Monday, February 6, 2012
Patrick is Four--His Official Interview
- Patrick, how old are you today? Four. You're supposed to say, "How was your birthday?"
- How does it feel to be 4? It feels like I'll be four for life.
- How was your day? It was good.
- What was the weather like? It was a little bit windy, so we didn't go on the playground.
- What do you think is the most important thing you’ve learned in life so far? Songs.
- How do you think you’re different from a year ago? Three is not old, but four is a little bit old.
- What’s your favorite thing about yourself? My feet.
- You’re in pre-school now. What do you think of it so far? I like it, but sometimes I want to go home.
- Who’s your best friend? You are.
- What do you like learning about? I like learning about letters.
- Is there anything you’d do make school better? What does that mean?
- Tell me about our family. Our family is alive and nice.
- What do you like about being a big brother? It’s fun. When I was three, I really wanted to be a big brother.
- What is your favorite song? Jingle Bells.
- What’s your favorite movie? I think it's Transformers. Can I watch it?
- Okay, do you remember what we did last night? We went to get ribs and cupcakes. (Note: We did neither of those things. We went to a Super Bowl party.)
- If you had a whole day to do anything you wanted, what would you do? Something that is really awesome, like play and stuff. That's all.
- What’s your favorite toy? Wolverine, but you took him away. Do you remember that? (Note: Some toys were taken away last week for bad behavior. He is in the process of earning them back.)
- What do you want to be when you grow up? A daddy. So awesome.
- Do you think you’ll ever get married? Yes.
- How old do you think you’ll be when you get married? Probably five years old.
- What have you learned about girls this year? What does that mean, Mom? Does it mean wifes are good?
- What’s your favorite food? Black meat and Red Lobster. (Black meat means any pork or barbecue.)
- And your favorite candy? Tootsie Rolls.
- Anything you’re scared of? Monsters who take me to see bad dreams. Well, not now. I'm four years old. Four-year-olds are not scared of anything. We have sense.
- Anything else you’d like to say? I love you so much and you're the best.
- Can you think of any questions I should have asked but didn’t? You should have asked how much I love you.
- So how much do you love me? So much, but how much do you love me?
- A lot. Anything else? Nope. Do I have to take a nap now?
Tuesday, January 17, 2012
Imperfectly...Well, Imperfect
I had to go back and read my post from yesterday because, as the day continues to replay in my head, I had to see again how it started. Semi- under control and relatively ordinary...which is not the way it played out as the day went on. I cringe a little at the thought of posting this, but for an accurate representation of us as a family and of my own struggles, I think it's almost best to be a little transparent. At least, I hope so. And that I'm not judged too harshly.
Somewhere between the spills and the yells and the back-talking and the "Mom. Mama. My Mom. Maaamaaa. Mom. Mommy. Mom. Mama. My Mom. Mommy," something in me broke. I lost my grip on the day and it went in a downward spiral, which ended with me in the grocery store parking lot at 7:46pm, crying so hard that I couldn't get out of the car, and when I finally did, the look of pity I got from the woman behind the deli counter told me that I probably should not have. I felt pathetic.
So, I went back through the day in my mind today. Where did it go wrong? Where did I start to feel sorry for myself because, truly, that is where I was. If the deli woman was pitying me, I assure you I was pitying myself more. (Which, to be clear, I know to be silly. Worse, it's stupid. Shameful. And pretty out of character.)
I like to think that I am pretty thankful. If I don't portray it here on my blog, let me assure you that rarely a day passes when I don't thank God for this life that I have. I know there are people who would do anything to have this life; I was one of them. So, as I describe what turned into a horrible and self-destructive day, understand that it was just that. It was a day. It went wrong.
It was something that happened over lunch that started it, but I honestly could not tell you what exactly. Maybe it was the 23rd time that I had to ask someone to eat, or the fighting over toys, or the scraps of food that filled the milk glasses and were scattered on the floor, but I felt my chest starting to get tight. The kids were put down almost as soon as lunch was over with very little to-do, but it was too late. I was on a roll, internally, anyway. I took a very long and very hot shower, hoping to wash my mood away. Instead, my grievances from months past started running through my head. I thought about all of the work I had put into changing my own life for the good of our family and how unappreciated I felt. I thought about all of the times I could have done something fun with friends and had instead chosen to stay home because it was just easier. I thought about the seven pounds I am retaining from Hatch's pregnancy and the eight more from Leo's. I thought about how thankless my mom/wife job is...and I got mad. Horribly mad and hurt and...(here comes more cringing) lonely. It's lonely. And there is the root of it. Because, as little alone time as I ever get (the grocery store is really it), I don't really have much "peer" interaction. Even yesterday, when all I wanted to do was to pick up the phone and talk to someone who understood, I just couldn't. 1.) I didn't want to admit how selfish I was feeling and I didn't want to say out loud that things that day weren't great and 2.) I didn't even know who to call. The truth is, we all have our own struggles; mine are not special or brand new. They are, however, still difficult to admit. Even now, I don't like reliving yesterday, though I have played it in my mind again and again.
