Motherhood brings routine. And routine often gets boring. And by boring I mean mind-numbing routines that make you want to stick a needle in your eye. Add in the chaos of a work schedule that never stays consistent, which blows what little portions of your day were almost not routine, into something called chaos--and guess what? You have a tiny picture of what my life is like. Think I am exaggerating?

Check out today's "routine." And keep in mind, this is repeated at least 4 days a week. And typically the 5 business days and an occasionally Saturday gets thrown in the mess.

6:00amish - kick/nudge/shove my husband to wake up and turn off his alarm. And nurse a baby. Sometimes all at once since, yes, the baby sleeps in our bed. Sue me, I need to sleep sometime.

6:15am - repeat above.

6:30am - repeat, but make sure the husband gets up (well, on days that I am awake enough to do so). He gets up, make sure alarm is off, and attempt to disconnect my kid from my boob. It's likely a summer day camp day and we have to get out of the house (as in myself and both kids in an hour. Husband must leave in a half hour).

7am - if not done nursing and out of bed yet, do it now. Even if I wake the baby and have to forgo a shower (again). 30 minutes and counting before leaving the house.

7:05am - attempt to wake The Kiddo. Easier said than done.

7:10am - find my clothes. Again, easier said than done.

7:15 am - either attempt a shower if the baby is still sleeping, or just get dressed and cake on the deodorant.

7:20am - wake up The Kiddo for real this time. Make sure he's up, hand him the camp T-shirt and have him pick out shorts, underwear, hat... whatever makes him happy and gets him up.

7:25am- dress, make-up, hair (bed head look is still in right); change baby's diaper, dress her, feed the dog, let the dog out, get pump and milk ready for baby, make The Kiddo's lunch...

7:38am - complain we are late and drag the children to the car. With the camp bag, Nintendo DS lite for The Kiddo to play during the drive, my laptop bag, my pump, the milk for The Peanuts Day, the pacifier (for the sitter for the baby), socks for the baby, extra diapers...

7:50amish- arrive at sitter for The Peanut. Hand her off when she is screaming. Apologize for just running off and then jump back into the car and rush off--speeding--towards day camp.

8:10am - swear at traffic. Mumble about construction. Get on expressway and pray the traffic keeps moving.

8:30am - will the clock to stop so we arrive at summer day camp on time. Answer my son's various questions. Hand him the pop tart I miraculously remembered before leaving the house. And join my work conference call (this is sometimes left out, but 50% of the time in the routine).

8:45am - pull into camp. Sigh a breath of relief. Hand my son the sun tan lotion--caution him not to use too much but get it on. Don't want sunburn! Continue to talk/listen to conference call.

8:50am - walk into camp, sign in the kid. Hug. Kiss. Smile. Wave. Smile. Wonder when he got so old. Hopefully hang up on call so can head to the bathroom.

9:15am pull into the office parking lot. Drive around. Wait for space. Park. Walk in. Join new call.

9:30am - 4pm conference calls, emails, working, more calls, even more emails, complaining, some more emails, more calls... oh, whatever. It is work. Somewhere near 2:30pm or so I'll realize I didn't eat lunch or go to the restroom since the morning. I'll attempt to do both. Sometimes successful. Sometimes not.

4:15pm - attempt to leave work. Typically get a call. Another email. Or get asked something in the hall.

4:20pm - Hide in the restroom to pump milk for the baby. Sigh relief... and again when I have enough milk for tomorrow.

4:35pm - make it to my car, open windows, start, find acceptable music, drive to camp to pick up The Kiddo.

4:45pm - Pick up Kiddo. Hug. Kiss. Smile. Check him out. Ask about day. Find out about adventures. Get a water/Gatorade/Soda from vending machine. Share with kid. Smile. Laugh. Get back into the car.

4:55pm - 5:30pm Drive back to hometown. Get to sitter's driveway just before 5:30. Walk in to get The Peanut.

5:35pm - Snuggle with The Peanut. Find out how she did during the day. Hug. Kiss. Grin. Leave the sitters and attempt to buckle her into the car seat with as little screaming as possible.

5:45 - 6pm Drive home.

6:05pm - get kids inside, chit chat, let the dog out, open the refridgerator and take inventory for dinner. Give up and close it. Sit the baby in her high chair and spill dinner onto the tray in front of her Puffs and Cheerios. Ask The Kiddo for his dinner preference.

6:19pm - check if husband is on his train on the way home. Continue cooking The Kiddo's food (likely a combination of 2 or so of the following: hot dogs, chicken nuggets, breaded shrimp, hash browns, sausage, french fries, mac and cheese, chips...). Give the baby some mushy food (latest delight is sweet potatoes and carrots).

7:30ishpm - decide on dinner for The husband and I. Attempt to cook it before the baby wants to nurse. Get a bath ready for The Kiddo (if bath night). Start the bed time routines--change into pajamas, reading, shows for the night.

8pm - dinner of some sort on table for when husband walks in. Nurse baby. Get show on for The Kiddo.

8:15pm - The Husband walks in. Causes ruckus with the kids. Eat our dinner. Send the Kiddo off to watch show, then brush teeth, and bathroom before bed.

8:30pm - put baby to bed. The Husband puts son to bed.

9pm - Still trying to get baby to bed.

9:30pm - get my own pajamas on. Clean kitchen from dinner mess. Feed the dog dinner. Talk with husband. If I am lucky watch some television. Read. Maybe even blog.

Sometime between 10:30 and Midnight0-- write. Or try to. Or want to. And then just decide to go to bed.

12:30am, 2:30am, 4:30am Nurse baby. And then of course start all over again.

Labels: family, life, me, motherhood, parenting

9:10 AM | Permalink | 2 comments

Life changes when you have kids. Time is short. Money shorter. Fuses the shortest. And suddenly you find yourself living in the suburbs with a minivan (or for us a Honda Pilot), Cheerios between the seats, and spit up on your shoulder while your in a business meeting with high-level VPs (true story, very much like my Monday).

It's tough to explain the Parenting Profession to those that aren't. Or those that have all-the-time-live-in-nannies. Because quite frankly, when someone is around to help, they aren't bored at my house. When my son was born, I had some weird neurotic tendency to want to do bath, feed, nurture, read, cuddle, scorn, care-for, tease, laugh at, run around with... and quite frankly do it all for my son. All. Of. It. I had a hard time when a sitter arrived just feeling normal leaving the house. Now with my daughter--um, things are different. I run from the door prancing like and idiot that just got out of jail free card.

It's not because I love her or my now 5-year-old son less. Nope. It's because I know if I don't get this down time, I'll turn into a crazed mother destined for some prescribed time away. And, to clarify, when I go into the office, that is NOT time away. That is crazed Work Time that has it's own set of standards and stresses that I'd rather not discuss.

But all of this--the anxiousness, overwhelming love and longing, stress of parenting is not something you can just describe to a soon-to-be parent. Or even a parent to a 6 week old (they haven't been around long enough). But to a mom of say a 6 month old or so.. over martinis? Sure, start yapping. It'll take you at least until bar close to cover the main points.

Which brings me to this little post topic. Thank God I work with mothers. Hell, fathers are okay too, but at the moment, I could cry because of the moms I work with. Sure some are more experienced. Others are less. But man, oh man, when I had one of those days where biscuits are smeared all over my left shoulder, my hair is matted with spit up, less than 3 hours of sleep, and I had a flat time on the way in--and I STILL come into the office? Those are the women I want covering my ass. These women whom I can always count on to answer a text message, email, phone call gripe that has me close to tears-- hears to making this work. Somehow. Some way. And yeah, feel free to call me next time. I'll sing the sob story too.

Labels: life, me, motherhood, parenting, women, working

10:02 PM | Permalink | 0 comments

My 9-month-old daughter is banging away on her Leapfrog drum making more noise than my pre-parent ears could handle. But having had two now, I just giggle. The kid's occupied and it's a dream. She's grinning ear to ear with her accomplishment to make noises at will.... and my son joins in singing and banging on his own bongo drums.

In 15 minutes, I'll have had enough of the banging from both of them, but at the moment, it almost seems peaceful from my spot on the couch. So much so, I just grabbed a soda and a book. This "occupied" time might let me read a chapter.

