Picture Imperfect, Take I

My first mistake was going to lunch beforehand. It was the day before Aiden's fourth birthday and I was planning on taking the boys to the mall for their six month and four year pictures, and then to lunch at a place of Aiden's choosing, which happened to be Chick fila. I had an 11:00 appointment so I figured the timing would work out perfectly. I had the boys dressed in their "best bro" shirts and I was ready to head out the door when Elliott had a diaper explosion all over his white shorts. Seriously, do babies go to school for this stuff? Why do they always save up the biggest poop for when you are headed out the door? Let's just say the mess was so big that I missed my appointment and the picture studio could not get me in until 12:15. No problem, we would just do Chick fila first since it is next to the mall.

By now you know that when I say "no problem" I actually mean multiple problems. Lunch began innocently enough. (Note: when both of your children are cooperating it actually means they are plotting against you). Aiden devored his nuggets and made fast friends with a boy in the play area while I sat with my mom, drank lemonade, and fed Elliott. Aiden and his new friend aka cohort had disappered through the tubes to hide out in a plastic car suspended in the air. I entered the sacred play area and called to Aiden that it was time to go for pictures. Apparently wanting to show off in front of his new friend, he shouted, "No, I won't come down and you can't get me!" He may have been right except for the fact that he has a mother who does not mind embaressing herself. I climbed right up the plastic stairs and through the plastic tubes to drag my child out of the car while my mom and another grandmother laughed their asses off. See that, I showed my son that I most certainly can make him while providing entertainment to the other adults disillusioned enough to eat lunch at a restaurant containing plastic tubes. I marched Aiden out of the play area while my mom attempted to tell me how ridiculous I looked through her bouts of laughter. Notice that I haven't even gotten to the picture part of the story.
We managed to get to our appointment on time and I figured we were home free. Aiden is a show off and usually loves to get his picture taken, and Elliott was sitting in his stroller contentedly  chewing his feet (plotting). Photographer Lady eyed Elliott and asked, "Does he sit up on his own yet?" I explained that while he could do a tripod sit he still toppled backwards without something behind him. "Well, at this age we usually like to have them sitting up on their own." Um, okay, sorry that my child's development at the ripe old age of six months isn't up to your standards. Would you liked me to come back for his six month pictures in a month or two? Would that be more convenient for you? I looked around to make sure I hadn't accidentally driven to the pediatrician, a possibility considering that I hadn't had my coffee yet. After expressing her disappointment in Elliott's lack of independent sitting, she kept us waiting a good half hour while she apparently rebuilt the background, and then we were finally called. I cringed when it was time to turn Aiden away from Bob the Builder  (remember the Babies R' Us incident?) but he walked right over to the background. The photographer snapped a few pictures of the boys until the back light timed out. While she was attempting to fix the light Aiden and Elliott took the opportunity to put their scheme into action. Between waiting and posing Elliott had had enough and began fussing. Aiden told him to stop "Or else I won't be your big brother anymore". The photographer fixed the light and decided to get a cute pose of Elliott draped over Aiden's back. Since Aiden had disowned him, he began wiggling and trying to get him off of his back, his feet kicking the background. "Honey, don't kick the background, please", said Photogropher Lady. Isn't that kind of like telling Cain and Able to please not disturb the foliage? Never mind the fact that, "Oh Honey, please don't..." is rarely an effective way to tell a four year old to stop doing something. Remember, we still had to change shirts and take individual pictures. I got through it by fantasizing about the large mocha latte from Gloria Jeans with which I was going to reward myself after the picture fiasco. I fully believe that malls house a variety of specialty coffee shops just to keep moms sane enough to actually make it into a store. Well played, mall, well played. Take two.