My mood is starting to improve and I do understand how ridiculous it all is; justified, maybe, but still ridiculous. What I have here is good. I am appreciated. Maybe not verbally and definitely not always, but I know if I were to leave (no, I didn't consider that...it wasn't THAT bad), the boys wouldn't know what to do with themselves. The crying shamelessly did help to get some of the hurt out, but did leave me with a horrible headache today. Maybe it's what I deserve. I do think that we are all perfectly imperfect, but that doesn't include me yesterday. Yesterday, I was flawed all over. Not beautifully flawed, just flawed/flawed. Sometimes, the truth hurts, even when you're just telling it to yourself (and even more when you're admitting it publicly on a blog.) Oh, well. Life goes on. (More about that later.)
Somewhere between the spills and the yells and the back-talking and the "Mom. Mama. My Mom. Maaamaaa. Mom. Mommy. Mom. Mama. My Mom. Mommy," something in me broke. I lost my grip on the day and it went in a downward spiral, which ended with me in the grocery store parking lot at 7:46pm, crying so hard that I couldn't get out of the car, and when I finally did, the look of pity I got from the woman behind the deli counter told me that I probably should not have. I felt pathetic.
So, I went back through the day in my mind today. Where did it go wrong? Where did I start to feel sorry for myself because, truly, that is where I was. If the deli woman was pitying me, I assure you I was pitying myself more. (Which, to be clear, I know to be silly. Worse, it's stupid. Shameful. And pretty out of character.)
I like to think that I am pretty thankful. If I don't portray it here on my blog, let me assure you that rarely a day passes when I don't thank God for this life that I have. I know there are people who would do anything to have this life; I was one of them. So, as I describe what turned into a horrible and self-destructive day, understand that it was just that. It was a day. It went wrong.
It was something that happened over lunch that started it, but I honestly could not tell you what exactly. Maybe it was the 23rd time that I had to ask someone to eat, or the fighting over toys, or the scraps of food that filled the milk glasses and were scattered on the floor, but I felt my chest starting to get tight. The kids were put down almost as soon as lunch was over with very little to-do, but it was too late. I was on a roll, internally, anyway. I took a very long and very hot shower, hoping to wash my mood away. Instead, my grievances from months past started running through my head. I thought about all of the work I had put into changing my own life for the good of our family and how unappreciated I felt. I thought about all of the times I could have done something fun with friends and had instead chosen to stay home because it was just easier. I thought about the seven pounds I am retaining from Hatch's pregnancy and the eight more from Leo's. I thought about how thankless my mom/wife job is...and I got mad. Horribly mad and hurt and...(here comes more cringing) lonely. It's lonely. And there is the root of it. Because, as little alone time as I ever get (the grocery store is really it), I don't really have much "peer" interaction. Even yesterday, when all I wanted to do was to pick up the phone and talk to someone who understood, I just couldn't. 1.) I didn't want to admit how selfish I was feeling and I didn't want to say out loud that things that day weren't great and 2.) I didn't even know who to call. The truth is, we all have our own struggles; mine are not special or brand new. They are, however, still difficult to admit. Even now, I don't like reliving yesterday, though I have played it in my mind again and again.
My mood is starting to improve and I do understand how ridiculous it all is; justified, maybe, but still ridiculous. What I have here is good. I am appreciated. Maybe not verbally and definitely not always, but I know if I were to leave (no, I didn't consider that...it wasn't THAT bad), the boys wouldn't know what to do with themselves. The crying shamelessly did help to get some of the hurt out, but did leave me with a horrible headache today. Maybe it's what I deserve. I do think that we are all perfectly imperfect, but that doesn't include me yesterday. Yesterday, I was flawed all over. Not beautifully flawed, just flawed/flawed. Sometimes, the truth hurts, even when you're just telling it to yourself (and even more when you're admitting it publicly on a blog.) Oh, well. Life goes on. (More about that later.)
Monday, January 16, 2012
So, How is it With Three? (Revisited)
We come back to this question. Several weeks back, I had written that it was easy, barely different than life with two. Naturally, things change. As Hatch grows older (and Leo and Patrick grow older), our day-to-day gets a little more difficult. However, I still contend that it is probably not much harder than two, minus that my hands are usually filled by one baby and that my reactions are a little slower, especially if I am feeding said baby. Patrick and Leo have become best buddies. Patrick is, of course, older and therefore more verbal and Leo (our baby gorilla) is active. I wish there were a word a little more powerful to accurately describe him, but that will have to do. They make excellent playmates: Patrick, the master-mind and Leo, the exectutor. This combination means that chaos sometimes visits...and that gets a little overwhelming. Very fun, but very busy. And if I haven't showered and have only changed my pj pants today because I happened to spill coffee on them, so be it. I'm otherwise occupied.