Labels: life, me, parenting

5:07 PM | Permalink | 3 comments

I'm a mom that has always worked once she had children. My son was 6-weeks-old when I went back to work. And I was fortunate, I was a consultant and worked completely from home. That is until 3 months later I had to work on site 10 hours a day all summer long. And then of course, I went back to working from home MOST days of the week, back to a full time in office gig.

With my daughter, I did take the full maternity leave that I could afford--16 weeks. We even pulled my son out of pre-school during that time too. To save money, to save my time from shuffling him to and from school, and--if I am honest--to see if I could do the stay-at-home thing. And you know what? I could.

The reality is, when my son was born, it freaked me out to consider staying home. I'd spent a long time in college, a lot of money on a degree, and a lot of time building a budding career. I couldn't stand to think of leaving that for mommyhood. So, I didn't. I jumped back into work. I stressed, I managed, and I breastfed the kid til he was almost two--all with a headset attached to my ear for numerous conference calls, more than a few overnight stays on client sites, and survived it all.

With my daughter, and my son now older, wiser, and looking a bit too grown up... I had a different perspective. One of a mom considering staying at home. Or wanting to stay at home to enjoy these "fleeting" moments with my kids. And hell, we can't have more if I am working my tail off! But...

So, I am going out on a limb here, I am scared to try it. For a few reasons. Financial is numero uno. How can one afford to live on one salary? Seriously, you give me ways to do this (we already live by a budget), and I might just have to give my notice tomorrow! Secondly, it's my sanity. I know how it is to stay at home with children. I've lived through it twice now. And am still living with an expressive 9-month-old who only likes to be held when I am around and a kindergartener come Fall. There is a helluvalot more running aroudn now! And a lot less of mom to pull into directions.

Enter THE STAY-AT-HOME SURVIVAL GUIDE Field-tested strategies for staying smart, sane, and connected while caring for your kids by Melissa Stanton. I seriously cannot gush enough about this book. It's not a tell-all guide for leaving work and becoming a stay at home mom. Really. We all live different lives, who knows what you need to do to take the leap. But it does share what other moms did. What Melissa, the author herself, did. What you could do. And by all means, what you might do.

But what the book does best is just share with you that--guess what--staying home as a mom is a full time gig. One that isn't always pretty. Sometimes sucks. But in the end, can be survivable and fun. Is this some earth-shattering new news? Hell no! We all love our kids. When they aren't screaming, having tantrums, and are acting like angels for the 2 seconds a day that make them utterly adorable we could just eat them up.

This book gives you the reality, shares other mom realities, and offers that shoulder (of many) that you can turn to, to know what to expect when staying at home, and how to make the best of it. LOVE the extras in and about the chapters (Who Cares for Katie Couric's Kids? cracked me up. The title tells all--celebrities are given gold stars for being moms. But, um, do they do it all on their own?). And as much as the book says it is for stay-at-home moms, there is a ton of info that is JUST as valauble to a working mom. Especially one who works from home part of the time. But even if you don't... who doesn't need a little guidance (or a few girlfriends) to tell you that you aren't alone when you forgot diapers at home, spend more time in your car carting around kids to games and doctor appointments than you have for yourself in the last 10 years, and that your feeling along in this parenting thing. Really alone.

The books weaving of expert advice, or articles on parenting/women/working/SAHM/WAHM/whatever label you want to put here, and personal adcedotes, along with the whole "girlfriend" tone of the book is wonderful. Delightful even. It's not preachy. It just tells facts. Relatable, REAL life experiences... that as I said, make it a worth while read no matter what you circumstance. But even moreso if you want to, have considered, ARE, or once was a stay at home mom doing THAT juggling dance (because, come on, being a SAHM does mean you are multitasking to the 9th degree... laundry, cleaning, feeding, napping, bathing, dressing, hygene, appointments, games, school, crafts, cooking).

Which brings me back to my point... I asked to review this book because I'd love more than anything to land on the other side of the fence. Chuck the paying corporate day job to stay home with my kids. My stress level would be reduced to only times of tantrums and sickness (instead of worrying myself to the point of sickness when I left the baby at the sitter when she wasn't exactly better). I wouldn't have to juggle a crying baby and whining 5 year old while on a conference call and leading a high-profile project (because when you add that to the SAHM list above, it is almost heart-attack stressful). And maybe once a year, just once, I could relax and enjoy being "just a mom." Because quite frankly, there are days it would be nice. This book makes me wonder if I should just take the plunge.


* This post brought to you by the lovely ladies at MotherTalk. Love that I get a chance to read and relate to these authors and their work. It truly is a labor of love.

Labels: books, motherhood, MotherTalk, parenting, reading, reviews

7:47 AM | Permalink | 2 comments

How many times I've heard "I miss Dad" in the past 32 minutes.

That's how long Dad's been gone. At this rate we'll hit 100 times sometime around 1:30pm. It's gonna be a long weekend.

Labels: life, parenting

8:14 AM | Permalink | 0 comments

I'm a big fan or writing goals. Granted, I don't make them daily any more (with children getting in a shower on a daily basis is hard enough), but I do try to make them weekly. It keeps me writing and at least aiming for some amount of content to get done.

Now, before you even think I am some sorta Super Mom (far, far, far from it), I rarely make these personal goals. Not unless it is a deadline sorta thing and I might lose a gig or say, miss an appointed timeline for an agent/editor. Then I do EVERYTHING I can to make those goals. The other ones? Those are personal writing goals. Stuff I try to make myself do in order to one day get a book published. Or get my name out in the world of authors, agents, editors--publishing. So "making" the goals are based on my self-evaluation. And with two children in tow and a day job. Well, we have to be a little flexible in these parts.

But, when I DO make them, well it is cause for celebration. Which, for this week won't be really happening. I had wanted to outline out (by outline, I mean loose plot points) a new book idea. One that is a bit of a break for my normal writing but fun at the same time. And by pure luck, I just realized it's Thursday. All that is written is a title in a word processing document and a few items of note on a notebook piece of paper. Wish I could tell you that is an improvement from last week, but it's as far as I had gotten then.

I have a ton of excuses if you want to hear them (new preschool arrangements, grocery shopping, the day job, a clingy baby on a new schedule, a 5 year old getting ready for day summer camp), but I am sure they will pale in comparison to other writer schedules who actually wrote this week. So, I will leave you while I eat some humble pie. And see how I can manage to actually write this weekend while I am single-parenting it (husband's off for fun, sun, beer, and golf) and have the two kids in tow on my own. Then again, I could hire a sitter for a few hours...

Labels: goals, parenting, writing, writing life

11:44 AM | Permalink | 0 comments

My 9-month-old daughter is a bit expressive. And by "a bit" I mean, she yells when she wants to be heard. Which is a lot. Case(s) in point(s):

- Just this past week I placed her in these cute little red pants with white polka dots. She loves the pants. Mesmerized by them really. It is the fascinating trick the eyes play with those polka dots. Only issue is that she wants to touch the dots. I guess literally. Patting furiously with her hands on her pant legs isn't enough. Or doesn't have the desired effect she was looking for. And, I hear about it. On many decibels levels.

- Two kids playing together should be a cute picture. Especially when they are cousins (or 2nd cousins once removed, or whatever the technical terms are). And both girly girls. And not fighting. Should be damn cute to watch. And is. Until The Peanut decides that the 2-yr-old cousin's hair looks so darn cool she wants to touch it. Literally. The 2 year old cousin says an adamant "No." Either way, you can see where this leads. More "expressive" yelling that makes me wonder if girls are always emotional from birth.

- Then there is the holding thing. The I-Always-Must-Be-Held-Because-I-Am-Cute thing. Sure, she is damn cute. And smiley. When I am holding her. But a woman's gotta pee. And take showers. And say, WORK every now and again. Quite simply, my arms are tired. The "expressiveness" is wearing off.

- You know it's bad when the pediatrician notices. And he did. Just on Friday during the 9-month-old wellness appointment. If The Peanut did not like being on the table, she told me. Yelled at me actually. Not the whimpering crying, it was an all out yell, "Mo-o-o-ommmma!" Succinct and to the point. Over and over. During the ENTIRE exam. Thank God our pediatrician is a delight. He only smiled and said, "Very expressive for 9 months." When I know he really wanted to say, "When she's two you might want to consider taking some calming drugs to keep yourself sane."

