(My) Parenting Truth

One afternoon you'll be sitting at your kitchen counter. It will have been a crazy morning. But by now the baby will be napping and you'll be writing about your oldest son, shaping your love and worry into words. You will be distracted by your nervousness; both anxious and worried about documenting your feelings surrounding his behavior.

You will, once again, be only half paying attention to your third child. The one who is, by now, accustomed to only ever having half of your attention. Which is a post for another time. Guilt to chew on later. A whole 'nother set of anxiety and worry.

You will be typing and playing, which is by now, something you're accustomed to doing if you ever want to get a blessed word written.

In your peripheral vision you will see your little girl climb up onto the kitchen counter and drag two over sized Halloween plates out of the cabinet, clank two forks out of the silverware drawer and slam them down in front of you, giving you your salad. With peanut butter sauce. And vanilla ice cream made of glued together cotton balls. The game of the moment is restaurant. And you'll click clack away on the keyboard and take air bites and uh-huh and yup and I love you too sweetie through the next ten minutes.

Then your four year old will ask you, perhaps sensing your exasperation, perhaps wanting to draw you further in to her game..."Mom, do you want me to get you a glass of wine? I know you like wine." And you will twist your face to find hers, search her beautiful chocolate eyes, full of hope and wonder, and consider a few things.

1. You love this child.

2. You know she can reach the plastic cups, she can scale rock climbing walls with astonishing ease.

3. There is half a bottle of white wine in the fridge. You checked while packing lunches.

4. It is on a low shelf.

5. She can open the fridge door by herself. You've seen her do it in order to get to her beloved Dora yogurts.

6. You are kind of thirsty.

7. It is Monday.

8. It is after Noon.

9. She really wants to help you.

10.Who are you to deny this child the opportunity to make her Mama smile?

11.You buy bottles of wine with screw on caps for a reason.

12.You are an average mother. It is entirely possible that your kids will end up in therapy for something you denied them; a slight or oversight somewhere along the way. Isn't becoming your mother's bartender at the ripe old age of four as good a reason for therapy as any?

13. You love this child.

Cheers!!



Man-ish

While I realize my little guy still has a vast amount of “growing up” to do (don’t they all really?), I’ve noticed recently that there are a few things that indicate he’s well on his way to becoming a man. For better or worse.

Don’t get me wrong; I love men. I married a good natured one who thankfully doesn’t mind the occasional blog post portraying him in slightly unfavorable light. Also, I’m tasked with raising two. And while I feel ultimately I’ll do a pretty good job, transforming my baby boys into men is also a undertaking that scares me to death. Cause God forbid either of them end up with a wife like me.

At the ripe old age of nine months my little baby boy-cub is becoming more man-ish. For instance:

1.   We don't nurse snuggled up and cozy belly to belly anymore. No. Now he sprawls out like a man on the couch. Feet up, arms askew, slugging a beer...straight from the tap.

2.   He whines. Of course all babies do. My girls did too. Still do in fact. But this little dude turns on the whiny voice. Just for effect and a little bit of attention. I hope he figures out that whiny men are never endearing to women. Neither are men that fake cough, drool excessively, or crap their pants. But for now, we’ll focus on the whine.

 

3.   He flips me off. A lot.

 

      

4.   His feet stink. Holy hell baby boy. I shudder thinking about future sneakers and gym socks and boy specific sports equipment.

 

5.   He tries to make himself fart (and is alarmingly successful). And he laughs when he succeeds. Actually he laughs even if he doesn’t fart on demand…cause farts are just funny. For a while now he’s been trying to make himself poop when he nurses, but he’s definitely upped his game with the flatulence.

6.   He sweats. Ick. And there goes the sweet smell of a newborn baby. Right. Out. The Window.

7.   He has attitude. And according to his pediatrician, he is a sleep manipulator. Apparently because I will do anything to get and keep my little to sleep, said little is a manipulator. Perhaps this is why I am the Mom, and not the pediatrician.

