For The Times, They Are A'Changin

So, hi there. I, uh... I'm sorry I haven't called. Er... written. I mean, I know you feel like we're growing apart. It's not you, it's me. How are you?

I dunno. I got nothin. Life is busy? Kids and stuff? The school year started? OH! HOLY SHIT YOU GUYS! School started! I have a kindergartener! I HAVE A KINDERGARTENER. That's insane. I'm a little bit baffled by this particular development. He cannot possibly be in school. Like, actual school. Except that he is. And it's completely terrifying.

Not for him, of course. He's totally fine. He loves it. It's terrifying for ME. I mean... he's out there just, like, living his life. WITHOUT ME.

I know. I KNOW. That's precisely what he's supposed to be doing. It's good for him. We all have to do it eventually. Autonomy n' shit. Yeah, yeah. But jesus, it is hard letting him just wander around in the world doing things and learning things and struggling through things and only getting the tiniest snippet of what that's like for him. It's harder than I thought it would be.

This was the Big One's very first day of kindergarten, and look:

Who's the one marching along, head down, looking all forlorn and pouty? Not him. He's fine. IT'S ME.

After we dropped him off that day, we came home and I was completely overwhelmed with this terrifying feeling that it was over. Our time together was done. I sat in his room and cried and because he doesn't belong to us anymore. I mourned us.

That's completely melodramatic and slightly ridiculous, but it's also kind of true. The us we were doesn't really exist anymore. I've been home with him since he was born, and I've been a part of his entire life -- including his education -- up until now because of co-op preschool. (What? We live in Seattle. It's awesome. Shut up.) Now, he has this whole life at school that I'm not a part of for the first time in his life and it's a bit sad. I don't really know what his days are like, and I miss that. I miss watching him experience things for the first time.

He's doing well though, and we've worked our way through the transition hiccups and he's becoming this little person. This little person who's starting to read! Which !!!!!!


So anyway, big changes à Chez Squishy. Because in addition to the Big One starting kindergarten? The Little One started preschool. And DUDE was that kid excited. Like, AMPED. He has been waiting to go to school for a year and NOW HE GETS TO GO AND OMG. It's the cutest. Every day he's excited to go, and every day he leaps out of class and into my arms and says, "Mommy! I work and sing and play!" And I melt into a giant puddle of oozy love. I get to be with him in class once a week and watch him do all these amazing things...  Actually, he mostly just plays with the blocks and trucks and sandbox. Like, pretty much the whole time. But he's SO HAPPY about it. He'll shake it up soon, I'm sure. Or not. Whatever. He's happy.

My little squishies, they are growing up. Oof. That stings a little.



I have been working on getting things published (and writing things that are publishable), so there's that monopolizing my time. But it's working! I posted in August (oh... is that the last time I posted? OOPS) about my pieces in Brain, Child Magazine, and Luna Luna Magazine, but what I forgot to tell you is:

1. My piece in Brain, Child then went up on HuffPo and 15,000 people liked it on Facebook (so conceivably more than that read it) and WHOA.  I was totally blown away to even be there, and deeply honored to reach that kind of audience. Amazing.

And...

2. I'm now a staff writer for Luna Luna Magazine! I am so excited to be a part of Luna Luna and look forward to writing much more there. We talk lit, we talk feminism, we talk pop culture, we talk makeup, we talk tarot, we talk about all kinds of things and you should come on over and check it out.

So... stuff is happening! There's more coming out soon, too. It's a little surreal that I'm actually getting my work out there, and it is such a thrill to know that people want to publish and read the things I write. But even more meaningful is the idea that something I've written might have helped somebody. Or made them laugh. Or made them think. Or made them say, "Me, too." Ultimately, that's all I want.


And also, I got new glasses for the first time in 15 years. Turns out you should really have your eyes checked more than once every 15 years! Go figure. Here they are:

And with that, I'll leave you with the promise that there will be more from me soon and in the meantime... bizarre word combos that come out of our mouths. You're welcome.

Weird Stuff We Say

Daddy: "No. A penguin doesn't need a vacuum."


Daddy: "Who's on my team?!?"
Little One: "Not me!"


Little One: "My baby toe is 'llergic to dogs and cats."


Little One: "Mommy? You smell dat fart? Oh... dat not a fart. Dat the fries."


Daddy: "Did you wipe your nose, Little One?"
Little One: "Yep."
Daddy: "Then why are you wiping your nose on your shirt?"
Little One: "Because dere's booger water in dere."


Daddy: "Stop it. Just sit for one minute and be happy with your life."


Big One: "Sometimes, I accidentally eat toilet paper."
Me: "How's that taste?"
Big One: *pause* "Not very good."

(Apparently he was referring to when he's blowing his nose and the toilet paper gets stuck in his mouth. So at least he's not INTENTIONALLY eating toilet paper. There's that. Tiny victories!)


Big One: "Daddy? I need a cookie. Cookies help me remember stuff."


Little One:
bongo beans = garbanzo beans
bandeds = band-aids
tattoon = tattoo

Big One:
Star Vors = Star Wars

P.S. here's how I know having children causes you to lose your mind: My children made me start a puzzle with them and then abandoned me with the puzzle and then I really wanted to finish the damn puzzle BUT THEY KEPT WALKING ON THE PUZZLE. And then I was angry. The end.


P.P.S. the Big One declared that he would have a band called "Hands Droppin' Through a Tile." He would play the drums. I would play the maracas. Little One would play guitar. Daddy would sing.
WE HAVE A RETIREMENT PLAN, Y'ALL.

Growing Up & A Great Article

So much is changing with my little people every day.  They are artists and musicians, actors and detectives, scientists and mathematicians.  They want to see and learn and hear everything.  They bounce all over, soaking it all up.  And they are becoming the slightest bit more trustworthy and independent.  They are finally (FINALLY!!!) starting to play together for short periods without screeching, so from time to time, I get a moment to myself.  Sometimes I can pee without an audience, you guys!  It's a miracle!