Twenty to twenty-five minutes after waking up this morning, I had changed three diapers, the toilet paper had, by a pre-school report, "fallen off" the roll in both bathrooms, Leo had consumed one container of yogurt, one bowl of oatmeal, a glass of milk, and half of a tube of tinted moisturizer and had snapped yet another necklace in half. Patrick had found a very large screwdriver and was "fixing" a broken guitar (I have yet to figure out which guitar or what he meant by "fixing.") Hatch was up, ate, and back down again. I redeemed one Groupon and watched a half of an episode of Wife Swap, had a cup of coffee, and spilled my second. I learned that we have no wipes, no trash bags, and groceries are tragically low. The kitchen table was (and still is) occupied by things that should not be on a kitchen table (one of my biggest pet peeves), our living room is re-arranged in a configuration I am not sure that I like, I mentally listed the approximately six orders of business to tend to in order of importance. This is how a typical day looks, all day long. As busy as it is mundane, for sure.
Hatch is now three months old. He's still such a sweet baby, always happy, always smiling (even if there are tears in his eyes.) He is tolerant, not stirred much by noise, and adores his big brothers, his dad, and me. He's a peach of a little boy. I'll take half a dozen more, just like him. As with all of the kids, I wish that time would slow down a little. The newborn phase has come and gone, he sleeps through the night, takes fairly routine naps, and is filling out all over. I don't think he's as small as he once was, though his feet are still super-tiny (at least compared to Leo's baby "paddles.") When we go to pick him up, he smiles and immediately snuggles in to our necks. It's just heaven. He's a little angel...for now.
We have found that getting out of the house is a little harder than it once was, as we are again heavily-loaded on the baby supplies, the diaper bag, boppy, appropriate blankies and toys, etc. It takes quite a bit of organization and planning, which doesn't always go off without a hitch. Adam and I both struggle with our need for control of a situation, which means we sometimes have stressful exits. Just this weekend, in such a fashion, the car ride to Cinncinati to visit family started a little quietly. A little bit of attitude was thrown around, but was squashed in a way so classically ours. Adam serenaded the following:
Nobody but me gonna love you like you ought to be loved on.
Nobody but me gonna cry if you up and le-ee-eave.
You can do what you want to, but I'm asking pretty please,
Don't go lovin on nobody but me.
To which I had to serenade back:
The beating of my heart is a drum and it's lost and it's looking for a rhythm like yo--ouuu
You can take the darkness from the deep of the night and turn it to a beacon burning endlessly bright,
(I gotta follow it) 'cause everything I know...well, it's NOTHING 'TIL I GIVE IT TO YOU...
So, it short, life with three is busy. It's perhaps a little harder than life with two, but we manage. We may have our strange ways of doing it, but that's nothing new. Even Patrick, from the back of the van, will quip in his usual "You guys are so weird." It's ok, though. It's good.
Twenty to twenty-five minutes after waking up this morning, I had changed three diapers, the toilet paper had, by a pre-school report, "fallen off" the roll in both bathrooms, Leo had consumed one container of yogurt, one bowl of oatmeal, a glass of milk, and half of a tube of tinted moisturizer and had snapped yet another necklace in half. Patrick had found a very large screwdriver and was "fixing" a broken guitar (I have yet to figure out which guitar or what he meant by "fixing.") Hatch was up, ate, and back down again. I redeemed one Groupon and watched a half of an episode of Wife Swap, had a cup of coffee, and spilled my second. I learned that we have no wipes, no trash bags, and groceries are tragically low. The kitchen table was (and still is) occupied by things that should not be on a kitchen table (one of my biggest pet peeves), our living room is re-arranged in a configuration I am not sure that I like, I mentally listed the approximately six orders of business to tend to in order of importance. This is how a typical day looks, all day long. As busy as it is mundane, for sure.
Hatch is now three months old. He's still such a sweet baby, always happy, always smiling (even if there are tears in his eyes.) He is tolerant, not stirred much by noise, and adores his big brothers, his dad, and me. He's a peach of a little boy. I'll take half a dozen more, just like him. As with all of the kids, I wish that time would slow down a little. The newborn phase has come and gone, he sleeps through the night, takes fairly routine naps, and is filling out all over. I don't think he's as small as he once was, though his feet are still super-tiny (at least compared to Leo's baby "paddles.") When we go to pick him up, he smiles and immediately snuggles in to our necks. It's just heaven. He's a little angel...for now.
We have found that getting out of the house is a little harder than it once was, as we are again heavily-loaded on the baby supplies, the diaper bag, boppy, appropriate blankies and toys, etc. It takes quite a bit of organization and planning, which doesn't always go off without a hitch. Adam and I both struggle with our need for control of a situation, which means we sometimes have stressful exits. Just this weekend, in such a fashion, the car ride to Cinncinati to visit family started a little quietly. A little bit of attitude was thrown around, but was squashed in a way so classically ours. Adam serenaded the following:
Nobody but me gonna love you like you ought to be loved on.
Nobody but me gonna cry if you up and le-ee-eave.
You can do what you want to, but I'm asking pretty please,
Don't go lovin on nobody but me.
To which I had to serenade back:
The beating of my heart is a drum and it's lost and it's looking for a rhythm like yo--ouuu
You can take the darkness from the deep of the night and turn it to a beacon burning endlessly bright,
(I gotta follow it) 'cause everything I know...well, it's NOTHING 'TIL I GIVE IT TO YOU...