Chaos By Design

I realize that I am about six months behind on my blog posts. Okay, fine, eight. I have them written, it is just  the small matter of actually getting to the computer to post them. At this point I could list a litany of excuses (is it still an excuse if it is true?) to account for my delays and also bemoan the fact that I am extremely busy, but neither of us have time for that. Besides, it is only six days until Christmas and I have to work on my excuses as to why cards are late. I know it is human nature to play the busy card like it is some kind of contest (Oh you think you have a lot to do? Well, wait until you see my calendar...) but I can't complain when I over schedule myself. Someone once said idle time is the devil's play and I think this individual had a four year old. Driving from mom's group to school to park district activities with two kids in winter coats drives me crazy, but considerably less so than staying at home and doubling as a cruise director (Mom, what should we do next?). So here I am getting some writing and posting done in the small window of time while one child is in school and the other sleeps. After school it is off to the chiropractor and then acting class, as if four year olds need to be schooled in acting. Tomorrow is Aiden's last day of preschool before Christmas break, and a break from school for kids equals a break from sanity for parents, but I digress. For now I will write and post until the chaos resumes. And you can read. Unless you are busy, or something.

The Best of Times and the Worst of Times

I am talking about bedtime, although I suppose the adage could apply to childhood in general. I have found an odd universal truth to all children: they hate sleeping. If you mention bedtime to a three year old and you may as well be mentioning the zombie apocalypse. "Noooooooo!!!!!!!!!!!!! I don't want to go to (yawn) bed!!!!! I am NOT (yawn) tired!!!!!!!" Of course, little kids are never tired, which works out great because once you become a parent you are never not tired. The stay at home parent cannot leave "the office" at five P.M. unless they want to risk being charged with child neglect, so bedtime marks the end of the day. Genius, right? I bet you would never have connected bedtime to the end of a day without me. You will have to excuse my lack of creativity today, I am sleep deprived. Yes, I do use sleep deprivation as an excuse for everything. "Sorry I am late, the baby was up every hour last night". "I would love to commit to that but Aiden hasn't been sleeping well, so we will have to see how it goes". "I know I shouldn't eat this chocolate chip cookie for lunch, but I didn't get a lot of sleep last night." Incidentally, this is also the reason that I don't work out. Not sleeping is my workout. I have also read somewhere (I can't remember where) that a side affect of sleep deprivation is short term memory loss.
What was I talking about, again? Oh, yes, bedtime. The end of the work day and the beginning of trying to clean your house so that it will look clean while you are in bed and then be torn apart again in the morning. I am very fortunate that I have a husband who takes it upon himself the restore some order to the house while I am wrestling alligators, I mean getting my children to go to sleep. Ahhh, bedtime. It is the point in the day where my patience has run out and I am ready for some peace and quiet, an adult TV show, or at least a fourth cup of coffee. Of course, my children have no idea as to the beauty of bedtime. My three year old believes that bedtime is a form of torture created by cruel parents ("But I thought you loved me"). My four month old actually goes to bed pretty willingly and has a great two hour night's sleep, by which point I have finally threatened, tricked, bribed, and begged Aiden to sleep. By the time bed time roles around I have pretty much lost all patience and energy, and Aiden knows it. I may have mentioned this fact previously, but remember sleep deprivation causes short term memory loss, unless of course you are a three year old, in which case it causes extreme hyperactivity. Getting Aiden to stay in bed is like pushing down on of those damn inflatable punching bags with the weights in the bottom. He pops right back out.
Some of you may be wondering, why don't I establish a bedtime routine. Thanks, Dr. Ferber, but I thought of that three years ago. Bedtime starts out innocently enough.

Me: "It is time to go upstairs for bath."

Aiden: "I don't want to take a bath."

Me: "We have cool bath finger paints. Hurry up or Elliott will use them all."

I then proceed to fill Elliott's infant tub and the big tub, get both boys in, lather, rinse, repeat, drain. Next step: Get the boys dried off and into pajamas.

Aiden: "I don't want to get out of the bath tub!"

Elliott: "Wahhhh AHHHHH!!!!"

Aiden: "Elliott, you CANNNOT cry!"

