There Are 17 Things I Should Be Doing, But...

Mother, oh Mother, come shake out your cloth,
Empty the dustpan, poison the moth,
Hang out the washing and butter the bread,
Sew on a button and make up a bed.
Where is the mother whose house is so shocking?
She’s up in the nursery, blissfully rocking.

Oh, I’ve grown shiftless as Little Boy Blue
(Lullaby, rockaby, lullaby loo).
Dishes are waiting and bills are past due
(Pat-a-cake, darling, and peek, peekaboo).
The shopping’s not done and there’s nothing for stew
And out in the yard there’s a hullabaloo
But I’m playing Kanga and this is my Roo.
Look! Aren’t his eyes the most wonderful hue?
(Lullaby, rockaby, lullaby loo).

The cleaning and scrubbing will wait till tomorrow,
For children grow up, as I’ve learned to my sorrow.
So quiet down, cobwebs. Dust go to sleep.
I'm rocking my baby and babies don’t keep.

Mothers Raising Sons

If we've ever had a lengthy conversation, you probably know how proud I am of my boys, how fortunate I feel to be a M.o.B. (Mother of Boys...there is an entire community of us, hence the name), how special I think our family is (but, really, who doesn't?)  I was cut out to be a boy mom.  I know for certain that this is true.  That being said, there is one observation that one would be blind to miss: I am different than the rest of my family.  Not one other member thinks like me, feels the same emotions, enjoys the same food.  I don't always understand the nature of these boys, either, though I'm putting forth my best effort.  So, when I found this article, my heart sang.  Boys are boys, and it makes sense that we are wired completely differently.  (Note:  Just recently, the boys have started to wrestle.  Silently, they will spontaneously head-lock one another, roll around on the floor for a minute or two until someone is pinned, and then resume whatever activity in which they were previously partaking.  It's the most bizarre thing to see; yet, I understand that it is just who they are.  With multiple boys, their "boy" behavior is magnified, making me believe we have years and years of head-locks in our future.)  I hope that you enjoy this as much as I did.

Raising Boys

A dad’s parenting advice for moms

Thomas Matlack  |  January 21, 2011

Let’s get one thing clear from the get go: moms are generally better parents than dads. And that goes double for me. I’ve had three kids across two marriages and I am undoubtedly the weak link. My 16-year-old daughter and 14-year-old son trust their step-mom more than they trust me, which proves that I married well but am still getting the hang of being a dad. Most of us are.

That said, there are a few subtle nuances that I have picked up along the way as a dad that might come in handy for moms raising boys.

Ladies, here are some things to think about with your boys:

• Think caveman. Adult women have thousands of emotional states, as do girls like my daughter. Boys, on the other hand, tend to feel one of three: mad, sad, happy. Don’t project your complex emotional life on your son. His issue of the moment might not be that complicated. He wants to eat, poop, or run. On a really bad day he wants his toy back after some other kid took it from him. He doesn’t want to stare out the window and have lengthy discussions about the meaning of life, as my eight-year-old daughter often did.
• Watch his body not his mouth. Again, like adult men, the clues to how your son is doing will show up first in his body language. Jumping up and down with six-inch vertical leaps is the natural state of being and is good. Slumped shoulders are bad. Yelling is good. Quiet needs attention.
• When in doubt, hug. Boys will often have a much harder time than girls verbalizing their problems. My 5-year-old son will sometimes burst out into tears after seemingly trivial events. I know there is something deeper going on, but I am not going to get it out of him, at least not at that moment (whereas my daughter would not only tell me what went wrong but in no uncertain terms why it was my fault, which was generally true enough). So the solution is physical not verbal. I spend a lot of time just hugging my boys. I usually have no idea why. But as a default cure-all, it seems to work wonders. A minute later they are all patched up and ready to rumble again. This even works pretty well with my 14-year-old, who is a 6-foot-tall linebacker at Boston College High School.
• Yes, it really is all about poop. Girls potty train 6 to 9 months before boys, but once boys make it onto the throne, there is no stopping them. Moving their bowels is pretty much the highlight of their day (true confession: it still is for me, too), and they are going to want to talk about it. Bathroom time is a participatory sport. My five-year-old likes to head to the bathroom just as the family is sitting down to dinner, sometimes during dinner. It’s the first time he has been still long enough to realize he has to go. And he wants me to come with him, not just to assist in the wipe but to have a leisurely conversation about the status of his poop. As much as I found this inconvenient at first, now I just go with it. Quality time is quality time.
• Batman lives forever. Boys, even at a young age, realize the importance of super powers. They want to be good and believe in the existence of ultimate good in the world. Boys sort out their identities in relation to the mythical characters they hear about. My son is obsessed with Batman. He wears a full costume, even through the airport and down Madison Avenue. What amazes me even more than his dedication to the superhero is how the guard at LaGuardia or the guy hanging off the back of a garbage truck sees him and shouts, “Batman!” My boy nods his head just slightly, acknowledging his public before moving onto the important work at hand, like going to kindergarten.
• Pointless physical activity is perfect. My brother and I once convinced his two sons and my older boy, when they were all around the age of 10, that they really needed to build a structure out of rocks. The rocks were on one side of a beach, but the perfect spot where the structure had to be built, according to our sage advice, was on the other side of the beach. Each stone weighed between ten and thirty pounds. The boys started moving the boulders one by one, working together to lift the heaviest ones. My brother and I set up our beach chairs midway from the rock pile to building site. We read the paper most of the morning while the boys tired themselves out moving rocks and then assembling a tremendous cathedral. By lunch they were tired and happy, and my brother and I had enjoyed a peaceful morning.
• Winning does matter, but less than you think. Boys — perhaps even more than girls — put themselves under extreme pressure to perform in school, in sports, and in social situations. They talk about it less, so the sting of failure can run even more deeply than with girls. With boys it’s important to emphasize the lessons to be gained from failure, instead of trying to win at all costs, and to emphasize the development of the whole boy. Too often in our culture, boys are pushed to become one-dimensional robots. Goodness isn’t about winning at youth soccer or having the most friends or being the smartest kid in class; it’s also about being kind. That’s something as a mom that you can particularly help your son understand.
• Clothes matter. I know there are way more options for dressing little girls than little boys, so the tendency might be to just throw jeans and a t-shirt on your son and forget about it. But you better make sure they are the right jeans and the right t-shirt. The only consistent battle I have had with my sons is over what they wear. It matters way more to them than I ever would have imagined. They want to look cool; they want to be comfortable (pants that are tight but not too tight, warm and yet breathable). I do draw the line with clothes that have already been worn two days in a row, but I don’t discount the importance of fashion to my kindergartener.
• Crowds, not so much. I have noticed that my daughter lights up when she enters a crowd, whether family or strangers. Mass humanity is something that gives her energy. With my boys, and, frankly, for me too, it’s the opposite. They get shy and tend to hide behind my legs. I try to protect them from these situations and not push them beyond their limitations.
• Bedtime is sacred. Because boys are so active, it’s hard to get them to sit still. The best time of day is the ten minutes before they go to sleep. Crawl into bed with them, read books, and hold them while they fall off to sleep. If you don’t believe in God, you will once you have lain next to your overactive son while his body goes limp next to you, and he ever so faintly begins to snore.

To My Sister

Colleen Hatcher, you are a little blog stalker.  I just laughed out loud when I realized why you called me tonight and told me I needed to calm down.  Let's see how long it takes you to see this.  You are one of my favorite people on the planet.  Ready...go. 

I Could Hold These Babies Forever

I could.  I could rock them until my legs went numb.  I could cup their little, sweaty heads in my hands and kiss their perfect little necks for days.  I could count the beats of their little hearts beating an inch away from mine until I ran out of numbers.  Sometimes, I plan on it.  (Until it gets to be creepy...which it would, eventually.)