And I can talk to them.  I can talk with them, and it is such a pleasure it catches me off guard sometimes.

The Little One's speech is growing by the day and he's able to tell me so much more about what he thinks about and observes around him.  He can tell me what "fwaired" him in the shadows behind the door.  He can explain his nightmares to me (in simple terms, but still).  He can tell me when and where he's hurt.  And he tell me when he's excited about something.  He can tell me me loves me, or wants a kiss, or wants to "cwimb on yap and wead a book."  He surprises me on a daily basis with his new tricks, and though he also surprises me with the depth of his stubbornness and willingness to test me, I adore that little boy to pieces.

The Big One.  So big!  He is so expressive now.  He's picking up words left and right and- to my delight- is using them.  Correctly!  His context is spot on, and he gets it.  My English teacher heart soars with every new word.  He's picked up gorgeous, humongous, enormous, and glum.  And he's used them all.  I cannot tell you how much I love it when he asks what a word means, and I watch him absorb the meaning as I explain.  My wonderful little word sponge.

They are so big already.  It happens so quickly.  I've found myself drawn to pictures of them both as babies, as though I can preserve that tiny part of them if I just remember.  If I only remember.  But they're no different.  They are bigger, more capable, naughtier... but they are still the same babies that I held and cuddled back then.  I look at the pictures and I see the same expressions, the same mischievous grins, the same goofiness, the same heart-breaking quiver when they'd begin to cry.  They are the same.  My babies.  Always my babies.

Here's a bit of their latest adorableness.  Enjoy and swoon with me at their preciousness, won't you?

Little One:
Thomas = hummus (this may tell you where his loyalties lie...)
Frinkle far = Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star (That one took a while to figure out.  I kept thinking about Farkles the Unicorn.)
Fwaired = scared
Fweep = either sleep or sweep, depending on context

Big One:
After seeing a picture of me at my wedding, the Big One said, "Mommy, why are you wearing a blanket on your head?"  Touche, little dude.

"Mommy, you're a real superhero."  Damn skippy.

"I feel glum."  Well, then.


*  *  *
Also, in case you don't follow me on Facebook (HEY!  YOU SHOULD FOLLOW ME ON FACEBOOK!!!), here is an article that is in beautiful opposition to all the "lean in" and "opt out" articles popping up all over the place.  It rings true for me, and likely rings true for many of you, too.

"For the average married mother of small children, it is often cheaper to stay home - even if she would prefer to be in the workforce. It is hard to "lean in" when you are priced out."

Alone

photo credit: katy tuttle photography

The Big One turned to me today- out of nowhere, in the middle of lunch- and said, "Mommy?  When I'm big, can I go everywhere with my family?  I want to stay with my family.  I don't want to be alone.  I'm scared to be all alone."

And then my heart broke into a million little pieces.

*   *   *

Earlier today, he and the Little One ran ahead of my husband and me in the hallway.  They jumped into the elevator before we even turned the corner.  They are normally so good about waiting for us.  But this time, this time they forgot.  And as we turned the corner and the elevator doors closed, I heard the Big One yell quietly in surprise, "Nooooo!!!!"  

We ran as fast as we could, but we couldn't get to the elevator before it started moving.  They had already pushed the buttons inside when the doors closed.  My husband bolted down the staircase and I waited where I was, in case they followed the directions I had once given them to stay where they were.  I was hoping they would come right back.  But they didn't.  I could hear the Big One whimpering softly.  He was scared.  I listened as the elevator stopped at this floor, and then that one.  I didn't know which.  And then I couldn't hear them anymore.  And I couldn't hear my husband.  

I started to yell through the elevator doors, hoping they could hear me.  

"Are you okay?  Boys?!?  Babe, do you have them?"

Nobody answered.

I opened the door to the concrete stairwell and yelled down the staircase.

"Did you get them?  Are they there?  BOYS?!?"

Still nothing.  

I had no idea what to do.  The elevator was still moving up and down, up and down, but I couldn't hear them anymore.  Was I supposed to stay?  Should I run down and try to find them?  What do I do?

I was pressing the elevator button and trying to listen in the stairwell and the elevator shaft, when I finally heard them.  I heard my husband quietly telling them that he was frightened.  How scary that was.  That they mustn't ever do that again.

The doors opened.  The Big One walked out, looking stunned, and wrapped his arms around my legs.

"Mommy.  I was lost.  I didn't want to be alone.  I lost my family."  

I knelt down and hugged him.  I told him how scary that was.  How I didn't know where he was or how to get to him.  I told him that he must never do that again.  

The Little One bounded around us, unfazed and babbling excitedly about his adventure.  

"Mommy!  Lost!"

We talked about what happened with the Big One as we walked back down the hallway- how he shouldn't have run ahead, how we've talked about this before.  We told him he'd done a good job staying with his little brother and that he kept him safe, and that was good.  

I asked my husband where he'd found them, and he told me they were the first place he looked- the lobby of our building.  We never go to the lobby.  I have no idea why they got off there.  I asked my husband why he went there first, since it seemed most likely that they'd have gone to the garage where we were headed.  He shrugged.  Said he had no idea.  He just went there first because it was the closest to the street.  And if they'd gone out into the street...

I shook my head.  That wouldn't have been where I would have looked.  I'm glad he went down the stairs instead of me.  I told the Big One it might have taken me a while to find them, and that scared me.  I asked him to please, please, never do that again.  He nodded, but he just kept saying the same thing over and over.

"I lost my family.  I was alone.  I lost my family."

*   *   *

I see so much of myself in this little big boy of mine.  Some of it fills me with pride, and some of it makes me worry for him.  

I know his fear of being alone.  I had the very same fear when I was a little girl.  In some ways, I still do.

I got lost riding my bike to a park one day when I was seven and very nearly lost my little mind.  I was inconsolable.  People stopped their cars on the street to see if I was okay.  I wasn't.

They helped me find my way, eventually, but the seed was already planted.  I could get left behind.  I could be left alone.