I dread bath time. I could write an entire post on how much I detest bath time. I could, but I won't.
After bath time comes saying prayers and reading books. Aiden cannot listen to books unless he is also eating a snack. Apparently his ears only work if his mouth is moving. I get Aiden his snack and water and nurse the baby while reading books. After books are completed I lay Elliott down in his crib with his music and pacifier and instruct Aiden to go potty and brush his teeth. Then I instruct Aiden to go potty and brush his teeth again. I threaten Aiden with no song if he does not go potty and brush his teeth THIS INSTANT. I run into Elliott's room to reinsert his pacifier and restart his music, then reenter the hallway and yell, "BE QUIET, YOUR BROTHER IS GOING TO SLEEP, AND BRUSH YOUR TEETH." Finally, I get Aiden into his bed, put his CD player on repeat so that he doesn't wake up at 2:00 A.M. and yell, "Mom, turn my music back on", turn on the closet light, check for mosters, turn on the dresser light, plug in the night light, hunt down bear and snuggle blanket which are usually in a convenient place like downstairs on top of the dryer, make up a story, answer fifty questions about what we are going to do tomorrow, and say goodnight. Are you tired yet? I sure as hell am. Aiden is not. He is just getting started. By this point it is eight o'clock and I have resorted to answering, "So what else are we going to do tomorrow?" with, "Nothing if you don't go to sleep." This is followed by an hour or so of Aiden getting out of bed and running down the hallway laughing manically and me putting him back in bed. Finally I come to the conclusion that I can either continue this game or lay in Aiden's bed and feign sleep while getting headbutted and kicked. This is how bad habits start, people. Of course, once a seemingly innocent habit like laying with your kid until he falls asleep begins it is almost impossible to break, which is why I was NEVER GOING TO BE THE PARENT THAT STAYS WITH MY KID UNTIL HE FALLS ASLEEP. I am pretty sure I actually said that when I was much less sleep deprived.
Sadly, neither of my kids sleep though the night. Elliott still wakes up every 2-3 hours and Aiden wakes up sometime between 2:00 and 4:00 A.M. to tell me something too important to wait until a more reasonable hour ("Hey, Mom, remember that show we watched with the bird? The bird's name was Papaya") and ask me what we are going to do that day. If it sounds like I am complaining that is only because I am. It turns out sleep deprivation also causes irritability. I both look forward to and dread bed time in equal measures. I think I have made my point. Now if you will excuse me I am going to eat lunch before my cookie gets cold.

The Babies R Us Incident, Part II

You think that is the end of the Babies R Us fiasco? That, my friends, is only the beginning. Aiden refused to let me get his coat on, so I carried him outside sans winter gear. It was January in Chicago. If you thought I got disapproving looks inside the store, you should have seen the looks I got when carrying my 32 pound, screaming, coatless child like a football and stuffing him in the car. By now my goal of getting a stroller on sale has changed into a goal of fleeing the scene before onlookers can copy down my license number for the DCFS report. I successfully get both kids contained in the car. By the grace of God, Elliott has gone back to sleep. I start the car and reach into my extremely organized diaper bag for my phone to call my husband and have a “Wait until you hear what YOUR kid did” moment. Are you laughing at the thought of my diaper bag actually being organized or that I would do such a thing to my hard working husband? Well, the joke was on me because my cell phone was not in the bag. Or in  my coat. Or in the car. At this point, I had had it and I may have muttered, “Oh my God!” under my breath. Well, Aiden chose this moment to regain his hearing and listen to me and he told me in a calm voice, “We don’t say ‘Oh my God’, Mom”. I snapped, “I AM PRAYING!”, and got my two kids back out of the car to go retrieve my cell phone from the nursing room. Yes, I did consider leaving it there, but losing a cell phone these days is as debilitating as losing an arm, so back to the scene of the crime we returned. At least I was able to get Aiden’s coat on this time. I made my way to the nursing room in the back of the store being careful to avoid eye contact. I begin frantically searching the changing table, couch, and floor to no avail. Aiden chooses this moment to say, “Mom, your cell phone is in the pocket of your sweat shirt”. Now he tells me.
The good news is that by this point I had regained my cell phone and Aiden had regained his sanity, while the other customers seemed to have vacated the premises for what I am sure were unrelated reasons. I shamelessly reclaimed my purchases (hey, I am not one to forgo a sale) and got out alive. I hope that damn stroller is worth the effort and I hope the foster parents have Curious George prerecorded on their DVR for their own well being.