So, it short, life with three is busy. It's perhaps a little harder than life with two, but we manage. We may have our strange ways of doing it, but that's nothing new. Even Patrick, from the back of the van, will quip in his usual "You guys are so weird." It's ok, though. It's good.
Friday, December 30, 2011
Friday
I will be winning no awards today, this much I know to be true. Two out of three boys were terribly sleep-deprived today, which meant they were terribly rotten. (I exclude sweet baby Hatcher because, for the several months, he'll still be perfect. Then, he will join the ranks of his rotten brothers. I also know that much to be true.)
Here are a few things I learned today:
1.) Sometimes, it just feels good to yell. No, it's probably not ideal, but it can be effective. Patrick, especially, needs a jarring little yell from time to time. Otherwise, he tends to take for granted that Mom and Dad won't get too upset if he doesn't listen. I'd be willing to bet I proved him wrong today.
2.) Leo can talk more than he wants us to believe. He says certain phrases, short sentences, etc., and we do hear a new word or two every day, but his verbal development is prompted by words we ask him to repeat. Today, though, he pulled out a very clear sentence with minimal prompting. Nearing my wits end, I witnessed Leo starting his nagging little "ehh? ehh?" with his outstretched hand waving and grasping at the air. "Leo, I can't understand you when you do that. You're going to need to use your words," I said, barely looking up from trying to get the baby latched. "I want a brownie," came the quick response. Oh, ok.
3.) I inherited my mother's ability to change my tone as soon as I answer the phone. I learned this because she called me, seconds after I had to send Patrick to time out. She commented on how calm I always sound on the phone. (Calm, maybe, because I had come close to losing my $#!+ seconds earlier). I clearly remembered her cheerful greeting on our green rotary phone in our rural kitchen, moments after giving me the what-for about one thing or another (likely my inability to clean up after myself or the phone bill). Apparently, I fall not far from that tree.
4.) Now, all of that being said, I realized with much certainty today that my life is pretty good. I know, we've been down this road before. I do feel blessed more often than not (almost constantly, really. I can understand if it's annoying.) Truthfully, though, I feel like I am right where I am supposed to be. These three boys, a new church where I really feel I belong, a husband who is a great team player, and the job. The job I love. The job I am excited about when I wake up in the morning. So, no matter that our days are sometimes hectic, that I cannot get my eyebrows done without an extra adult coming along (thanks, Colleen!), that I cannot wear heels anymore, that any piece of jewelry I own ends up in destructive little hands, and that I couldn't get through life at this point without a lot of support from our family and friends, it is exactly where I want to be. Even if I have to yell.
Now, it is 9:30 on a Friday night. The whole house is sleeping. I am pouring myself a drink and taking a long shower in peace. Tomorrow starts round #867.
As a sidenote, I also learned recently that I need to keep my hair short. Since cutting it off again a couple of months ago, my age has been guessed on four separate occassions as 4-5 years younger than what it actually is. I'm taking that as a sign.
Here are a few things I learned today:
1.) Sometimes, it just feels good to yell. No, it's probably not ideal, but it can be effective. Patrick, especially, needs a jarring little yell from time to time. Otherwise, he tends to take for granted that Mom and Dad won't get too upset if he doesn't listen. I'd be willing to bet I proved him wrong today.
2.) Leo can talk more than he wants us to believe. He says certain phrases, short sentences, etc., and we do hear a new word or two every day, but his verbal development is prompted by words we ask him to repeat. Today, though, he pulled out a very clear sentence with minimal prompting. Nearing my wits end, I witnessed Leo starting his nagging little "ehh? ehh?" with his outstretched hand waving and grasping at the air. "Leo, I can't understand you when you do that. You're going to need to use your words," I said, barely looking up from trying to get the baby latched. "I want a brownie," came the quick response. Oh, ok.
3.) I inherited my mother's ability to change my tone as soon as I answer the phone. I learned this because she called me, seconds after I had to send Patrick to time out. She commented on how calm I always sound on the phone. (Calm, maybe, because I had come close to losing my $#!+ seconds earlier). I clearly remembered her cheerful greeting on our green rotary phone in our rural kitchen, moments after giving me the what-for about one thing or another (likely my inability to clean up after myself or the phone bill). Apparently, I fall not far from that tree.
4.) Now, all of that being said, I realized with much certainty today that my life is pretty good. I know, we've been down this road before. I do feel blessed more often than not (almost constantly, really. I can understand if it's annoying.) Truthfully, though, I feel like I am right where I am supposed to be. These three boys, a new church where I really feel I belong, a husband who is a great team player, and the job. The job I love. The job I am excited about when I wake up in the morning. So, no matter that our days are sometimes hectic, that I cannot get my eyebrows done without an extra adult coming along (thanks, Colleen!), that I cannot wear heels anymore, that any piece of jewelry I own ends up in destructive little hands, and that I couldn't get through life at this point without a lot of support from our family and friends, it is exactly where I want to be. Even if I have to yell.