Don't get me wrong. I want my daughter to talk to her heart's delight. To tell the world her tale and not to be taken advantage of--ever. But, I'm a little concerned this "expressiveness" will take a turn toward the bitchiness. Or spoiled I Will Get What I Want No Matter What Syndrome. That honestly, I can't handle. Not in adults, nor in my 9 month old kid. I think I might just cry over this one.

Labels: motherhood, parenting, The Peanut

11:17 PM | Permalink | 1 comments

You'd think losing his first tooth would have sent me into a sputtering mess of "he's growing up so fast, I can't believe it!" Or maybe even the fact that he passed his Kindergarten assessment with flying colors (he got an award for it! One he ran out of the little colorful library to share with me). Or there is the counting to 100 milestone that I've heard non-stop about since he figured out the trick to making it happen. And of course he's got his first crush on one of the two girls in his pre-school class. The girl he draws cards and pictures for every night and secretly puts in her Go-Home folder before all the boys see (but he's not shy enough not to sign his name front and center).

Nope, none of that has phased this working mother of two into realizing her son is growing up into something called a kid. That is, until I had to put him in a REAL timeout the day before yesterday. For doing a Real Kid thing--talking back. In the worst possible way. Here's the scenario... oh wait, picture this after a full day of pain of mastitis and having to save face in front of a relative. One who is sitting on my couch in conversation and then this:

"Mom, I'm bored."

"Well, why don't you draw something. You have all of your pens and papers on the table."

"That's not exercise."

I nod in the direction of the relative and smile weakly, "You could try your play set in the back yard?" The one we paid a fortune for and spent and entire weekend putting together for your playing pleasure--and you've graced its swings/slide/sandbox a whole handful of times.

"No." Direct whine in my face. Then a stomp of the foot. Another yell, "No! That's not good enough!" And crying. Wailing to be exact.

Now, let me tell you--this doesn't seem like a big deal when I type it here. But my son never really acts like this. Ever. And now he is throwing a tantrum at 5 1/2 years old because he's bored and wants exercise? Threw me for at least 30 seconds. And then I gathered my wits.

"Kiddo," I place my hand on his shoulder which he--again out of character--shrugs off, "You need to go to your room for a time out. This reaction is not acceptable."

The fact that I kept my cool was odd for me. I mean, I was in pain. Lots of pain. Had barely slept a wink in over 24 hours (due to that exact same pain). And the fact that The Peanut would just not let me put her down AT ALL? I was stressed to my limit. Tired. I didn't need a child acting out over apparently nothing. Not to mention, I was holding a conversation with a baby on my hip, dinner cooking on a stove, and having what I can now only call idle conversation while waiting for my husband to come home.

Honestly, I wanted to just yell right back at him. Stomp my own feet, and list off my current ailments and issues. I had a lot of them. And in my eyes a bit more disconcerting than being bored and not being able to exercise (I only wish!). But instead, I did the mom thing: took his hand (that he continued to try to pull away from my grasp) and walked him to his room as his wailing kicked up at least volume increased at least 100 times. Once in his room, he did the drama filled--running to his bed, throwing himself atop, and burying his face in a pillow and stuffed Spiderman. And by some miracle, I calmly announced, "I'll be back in 5 minutes. Or when you are ready to talk."

An official time out for acting out and talking back. Wonderful. And in all fairness, The Kiddo is a good kid. This isn't typical behaviour as I know it is in many families. So we are lucky. But it was just so... unexpected. I felt outside myself actually. Which, I guess was what kept me so calm.

So now the complication begins. The who, what, where, and WHY a child acts out... in a world that is a bit bigger than my house, rules, and realm of understanding. This will get so much more fun when he's in high school won't it?

Labels: motherhood, parenting, The Kiddo

4:17 PM | Permalink | 0 comments

If someone had warned me how painful mastitis is... I may have reconsidered nursing. Holy Damn! This sucks. And if anyone has a way to make antibiotics kick in faster, please let me know, been dealing with sharp pains from my left breast since early afternoon yesterday. It doesn't make for a pleasant night sleep. Or a day's nap. Or any sleeping whatsoever.

In other news, the kids are both still sick. So is The Husband, who along with sporting a healing rib fracture, is pretty sure he has pneumonia but is refusing to go to the doctor just yet.

So, if you see our family sneezing, coughing, or even just walking within a 10 foot radius of you and yours truly-- run. And do it fast! Quite possibly as far, far away as possible too. You never know what you might catch.

Labels: breastfeeding, life, me, parenting

7:14 PM | Permalink | 2 comments

When I was a kid it was the same saying--the weather is nice or a holiday, guaranteed a kid will be sick.

I remember countless Christmas mornings with sore throats, noses raw from night time sniffles, and boxes of Kleenex by my side as I opened my gifts. Halloween, it was always a debate whether I could go out and trick or treat because the flu I just got over, was only a few hours ago not days from the last fluid upchuck. And Easter egg hunts were impossible, I was usually coughing, sickly via strep throat or just purely under the weather. With my children, same ole thing. Must be the sixth sense of extra time off with parents.

Seriously, last night my eldest spent the night coughing and sniffling. So much so, I was prepared for another chest infection (gladly after a doctor visit today, it is nothing more than a cold). But, as having multiple children would have it, now the baby is sniffling during nursing sessions and sneezing more than normal for her 9-month-old nose. She's getting the cold. And it's a long weekend of nice(r) weather.

Ah, tis the life of a parent. Of children who like to get sick when mom and dad could finally, maybe, sleep in. Instead, I'll spend at least one 24 hour period with less than 4 hours of sleep. I can almost guarantee it.

Labels: motherhood, parenting

10:19 PM | Permalink | 1 comments

And she had to pry open little hands to grab a little tooth for a few bucks. Let's hope The Kiddo finds this as amusing as his mother.

Labels: motherhood, parenting

11:38 PM | Permalink | 0 comments

Seriously people. How more disgusting can it get than this. 8-month-old daughter takes an hour and a half nap for me on a good day (well 2 of these, sorta spaced out between 12 hours or so). But for the sitter, who is only here a couple times a week-- 2 naps. One for an hour and a half. Another for 2 and a half hours.

Why can't I get one of those? Really. I need it. If not for my own napping goodness, but for work. Real work that has to be done.

Labels: motherhood bytes, parenting

2:02 PM | Permalink | 0 comments

My daughter fell out of her crib today. 8 months old and she finageled (<-however you spell that word) herself over the bars. It's nice to come home to that news from your babysitter, isn't it?

And let's see... oh yes, my car is going in for brake work tomorrow at 7:30am. This should be good news. But I have to get my kids and husband ready and cart us all to the car repair shop--then to the train station in time for a train.

If that isn't a fulfilling enough week, I have to pack for 3 (my husband can pack for himself) so we can head to a dual burial. Yep. My mother-in-law and grandpa-in-law are getting buried on the same day. It will be December all over again. Death. Grief. Only in Spring. I'm not sure this week can get better.

Labels: death, life, me, parenting

4:19 PM | Permalink | 3 comments

My son's losing his first tooth. It's been loose for over three days. I know this because every morning (and night) he gives me the report.

"Mom" opens mouth, inserts finger, wiggles three times, "Tooth's still there."

"It'll come out when it is good and ready." I nod. Sometimes smile. Sometimes giggle.

I suppose I should be somewhat reminiscent of his impending childhood. The one that with a blink of an eye will be pre-teenhood. Then full blown chaos (called full blown teenhood) and then adulthood.

But somehow this tooth thing, is only making me smile foolishly. He's growing up. I made it this far! I can survive the rest. And being that I have an 8-month-old crawling around, I need that reminder hourly. At least.

Labels: parenting, The Kiddo

7:31 PM | Permalink | 1 comments

It was so crazy busy from the time I opened my eyes yesterday--that I barely made it in time to my office for The Meeting. You know, one of those Must Be Present Meetings Or You Look Bad ones. Yeah. Nice way to start your morning. That and the fact that I was worried The Peanut wouldn't have enough pumped milk. So, I sat in my bathroom as my sitter had the baby in the living room and tried to pump a few more ounces before I left. Thus... my lateness.