When I was eight, my parents tried to leave me home alone for a reasonably short period of time because they couldn't find a babysitter.  I was a responsible little girl and was perfectly capable of staying home alone for a little while.  But I had never stayed home alone, and I was terrified.  I begged my mother to stay home, to find me a sitter, anything but leave me alone.  I remember so clearly the feeling of panic, tears streaming down my face as I pleaded not to be left alone.  As I tried to explain how frightened I was.

When my mom tried to leave, I completely lost it.  I sobbed and screamed and shook and implored.  She tried to reason with me, to tell me that I would be fine.  That it would be okay.  I didn't believe her.  

Eventually, she made the 400 necessary phone calls and found someone who was willing to drop everything and come over.  And I can still feel the absolute relief I felt at that moment- the solace of knowing that I would not be alone.

I don't know how this fear became so entrenched in me, and I don't know how I managed to pass it along to my son.  I hope I can teach him that it's okay to be alone.  That, sometimes, alone is wonderful. 

But until then, I will teach him that I am here.  That he is loved and supported by his family.  That we are watching out for him.  And that even when those elevator doors close on him, we'll be waiting on the other side.

Saying Goodbye

We just returned home from a trip to honor the passing of my husband's grandfather.  It was important that we go, that we be there with our family and remember- together- all of the wonderful things about this man.  That we grieve- together- and say goodbye.

I am so glad we went and it turned out to be an incredible opportunity to spend time with family members we love but rarely see.  But it also brought up a lot of things I wasn't prepared to talk about with my young children.  We had to explain to our 3 year old, for the first time, what death is.

It was a startlingly daunting task- one I knew we'd have to tackle soon, but I didn't expect to have to explain it in reference to us- to one of our own.  Explaining to a 3 year old that one of their family members has died is strange moment in the life of a parent.

I sought out the help of the parent educator at my son's co-op preschool, and I'm incredibly thankful for all of her advice.  She guided me through how to speak about death to a preschool aged child (use clear, simple language- avoid phrasing like "passed away") and how to explain what happens ("when we get old, our bodies stop working, so we die").  When we discovered that there was to be an open casket viewing, both my husband and I worried about how the Big One would react.  The Little One wouldn't really understand what was happening, but the Big One has frequent nightmares and scares relatively easily.  I worried about how he would handle seeing a dead body for the first time and the trauma it could cause him.  Our parent educator was so reassuring and gave wonderful advice about allowing the child to lead the way and choose what they want to do.  As a result of her guidance, I felt much more comfortable as we left for our trip.

In the end, both kids handled it SO much better than I ever could have expected.  They spent long hours in the car and in the funeral home, behaved very well for exhausted kids at both the viewing and the funeral, and, in their own ways, said goodbye.  The Big One understood that something serious was going on and that people were feeling sad.  He sat quietly through the funeral as his family members cried softly next to him.  He climbed into the lap of his grandfather as we said our final goodbye at the cemetery.  As we drove away he said, "I'm going to miss my old Grandpa."

I often forget how much we underestimate our children.  We don't realize how much they really understand.  How much they see and hear.  How closely they listen and how much they get it.  We may have had to explain what death is, but we didn't have to explain the sense of loss that comes along with it.  We didn't have to explain that the people around him needed a little extra quiet and little extra love.  We didn't have to explain that family is important.

This experience gave us the opportunity to show our children how we rally together when we need to.  How, through death, we can celebrate life.

As worried as I was about the entire experience and as sad as I knew it would be, I could not be more grateful for wonderful things that came out of it.  We were able to honor and celebrate a wonderful man- a leader in our family- and to show our children what love and support look like.  We were able to be together, as a family, and say goodbye.

Clarification

Dear Little One,

I feel there are a few things I need to clarify with you.  Please listen closely:

* Making something fly through the air does not make it a ball.  Please stop saying, "Ball!" and then throwing things.
         Example: That little metal truck you just hucked across the table?  Not a ball.  The bit of sandwich you called a ball and then threw at lunch?  Also not a ball.

* Screeching like a psychotic monkey will not get you what you want.
        Example: When I go to change your diaper and you twist and scream that horrid scream and throw things (which are still not balls), I still have to change your diaper.  I win.

* Calling it a button does not mean you have to push it over and over and over again.
         Example: Your bits are your bits, so... I'm not trying to be bossy and I definitely want you to enjoy... things... but we do have to get things done and... there's a time and place for....  We'll talk about this when you're older.  Nevermind.

* Trying to twist out of my arms while I'm carrying you somewhere you don't want to go isn't going to hurt anyone but you.
        Example: All of the times you do this.  Quit doing this.

* Refusing to eat will not make me suddenly decide to feed you nothing but cookies and milk.
         Example: See the part about only hurting yourself.  And the part about me winning.

* While that mischievous grin of yours is killer and makes me smile every. single. time... it does not give you free reign for naughtiness.
        Example: Flashing that smile at me before you pitch your breakfast or smash the metal car into the wooden table does not excuse it.  You're still in trouble.  So just stop.  Oh, stop.  Yeah, it's cute- stop.  Ohmygod, I totally love you.



And, actually, while we're at it....

Dear Big One,

You clearly need some clarification on a few things as well.  Listen up, big fella.

* Repeating something a quadrabillion times in a progressively more irritating voice is not likely to make it happen.
       Example: Hollering from your bed at nap time, "Mommy, I need the door a little bit closed!" (meaning open) over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over...

*Just because you say, "Excuse me," doesn't necessarily mean you're excused.  Hollering over your parents as we're attempting to talk in the five seconds we have to figure out dinner is not going to help anyone.  And yelling, "Excuse me," kinda cancels out the polite, there buddy.  See previous bullet.  And just hold on a second.