Now, it is 9:30 on a Friday night. The whole house is sleeping. I am pouring myself a drink and taking a long shower in peace. Tomorrow starts round #867.
As a sidenote, I also learned recently that I need to keep my hair short. Since cutting it off again a couple of months ago, my age has been guessed on four separate occassions as 4-5 years younger than what it actually is. I'm taking that as a sign.
Thursday, December 15, 2011
So...What Do We Call Him?
I can't tell you how many times I have heard this. If you're my dad, it's William. Just William. If you're me, it's sometimes William, sometimes Hatch, sometimes Will, and sometimes Hatcher. It really depends who I am talking to. My mom calls him Hatch. Adam calls him Hatch. Leo calls him Hatch. Patrick calls him William. Colleen calls him Hatch. Wes? Hatch. Ariane? Will. Katie is undecided. See? It's so confusing. It's exactly the scenario I wished to avoid. As someone with several different names myself, I wanted to have kids with no nicknames. But, here we are.
Adam named this child, and while I have my own opinions on the matter, it's really up to him what we call our happy, dark-haired baby. So, what's his name? According to Adam, it's Hatch. Hatcher, if you wish. If he chooses to go by his formal name as an adult, then that is his call. So, there. Decided. Hatch Walden; the tiny, charming, sparkly-eyed baby boy. Two months later, and he finally has a name. We get a C- for decisiveness.
Adam named this child, and while I have my own opinions on the matter, it's really up to him what we call our happy, dark-haired baby. So, what's his name? According to Adam, it's Hatch. Hatcher, if you wish. If he chooses to go by his formal name as an adult, then that is his call. So, there. Decided. Hatch Walden; the tiny, charming, sparkly-eyed baby boy. Two months later, and he finally has a name. We get a C- for decisiveness.
Tuesday, December 13, 2011
We're Going Craaaaaaaaa-aaaazy
Well, not really crazy-crazy, but stir crazy, and by "we," I mean "they. The boys. The boys with endless amounts of energy, who know only one speed (fast) and who find the most joy out of running through the house throwing basketballs, teepee-ing the bathroom, and making a splash pool out of any accessible sink. I've dreamt about buying them matching mini-treadmills, on which they'd be required to run for at least an hour. If only such things existed.
I'm pretty adept at monster noises, at floor wrestling, and tossing around little people onto couches, pillows, cushions, the like. But I'm a poor replacement for outdoor play. The confines of this house are not doing anyone any good...so we're getting out. Sort of.
We've booked (or are in the process of selecting) a hotel room, to take the boys for a swimming/pizza/slumber party. We bought them a trampoline that lights up from the bottom and changes colors with each jump (Santa is bringing that this year.) We're considering ice skating, but I worry that little Leo will ended up with a busted lip...or worse. What else can we do to keep these kids busy? The truth is, I kind of enjoy the excuse to make fun plans in the winter. Our summer are packed with so much activity, that come time for cold weather, it's no wonder the boys feel couped up. (Also, while we're out galavanting the city, I always have the excuse of taking care of the baby to excuse myself from any activity I'm not too into...i.e., swimming. Not a chance in a very cold hell that I am putting on a bathing suit 10 weeks after our third child. No.)
WIth Christmas not even two weeks away, I really need to focus on getting this shopping done. (Thank goodness for free shipping.) However, it's hard to stay focused with two tiny monkeys crawling up the walls and hanging from the rafters.
Post-Script: On an unrelated note, I was greeted this morning by the sound of miniature giggles. Patrick had Hatch on a roll, giant smiles and tiny giggles. By the expression on the face of our little boys, it looks as though they have a mutual admiration for each other. God willing, this could be great.
I'm pretty adept at monster noises, at floor wrestling, and tossing around little people onto couches, pillows, cushions, the like. But I'm a poor replacement for outdoor play. The confines of this house are not doing anyone any good...so we're getting out. Sort of.
We've booked (or are in the process of selecting) a hotel room, to take the boys for a swimming/pizza/slumber party. We bought them a trampoline that lights up from the bottom and changes colors with each jump (Santa is bringing that this year.) We're considering ice skating, but I worry that little Leo will ended up with a busted lip...or worse. What else can we do to keep these kids busy? The truth is, I kind of enjoy the excuse to make fun plans in the winter. Our summer are packed with so much activity, that come time for cold weather, it's no wonder the boys feel couped up. (Also, while we're out galavanting the city, I always have the excuse of taking care of the baby to excuse myself from any activity I'm not too into...i.e., swimming. Not a chance in a very cold hell that I am putting on a bathing suit 10 weeks after our third child. No.)
WIth Christmas not even two weeks away, I really need to focus on getting this shopping done. (Thank goodness for free shipping.) However, it's hard to stay focused with two tiny monkeys crawling up the walls and hanging from the rafters.
Post-Script: On an unrelated note, I was greeted this morning by the sound of miniature giggles. Patrick had Hatch on a roll, giant smiles and tiny giggles. By the expression on the face of our little boys, it looks as though they have a mutual admiration for each other. God willing, this could be great.