 

8.   He has a favorite chair, and likes to push it from room to room with him.

 

      9.  He is a terrible driver. It is inevitable I suppose.  Zero hands on the wheel. Looking around. Talking to himself. Drooling. Utterly unable to parallel park. Or get from Point A to Point B without me reminding him how to get there.

 

 (Can we pause for a sec and admire the chub!)

  

    10. He has no idea what to do with the laundry.

    11.  I don't even want to tell you what his favorite tub toy is...(hint: he's looking for it!)

Sick Day

Sick Day-Week Six/Fifty-Two
"A portrait of my children, once a week, every week, in 2014" 


This little guy developed his first true cold, one complete with a fever, this week. With four kids, we've had our share of craptastic and bizarre illnesses and hospitalizations, but even something as simple as a mid-winter cold can break a Mama's heart. The past couple of nights have been extra trying, so I'm so thankful he can still nap during the day.

Perhaps not coincidentally, he has also started chasing me down and trying to climb my legs in an effort to get me to pick him up and cuddle. And while it is endearing and heart melting that he chooses me, and only me, to soothe him when he's not feeling great, it also makes navigating the kitchen during breakfast, lunch, or dinner a bit more challenging.

And of course, one of the most challenging parts of having a sick infant, is managing the guilt that accompanies devoting all of your time to one child, even though there are others that need attention too.

While the oldest two are happily tucked away at school for a good portion of the day, my preschooler is still home most of the time. She is the child, who even after almost nine months, feels the most displaced by her baby brother. And it breaks my heart knowing she is watching television, or eating lunch alone, or talking to herself, while I am upstairs nursing, rocking, or soothing a miserable baby.

Days like today, weeks like this one in fact, make me think that next year, as a Kindergartner, she will be better off at school; far more entertained and engaged, then she would be at home with me.
This is a realization that is again, heartbreaking.

But perhaps I'm over thinking, and holding myself to unrealistic parenting standards. I am hopeful that my increased absence while I help the baby will be met with understanding and gratitude. Deep down I hope she sees my nurturing him as indicative of how much I love her too.

I am joining Jodi and her 52 Project at Practising Simplicity

 http://www.practisingsimplicity.com



Baby Loves TV

It never dawned on me that I wasn’t a good enough mother, until I started reading parenting books.

But as I become more weathered by this thing called parenting, I have learned to cut myself a little slack. I have learned to trust my gut and my instinct, and in turn live happier as a Mom.

I have discovered that each child brings a new set of firsts that need wrangling and understanding; each bringing a unique parenting challenge to the table. Thankfully as more kids have come along, I have learned to worry about doing it right less, and doing what I know is best, more.

My first baby couldn’t latch on to nurse properly. Turns out she was tongue-tied, and our pediatrician refused to do anything about it. For weeks she and I cried through every feeding. I hated nursing, and began to hate being my baby’s mother. Eventually I pumped and bottle fed her, and though there were far fewer tears and significantly less pain, I hated pumping too. Against expert advice, I eventually formula fed my baby, and as soon as I did, I loved her in a way I hadn’t before. As soon as I did, I wish I had listened to my mother and my gut sooner. She was happier and I was happier.

My second baby liked to wake in the middle of the night and behave like a belligerent drunk. He would stay awake for several hours at a time, often thrashing or crying. I do not remember half of 2005 and most of 2006 due to sleep deprivation. Against expert advice we began co-sleeping in order to survive. This bugger still likes to be in my room when he sleeps…but I’m pretty sure he’s not going to want me rooming with him in college. Instincts (and common sense) say it’s okay to let him ride out his nighttime issues on his own time.

 

With my third we thought we’d hit the baby jackpot. Until around 6 months when she decided to start screaming in restaurants. Blood curdling, mind bending screams. For fun. Except it was only fun for her. It was startling and deafening for the rest of us. I have never had so many nasty comments from strangers as I did in the three or four months she practiced her freedom of speech when out to eat. So I started drinking a lot when we’d go out to dinner. Or lunch. Or breakfast.  Against expert advice of course.