*Nap time really isn't for you.  It's for me.  So it's not optional.  You do not have to sleep, but you do have to stay in your room without yelling for a full hour at least.  (Note: that does not mean you get to start yelling after the first hour.  I merely require one hour for sanity.  More will benefit all of us.)
        Example: Today when I put you down for nap, you solemnly swore that you would lie down and stay quiet.  As soon as I left the room you bounced up and down and yelled my name for 17 different things that would mean I needed to come to the room and/or get you out of bed.  "I have to pee!"  "I have to poop!"  "I need a drink!"  "What was that sound?!?"  "I need my hippo!" (which is now across the room where I threw it so you'd have to come and retrieve it.)  "I'm hungry!"  "Can I read a book?"  "I miss you."   All of that is infuriating.  Please quit it.

*Saying you "need a break" right after you've done something that you know has earned you a time out will not get you out of time out.  Nice try though.
         Example: The other day when you pushed your brother over out of nowhere and then ran as fast as your legs would carry you to the corner of the kitchen yelling, "I need a break!!!"  Nope.  Still get a time out.

*Cracking up in the middle of your tantrum, while simultaneously amusing and exasperating, will still not get you out of whatever I'm asking you to do.
          Example: Yesterday when I asked you to go potty and get your shoes on before we had to leave to pick up Daddy, and you screamed and yelled and threw yourself to the ground... and then started laughing like a little lunatic... you still had to go potty and get your shoes on.  I believe this falls under the "I win" category.  But that transition directly into mania from fury was pretty impressive, Squishman.

*Being gentle and kind and loving with your brother will always get you 4,271 points with Daddy and me.  And your brother.  Keep it up.
         Example: Today, when we got home from dropping Daddy off at school, you very sweetly and gently helped your brother take off his jacket and shoes.  Of your own accord.  It was amazing.  I love you.

Respite

The other day- for a while, a brief shining piece of day- there was peace in this house.  There was pure, unadulterated happiness.

The kids stopped fighting me and each other; we all stopped hollering and correcting and throwing and arguing and decided to enjoy each other.  To settle down in the moment and listen to comfort of one another.

The Big One was telling a story and the Little One was dancing and we were listening to music they both listened to in the first days of their lives.  I looked at both of them in their absolute contentedness and felt it myself... and found myself choking back tears.  They were tears of happiness, of gratitude, of exhaustion, of life, of unbelievable love for my beautiful family, and all of a sudden this love was so intense it was overflowing.

And then they were giggling and playing peek-a-boo together and I was (am) so thankful for this beautiful family and our life and time together.  And then we danced together.

I watch your faces grow older and smile and your laughter rings through our home, through my bones. And I am so filled with love, with recognition, with understanding of why we are where we are.

Upside, Downside

I am looking for balance.  Life has felt perpetually off kilter for quite some time now, and I'm attempting to give it a kickstand.  In an effort to temper my incessant whining (you guys, I know... I'm sorry!), I've decided to look at the glass as half-empty AND half-full.  Both sides of the coin.  Cloud with silver lining.  Yin and yang.  Luke and Darth.

You get the drift.

We all know I can't stop whining all together.  It's in my DNA people - I couldn't make it stop if I wanted to.  I grew up in a house where sour moods spread like wildfire.  But I also grew up singing "Shiny, Happy People" and Ren & Stimpy's "Happy Happy Joy Joy" with my dad whenever anyone (usually my mom- sorry, Mom!) got a little pouty.  So if I can buffer the whining with a little sunshine and lollipops... well, that doesn't sound so bad.

Accordingly, I'm playing a little game of Upside, Downside with myself.  Every time I want to wallow in self-pity or complain or be a generally hellish human to be around, I'm going to attempt to find the positive side of the situation.  Because I don't want people to stop talking to me.

Anyhoo, I don't know how long this happy-happy-joy-joy will last, so fair warning.

Upside, Downside: Episode 1. Going Back to Work

Upside: While I was working at "that store," I learned to relish the time I have with my kids.  As in, the book-it-as-fast-as-I-could-out-of-the-mall, leap-into-the-car, and speed-my-way-home kind of cherish.  Leaving "that store" and just doing tutoring now has not lessened the effect, despite the fact that I ADORE tutoring.  (OOH!  Upside!  I HEART TUTORING!!!)  I've always loved my time with my babes, but now I genuinely treasure my time with them (as barf-tastic as that sounds), because I've experienced having that time taken away.  The time I took for granted is limited, and that's a tangible concept to me now.  Even amidst all the screaming.

I have come to realize that I do want to teach- in some form- and to be involved with everything I have always loved: kids, literature, writing, and learning.  Tutoring has been absolutely awesome.  It's helped me readjust my view of who I am and who I want to be... something I was struggling with as a full-time stay-at-home parent.

Downside: Holy adjustment, Batman.  My kids struggled BIG TIME with my going back to work.  They were totally pissed off at me and misbehaved WAY more than they did before.  The Big One cried when I left for "that store" (not in the dramatic way, but in the quivering lip, slight whimper, ask for a hug and try to be brave, but totally break your heart kind of way) and told me daily that he was sad/scared when I left to go to "that store."  We didn't get family time or weekends at all for a couple months.  My husband had a hard time getting all of his school work done and we were all exhausted.   We realized that working for $10 an hour, getting a stress fracture in my foot, and having stressed out kids and no time together was not worth it.

Upside: I quit "that store" a few weeks ago.  It was awesome.  I've never felt so good quitting a job.  And it's not that the job was all that bad, it was just a bad fit for me and my family.  Nonetheless, I'm delighted that I no longer have to take bullshit from people who feel, apparently, that anyone working in a clothing store deserves to be treated like vermin.  I'm tickled frickin' pink that I will never again have to experience the heartache of looking in newly vacated dressing rooms to find giant piles of inside-out clothes next to giant piles of hangers.  Oh, the horror.

Now, I get to help people- little people and their families who are authentically thankful (wha?) and students who want, want to learn (WHA?!?).  IT. IS. SO. GOOD.  And on top of all the goodness, the money is significantly better than retail, so I can work fewer hours for the same piddly money I was making at "that store."  We have weekends and family time again.  My kids are happier.  And my family is happier.  And I am happier.  Happy, happy, joy, joy.