Wednesday, December 7, 2011
Tuesday, December 6, 2011
Breastfeeding and Preschoolers (Not Breastfeeding Preschoolers)
I wish that I had written that post below. (Instead, I found it posted on Facebook.) As I am mildly obsessed with breastfeeding as of recently, I had to resist the urge to cheer after I read it for the first time. After Patrick was born, I would have been mortified to have been breastfeeding in public. I did it very, very infrequently, and only extremely well-hidden. Even sitting at home with family, I would often excuse myself to the next room to get the job done. Anymore, I really couldn't care less who is offended by it. And, as calloused as it sounds, I also can't be bothered by worrying if it makes anyone uncomfortable (though, realistically, I can understand why it would.) It boils down to this: when the baby is hungry, it needs to eat. I'm not embarassed that I'm responsible for feeding him. If anyone catches a peek, so be it. I'm still not embarassed. I have a job to do. I do it. There is something about the ability to feed and comfort a baby in a way that no one else can that is primitively satisfying. Also, the calming effect of the hormones released while nursing a baby help to counteract the stress of having three very little and very crazy kids. Everyone wins. So there.
On to the other point of this post: Patrick. My oldest, about whom I learned something yesterday. Rather, I learned something about ourselves (meaning Adam and me as parents.) I was talking to a woman at work, who was telling me stories about her kids, now grown. As she discussed her oldest, she said, "...and we were so hard on her. It always goes that way with the oldest. We didn't know. Someone had to be first, right?" In my head I thought, We never did that. We would never...wait, what? Oh no. We did. We do. Oh God.
Oh, Patrick. He is such a great kid. So smart and funny. Such a good heart. He has his flaws, though, and we are...so hard on him. All the way home from work, I couldn't stop thinking about him. I was thinking about the times I snapped at him because I had had a bad day. The times I got so frustrated with him for melting down, expecting more of him and forgetting that he's so young. He's only three. My guilt was at an all-time high.
As I got home, I was thrilled that he was still awake. I got him out of bed and we read a book. For a little while, it was just the two of us, and as we hung out, we got to talking. My heart warmed over. Hard on him or not, we have a pretty good (and clever) little boy. So, Patrick, if you're reading this when you get a little older, I'm so sorry. But, really, I think you're going to turn out ok.
Here is proof:
Patrick started to tell me about school. He discussed his teacher, who he referred to by her first name.. I corrected him, and said that he was to call her Mrs. Conner.
Patrick: But all of my friends call her *****.
Mom: That's fine. But if all of your friends jumped off a bridge, would you?
Patrick: They did?! Maybe. Which bridge is it?
Mom: You are extremely smart, Patrick.
Patrick: Well, you're extremely beautiful, Mom.
Either you'll turn out well because of us or in spite of us, but I have a feeling you are going to grow up to be great, kiddo. Still, I'm so sorry, Patrick. I'm working on it. Promise.
On to the other point of this post: Patrick. My oldest, about whom I learned something yesterday. Rather, I learned something about ourselves (meaning Adam and me as parents.) I was talking to a woman at work, who was telling me stories about her kids, now grown. As she discussed her oldest, she said, "...and we were so hard on her. It always goes that way with the oldest. We didn't know. Someone had to be first, right?" In my head I thought, We never did that. We would never...wait, what? Oh no. We did. We do. Oh God.
Oh, Patrick. He is such a great kid. So smart and funny. Such a good heart. He has his flaws, though, and we are...so hard on him. All the way home from work, I couldn't stop thinking about him. I was thinking about the times I snapped at him because I had had a bad day. The times I got so frustrated with him for melting down, expecting more of him and forgetting that he's so young. He's only three. My guilt was at an all-time high.
As I got home, I was thrilled that he was still awake. I got him out of bed and we read a book. For a little while, it was just the two of us, and as we hung out, we got to talking. My heart warmed over. Hard on him or not, we have a pretty good (and clever) little boy. So, Patrick, if you're reading this when you get a little older, I'm so sorry. But, really, I think you're going to turn out ok.
Here is proof:
Patrick started to tell me about school. He discussed his teacher, who he referred to by her first name.. I corrected him, and said that he was to call her Mrs. Conner.
Patrick: But all of my friends call her *****.
Mom: That's fine. But if all of your friends jumped off a bridge, would you?
Patrick: They did?! Maybe. Which bridge is it?
Mom: You are extremely smart, Patrick.
Patrick: Well, you're extremely beautiful, Mom.
Either you'll turn out well because of us or in spite of us, but I have a feeling you are going to grow up to be great, kiddo. Still, I'm so sorry, Patrick. I'm working on it. Promise.
I Wish I Could Take Credit for This.
The Analytical Armadillo posted this last year… source unknown…
I’m thankful for not having boobs thrown in my face all the time by offensive and indecent breastfeeding mothers like the ones below:
Wait…Well, this is a bad example. Let’s try again.
Hmm…Just a minute. I’m sure I can find better ones than these…
That is better. LOOK AT THAT! I see about a half inch of boob. DISGUSTING.