Nobody said that starting as a new nurse would be hard.  Or stressful.  Or that, now that school is over, there would ever be any stressors again.  Stupid oversight.  And I'm not really one to stress...at least not outwardly.  And I'm stressing.  So I hold the babies.  All three of them.  And we sing and giggle and it helps...sort of.  But then, I realize that I really can't hold them forever.  And that just makes me sad.  If ever a mother loved her kids so much that it's almost painful, I do.  Even crazy-pants Leo. 

Recently, we went to CVS (that could be any given day.  We frequent CVS.)  With the Valentine candy and toys over-flowing, the boys were bouncing off walls, hoping they could get something.  Anything.  As I was trying to get them to focus long enough to get into the car, an elderly lady was walking out the door with us.  "I'm so glad you brought the boys in today.  Your family always makes me smile."  Hold up.  My family?  No.   And they make you smile?  Sidenote: Do we know each other?  Keep in mind, that I was literally sweating...in winter...from lasso-ing little boys, and I burst out laughing.  Not a polite, thank-you-so-much laugh, but a full-on belly laugh.  "They make me smile, too.  Thanks for making my day!"  I assume, from the 100 times I've heard, "Oh God.  How do you do it?", that people are generally horrified by our little circus.  It's nice to know they aren't.  Well, not all of them, anyway.  Because, as nutso as these little boys of mine are, I wouldn't trade them for anything.  At the end of the day, someone calling me "Mom" is what makes me the most happy.  That, too, I could listen to forever.  (Just not on repeat.  I can't handle that.)

Patrick's Super Super Bowl Birthday

While we did celebrate Patrick's birthday yesterday, our "official" celebration was last weekend, in the midst of the Super Bowl fun downtown.  We were able to secure a hotel room (much to our surprise) and had a great time walking around the heart of downtown, having lunch, ordering up a giant brownie sundae via room service, and swimming in the hotel pool.  When we asked Patrick what his favorite part of the weekend was, he told us it was sleeping in the "Transformer bed."  (This would be the fold-out couch at the Marriott).  Also, when taking in all of the Super Bowl sites, in the middle of the buzz and excitement, Adam asked Patrick if this was his best birthday ever.  Patrick's response?  "I don't know.  Is this the Red Lobster?"  Maybe the point of the entire "trip" was a little over his head, but our hope is that, when he gets a little older, he's going to think this was really cool.  Here are a couple of pics from our weekend:

We're Moving...Eventually

Finally!  We are getting the house ready to put on the market, and none too soon.  The house we're in now was Adam's "bachelor pad," but has served us so well for the last five years.  Now that there are five of us, however, it sometimes feels like we are living on top of each other.  We need space.  After all, one of us doesn't even have his own room (sorry, Hatch.  Soon enough.  Certainly, one of your brothers would gladly trade places with if you if meant that he could sleep in our room every night.  I'm just not sure that you're ready for a bunk bed yet.)

Our lack of space means that I miss out on very little that goes on around here.  We're always pretty close in proximity to one another, meaning I never miss out on the little quips, comments, and fights that go on between the boys.  Such gems this morning included:

"Leo just stepped on my head."

"The goldfish!  The goldfish!  The goldfish are out!"

"Is it ok to pour out our yogurt?  Because Leo just did."

"I think Leo just put your eyelashes in his mouth."

"Spit it out!  Spit it out!  Spit out my granola bar!"

"Who is a better kid?  Me or Leo?"

"Noo!!!  No!!!  Noooooooo!  Don't touch the Legos!!!!!!!"

On top of that, I have a massive head cold/sinus infection that seems to be getting worse.  I feel absolutely lousy, meaning that I am getting no work done that needs to be done.  With Adam starting his rounds of Spring traveling soon, I know that I need to tough through it and get it done while there are still two of us here. I am secretly hoping that he takes a few days off and helps me knock out a couple of the bigger projects.  Certainly, there is not a chance I can get done what I need to with tiny people at my feet all day (literally), much less feeling like someone has filled my head with jello and nails.  Sniffle.  Cough.  Housewife problems.