Letters to the Boys

Dear Squishies,

Oh, my boys.  As I write this, you are both fighting sleep, exhausted, and filled so completely with the desire to play and learn and absorb that you CAN. NOT. STOP.  My babies, my two little squish-boys, are growing up before me, and I am astounded at how quickly it has happened.

I feel the need to record something.  To try to capture this brief moment in time and tuck it way so my brain won't loose it.  I want you to know that I think of you constantly, and that I see you.  I know you, Squishies.  And I love you so much I can hardly breathe sometimes.  You boys make me happy every day.  You make me smile and laugh in a way I never knew I could.  You make life make sense.  You also make me crazy sometimes, but that's the sign of true love.  

Thank you for completing our family, boys.  Thank you for being such loving, amazing, hilarious little people.  Thank you for allowing us to love you and play with you and laugh with you.

* * *

Dear Big One, 

We measured you the other day, and in just over a month, you had grown a full inch.  You are sprouting right in front of us, and some days when you wake up, I think I can actually tell that you're bigger.  You're changing.  You are 110% 3 year old.  It's your way, or the screaming, yelling highway.  You're pulling away, but still holding on so tight.  

You've had a hard time with my return to work, and I'm so sorry for that.  It was sudden and it was confusing and suddenly the mommy you had had by your side 24 hours a day, 7 days a week... was gone.  A lot.  And you were frightened and sad and angry.  So was I.  You have been fighting me and arguing with me and yelling at me.  You've been like a different kid.  And I'm sorry.  I'm sorry you lost your mama for a little while.  I'm sorry you lost your family time.  I'm sorry it didn't make sense to you and I'm sorry we had to put you through all of it.  That first job, "that store," wasn't worth it.  It was not worth the stress I put you through.  But tutoring is different and it's astounding how you seem to understand that it's important to me and important for our family.  You still miss me when I'm gone, but it doesn't seem to break your heart in the same way.  So now, I'm okay with it.  Happy even.  And you seem to be coming around, too.  You hug me and kiss me again, instead of clinging to me with fear in your little eyes.  I'm so happy to see you happy.  

You've started to work on your relationship with your little brother, and it is amazing to see.  You still have an incomprehensible desire to sit on his head, but you also want to play with him now (instead of on him... yeesh).  You've been voluntarily giving up toys when you see that your brother wants them.  You've been excited to show him things and you protect him fiercely.  And sweet boy, I am so proud of you.  

You have also started drawing like crazy- your daddy's talent is leaking out of your every pore.  You create recognizable people with features now, and I cannot get enough of them.  And you still have a very serious interest in music.  You want to listen to songs over and over- get the words right- so that you can sing them and play along on your instruments.  You assign each family member a job, "Daddy, you play drums.  Mommy, you're piano.  Wren, here's a tambourine," and then you lead our little family band.  You want to listen to music all the time, and you have clear opinions on what is and is not good music.  And frankly, you have awesome taste.

You are all kinds of things, my big boy.  You are headstrong, timid, silly, frightfully observant, beautiful, and kind and loving beyond your capacity.  I have been told that you have an old soul, and I think that's the perfect explanation for the way you approach the world.  It's as if you already know what's coming sometimes.  You are a perceptive little man.  People tell me that you look just like me, and it pleases me to the core.  But I hope you won't be exactly like me.  I hope you will be braver than me, more independent than me.  I hope you will learn from my mistakes and be happier for it.  Most of all, I hope that you will always be proud of the person you are and will always feel how incredibly loved you are. You are my original Squishy.  I love you, Monkey Moo.

All my love,

Mommy

* * *

Dear Little One,

Holy spitfire, Batman.  You are all black and white, my friend.  No grey area.  You are either jolly, or incensed.  Laughing, or screaming.  Dancing, or throwing yourself on the floor.  You are a balls to the wall, full-throttle, no-holds-bar kind of kid.  And it is both thrilling and terrifying to behold.

Your entry into toddlerhood is everything I expected.  You do everything big.  (Except pooping... you are a silent, ninja pooper.  It's astounding.)  You are a climber, a thrower, a chortler, a kid who is into EVERYTHING.  I literally cannot blink in your presence lest you climb on top of a table or rip something off of one.  

But then, you are a lover.  You adore your lovies with every fiber of your little being.  You hug regularly of your own accord and grip your Daddy and I with such passion that it is hard to let you go.  Despite the fact that he sometimes takes your toys and often sits on your head, you love your big brother so completely, it oozes out of you.  You light up when you hear him wake up and call for me in the morning and you run, RUN, to him as fast as your chubby little legs will take you.  You greet your Daddy and me with such joy, such unbridled happiness, when we return from an absence and it is literally impossible not return the glee that ebbs from your little soul.

You recently started to dance and, MAN do you take that business seriously.  You bob your head and shimmy your little shoulders as though it is necessary- vital!- to get your groove on.  Now.  Shhh... I am jamming.  You feel music down to your little bones and you smile whenever we turn on a song you know, just before the serious face and the bobbing begins.

You are a man of opinions, and usually those opinions are some version of, "NO!!!!"  Whether we're trying to help you eat, or change your diaper, or show you how to use a new toy, if it was not your idea, you are NOT. HAVING. IT.  Fits ensue, screaming starts, and you now bang your head on the nearest hard surface.  Because that will show us.  (By the way?  It doesn't show us.  It just hurts your noggin.)  Luckily, you are also pretty easily distracted and usually can be brought around from enraged to delighted in seconds flat.  Seriously, no grey area.

Little Squish, you are a sweet, goofy, wildly stubborn, daring, fearless and awesome little dude.  You look exactly like your Daddy and you are cute as the dickens.  You have the most hilariously low voice for a baby.  You are walking trouble, but you are absolutely irresistible.  You were the perfect addition to our family- the perfect combination to shake us up in all the right ways- and we cannot imagine life without you.  You, my Squish-face, are a love.  Thank you for the laughter you bring us and the love that emanates from your core.  I hope you will always love with such wild abandon and that it doesn't get you in too much trouble.  I hope you feel the love that is returned to you and I hope you will always know how incredible you are.  I love you, Monkey Two.