Our fourth baby was pure joy for the first two weeks of his life. Then we discovered rather abruptly that he hates the car. He too possesses the ear piercing screaming gene. Yay for us. There is not much worse than needing to run three kids in multiple directions five, six or sometimes seven days a week with a shrieking newborn in the car. Even though he is now better at controlling his emotions, I still break into a cold sweat every time I buckle him into his car seat. Of course, against expert advice, around this time I rekindled my romance with speeding. And listening to the car radio a leeeetle too loudly. It was kinda like being in high school again. ‘Cept for that screaming newborn in the backseat.

 

With baby number one I was doing everything by the book, and my baby and I were pretty miserable. I thought my baby had to sleep in her own bed. And therefore no one slept. I thought my baby had to be breastfed. And therefore she was starving for the first four months of her life. I thought my baby had to learn to fall asleep on her own and self-soothe. And therefore I drink drank a lot of wine at bedtime. And she cried a lot of tears. And it sucked. And I swore I would never put myself or one of my children through that hell again.

By baby number four, I refuse to read a parenting magazine or book. I figure thanks to my intuition I’ve got this good-enough parenting thing figured out. It helps that I now realize there’s no way I’ll ever get it all right, and frankly I’ve quit trying.

 

So the baby watches TV while I make dinner and the big kids do homework. Hell yes he does. He takes one for the team so I don’t stab someone with a fork or cry over my inability to understand third or fifth grade math. It also means I don’t have to wear him steam pressed to my saggy chest…again! And I’m a good-enough mother because of it.

So my preschooler spends time playing on my phone. Will she get kicked out of preschool? Will she feel neglected and unloved? Will she drop out of high school?  I think not. When she is engrossed in a good game of Pocket Edition (read free!) Minecraft, I get a reprieve from her complete inability to sit-freaking-still. I don’t have to answer the same damn question five thousand, three hundred and six times. In five minutes. And I’m a more focused mother because of it.

So summer vacation, winter vacation, spring vacation, half days, sick days, snow days, any day that ends in day may involve a movie. Usually my only stipulation is that it is longer than 90 minutes. Movie days don’t mean my kids will end up dull minded. It simply means that I’m not constantly looking at this: (and I’m a better mother because of it).

Yeah, my baby watches TV. But I think he’ll be okay.

I screw up a lot as a mother and I love my kids more than anything. I know that someday my kids will be parents, and they’ll be screwing up too. And that will make me love them even more.



Seeking Gainful Employment

For the most part I love this time of year; where the excitement of back to school, new sneakers, schedules, routines and footie pajamas permeate my life. But this time of year also makes me kinda feel like I want to get a job. A real job. A paying job. A job that involves other adults who like their job. A job with vacation time, a 401K, and perks like company picnics, stock options and maybe even a company car. A company car that doesn't smell like feet and flatulence. A car that only seats two, and is not infested with fruit flies. 

 

I dream of a place of employment where, if someone comes to me with a complaint or hurt feelings; if they are in tears, frustrated, or upset, I simply direct them to HR. If they peel the paint off the walls or pick at a snag in the rug, I call maintenance and deduct the cost of repairs from their paycheck. A place where if someone pointed a Nerf gun or light saber at me I could get them fired. A place where group bathroom breaks are frowned upon. In fact, a place where I could take my bathroom break without having to explain to someone what I'm doing and why. That kind of place would be fantastic.

 

Then I think about all of the things I was born to do; the jobs that I would both enjoy and be good at: something that involved teaching, bus driving, event planning, disciplining naughty people, nursing (not the kind that involves a mammary gland or two), bartending, investigation, travel and tourism, or stand up comedy.

 

But I am those things already. And yeah, sometimes being everything for free is great...the best of all the jobs in the world. But a good amount of time it also completely and totally sucks the fun out of me.