The Babies R' Us Incident, Part I

It took me some time to venture out in public after Elliott was born. He came in to the world at the peak of “the worst flu season in decades” according to 20/20 (hey, that’s a credible source) and in the middle of a Chicago winter. You don’t need a media source to describe that one. I was spoiled by Aiden’s June birth; the freedom to leave my house is very essential to me. Admittedly I did not remain inside the entire eight weeks that my pediatrician recommended, mostly because I didn’t want my family to starve. Well, okay, my cabin fever was the main motivator, but my family starving came in at a close second. Somewhere around the six week mark (okay, fine five) Babies R Us was having a ONE WEEK ONLY sale on the exact Graco Sit and Stand double stroller which I was coveting. I told you, desires change with motherhood. As you can understand, I had no choice but to go to Babies R Us and test out this stroller to see if it would indeed accommodate my preschooler and infant. Babies R Us also has a nursing room, so no problem there!

We arrive at Babies R Us and Elliott decides that he is hungry for the second time that hour. Okay, so my vision of him sleeping through the trip didn’t come to fruition (does it ever?) but I have a nursing room at my disposal. While in the nursing room I put Curious George on via smart phone to entertain Aiden (yes, I am one of those moms) and get as comfortable as possible on the plastic couch. When Elliott finishes I change him and retrieve my phone from Aiden so that I can finish (start) my shopping. This is when all hell breaks loose. A one year old throwing a tantrum is cute, a two year old throwing a tantrum is aggravating, and a three and a half year old throwing a tantrum could scare Alfred Hitchcock. Not one to be interrupted, Aiden said, “I want to watch a SHOW!” I calmly explain that we are done with shows and Mommy’s phone is put away. After repeating this conversation several times while trying to stuff a red faced, screaming Elliott back into his hated car seat Aiden did something that he hadn’t done (at least not in public) in a long time: he threw himself on the floor and continued yelling, “ I     want    TO    WATCH    A    SHHHHHOOOOOWWWWWWW!!!!!!!!!!” with each word increasing about ten decibels. I walked around the nursing room bouncing Elliott, trying to reason with Aiden, and waiting for DCFS to burst through the doors. I was hoping that I could get both boys calm enough to rejoin society.

Finally, I was able to escape the nursing room. Elliott had somehow managed to go to sleep and Aiden suddenly decided that he wanted to look at strollers. “Well, I handled that” I thought confidently as I held a subdued Aiden by the arm and loaded my cart with diapers and wipes and test drove the stroller. Happily Aiden was able to get in and out of the “big kid” seat easily while the car seat locked onto the front of the stroller. I grab the card for the stroller, planning to have it assembled and put in my car. Hey, I have the upper body strength of a kitten. Ha, this shopping trip was going to be a success after all. I can handle this two kid thing with my pride in tack, what is so hard?

You know this is not the end of the story, don’t you? As I near the checkout I see two long lines. As an aside, Babies R Us has the most inefficient checkout procedures in existence. I mean, come on, this is a place where people shop with babies. No problem, I can see the light at the end of the tunnel. Oh wait, that is the evil gleam in my preschooler’s eyes as he spots a fake shaving set conveniently located in the direct path of the checkout line. You are killing me, Babies R Us! Aiden grabs said toy and attempts to put it in the cart, apparently concluding that his stellar behavior would make me want to buy it for him, or that I had lost my mind by this point and would not notice. I return the toy to the shelf and explain that he does not get rewarded for bad behavior. He puts it back in the cart. I put it back on the shelf. He takes it off of the shelf, lets out a shriek that wakes Elliott, and runs around the display case. I manage to catch him while Elliott begins his own chorus of shrieking. Finally my three year old throws himself on the floor in the front of the store thrashing like a fish out of water and screaming, “I WANT TO WATCH A SHOW!!!!!!” Wait, I thought this tantrum was about the toy? Did I mention that Babies R us was crowded? Do I even have to describe the looks I got while my infant wailed in cart and my three year old flailed on the floor? What did I do? I did what any confident, independent, put together mother of two would do. I abandoned my cart and fled the store.

