help (and he absolutely is) I had unrealistic expectations that the house needed to be in pristine condition to entertain guests, even close friends.

My mom always did such a great job of keeping the house in order even when we were younger and demanding on her time. And now it always looks clean and inviting. The only time it looks bad is when all of us kids and grandkids converge and even then it just looks like suitcases exploded in an otherwise clean and well kept home. To this day if she’s expecting anyone she cleans the house with a vengeance. Every square inch has been dusted from ceiling vents to baseboards. Every single tile has been scrubbed. Every curtain, blind, window, and mirror. I remember when we were old enough she would have us help clean the house from top to bottom before we left on a vacation insisting we would be glad to come home to a clean house (she was right). I don’t know how she did it, but I try to remind myself that mom was a SHM, a domestic engineer, and at the times I’m remembering anyway, had three kids in school. Regardless, she worked extremely hard making our house a comfortable home.

Lately, I’m excited if I take 5 minutes to swish the toilet wand around the bowl while the girls play in the tub. At my house you’ll find clean folded clothes piled up on every surface (not in the drawers). You’ll find dust bunnies in the corners of every room thanks to our hardwood floors. You’ll find art work taped to walls, mirrors, and the refrigerator. You’ll find stickers on absolutely every surface from those nice hardwood floors to the toilet bowl to Sammy’s car seat, to our own butts. You’ll find hair ponies and barrettes, shoes and socks scattered absolutely everywhere. The bathroom mirror hasn’t been cleaned in a month b/c Loretta and Caroline drew some beautiful flowers after a hot shower one night. These things all caused me such angst when we considered having people over.

The fear of entertaining at home was not something we had to deal with often though. We effectively evaded hints that perhaps we should host the next book club, holiday, girls’ dinner, whatever. We basically saved our energy for one big party at our house a year. Usually in the summer time since the house was so small (praying for sunshine) we would invite everyone we’ve ever known to make up for the numerous invites to their house over the year. Otherwise, we traveled to their homes or we all met out. Now that we have three getting a sitter becomes very expensive and traveling is more complicated.

Lately, perhaps out of necessity, I’ve been able to start cutting myself some slack. I’ve realized that our friends and family would rather spend time with us, getting pizza delivered and eating in full view of a few dust bunnies rather than not see us at all. That they’d rather pass a drooling Sammy around and watch Loretta and Caroline put on a song and dance in a cluttered and half settled house. They’d happily wait patiently for me to get the girls teeth brushed and them in bed before we can have a glass of wine and laugh and talk and catch up rather than me decline an invite out with the girls b/c John has to work and we shouldn’t splurge for a sitter again this month.

Sure, I still run around like a crazed woman just before company arrives. I’ll sweep and wipe down surfaces. Make sure there aren’t little girl panties hanging from any doorknobs (don’t even know how that happens but they show up in the oddest places). I want the house to look nice, but I no longer beat myself up if it doesn’t. More importantly, I no longer deny myself the company of good friends.