 

A few days ago I sent my two older children off to school. There were no tears. In fact, this time of year also makes me feel like a cold, heartless, mother. I don't get upset or weepy when it's time for back to school. They get a quick kiss and a swift kick in the ass as they board the bus. I tell them #1 that I love them, #2 be kind to everyone, and #3 do a good job wiping so they don't smell all day. I don't really miss them when they're gone, and I kinda totally dread when the bus chugs around the corner to return them to my care.

See ya in 7 hours kiddos



I also sent my three year old off to preschool for a couple hours this week. Then I sat and enjoyed a 90 minute uninterrupted coffee break with an amazing friend. Undoubtedly there are perks to working from home and being my own boss (depending on who's version of "the boss" you buy into). And I'm sure many people think that as a stay at home mom, particularly one whose kids are all back to school in some way, I have it made. I should keep my mouth shut and enjoy my fantastic life.

 

But still...I have that longing. The longing to be out in the workplace with other adults. People who won't fight me for the toilet, use the company pet as a hand towel, or complain about absolutely every word that comes out of my mouth. People who will not chew on my car keys, pass me their boogers, or touch my stuff just to get my attention. People who understand that when I'm sitting in front of my computer, I am in fact doing something. People who will not care what we are having for dinner. People who will not, upon catching a peek at someone elses privates, start singing "I see your wiener, I see your butt." People who will not need to be reminded that their briefcase, purse or laptop bag does not ever belong on their head.

 So if anyone knows of any fantastic companies looking to hire, please just let me know. I just might throw my hat into the proverbial ring. I'm a fast learner, except for when it comes to financial transactions. I multi-task, and clearly work for cheap, but I would still prefer a check to direct deposit. I can give answers without understanding the question. I'm kinda funny, and can diffuse a tense or uncomfortable situation with my sharp wit. I'd also be the first to volunteer to run out for some Dunkin Donuts coffee should we all decide we want some. I have spent many an hour volunteering in my kids' school, so to say I can un-jam a copier or trace shapes onto construction paper in record time is an understatement.

 

Of course, I have only a few minor demands of my own. I'll need to be able to check personal emails, get on Facebook, balance my checkbook, make list after list after list of things I need to do, call my mom every morning at 8:30, text my husband, peruse Instagram, read my favorite blogs, reorganize the office furniture a lot, wear my pajamas and flip flops most days, only shower on M/W/F, and once every six weeks I'll need a half day so I can get my hair done. Cocktail hour often starts at 3:30 for me, so we'll need to figure out a flexible work schedule. Luckily my kids don't get sick a lot, so I doubt I'll need time off to care for them, but honestly...I have a headache most days of the week.

There's a Frog in The House

I don't know that I'd call myself outdoorsy. I suppose I started out that way, growing up surrounded by chicken coops, vast vegetable gardens, fishing poles and dirt roads. But if I were asked to describe myself in any number of words...outdoorsy wouldn't even make the list.

For me being outdoors now involves scooping dog poop off our lawn and watering overpriced flowers that I lose interest in, long about July 4th.

These days I consider myself outdoors if I stand with my face pressed against the screen in the kitchen window, watching the kids swim in the pool. I enjoy the beach. I enjoy the lake. I enjoy the river, I even enjoy camping. I like to ski, and will climb a mountain or two. And when given the option of sitting inside or outside at a restaurant...hands down I'll choose outside. I spend time outside watching my kids play softball or baseball, and I'll find a nice bench to sit on when we are at the playground. But that's kinda it. I no longer go outside just because. I don't wander. I don't explore. I don't get lost in the wonder of just being outside. Instead I now experience the wonder of the outdoors from inside, and through my kids.

One of my favorite mom things to do is send my children outside to play, throw open the windows and listen to what unfolds. Maybe that makes me neglectful...admittedly I don't even watch, other than an occasional peek when it gets too quiet.  But I believe I am still there with them. I listen. I am still, focused, and present. I hear their laughter. Their ideas and imagination. Their plans. They apologize to each other outside. And they apologize to the critters they find and hold dear ("oh, I'm so sorry moth/caterpillar/grasshopper/butterfly/slug!"). 