All my love,

Mama

Little Heartbreakers

So, I just started a new part-time job (and am about to start another), and the babes are already starting in on the guilt tripping.  Oh, man... this part sucks.

Today as I was preparing to put the Big One (who turns 3 tomorrow... how the hell did that happen?!?) down for nap, he looked at me, grabbed my face between his soft little hands and said, "Mommy?  I miss you."  And then I died.  Time of death: 12:47pm.  Cause of death: guilt overdose.

Me: "Sweetie, why do you miss me?  I'm right here."
Him: "Because you go to that store and I miss you."

I have gone to "that store" (for my new job) twice.  Two times.  For four hours each time.  And already with the guilt.

I know I am garnering no sympathy WHATSOEVER from the working mamas who read this.  I know.  I know I've been spoiled.  I know you've been dealing with this and struggling through this since shortly after your babies were born.  I know I really have nothing to complain about since I got to stay home with the Big One for 3 years and the Little One for 15 months.  I know.  I KNOW.

But if I've established anything here, I think I've made it clear that I am a good-for-nothin' whiner.  And so... here I am.  Whining.  Like a punk.  Because all of a sudden I'm having to struggle with the very thing that 80% of parents out there have to struggle with.  Ridiculous, right?

We've worked it out (because we can't afford childcare) so that my husband is home with the kids while I'm at work, and I am home while my husband is at school.  This is great because our kids are with us.  This is terrible because not only am I not seeing my kids nearly enough, but now I'm not seeing my husband either.  And it is hard.

Walking away from a crying 15 month old is tough.  But I know that more than likely, he's going to see something shiny in a few a minutes and be distracted and happy again.  Having a 3 year old remind you repeatedly that leaving him makes him sad... well... that just plain sucks balls.

And I know.  I know this is good for them.  They're used to me being around ALL the time and it's good for them to get used to more time with Daddy.  It's good for them to see their parents taking care of business.  And it's good for them when we can pay our bills(ish).  It's good.  I know.

But it still sucks.  I knew being a working mom had its ups and downs.  I'm just waiting to discover the ups.  I know they're there.  I know I will find them.  But for now... oof.  This is hard, man.

(I'm preparing to receive hate mail from all the working mamas out there.  I understand.  Go ahead.)

Hello. Welcome to the Winter of My Discontent.

When the goin' gets tough... you still have to take care of your kids.  So you go out and get a job at the mall.  Like you did 10 years ago.  Because every other option is exhausted and you have to suck up your pride, stop acting like Winona Ryder in Reality Bites and STOP WHINING ALREADY.  Gah.

Sometimes it really sucks to be the grown-up.

I'm realizing just how- righteous?  Proud?  Insistent?  Hopeful?- I've become, and taking a job at the mall is stupidly humbling to say the least.  It feels like a step backward.  It's literally something I was doing 10 years ago.  It's a 60% pay cut from my previous career as a teacher.  And it's probably ultimately good for me.  But I can't say I love the idea of it.  Not yet.

The truth is, it's probably going to be awesome once I adjust to the idea of working with former students. (No literally, I am WORKING WITH A FORMER STUDENT.)  But the thing is, there is absolutely NOTHING wrong with getting a job at the mall.  Or working with a former student.  And retail can be totally bomb, yo.  I'm only pissed off because I feel like I was forced into a corner and I didn't get the jobs that I really wanted.  You know, the jobs that I'm actually completely unqualified for.  But I'm going to be working at a store that I actually really like.  I get a kick-ass discount.  I'll get to talk to other adults (!!!) about things other than poop or sleep (!!!) AND I'll get something that is all mine.  Something separate from "Mommy"... and that is something I've been craving.  And I'll probably get some new clothes out of the deal... once I get a few paychecks.

But.  But.  I can't get over the fact that I'm doing was I doing 10 years ago.  It feels... stagnant.  It feels out of place.  It feels anti-progressive.  But it's also necessary.  We're struggling.  My husband is a student at a private college and financial aid is getting harder and harder to come by.  I believe in what he's doing- what we're doing- and I believe in my choice to stay home rather than work exclusively to pay for day care.  Even if I'd never stopped teaching, we'd still be in the same position.  My salary wouldn't even have covered daycare for two little ones.  And I've always valued time with my children and my husband above money.  But.  But.  I'm tired of people telling me to deliver pizzas.  I'm tired of people thinking I'm slacking.  And I'm tired of being scared all the time.

So.  A job at the mall.

And also, as of yesterday, a job tutoring.  Which feels a little more my speed.  I'm attempting to do both for a while.  Which means I won't actually see my husband.  Ever.  We'll be communicating entirely through post-its.  Which sucks.  But... when the going gets tough... you still have to take care of your kids.  So, here goes.

Mr. Independence

It is insane to me how quickly these little creatures grow.  One second, they're catapulting around in your belly, and the next second they're marching off into preschool without a single backward glance.  Blink, and years have gone by.  Holy cliche, Batman.

Last week, my son started preschool.  He had his first drop-off day on Tuesday and I was sure, sure that the second I turned to leave, his sad little pouty lip would pop out and tears would spring up in his eyes.  I knew he'd be scared.  Except that he wasn't.  I'd been telling him I'd be dropping him off and trying to prepare him for what I was sure would be a totally traumatic event.  We don't leave him very often because... well, we don't ever have the money to go anywhere, so we definitely don't have the money for a babysitter.  And you can only ask friends to be so generous (although I'm pretty sure we've stretched it to the limit and sucked them all dry... our friends are about the kindest on the planet).  Sooo... I figured that being dropped off at a place he'd only ever been once with kids he'd only met once and adults he'd never met (apart from the teacher) would be a little scary.  I assumed he'd be nervous.

Nope.  He half-hugged me goodbye and waltzed off into preschool without so much as second glance back at me.  I was aghast.  My boy is pulling away from me already... and he's not even three yet.