But the pumping and breast milk thing gets better. Work was so crazy that I didn't have time to pump there (and ongoing problem I am having. And why I was worried about The Peanut above). It gets good beyond this point--so if you don't want to hear how crazy I am or about pumping or breast milk--just skip down to the next paragraph. It'll save you the details. Gone? Okay good. So, here's the real deal. I pumped in the car. Yes. My Handy Dandy Mega pump has a battery adapter. Combine that with my super sports bra, I threw caution to the wind (and my modesty) and pumped in the car. T-shirt covered all areas of concern, but I am sure I turned a few heads. Am I nuts? Sure. It's the least of my worries right now.

Onto other items....

If I would have had time I also would have shared that while I intended on driving to Bed, Bath and Beyond to exchange a few bath towels for the right size, I also landed in Old Navy. I love that place. And true to my previous store experiences, had a cart full of clothes to prove it. Summer clothes. T-shirts, fun ballet shoes, and some drawstring jeans that I am totally in love with. And this fun red/tan/yellow print flowy shirt that will be a must wear for work. So I was feeling pretty good. Especially when I got home, put them on, and they all fit. That is, until I was pumping breast milk in said outfit yesterday as I was leaving my office. Does it get better than this?

Oh and Target diapers! How come no one clued me in on how cute and awesome these are? Not only are the cheaper than the name brand, they feel very good to the touch. Smooth. Light. Comfy. They sure as hell better hold in the waste of my daughter or it just might burst my Target bubble. And we don't want that. Would be as bad as bursting my Old Navy love.

And the book review. Yes, I wrote this lovely book review for THE GAY UNCLE'S GUIDE TO PARENTING by Brett Berk for Poshmama. It's a lovely, fun, snarky, and real book about parenting. You need to register and be a woman to read the review. But let me just say this. It's fun. It's a fun read. Even if you are already in the throws of parenthood.

Speaking of writing, there's chapter 5 of LIFE AS GRETA at Hybrid Mom too. And yeah, by some miracle I've been able to juggle this all together with my daughter who just doesn't want to sleep anymore. And my husband's schedule which is as crazy as mine. In fact, he's gone all weekend again. Fun times in sorta single parenting again. Though, to his credit, he'll be home after 9pm. Which, can mean fun times. If you know what I mean.

Anyway, I could keep ranting. Or sharing. Or whatever it is I do on this blog. But right now my brain has dumped all it has right now. I think I can collect enough thoughts for tomorrow. Or at least that is the plan.

UPDATED: And if I get ONE MORE MESSAGE from someone trying to get me to post some crap review about mother's day gifts... WTF? Seriously. You people can't fool me. Avid reader my ass. You're looking for free advertising. Not. Going. To. Get. It. Here. I only pimp what I know. And I don't know you from Adam.

Labels: books, breastfeeding, Hybrid Mom, LIFE AS GRETA, parenting, pimpin', The Peanut

2:19 PM | Permalink | 0 comments

We've been attempting to work with our son--who's 5--about NOT interrupting conversations. Even conversations that are of the telephone variety. But "attempting" this feat might not be strong enough. In fact, I know it's not anywhere near the intensity we need to address the issue.

Case in point: I'm on the phone with a work colleague (an important one of the boss' boss' boss variety) and he is incessantly saying, "Mom. Mom. Mom. Mom. Moooooom!" with such increased urgency I thought there was blood. Somewhere. When in fact- it was ketchup. Ketchup that happened to have dripped out of his hot dog bun. And it was getting on his fingers.

I know. Tragedy.

I'm going to have work on this attempting--not that demanding will do any good. Hell demanding anything from my 34-year-old husband gets me nowhere. Demanding of a 5-year-old is going to yield worse results.

Labels: parenting, The Kiddo

2:55 PM | Permalink | 2 comments

I love my son. I love that he loves to play soccer. And I love that it keeps him busy. Entertained. And exercised. What I hate is being so busy my head hurts constantly and the world keeps turning in circles why I try to stay balanced. Right now, that about sums up my life in a nutshell.

Working like a madwoman with no children in sight (and yes, my children are being tended for. Just by a mom who is ready to fall from exhaustion). Spending every waking moment fixing work issues, answering emails, and living my life in front of a laptop doing stuff that people tend to think is glamorous. But is really more like work. Like answering emails. Making phone calls. Making shit up and sending it off to be used for "lessons." And generally, making a living doing a lot of nonsense. But it looks fun and exciting on paper.

Oh and trying to survive mothering a 7 month old and a 5 year old. Yep, surviving. My son has a bad ear infection. Chest infection (read: pneumonia) and my husband and I are hankering (yes I just typed that word) with a sinus/cold/chest thing as well. Sleep? Doesn't exist in my realm right now. If it isn't a kid crying out in the middle of the night, it's a work call that runs past midnight, or my husband's cough, or my own nagging snot drizzle.

I'm thinking it is a can't win situation right now. One of those Roll With the Punches type situations. Ones where you don't hope for anything--just keep rolling. And I plan on rolling as long and as far as possible from this state of affairs. It isn't a glimmer of shininess, that is for sure. And it's doing nothing for writing inspiration. I'm not the type that thrives on doom and gloom to write. I need space, light, clearing, and a helluva a lot of humor. Right now, I think laughter might sprout a coughing fit. Which (cough, cough), I might as well take advantage of my house being quiet and peaceful (both kids are asleep) and take a little nap myself. This chance might only last a few moments.

Labels: life, me, parenting

5:07 PM | Permalink | 0 comments

Let me first admit that I am a coffee addict. It happened somewhere between starting a career and having a baby. Once that first kid arrived, well, I was a full head-on caffeine addict. It should be no surprise that Starbucks has become part of my routine. But not the only choice, I frequent all coffee shops-as my caffeine intake shows no prejudice. Alas, why Starbucks has saved my life.

Pre-child caffeine addiction started when work got tough. Unrealistic deadlines, bosses with no sense, and products that were as boring as watching bread bake--well they pushed me to find a habit. Any habit. And since filling my lungs with nicotine wasn't my first choice, I went to the next easiest drug. Caffeine in the form of coffee. Espresso in fact. With lots (and lots) of chocolate flavors. This need for something to make me feel awake and alive in a world full of corporate drones made me find a flavor that would allow me to stomach the coffee. And thus my affliction for mochas began.

In fact, I could blame the coffee giant for sucking me into its franchise, but hey, it was an easy escape. And one I still use today when the office is getting to crazy and I need a break. A getaway so to speak. There's always a coffee shop around the corner (and in some offices just downstairs). But this little habit of mine, it didn't get outta control til after the birth of The Kiddo.

Have you ever nursed a child every hour and a half? One that nurses for 40 minutes at a time? And remember, this is your first time parenting. That alone can be exhausting, but add in the whole shell-shock of a long and not entirely uncomplicated delivery. The fact that I hadn't been sleeping the weeks BEFORE the child arrive, and a first-mom jitters that keep you anxious and trying to meet unrealistic expectations. It's a wonder I made it past the first sleep-deprived first 2 weeks!

But then it got worse. My husband went back to work. Not only was I in sleep-envy states (why did I EVER think nursing was a good idea?!?! High IQ be damned!), I was also alone. Dealing with a baby. A newborn. A "thing" that squirms and cries, and sleeps on my shoulder, and spits up every second... and only sleeps in the car. And how long can you drive a car around in large circles without bursting into tears? For me, a whole 10 minutes, unless of course, I could have drive-through service. Thus Starbucks and coffee. My serious caffeine addiction began.

But it started a routine. A "Happy Place." A guaranteed adult conversation no matter what type of screaming child day I'd had. Or how frustrated I was that I constantly smelled for rotten breast milk and spit up. That I hadn't showered in four days and was still trying desperately to make it out the door that night to see a friend, ANY friend for an hour (between nursing sessions of course). Or the fact that my breasts hurt SO bad from a kid that was always nursing. That 30 seconds of ordering a drink ("Hi, I'd like an Iced Venti Skim--yes they said that then--No Whip White Mocha please") was sure to imply to the Bartista the desperation I was in. The need to talk to someone, anyone, about my day. Or the weather. Or how I wanted to call my husband for the 30th time that morning just to tell him the baby was smiling. Sorta. When he was shitting in another diaper anyway.