From our backyard the kids pull me close; they include me, even if they are out and I am in. And the best part: I get to share in their excitement and look over and approve of what they've found. On a good day, like today, I'm repeatedly called to, excitedly and exuberantly:

"Mom, you have to see this...it's amazing!"

(Imagine here, an amazing photo of one of the most unique looking moths I've ever seen.

But someone was too lazy to go get her camera when the kids discovered it this morning.

Then it flew into a tree.)

Today Sophie told her brother that this was one of the best days of her life. At nine, she's had A LOT of best days of her life. But today was great, and even she knew it. The three of them huddled together found an incredibly strange looking moth. They found Mr. Hoppy the frog. They picked blueberries, raspberries and blackberries. And it's raining. And they were outside. Together. They didn't fight or argue outside. They were patient with each other. They love being outside, and I love listening to them be outside.

At one point, and in true Quinn form, I heard him express his concern that Mr. Hoppy missed his mom. Then I heard him comfort himself and the girls by affirming that the frog will find his mom, or she will find him.

Then the door to the house swung open at the same time I was yelled too...excited screeches coupled with running feet. And then a spilled frog. And shrieks. Perhaps they couldn't wait for their own Mom to stand guard over this Mom-less frog.

Today the kids brought the outdoors in to me. Today I ended up with a frog inside my house.  And I'm okay with that. As long as it doesn't happen again. Ever.

Rain Walk

It's been raining a lot around here lately. A friend commented that it had rained 6 or 7 inches in the past three days. Friends, family and neighbors are sump-pumping basements with fervor, and in a state riddled with potholes, puddles are everywhere. Rivers and streams are flooding, and I swear earthworms and slugs are preparing to take over the world.

Generally this time of year is one of anticipation and excitement as things are happening at a frantic pace. My older daughter and son have only a few days left of school. And while their after school activities are ramping up with end of year ceremonies, playoffs and make-up games due to rain-outs, the dreaded homework, spelling tests and reading logs have ceased.

This year lends an extra level of giddiness as we've applied to host a Fresh Air Fund child and over the weekend we had our family interview. A couple days of rain and some seriously couped up children didn't help our cause as we pleaded with the kids to just behave during the interview.

Overall the interview went well, but it was not without it's cringeable moments. Once the Fresh Air Fund representative had spoken with the children, I shooed them upstairs to play, hoping to be able to finish the interview in complete sentences. Yet just as the woman asked if we had firearms in our home, Sophie appeared by my side. I asked her what was wrong. She said "I've been shot." Perhaps we should have ended the interview there.

But much like all Mainers do, we will forge ahead regardless of the lingering rain. A rain, that when coupled with early June temperatures, can dampen spirits, chill to the bone, turn children into Nerf gun wielding fiends, and make even the simplest days a challenge to get through.

So today Gillian and I exclaimed "rain be damned" and ventured out for a walk. Of course her proclamation sounded more like "rain de bammed" but I certainly knew what she meant.

We had fun on our rain walk.

Our trek did become a bit tedious when Gillian stopped to say hello to every single slug and worm she saw. Even the really, really tiny ones; ones not seen by the unimaginative, untrained eye of an adult.

She had full conversations with the particularly "cute" ones she discovered. She stomped in puddles. She picked flowers. She listened to birds. She got to carry her kitty cat "vumvella."

Then she didn't want to carry her umbrella anymore. So I did.

Then she didn't want to carry her flowers anymore. So I did.

Then she didn't want to walk anymore. So I carried her too.

 Then she decided worms and slugs were not at all cute and needed to be avoided at all costs. So I hot-footed it up our street with the seriousness and dedication of someone walking through a minefield. The last thing I needed were the squeals of a hysterical two-year-old piercing my ear drum.