It's surprising how difficult it is to loosen my vice-like grip on the cord.  I never saw myself as the uber-attached parent, but now that he's trying with all of his might to pry himself away from me... I see that I am.  He's my first baby, and now I understand that saying about having your heart walking around outside of your body.  Oof.  It's terrifying.

But it's also completely exhilarating.  I'm watching him experience all of these new things and watching as he tries all the things I was scared to try when I was little.  He's still timid, but he's stepping out there.  The other day, a friend and I went to a playground with our babies and my big boy, and off he went to the big play structure.  I watched from across the playground as he climbed the parts of the play structure he'd never dared to try.  He tried this one and that one, and I found myself completely transfixed, excited and terrified, whispering to myself, "Careful, baby.  Careful.  Good!  Good boy, you did it!"  He worked around the difficulties and figured it out, all on his own.  And I thought, well... that's it.  He doesn't really need me anymore.

And I know he does, of course.  We all need our parents- for longer than some of us would like to admit.  But he's separating himself from me.  And even though I'm so proud of these steps he's taking, I'm a little sad to know that they're taking him further away from me.  It's a strange thing, being a parent.  You want them to grow and learn, but you know that with all the growing and learning comes pain and heartache that you can't protect them from.  And that part is torture.

I'm so excited to be there and watch as my oldest boy grows up and becomes his own little person.  But I hate to think about all the tough parts of growing up.  I hope I can help him weather the storms.  I hope I can be there to comfort and reassure him, without overpowering him.  I hope I can help him to feel proud and confident.  I hope I can be a part of it all, without taking any of it away from him.

My heart really is walking around without me.  It's a strange sensation.  And part of me really likes it.

FREEDOM!!!!

Apparently, I weaned my baby last night.  It wasn't really the plan, but he made his lack of interest in breastfeeding so glaringly clear that I had to pay attention.  I think it was the screeching and the twisting away repeatedly that made me stop and focus.  Because I am nothing if not observant.

What was it driving me to attempt to force-nurse this kid?  (I didn't, quit freaking out.)  He was clearly not into it at all and yet there I was trying to switch sides over and over, cooing at my poor baby in an attempt to get him to latch on for more than 5 seconds before origami-ing himself away again.  After about 15 minutes of squealing like a tortured piglet and impossible back bends, I picked that baby up and asked him if he was done.  "Are you finished here?  Are you moving on now?  Are you actually, VOLUNTARILY giving me my body back?  All done, Baby?"  And he grinned the biggest grin... and then catapulted himself into a pile of duvet.  I took that as a yes.

So, I'm free I guess.  It's weird.  Part of the weirdness stems from Last Baby Syndrome and the end of an era and blah, blah, blah.  But part of it also comes from my EXTENSIVE collection of mommy guilt. (Seriously, I could center an entire blog around it.  Oh, wait....)  I was planning to nurse him until 14 months just like his big brother for the sake of equality.  You know, so I wouldn't have to hear all that, "MOM.  You know this is all your fault because you stopped breastfeeding me too early.  My brother doesn't have these problems.  POINT MADE."  Those arguments totally happen.  And I was feeling all bummed and guilty that I hadn't made it to that magical benchmark... until my husband reminded me that the babe is just two weeks away from 14 months.  So that counts, right?  Equality maintained(ish).

Apart from being weird, it's also totally and completely and endlessly awesome, because I'M FREEEEEE!!!!!  Well, I'm free-ish. My body at least belongs to me now (although there will be kids hanging off of it for quite some time yet).  I can consume tequila and cold medicine and sketchy untested vitamin supplements with wild abandon.  I can tattoo myself from head to toe and use countless poisonous skin and hair products.  I could, in theory, leave for an entire week and the kids would be fine.  For the first time in four years (!!!), my offspring are no longer dependent on my body for sustenance, and that feels awesome.

Hurry, someone pass me some sketchy untested supplements and let's go get neck tattoos!

The Upright Citizen

And... he walks!  Well, kinda.  A few days ago my baby, now a one year old, stood up proudly and took two steps forward.  And then he did it again.  And again.  My littlest boy, my last baby, is walking.  Oh dear god.  He has yet to take more than 3 steps at time before collapsing to the ground, but he continues to take every step with glee.  It's as though he can't believe he's actually doing it.  Neither can I, my little Squishy, neither can I.

He's growing up, and I can't help but mourn the last dregs of babyhood in my life.  He is still a baby- not big enough to eat a grape on his own or be trusted near a cord- but he is also clearly growing toward toddlerhood.  (I'm screwed.  TWO toddlers at once.)  He's nearly weaned from breastfeeding, starting on regular milk, and chattering away like a little hairless chimpanzee.  He's an awesome little guy- simultaneously jolly and infuriatingly headstrong.  He has an infectiously throaty little chortle and finds his big brother HILARIOUS.  He bangs on drums (and anything else) with reckless abandon and has freakishly solid rhythm for a one year old.  He is also a recent master of the arching, throw-yourself-on-the-floor, screeching, sobbing fit.  Like I said, toddlerhood is nigh.

What with recent events, watching my baby boy take those tentative first steps is surprisingly bittersweet.  I am absolutely, completely and totally confident in our decision to cease fire on the baby-makin'.  Two children is plenty for us and frankly, some days it feels like too much.  But knowing for certain that this will be the last one... it's a little sad.

Part of me is ecstatic.  In a few weeks when I completely wean my baby from breastfeeding, I will have my body to myself for the first time in four years.  I have been either breastfeeding or pregnant (or both!) for FOUR CONTINUOUS YEARS.  And let me tell you, four years is a very long time not to have control over your own body.  Man, I am gonna get so drunk the day I wean that boy.  (I may or may not be kidding.)  I also will never again have to experience the first three nauseating months of pregnancy, will never have to give birth again, will never again have to watch my belly stretch to the size of a small zeppelin.  So very many things to celebrate.  With lots and lots of beer.

But the other part of me is bummed that I will never be pregnant again.  I was never one of those people who claimed to love being pregnant (and honestly, I think those people are full of it), but it really is an incredible process.  I will never feel a little person doing calisthenics in my belly again.  I will never again experience the amazing, though painful, process of giving birth and I will never look a new little person in the eyes as his mother again.  No more first steps, no more first laughs or rolling over or waving bye-bye.