The Bartista would smile, take my money, smile some more, sometimes chit chat, and then wave at the sleeping baby. Always noting, "He always looks so peaceful." Sure. If you don't live with him 24/7. But he does look peaceful--angelic even--when he sleeps. Even now.

But see how this interaction, this nice stuff, could take over my life? Even, maybe, become something to look forward to? I'd sometimes fix my hair, show off a new shirt, new hair color... It sounds desperate. And I won't kid you and say it wasn't. Nothing in parenting ISN'T. Seriously, we bribe our kids to go to the potty, to sleep in big kid beds, and to behave, etc. It's parenting. Part of it is desperate. And making "friends" with my neighborhood coffee shops--part of the game that I did to stay sane. It saved me. Literally from going off some deep end.

Who else is up at 5:30 in the morning and smiling? Most moms I know aren't. And I didn't want that type of company. Blogging is virtual. Phone calls, sorta disturbing when you are trying to hold a screaming kid in one arm and get them to sleep in another--not to mention bouncing, rocking, nursing... oh yeah and talking--not good for the sanity. It makes you feel worse. So, I went with easy conversation with people that were taking $5 a day from my pocket. With one obvious side effect--it kept me poor(er), but I was awake for those really important days in my son's early life--the first smile, first tooth, sitting up, crawling, cooing, Mama! (and Dada!), and all the little things that I remember now watching my daughter and sipping my Iced Venti Nonfat No Whip White Mocha.

Labels: coffee, life, me, motherhood, parenting

7:27 AM | Permalink | 1 comments

We tempted fate--and the moods of infants and young children--by attending a Chicago Cubs game last week. The Cubs won, my son had a fantastic time proven with the foam claw he has been roaring through the house ever since, and my daughter slept from the 7th Inning on. For those that have been to a stadium for a ball game, sleeping, for anyone is a feet. For a 7 1/2 month old who's never been to one of the drunken parties? Well, it's plainly amazing.

At least until we stand up to leave the ball park and head to the car. We take the far lot parking because we're cheap and because a bus shuttles us to and from the field. Most times we can even get back on the road before those parked close to the stadium. And last Wednesday was no exception.

We beat the crowd (well we left at the end of the 8th. Another habit of parents). The baby wakes up (of course!) and stares blankly at the young couple across from us on the city bus. They're both missing a 3 month old they left at home for this circus. We truck it across a few (hundred) rows of cars to the our own, buckle the kid in and then decide against our better nature to have me Coach the Ride.

We're a traditional bunch--husband or myself drives (most of the time when it's the family, it's my husband) and the kids are in the back. And now that we have a Honda Pilot, The Kiddo likes the back, back (third row), The Peanut rests in the seat behind the passenger in the second row. All well and good, until it is dark out or the traffic is so bad it's less the crawl speed (and that's saying a lot having a 7 month old crawler along for the ride). Then the Peanut screams her head off. Much like she did on the drive DOWN to the game. When I was by my lonesome and meeting my husband at the field.

So to avoid drama, and my just about fraying nerves, I rode coach. Seat 2, Second row. The Husband hated the situation, but would have hated it more with a screeching infant, so dealt with the over the shoulder conversation with a wife that was tending to a now over-tired and more than awake baby. And a roaring, claw waving 6 year old.

Traffic was bearable. The baby screamed but in happy, over-tired sorta ways. And The Kiddo crashed into some deep sleep about 10 miles from the house. We made it. But then, of course we would. Crying or not. Only issue now, is every time we step in the car, the baby expects another passenger in Coach. Mainly me.

Labels: life, parenting

12:45 PM | Permalink | 3 comments

My daughter makes this little moaning noise, just as she falls asleep. Every nap. Every bedtime. Every night. This little sigh, to remind me, that yep, I'm gone into dreamland.

I never want to forget that sound. Especially after the 12+ hours of extended work I endured on my Saturday. Work that I might have to repeat tomorrow.

Labels: motherhood, parenting, The Peanut

11:44 PM | Permalink | 0 comments

Talk about a sucky beginning to my weekend. And it's not going to end. All. Weekend. Long. Yep, working through the weekend. That's what I get for volunteering for a high profile project. But don't let me bore you with the details here (hell, I could lose my job). Let's move on to the finer highlights of my Friday:

- The baby decided to save all her shit for me. Did that sound bad? Well it was meant to be literal. The baby sitter's here and she's all laughs and pissy diapers. The minute the sitter leaves? She gets the blow-out diapers no one wants to deal with (Four of them!). But, alas, it's part of the job description.

- Wood chips and puddles ruined a perfectly good pair of socks. The Kiddo was home today. After a couple-hour conference call this morning, I shuffled out the door to the new play set in the backyard (outdoor time after a rain is good right?). Only, it ended up evolving into endless questions about wet swing seats ("Here's a towel!"), puddles on the slide ("Here's another towel!"), Dog poop on his shoes ("What's up with the shit today?" and "Take a paper towel this time!"), and of course, the how come my pants are wet iterations. And the inevitable stocking foot step into the wood chip ridden puddle that happened to have a bit of dog shit mixed it. I wasn't stupid enough to just step in it once--that I did, then swore, then stepped back in it again while hoping to avoid the baby crawling into the mess. One pair of new white socks down (because washing them would be too easy)...

- Lunch at 4pm. Yep, it's been my latest lunch time. It sucks really because by then I'm shaky, cranky, and so pumped up with caffeine (coffee is my friend), I'd be better off hooking up an IV to fill my ulcered stomach

- Barking to awake the one nap my child easily went down for today. But this is normal behavior. So it isn't like I can complain that it's any worse today than it was yesterday. Though yesterday, I thought I might have my weekend to watch chic flicks and eat popcorn. Aw, optimism.

But really, it wasn't all bad. After the barking spasm by the dog and counseling the crying baby, I had one of those If This Moment Could Last Forever instances that melts your heart. The Peanut was on the floor army crawling to these little ball thingies. Loving her new mobility she scoots forward and giggles herself til she has hiccups. And, I, being all about the laughing, rolled her over to enjoy in her moment of happiness. We played raspberries, tickles, more crawling and pushing the ball around... all while my son joined in the fun. And we laughed. All of us. And that, might just make up for the crappy weekend or work. Maybe.

Labels: babysitter, life, me, parenting, The Kiddo, The Peanut, working

8:46 PM | Permalink | 0 comments

I wasn’t a pleasant first-year mother. Or a second year mother. True, I loved the smell of a newborn, the cuddling, the ity bity clothes that just make you coo that noise that only an expectant mother can.

But honestly, I hated the constant diapers. The fact that sleeping was really only a figment of one’s imagination. The fussing over the sleeping positions. The company. Phone calls. Thank you notes for gifts. Spit up being an accessory on my left shoulder. And the fact that no matter if I actually MADE it into the shower, the scent of breast milk was my constant perfume.

Truly, I just wanted to find my way into this whole parenting thing. Hold my baby and figure out who he was. And why I had been chosen as his mother. Don’t worry I’m not getting all spiritual on you. I’d just gotten a bit fed up with the whole questioning and cajoling of the new mom.

I mean how many times could I repeat this conversation:

“Oh, isn’t he cute! How’s he sleeping?”

“Well you know… he’s still up every couple of hours.”

“Really?” Eyes wide in apparent shock.

“Yep. I mean he’s only 4 weeks old. I am pretty sure that is normal—“

“I am sure he should be giving you a bit more of a break,” Pat, pat on my arm, “Oh that’s right. You’re nursing. Nursing babies just don’t sleep.”

What? They don’t sleep? I’d rush home, open my Internet browser and search the living daylights out of breastfeeding, sleeping, infants, and any sort of magical cure for sleeping babies I could find. I’d search, take notes, ask The Husband. We’d venture to book stores, doctor’s appointments, grandparent’s houses… and all I could think about was how much was I hurting my baby.

Unfortunately, it didn’t end. There was the nursing frequency conversation. And the putting a hat on his head while running to the grocery store thing. And I really can’t forget the whole co-sleeping arrangements. The working at home or stay at home debacle. Crying it out. Or not. Weaning (or not). Bottles. Pumping. Child care arrangements when I had to travel.