UGH. Look at that indecency! She must be from some third world country to be exposed like that!
Now that’s just…There are no words to descripe how inappropriate that is. Something needs to be done!
But why stop at breasfeeding women? There are boobs everywhere.Beware! If you thought the above photos were offensive, youWILL DEFINITELY be offended by the photos below.
Not this one, though. This one was in plain view on news stands and in mail boxes in 19 countries world wide!
Not this one, either. This one actually won an award!
Oh, and I guess this one is fine too. Everyone knows you can’t sell jeans without someone being topless.
Or beer, for that matter.
Or sunglasses.
Or movie tickets.
Or CDs…
You know what? Maybe I’m crazy, but I think that someone mixed up some photos here. The first batch are offensive, but the second batch are just fine and dandy???
People who live in glass bras:
Shouldn’t throw stones:
Thursday, December 1, 2011
Hello Again.
I cannot even bring myself to look back to the date on my last posting, but I know it has been entirely too long. As usual, I often think of things about which to blog, but have obviously not gotten around to it. Who would have thought that full-time work and three little ones, three and under, would make me an absolutely exhausted and very busy person? No, really. I honestly didn't see that coming. Clueless, this one.
Where do I start? First, life is great. I can't complain at all. Little Hatch, our tiny and sweet baby, is exactly that. He's a little angel. He's so loving and smiley and makes all of us, even crazy Leo, so happy when he is in the room. A few weeks ago, as I was pretending to still be asleep, I heard Patrick sneak into our room and lean over Hatch. In a whisper, he said, "You are perfect, William. You are exactly the baby I wanted." Which, truthfully, is exactly how I feel, too. The boys are adjusting nicely. I don't feel like we live in chaos, but I still wonder if maybe it's because chaos is what I am used to. Usually, things are pretty calm around here. Naps are great. As I type this, all three boys are sleeping (the smallest is on my lap) and I hear nothing but the hum of the washing machine...and The Real Housewives of Atlanta in the background (old habits die hard.)
I admit that I should not have gone back to work when I did. I made a mistake. While I'm into the swing of it now, the first few weeks were pretty hard on me. I shed a lot of tears. Usually on the way home, in would set the horrible feelings of guilt. I hate leaving the kids. I realize that it's probably healthy, but I honestly should have waited. I don't want to feel like a bum mother, or a bad one, or an indaquate one, but I did. I'm starting to build the "new" mom, though...the one who gets out, buys new clothes for herself, has friends, an actual haircut, and a life outside these boys (although, to be honest, I'd be as happy as a pig in mud if I could go back to hanging out in my jammies every day with my favorite little people.) I'll be happy when I can be the new mom half of the time and the old mom the other half, which is like finding my Holy Grail.
Along those lines, I did end up bumping my FTE to a 0.8, meaning that I will work 32 hours per week, or two 12-hour shifts and one 8-hour shift a week. Three days, but I can manage that. I really went back and forth with the full-time dilemma, but Adam and I decided that this would be good for us. Working nights, that means we'll still need a little help with the kids from time to time, but it also means that I'll get to be home with them more often than I am not. And that makes me happy.
As we get into the Christmas season, it is so nice to have a paycheck again. Although we are so far from being of the wealthy kind, it's just nice to Christmas shop and not have a small internal panic attack about how we're actually going to stretch what we need to stretch to get by. It's nice to have a cushion. It's nice to relax a little. I needed to relax a little.
Thanksgiving brought us many, many things for which to be thankful. One: our kids. Two: our marriage. In whole: our life. Our anniversary is always within days of Thanksgiving, which means we can always be reminded of how blessed we are come that time of year. Only this year was different. Thanksgiving was the day before our fifth anniversary, and we were fighting...hard. In fact, perhaps it was one of the worst fights in the last five years. It started out as nothing. I didn't know that anything was wrong. We were both a little stressed, but that was about it. Wednesday night, I had to run to the store for an hour. Adam called to drop a major bomb on me (Seriously. Called me. On the phone. And dropped a bomb.) I laughed it off, but came home to Adam in a funk. As it carried over into the next day, I was immediately upset, too. In between Thanksgiving dinners, our coinciding attitudes erupted into an all-out fifteen-minute battle. I was furious. Adam was, too, but he's the shut-down type and wouldn't show a thing. We ended up at my parents', where we successfully separated; me with the girls and little kids, Adam with the boys and older kids. We cooled down a little, enough that we were especially chilly to each other.
Fast forward to Thanksgiving dinner. We each had to take turns saying what we were thankful for before eating. I was staring at the ground when it was Adam's turn, annoyed with him already. Then it came, in front of my entire family: "This year, I am most thankful for my marriage. Even though I've been a complete jerk today, I love you, Catie, and I'm sorry." Damn him for being so sweet. And for being so humble in front of my family. Immediately, someone hit the reset button for us. We needed that fight. We needed to get things out, and as soon as it was all out on the table and one of us was big enough to apologize (not me), we were good again. Our anniversary dinner was lovely. Our day together was lovely. Our verbal exchanges were lovely. We were overly affectional and life was good again. This year, I was most thankful for our really bad days that result in really good things.