A couple of weeks ago, I posted about a truly awful day that I had.  I really questioned whether or not to post about it (not that it really matters in the big picture, but honesty is sometimes painful), but the response I got was heart-warming.  From emails, to offers to babysit, to comments on the blog, and even to a bottle of champagne and cupcakes at my front door...thank you to everyone.  I know good people, apparently. 

At the end of that post, I had written that life goes on.  I had meant to continue that a little sooner, but I am just now finding myself with a little bit of time.  So here it is:

All day long, I feel like I'm trying to teach you kiddos something.  Generally, it's to not hit (something we're dealing with recently) or to not be wasteful or to be polite and use manners.  Our lessons are pretty basic, but necessary.  I know I will eventually get the opportunity to move on to more advanced life lessons, but just in case I don't, there are two very important things that I want you boys to know; the two things that most wish I would have known when I was younger.  Two little secrets to life's sometimes elusive contentment:

1.)  Learn early to celebrate the successes of the people you love.  Simple, right?  But it's not always.  When you're young and you are the center of your own universe, it's easy to fall into the envy trap.  Try not to.  When you grow up a little, you start to find that there is a lot of happiness to be found in feeling real joy for other people.  Try to put yourself in their shoes.  Practice empathy.  The people you love will appreciate this just as much as you would appreciate the same.  In the end, you'll find that, when the people you love are happy, you are, too.  Trust me.

2.) Life goes on.  It really does.  Sometimes, it's hard to see that figurative light at the end of the tunnel, but it's there.  When your walls seem to be crashing in around you, life is not going to end.  Eventually, you have to get up and face the world again.  And then, whatever seemed so bad is behind you.  It's history.  Maybe not forgotten, but days keep coming and going, whether or not you want them to.  Don't get too caught up in unnecessary worry.  All things work out in the end.  If they're not worked out, it's not the end.  That's a promise.

Patrick is Four--His Official Interview

1. Patrick, how old are you today? Four.  You're supposed to say, "How was your birthday?"
2. How does it feel to be 4? It feels like I'll be four for life.
3. How was your day? It was good.
4. What was the weather like? It was a little bit windy, so we didn't go on the playground.
5. What do you think is the most important thing you’ve learned in life so far? Songs.
6. How do you think you’re different from a year ago? Three is not old, but four is a little bit old.
7. What’s your favorite thing about yourself? My feet.
8. You’re in pre-school now. What do you think of it so far? I like it, but sometimes I want to go home.
9. Who’s your best friend? You are.
10. What do you like learning about? I like learning about letters.
11. Is there anything you’d do make school better? What does that mean?
12. Tell me about our family. Our family is alive and nice.
13. What do you like about being a big brother? It’s fun. When I was three, I really wanted to be a big brother.
14. What is your favorite song? Jingle Bells.
15. What’s your favorite movie? I think it's Transformers.  Can I watch it?
16. 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.)
17. 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.
18. 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.)
19. What do you want to be when you grow up? A daddy.  So awesome.
20. Do you think you’ll ever get married? Yes.
21. How old do you think you’ll be when you get married? Probably five years old.
22. What have you learned about girls this year? What does that mean, Mom?  Does it mean wifes are good?
23. What’s your favorite food? Black meat and Red Lobster.  (Black meat means any pork or barbecue.)
24. And your favorite candy? Tootsie Rolls.
25. 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.
26. Anything else you’d like to say? I love you so much and you're the best.
27. Can you think of any questions I should have asked but didn’t? You should have asked how much I love you. 
28. So how much do you love me? So much, but how much do you love me? 
29. A lot. Anything else? Nope.  Do I have to take a nap now?

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.)

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.