Or just plain old playgroup politics. I’ve yet to meet a group of playgroup mommies that aren’t comparing their children’s milestones like prizes. But, I’ll also be the first to admit, the two I trialed, didn’t match my motherly attitude. Or meet when I could attend. Remember, I was the working mom on the block (well one that worked from home and had conference calls most afternoons).

Don’t forget, through all of this I can barely string a sentence. Let alone stand up for myself against the pack of wolves that were constantly throwing advice around. There was a constant slinging of judgment and comments all thrown at just the right time and landing smack on my face. Just in time to make me feel bad, or worse since I hadn’t slept in days. What changed from the Ooooh, You’re Pregnant Oogling to the Oh My God, You Did What Mentality? I was horrified. And completely lacking any sort of confidence to pull myself through.

Here’s the little secret that took me two-years, a lot of heartache, and one final blow to my ego to figure out—we (as in baby, me, and Husband) were normal. One nasty argument with a family member, saved my inner me and my mom-me in one blessed afternoon.

The once self-professed I Don’t Want To Be a Mom was doing the whole parenting thing right all along. All it took was an accusation of NOT doing it right for me to finally stand up and speak for myself. I am mother, hear me roar!

Well, maybe not exactly like that. But at least I finally faced my motherhood fears and myself. I was doing what was right for my baby, my family, and me. And there is no arguing that. Conveniently enough, in that one afternoon my confidence came back. My inner Mom-Mojo returned. And life suddenly became a bit more enjoyable. Even when I had to change countless diapers, fold laundry, nurse a crying child, and take a conference call all before dinner. And now... I'm doing it again.

Labels: baby, life, motherhood, parenting, slice of life story challenge

7:02 PM | Permalink | 4 comments

Is it bad that my daughter, this very instant, is army crawling at my feet with a rawhide dog bone in her hand. In a moment she'll put it in her mouth for a good ole chew. And, I'm considering not doing a thing about it. I mean, if it's okay for a dog with a mouthful of teeth to gnaw it to oblivion--then a 6 1/2 month old that is only geared to gum it into that soft goo won't hurt her right?

If I wasn't so exhausted, I would've taken it away (the bone) already. Or at the very least scanned the floor for the dog and 6-year-old toys before putting her down. But today--this last month--has been a blur. Work, breastfeeding, nuking chicken nuggets and pizza, conference calls, diaper changes, whining about not being able to play the Wii, single-parenting it while The Husband has other commitments, late nights writing, on-site meetings, taxes of the income and property variety, and waking all hours of the night with The Baby Who Will Not Sleep--I'm a bit on the exhausted side.

I'm anxious and unruly on my best days. Brain spinning with a to do list longer than the hours available but yet unable to focus on one. And I know it's bad when my fitful dreams are of work projects and house chores, instead of pink fairies, unicorns, and the awesome handbags I discovered last week online. I mean, who dreams about work and then admits it? It's the lamest confession I've made to date, but at least it's honest. And shows you how far in the gutter things have gotten. And out of control isn't exaggerating the obvious.

This past weekend I took a shower. Yes, can you believe it? I held the baby at arms length to The Husband and nodded toward The Kiddo, "Taking a much needed shower. Don't wait for me." Meaning: If you come in and bother me while the water is still hot and pounding on my sore arms and back, I might kill you. And get off for reasons of insanity. Don't even try it. The Husband knows the tone, and took the time to lock the bathroom door on his way out so that I would not be disturbed for a glass of red Gatorade. Or the screeching of The Peanut. I needed at the very least a shower of alone time. And I got it. It was long. Hot. Steamy. And full of tears. I'd realized I spent the first 3 minutes listing off the to-do list of my Saturday.

Groceries. Dishes. Laundry. Pick up Dry Cleaning. If the baby took a nap, I wanted to finish the work project. Get to that book I needed to read. Write the review... it went on and on and on. By minute four, the tears stared. What the hell am I doing? To-Do lists on a Saturday? Pre-child these were days of sleeping in til the afternoon, cold pizza, TNT movies, and hell, nothing. Here, I was cramming more than a normal days work of work into a few hours. And that included the day job. The one I am salaried to work in 40 hours.

It was an awful moment. Tears stinging my eyes. Hot water pounding on my shoulders. My arms weary from holding and extra-clingy 6-month-old, and throat scratchy from the cold I wasn't admitting was looming on the side. All because my life is a whirlwind. I wish I could say that the shower enlightened me in some way. But the water turned to the half cold state, and the steam wasn't pouring over the shower stall anymore and I was pruning into something that was beginning to look like my grandmother's hands. Which means, bluntly, I had to get out and face my family. The screeching baby that needed to be nursed, the son waiting for pancakes, and my husband who in a whole hour and a half already had a sore back from bouncing the baby around.

The minute my husband and I consented to have sex without prevention--we agreed to have children. And I love every ounce of them. It's all the other stuff I am having a hard time juggling right now. Who needs to worry about child care coinciding with work schedules, soccer practice, summer camp, and project schedules? And don't forget about paying bills, cleaning the house, taking showers, and eating. Or sleeping. It is all a harried mess.

Pre-child life is long gone, but I dream fondly of those moments of what was then called busy-ness. Hell, if I had one or two after work engagements and a birthday party over the weekend, it felt like craziness. But add in two children--and it's a whole new ball game. One that entails balancing what will drive you crazy first. Right now the choice is: a child that will start screaming if you pick her up or one that will happily chew on a dog bone for a few minutes while you finish the last e-mail of the day. And today, that choice is a damn hard one to make.

Labels: humor, life, me, motherhood, parenting, slice of life story challenge, working

8:32 PM | Permalink | 2 comments

Since the birth of The Peanut, the discussion of having a baby 3 have been the norm in this house. Mostly because her birth was so easy, I almost didn't believe it was over when they showed her to me. And of course her cuteness. Who doesn't love a baby the first 6 weeks? Or 3 months. All the way to the 6 month Separation Anxiety Mom If You Leave The Room I Will Scream Until I Am Blue In The Face time comes.

Which makes me remember why, I think two will be it. If I remain working outside the home anyway. I can't do another day care drama (a few of those this week) or working/life balance routine for a job that keeps me beyond stressed out in work terms. No. Not with another child in tow. Won't happen.

What's probably more amusing to me (and The Husband) is the timing of this Do We Have Another Child discussion. With The Kidd, 20+ hours of labor and 3+ of pushing later, I was traumatized for 3 years. Sure, I said I never wanted an only child, but the thought of another birth like that? Or another high demand nurser? Or my total lack of sleep? Yeah. Saying I was borderline flippant at the idea of another child would be accurate. Until The Kiddo grew into this thing past toddler hood. I think you call it being a Kid. Or something. He's starting to not think I am the center of his universe. And that things I like are not exactly what he likes. And that super heroes are not real. Or aliens. Or... I won't even go there yet. 5-years-old is too young to even think like that (please tell me I am right or I just might go jump off a bridge now).

So, then we thought of baby 2. And of course after a few bumps in the road, had baby 2--The Peanut. Bless her crying/screaming/total drama self. Love her to pieces. Honestly. I can't imagine my life without every tense bone in her body (damn, I was hoping that anxiety would skip a generation, but I swear, that girl needs someone with her, always). But until this week- I considered another. For real. I was trying to figure out how in the hell we could live off one salary and do all that we want to do, so in a year or so, we'd be ready to try for another. Three.

Of course reality set in quickly. Work week from hell (for the second in a row). I realized I missed the Kindergarten registration for The Kiddo. And of course baby care drama (when isn't there). Suddenly it all became crystal clear. I'm thinking two is all I can handle sanely. Or at least to keep my current sanity level at check.

But, let me tell you, the idea of a Family of Five. Or Six. Not so uncommon anymore. Co-workers galore are on Number Four. Four I tell you! Or thinking of three. And I just can't help but think maybe life is a bit more important than my sanity. Or maybe all these people have found a way to deal with day care AND leave work at the office (or during business hours). I'm all ears if anyone wants to share the magic little secret. Because, she's so damn cute and The Kiddo is like a little adult.... and I just can't bear another few weeks like the past two. But expanding the fun called family, I could dig it, if I could find some balance that works. Right now, I'm teetering constantly. And that ain't a way to live, if you ask me.