So, as we move into the holidays, the tree is up, Otto (our elf) is out and watching, we have presents under the tree and Amazon perpetually pulled up on the computer. Last year at this time, we focused on how different things would be this year. And little did we know what that meant. Even though I have probably said every week for the past year, "Starting next week, I won't be so busy," I'm still waiting for that time to come. I do promise to try to keep up with this blog. Though there is so much that I have forgotten, at least this post is a start. Happy Seasons to all of you! May this holiday bring lots of warmth, love, and family for every one of us. And I mean that.
Where do I start? First, life is great. I can't complain at all. Little Hatch, our tiny and sweet baby, is exactly that. He's a little angel. He's so loving and smiley and makes all of us, even crazy Leo, so happy when he is in the room. A few weeks ago, as I was pretending to still be asleep, I heard Patrick sneak into our room and lean over Hatch. In a whisper, he said, "You are perfect, William. You are exactly the baby I wanted." Which, truthfully, is exactly how I feel, too. The boys are adjusting nicely. I don't feel like we live in chaos, but I still wonder if maybe it's because chaos is what I am used to. Usually, things are pretty calm around here. Naps are great. As I type this, all three boys are sleeping (the smallest is on my lap) and I hear nothing but the hum of the washing machine...and The Real Housewives of Atlanta in the background (old habits die hard.)
I admit that I should not have gone back to work when I did. I made a mistake. While I'm into the swing of it now, the first few weeks were pretty hard on me. I shed a lot of tears. Usually on the way home, in would set the horrible feelings of guilt. I hate leaving the kids. I realize that it's probably healthy, but I honestly should have waited. I don't want to feel like a bum mother, or a bad one, or an indaquate one, but I did. I'm starting to build the "new" mom, though...the one who gets out, buys new clothes for herself, has friends, an actual haircut, and a life outside these boys (although, to be honest, I'd be as happy as a pig in mud if I could go back to hanging out in my jammies every day with my favorite little people.) I'll be happy when I can be the new mom half of the time and the old mom the other half, which is like finding my Holy Grail.
Along those lines, I did end up bumping my FTE to a 0.8, meaning that I will work 32 hours per week, or two 12-hour shifts and one 8-hour shift a week. Three days, but I can manage that. I really went back and forth with the full-time dilemma, but Adam and I decided that this would be good for us. Working nights, that means we'll still need a little help with the kids from time to time, but it also means that I'll get to be home with them more often than I am not. And that makes me happy.
As we get into the Christmas season, it is so nice to have a paycheck again. Although we are so far from being of the wealthy kind, it's just nice to Christmas shop and not have a small internal panic attack about how we're actually going to stretch what we need to stretch to get by. It's nice to have a cushion. It's nice to relax a little. I needed to relax a little.
Thanksgiving brought us many, many things for which to be thankful. One: our kids. Two: our marriage. In whole: our life. Our anniversary is always within days of Thanksgiving, which means we can always be reminded of how blessed we are come that time of year. Only this year was different. Thanksgiving was the day before our fifth anniversary, and we were fighting...hard. In fact, perhaps it was one of the worst fights in the last five years. It started out as nothing. I didn't know that anything was wrong. We were both a little stressed, but that was about it. Wednesday night, I had to run to the store for an hour. Adam called to drop a major bomb on me (Seriously. Called me. On the phone. And dropped a bomb.) I laughed it off, but came home to Adam in a funk. As it carried over into the next day, I was immediately upset, too. In between Thanksgiving dinners, our coinciding attitudes erupted into an all-out fifteen-minute battle. I was furious. Adam was, too, but he's the shut-down type and wouldn't show a thing. We ended up at my parents', where we successfully separated; me with the girls and little kids, Adam with the boys and older kids. We cooled down a little, enough that we were especially chilly to each other.
Fast forward to Thanksgiving dinner. We each had to take turns saying what we were thankful for before eating. I was staring at the ground when it was Adam's turn, annoyed with him already. Then it came, in front of my entire family: "This year, I am most thankful for my marriage. Even though I've been a complete jerk today, I love you, Catie, and I'm sorry." Damn him for being so sweet. And for being so humble in front of my family. Immediately, someone hit the reset button for us. We needed that fight. We needed to get things out, and as soon as it was all out on the table and one of us was big enough to apologize (not me), we were good again. Our anniversary dinner was lovely. Our day together was lovely. Our verbal exchanges were lovely. We were overly affectional and life was good again. This year, I was most thankful for our really bad days that result in really good things.
So, as we move into the holidays, the tree is up, Otto (our elf) is out and watching, we have presents under the tree and Amazon perpetually pulled up on the computer. Last year at this time, we focused on how different things would be this year. And little did we know what that meant. Even though I have probably said every week for the past year, "Starting next week, I won't be so busy," I'm still waiting for that time to come. I do promise to try to keep up with this blog. Though there is so much that I have forgotten, at least this post is a start. Happy Seasons to all of you! May this holiday bring lots of warmth, love, and family for every one of us. And I mean that.
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