We had fun on our rain walk, yes we did. At the very least, it was better more responsible than opening a bottle of wine at 1:30 in the afternoon. Particularly on a day when I needed to be able to navigate my way to the bus stop. In the van.

We had fun on our rain walk, but boy I can't wait for the sun to be back!

P.S. I decided a beer would better suit my mood! Although I forgot to peel the sticker off my orange and I think I just swallowed it. Damn rain!

Forty-two Minutes & Six Dollars

In my naïve days, I envisioned my family traveling as a pack; a small little herd off to face our next adventure together. But with an eight year old, a six year old, and a two year old, I now realize that more often than not, we need to divide and conquer, particularly when it comes to schedules.

Tonight my oldest daughter took her grandmother to a Mother/Grandmother-Daughter/Granddaughter tea. My son was not thrilled to be left out, and jumped at the chance to head to the ball field to hit some balls with his Dad. He even got to run the bases twice!

That left me with our little one, who also felt left out. My little one, the one who is not so little anymore. The one whose birth calmed my spirit and soothed my heart as the chaos of three children spread throughout my life. I spend every day with my baby. As a stay-at-home mom I am rarely without her by my side.

But tonight, we did something just special enough. Something we've never done before...a rare treat when her life is so often dictated by, and wrapped up tightly in, the lives of her older siblings. I took her to get an ice cream. After dinner. And it was our secret. And she was so excited about our secret that she told everyone. She announced it to Grammy, to Daddy, to her brother and sister. And she loved every second of it. The anticipation!

After a husband and three children, I have finally found my live-in ice cream buddy. I love to go get ice cream. Any time of day, any day of the week (May through September that is)! And now I have a buddy. And I love it.

Of course, getting ice cream, just the two of us, after dinner, was pretty cool. But even cooler than the whole ice cream with rainbow sprinkles bit, was the fact that she got to eat it in the front seat of the van. Unbuckled. My little spitfire thought that was the cat's meow. She was floored when I told her she could crawl up to the front with me. Still unsure of what she'd heard, she asked in her heart-melting voice "my come up with you and be not buckled?" two or three times before she gingerly crossed the threshold to the front. She sat carefully, hunched over her dish of ice cream, methodically picking spilled sprinkles off of the seat.

And then, after the first few bites, she lifted her head and looked around. She relaxed. She noticed that I had rolled the window down all the way and then the fun really began. Her head went out the window. Her little face pressed as close to the mirror as possible. She spotted customers with take-out bags. She spotted flowers. And traffic. And a pigeon.

Now, of course, this isn't her first time out of the house. She runs errands with me on a daily basis...and does so with astute observation. She's a champion side-kick. A compliant school volunteer, an enthusiastic baseball and softball cheerleader, an efficient errand runner. And if we miss our daily run to Dunkin' Donuts, or our bi-weekly trek to Target, she becomes concerned. She feels her world slightly off balance. She's also accustomed to sitting in the front seat of the van. We do so four out of the five days in a school week. Waiting for the bus. Waiting for the bus to pick up, and more importantly waiting for the bus to drop off.

But clearly this time was different. For her and for me. She had my full attention. I wasn't checking the time, or email, or text messaging. I wasn't worried that we'd missed the bus. I wasn't worried about post school day moods. I wasn't preoccupied with amounts of homework and reading logs and spelling words. We weren't sitting at the end of our mundane street. 

We sat facing each other, cross legged. I let my ice cream melt as I focused all of my attention on her adorable little body enjoying every morsel of her ice cream, enjoying every moment of our special date. Forty-two minutes and just under six dollars is all it took. And I hope she doesn't soon forget how much I was there with her.

I need to do this with her more often. She basked in the sunshine of my full attention. And yet she was so happy to crash her brother's base running and ball hitting extravaganza instead of going straight home. She was content to be back with the rest of the pack.

Even a two and a half year old needs to experience a fun hiccup in the routine every once in a while.