Labels: children, motherhood, parenting

3:16 PM | Permalink | 0 comments

My sitter is off to Mexico for a week. As much as this may thrill her, it is the least bit thrilling for me. Now, I'd saddled with dealing with both kids all week. And work. The joy.

This little (sad) bit of parenting no one really prepares you for--the sitters, day care, child sitting, taking time for yourself--sure, it's all good if you have people waiting to pound down your door to watch the new little baby. Don't get me wrong, you might--for the first three months. And then they suddenly disappear.

For us, we never had anyone at the door waiting to watch the baby. In fact, promptly one day after they each were born, I was alone in the house. Well not alone, alone. The Husband was around. But, not some kind family member. Or neighbor. Or anyone really. We were on our own. And are still. Going out isn't one of our regular activities. And let me blunt--when we do it is a huge social event.

I spend hours finding the perfect outfit, get the hair done, try to find time to get my nails done... and yes, all of this, even if it is to just go to a movie. I. Don't. Get. Out. Much. Sure, the sitter is here twice a week. But that is so I can go to the office. And don't for one second think that is "getting out." Because if you try that line on me, I just might snap. Going to an office for work, is far from getting out. It is more like walking IN to something akin to.. um... well I guess I better refrain from that line of thought. You just don't know who's reading these here Internet pages.

Anyway... my point is just this. I need to get out. I mean out-out. As in, away from the kids for socializing. It can or cannot be with The Husband. I don't really care one way or the other. But this non-socializing thing (or heading to family gatherings with the whole damn family)? Well it's gotten stale. And tiring. As much as I love snuggling with my daughter and laughing with my son (did I tell you, I was Awesome Mom yesterday and we build Chinese Lanterns?)...there comes a time and place for Mommy to Get Her Groove On. Or at least feel like a human childless soul for 5 minutes. Apparently that moment has come for me. Or it can't come soon enough.

Labels: babysitter, motherhood, parenting

1:42 AM | Permalink | 2 comments

Some nights I want my daughter to cry out for me, to snuggle, and to nestle in my arms or along my chest for some comfort. Some nights I yearn for her to "need" me. And other nights, I'd give up almost anything for her to not want me. Which has been almost every night this week, but tonight.

The night she is finally getting back to her normal self, cold finally winding down, and feverishness gone... she is asleep. Deep into baby dreamland and seemingly far, far away from me. And at this moment, I'd love for her to cry for me. So I could hold her. Smell her soft skin, and nestle her fine hair against my chin. I need to hold her.

My son now has this nasty cold. The one, I too am battling with tissue and endless amounts of Tylenol in hopes it keeps the fever at bay. But my son has a harder battle--his asthma is wanting to kick in. We've done a few breathing treatments and I'm waiting to hear him cough from his bedroom. The endless tickle that won't go away--and thus has his gasping for breath. I know that by 4am it is likely I'll be up with him for another breathing treatment, of if I am lucky just a puff of his inhaler.

The need to hold him is different now. Not so long ago, I had the same urges with him--the snuggles, the nestling, and of course the hugs only a mom and son can enjoy. But now that he is older they have changed. Sure, this morning, he ever-so gently climbed into bed after his Dad left for work and snuggled with me. The first time in over 6 months. He even dozed back into sleep for a short time. Until the baby started crying. It was nice. But not the same. He's suddenly a boy. A lanky five-year-old boy that doesn't have the fine dewy hair. Or the baby smell. Or the same snuggles he had when he was a wee thing. And, pitifully, I miss the baby version of him. Where did the time go?

We've (as in the husband and I) have been giving The Kiddo major props for "being a big boy." He's slept through the night in his room for a week now. Promises of treats at Build a Bear abound... but yet, never fails at 4am (or thereabouts) I wander down the hall to listen for him in his room. For his even breaths. His tossing and turning. For his sense of being. I do miss him coming to our room. Even for these new snuggles. And even the jabs in the leg or arm that came with his sudden new height. But, I knew--even before The Peanut's arrival--he'd eventually move to his room. And it seems he has. For the most part.

So, now, I have The Peanut. And all her baby goodness. I'm worried that come 4 years from now, I will lose all memory of her middle of the night snuggles too. Of her soft hand on my cheek or arm. Of those nose to arm nestles that she does to wake me to nurse. It's all so precious. And the first time around, I don't think I realized just how precious it was. Now that I know, I'm not sure I want to give it up so easily.

Labels: motherhood, parenting, slice of life story challenge, The Kiddo, The Peanut

10:05 PM | Permalink | 3 comments

Some time between midnight and 2am last night I realized my daughter was sick. Her flushed, warm cheeks were rubbing against my neck, smearing snot all over the neck of the T-shirt I had yet to change out of, and she hadn't slept more than a 40 minute stretch. Even with coaxing, snuggling, and endless nursing. In fact, the nursing situation wasn't exactly textbook. She was slurping, pulling, and having a hard time with the logistics of it all--very a-typical of her behavior since birth. And no wonder, a cold suddenly found itself lodged in her sinuses. So much so, 102 degree temperatures plagued her the entire night. Even with healthy doses of Tylenol and Motrin.

Nothing secures your position as mother until you have a sick kid in the house. All the worry in the world won't help you at 4am when you are rocking the kid for the 8 millionth time and you are craving sleep more than your life itself. But in the same breath, you'd give that same life just for the child TO GET BETTER.

My son has had infant asthma issues since he was The Peanuts age (6 months). So far, she's weathered 2 of these nasty virus colds and came out golden. Not one breathing infection--or ear infection for that matter (knock on wood... we aren't taking chances here). And I am happy for that. But today--I'd be happy for more than 20 minutes of consecutive sleep myself. Of 10 minutes of child free arms and breasts. The Peanut is all about the skin to skin contact right now, and although I can't blame her, I'm worn out.

Only a few short days ago, I was thinking maybe I could do this whole Supermom complex. You know the thought--I can work full time, take care of the kidlings, keep a decent house somewhat clean, and write. And sorta keep it all in balance. But then something like this reminds you of the fragility of that damn balance.

With little more than a few hours sleep, I did something I normally never do--I called in sick. Completely utterly off the work radar. No calls. No e-mails. Don't contact me unless the world is ending sorta day off. It was nice. Well, that is if I could have slept some more. But, I'm not complaining. The Kiddo was at pre-school and I could concentrate on making sure The Peanut was getting better.

Whether this Whole Day Off To Make Kid Better Thing worked or not is another thing. She's still sniffley. Doesn't want to sleep. And warmer than warm. But at least today, I feel like I did what I needed to do for her. And I guess, that is what matters.

Labels: baby, life, me, motherhood, parenting, sickness, The Peanut

7:53 PM | Permalink | 3 comments

I'm miserable. It might be the third day of a throbbing headache. Or today's development in sickness hell--vomiting. That's right, can't eat a damn thing. Ever had to place your 6-month-old on the bathmat next to you while you hurl your guts into the toilet? Didn't think so. Hell, never thought I'd ever discuss this sorta predicament on the Internet or otherwise pre-children.

When I get sick, the world far from ends. I get comments on dinner (where to find the spatula, hamburger, and what do we actually have to eat) and then I am forced to sneak naps in between nap times and eating schedules. Today, in fact it was wrought with discussions on getting ready in the master bathroom. Like the main bathroom in the hall doesn't have a shower, toilet, and sink in prime working order for similar such activities.

When anyone else in this household gets sick, we pitter patter around the house making sure long(er) naps are taken, fluid intake monitored, temperatures taken, and well, everything that one should do when there is a sickly person in the house. CODDLE them. I think the last time The Kiddo came down with a common cold I ran out to buy him the "white soda with bubbles" because it was the only thing that would help his scratchy throat. The Peanut, being that she is so young, I just sat up all night rocking, bouncing, patting, nursing, and just generally staying up for days at a time until she worked through a 104 degree temperature with no apparent cause (Five days of no sleep people. Need I say more?). And as much as I love my husband, when he's sick--well it is much of the same. But a lot more naps and a lot less sociability with me and the kids. I spend a lot of time scolding my son for being too loud and asking The Husband, "Do you feel better?"