Now, before you start accusing me of histrionics, I'm not as forlorn as I sound.  SWEAR.  I really am glad that I only have two children.  I am SURE that two is the right number for my husband and me and we are incredibly lucky to have the babies we have.  They are wonderful, funny, kind little people and I couldn't be more in love.  But I think it's important to honor these unexpected feelings of sadness at the end of babies.  Babies are cool little beings, and I'm going to miss having one.  Especially when my current baby starts screaming "NO!" at me and throwing things.  Then I'm REALLY gonna miss babies.

Anyway, the whole point of this post was to say... he walks!  It's going to be an even crazier ride from here on out and I may have to eliminate every item on every surface in our house.  My husband is going to be STOKED.

I Just Want Them To Be Happy.

I would like to think that I will be able to handle anything my children want to do, be, or believe.  (I am using the Oxford comma intentionally.  Suck it.)  If they want mohawks and nose-rings, fine.  Hair grows back and most holes close.  If they want to wear Letterman jackets and do chest bumps, fine.  I can attend umpteen million varsity games and pretend not to be annoyed by the cheerleaders.  If they want to be cheerleaders, fine.  I can pretend to not be annoyed by them and will learn to love the weird head bob.  Currently, the only thing I can think of that would piss me off- so of course this is what will happen- is if they come home asking to tote guns everywhere while screaming slurs and tattooing swastikas on their sweet little bodies.  That is going too far.

I think about all the things that my husband and friends and I were discouraged from.  All the things our parents sneered at and judged.  All the ways in which we felt inferior and less than.  I fear that we will do the same to our babies, despite our best intentions.  I don't ever want my boys to feel like they have to "man up" or be better than a 4.0.  I don't want them to try to fit some mold that wasn't built for them.  I want them to be happy.  To appreciate the gifts they have and to enjoy the things they love.  But I know I will push them.  I know that, out of fear, I will probably drive them to be sensible and to do the things that will provide back-up if their dreams aren't fulfilled.  What if they love to sing, but can't carry a tune?  What if they yearn to play baseball, but can't throw past first base?  What if they want to be an aerospace engineer, but aren't great at math?  Then what?  Do I tell them they can do whatever they want to do, or do I try to reason with them and tell them that, although they have a deep love for acting, the fact that they are unwilling to do so in front of an audience will likely hold them back?

I really do want them to be happy.  I want them to know that they are capable of so much and that I believe in them.  I want them to have faith in my faith in them.  But I know they won't.  I know that at some point I'll do something to break their little spirits... and that kills me.  I just hope that before that happens, I can convince them that it's okay if they want to dress like David Bowie or Prince.  That I honestly don't care if they have boyfriends or girlfriends.  That if they want to go to church, or never to go church, it's fine.  That they CAN be break-dancing, fire-fighting, ukulele-playing, geniuses if they really want to be.  And that I will love them and support them no matter what.

Whiny, Whiny Lady

Grown up birthdays: they ain't what they used to be.  Remember when birthdays were awesome?  They were all about the anticipation of amazingness to come. It was all balloons and presents and cake and ice cream and OH MY GOD IT'S HERE!!!!  Alas, those days are gone.

Now birthdays begin with a tantrum or twelve from my toddler, a truly shocking diaper from the baby, and a spilled coffee.  It's good times around here.  All evidence to the contrary, I don't expect much from a Monday birthday.  My husband was at school all day and I have two little whirlwinds to take care of.  Nonetheless, I have to admit that it came as a bit of a shock when things went awry.  Perhaps I'm naive.  Perhaps I'm narcissistic.  Perhaps I'm just an idiot, but for some reason I still expect birthdays to be fun.  I also expect my parents to remember their only child's birthday, but clearly that's just overly optimistic.

It wasn't all bad.  That's what makes me such a whiny little bitch.  I have a glorious friend who brought me flowers- presented oh-so-adorably by her three year old- then took me out for coffee and spec-freakin-tacular croissants from Bakery Nouveau in West Seattle.  YUM.  Then she bought me lunch from the same amazing bakery and we sat on Alki Beach watching the kiddos gallivant in the sun and the sand (read: watching my son throw sand in his eyes over, and over, and over).  It was an awesome morning.  But then I got home and had to attempt to put both babies to bed (one screamed a lot and one did not sleep at all).  Shortly there after I had to get both kids up to hit the road and pick my husband up from school.  And there was traffic.  Lots and lots of traffic.

Again, this should not bother me.  I know this.  The world is not out to make my birthday miserable.  (The Universe IS out to get me, generally speaking, but that's another story.)  It just felt like a little much.  These past few weeks have been tough on our little family pod, so I suppose I was hoping for a bright spot.  A big one.  But then I picked up my husband and he was in a bad space after all the crap that's been going on.  We got home and had a rushed dinner of leftovers (wherein he quickly and unceremoniously presented me with a wonderful birthday gift) before he had to continue his homework. All night.  Again, this should not bother me.  I am a teacher and I understand homework.  I believe in it.  But I still seem to be under the impression that my birthday should involve balloons, not homework.

Alas, my kind and glorious friend of the croissants invited me over (during what was supposed to be their Family Time, you whiny girl!) to have a glass of wine with her and her husband.  And it was lovely.

So again, why am I whining?  I got flowers, a chocolate hazelnut croissant and a latte, a fabulous French sandwich, time with a beloved friend and time in on the beach with my babies.  And it was a sunny day.  AND I got to hear my toddler sing happy birthday to me.  That alone should make any self-respecting adult's day.  But not me.  Nope.  I'm still whining.  What is my problem?  Why can't I stop WHINING?!?  Because it was the eternally disappointing adult birthday in the midst of an infernally frustrating and difficult couple of weeks.  Because my parents forgot about me.  Because I am a pouty, whiny lady.  I'm not proud, but there you have it.  Whiny bitch?  Present.