So, here I sit alone on a Saturday night as the kids are sleeping (finally) and husband went out with friends. Nursing a sickness with a blog post. I don't feel a lick better and my headache has gone from a gentle throb to something a bit more excruciating. Which means I need to either get some serious sleep or hurl (again). I'll try sleep. That is, if The Peanut takes pity on her sickly mother and gives me a good solid hour of sleepy-goodness.

Labels: life, me, parenting, sickness

11:14 PM | Permalink | 2 comments

I've been up at 4am every day for the past two weeks. It's getting more than a little monotonous, it's grueling. This is the part of parenting no one tells you about. Or reminds you when you decide to have baby 2 or more.

Little things are tripping me up--putting the correct images into presentations for the boss, e-mails to co-workers, and well just making sure I eat lunch. That can trip me up on a good day (if I am focused) but when I am so tired my eyes burn? I just stumble to the coffee maker time and time again. In fact I am so exhausted, the effects of a caffeine high just plain don't work. So, I'm praying for a decent make-up job tomorrow when I show up at the office.

And time for a shower in the morning before my 8am conference call. Here's to hoping...

Labels: life, parenting, slice of life story challenge

10:08 PM | Permalink | 4 comments

It's been this way for a week now. My conscious is talking one thing, my actions another... and never the two shall meet.

Think I am kidding? Mid-sentence this morning on my weekly conference call I completely forgot my train of though. Poof! Gone. My mind suddenly swirling about the emissions test I must get done on the car TODAY or risk breaking some law and paying some fine. The reason for the call? Forgotten. Tossed aside. Back in the recesses of my brain flirting with the memory of my first kiss. Hell if it matters. Aside from the fact that my co-workers are convinced after I had the baby, I left my brain somewhere at the hospital too.

I'm not the only one in the household that is in this bit of a disconnect. Talking to my husband this morning, he's right there with me. Sure, you could blame a baby in the house. Today, for instance I've been awake since 4:30am since the baby decided she wasn't quite comfortable. Gas lined her intestine. Or hell, she just had 4 shots yesterday. Any of the three options could be the cause, or none of them. Regardless, after attempting more sleep for an hour or so I just gave up. Anyway, yes, it seems the adults in this house are just having a hard time keeping concentration.

Inclined to blame my environment, I've taken to blaming the weather. I lived in the Upper Peninsula of Michigan (Da U.P. for you natives) for most of my life-aside the last 11 years. They get a ton more snow there than in Southeast Wisconsin, but this year, I feel like I'm still living in the U.P. And that might be the root cause for some of my tiredness and feeling of just (for lack of a more technical term) Blah. S.A.D.D. might be at work here (and yes, after spending my former college years in the throws of the snow belt, you do get this. Badly), or it just might be my frame of mind. Work is, um... well work. There is some crazy stuff going on there that I'm choosing not to discuss. Then there is the baby (love her to death, but at 6 months, you still get up at night). And then there is my crazy notion of writing novels--which has me up late most nights.

So what does one do to stay, um, connected? In my house, it's likely caffeinate ourselves silly. Which we did with no luck. Then I added in chocolate for good measure. And then I tended to bill paying, finances, and figuring out all that good stuff called measured debt. Fun stuff, ain't it?

Now, it did nothing but bore me to tears. And my mind still drifted to the possibility of adding a tattoo to my right buttock (I already have one on my front side, left hip). So the ability to focus was still not restored. But at least I know I can concentrate on something if I give myself a time limit. As in an hour for work and then an hour for fun. Max. Right now, with no option of taking a quick walk outside to regain a bit of energy, I'll take what I can get. And so, with the end of this blog post, I'm back to work for the remaining 20 minutes. Then, back to fun. Which might mean a good book, but likely means I'll be back to making another highly caffeinated coffee.

Labels: me, motherhood, parenting, working

7:55 AM | Permalink | 1 comments

We kicked my son out of bed about 3 months ago. We'd always aimed for him to go to bed in his room and inevitably by 4am the pitter patter of little feet found their way into our bedroom and between us in bed. That is until his legs and arms took over and knocked one into a fat lip the next morning (thankfully my husband bore that scar). Then the poor kid was banished to the floor. On a mat with his favorite sleeping bag of all time--Spiderman.

Same routine every night. Go to bed in his room--and now every third night he'll make it until the sun creeps up before swishing onto our bedroom floor next to the dog bed. Hey, it's what we do to survive. And when he was near 1 years old, well, I wouldn't have slept a wink if I would have insisted on his own room/crib sleeping. Sleep training wasn't our thing--and still isn't with The Peanut.

In fact, this time around, we're even more lenient. And I am even less inclined to listen to any unsolicited sleep training advice because frankly, I don't care. We do what works for us, and this works.

Early on we tried so hard not to do this--hell my husband petitioned against me doing the whole co-sleeping thing. He wanted the marriage bed (and likely a little romance) to remain what it was. But as everyone knows, you have a baby and that doesn't matter so much. Well... at least for the first 6 weeks (or so). Moreover, after 3 months of nursing every hour and half (for 40 minutes a shot), he wanted a wife and best friend back. Hell, I wanted her back. I was nothing short of a walking zombie that took care of the kid and worked most days simultaneously.

And so began co-sleeping and our routine, of start of evening in crib/kid room and then move to mom and dad's big king size bed that now felt like it was a full. Which, to my surprise (and the hubby's), came as a pleasant bonding moment for my husband. He snuggled. He cooed. And he held my son in the night when he awoke. Things he wasn't doing so much when he was in the crib screaming. Because when one of us climbed the stairs for the 100th time that night--it was for one thing. To bring the kid to me, the milk bar, to nurse. Not to mention the frustration that crept in because no one was sleeping in the house.

Now with the Peanut, we accepted the nature of nursing and don't bother most nights with the sleep in your crib routine. Why bother? I'm tired, the husband's tired, the baby is tired.... oh, you get the idea (and don't you think romance is out--after 5 years of practice, we've become creative. Yes. Just go with your imagination. It's likely been done here. Cough. cough).

This time, I know my husband's on board--not only for the cooing, middle of the night bonding, and all things that come with 6 month old patting his arm at 3am for a bit of attention--he's also just made the "bed" on the floor for The Kiddo. Complete with an extra quilt for softness and another atop for warmth. And two extra pillows. It's a full house in our room almost every night (in fact when The Kiddo sleeps in his Big Kid Room, I always wake up and notice). But it is also a wonderful thing. I count each deep snoring breath from all three of the others (oh and the dog and 2 cats) as a sign of our love. Or at least know that we are all sleeping.

Labels: parenting, The Kiddo, The Peanut

6:19 PM | Permalink | 1 comments

It's a normal afternoon around here. The phone rings. It's the estate lawyer. A new contact in the family to deal with all our estate matters (as in will, trust, all things we hate to think about. We just had 2 deaths in the family, sue us. We are thinking about all this crap).

So, The Lawyer and I begin discussing our initial consultation. It's all good. That is, until the baby in my lap starts rooting to nurse. Shuffling phone from ear to shoulder, to baby lying across lap and getting ready to nurse--the sick 5-year-old rushes to the bathroom and pukes. Not normal puke. But power pukes. And I hear splattering from my spot on the couch. Apparently so does the lawyer.

But hey, the kid screams, "I'm okay mom!" and the baby finally gets situated and nurses. Sensing his cue, The Lawyer continues on as if it's all normal. And really, I guess it is. For a mom.

Labels: fun, me, motherhood, parenting

12:03 AM | Permalink | 1 comments

I can't help but wonder, am I the cause for The Peanuts *gassy* issues? Or say, the issues she has every morning, when she can't... how can I say this... pass a bowel movement? They (as in medical practitioners) say what a mother eats when she is breastfeeding affects the child. If all the grunting and groaning she does from about 6am - 7:30am every morning (without completely waking up) can be addressed, well I'd damn near kill myself trying to stop it too. Because, man, I could sleep for another hour. Every mother can understand that. Right?

Labels: breastfeeding, motherhood, parenting, The Peanut

9:12 AM | Permalink | 1 comments

Ways in which my son told me he was disappointed that we could not attend his holiday singing extravaganza on Friday when The Peanut fell ill with a nasty virus:

• ran off to his room, shut the door, and wailed almost louder than the sick infant that I was patting and rocking on my shoulder
  
• tore up approximately 10 sheets