Age Old Annoyance

I have covered the fact that I no longer fit in a Starbucks and the changes becoming a mother will make to your definition of “stopping at the store”. The next often unexpected, almost universal, and highly annoying change motherhood will bring is one of the most unpleasant. This phenomenon is even more unpleasant that blowout diapers, projectile spit up, 3:00 A.M. wake up calls, and pen on the walls put together. Here it goes: when you become a mother everyone will be in your business and complete strangers who just laid eyes on your child five seconds ago will be able to tell you exactly where you went wrong and how to fix it. We have all been on the receiving end of a few dirty looks when our baby lets out a shriek in the middle of mass or our toddle throws himself on the floor in the front of a crowded Babies R Us (more on that later). Unless you drug your kids and/or stay locked in your house for the first eighteen years of their lives you have to learn to ignore those looks and go about your life.  It is much more difficult (although not impossible) to ignore commentary.

We mothers are up against a lot these days. Before you have even decorated the nursery everyone has an opinion on what you should do with your child and how you can be the best mother. Breastfeed, bottle feed, co sleep, cry it out, go to work, stay home, holding your baby will spoil him, putting your baby down will lead to an attachment disorder….. Is your head spinning yet? When well meaning advice comes from family and friends it can be slightly irritating but understandable and sometimes even desired. When random strangers decided to advise or even scold a sleep deprived mother holding a fresh cup of hot coffee, well, things could get ugly.

I had such an experience just the other day at Aiden’s preschool. I signed Aiden out of class and he immediately asked for an apple. Being a good mom who likes to promote healthy eating I took him upstairs to the cafeteria to purchase said apple. Coincidentally this same cafeteria also sells a variety of coffee products, but that is beside the point. Since my full time live in trilingual nanny is in Europe (aka my imagination) I also had Elliott. I am holding a quiet but awake Elliott while Aiden chomps into his apple. Out of nowhere an elderly lady swoops in, gets in Elliott’s face and tells him he is sooo cute. Harmless, right? Then she comments that he looks tired to which I politely respond, “Mmmhmmm, he is getting tired”. Then the lady moves even CLOSER to Elliott (pet peeve alert: people who have no concept of personal space) and says, “Ohhh, you poor little thing! That is sooo mean and wrong of your mommy to drag you all over town when you are sooo tired!”. 

Seriously lady? How do I even respond to that? 

First of all, I am at a preschool at three in the afternoon, not a crack house at eleven P.M. Secondly, I think picking my son up from preschool is slightly better parenting then, say, abandoning him there. Thirdly, I am not sure that driving to preschool counts as running all over town. I had no response in the moment, however. What would you have said? In hindsight I could have turned to the man accompanying her and said, “It is so wrong of your mean wife to embarrass you in public”. I also could have said, “Oh don’t worry, this is our last stop before hitting the casinos. The slot machines always put him to sleep”. I have to get better at thinking on my feet. This was not the first comment I have received from a stranger and it won’t be the last, so I am sure I will get my chance to practice.  For now I have to get Aiden from preschool. On second thought, maybe I will just leave him there today. He always wants to push the buttons on the slot machines.

Pregnancy 101

Four years ago I was sitting in my gynecologist’s office listening to her tell me I would probably not be able to get pregnant on my own. Well, technically no one can get pregnant on her own, but I got the message. Three months after that appointment I was staring at two pink lines on a pregnancy test. During the following ten months I would eat countless boxes of macaroni and cheese, learn that morning sickness is a misnomer, and throw the television remote at my husband's head. Hey, I did not turn into a hormonal, human growing mess "on my own".

Although my pregnancy was a surprise I had always dreamed of being a mother. I took joy in the birth of my nephew and nieces and lived vicariously through my sister in law during her pregnancies. During college I worked as a nanny for adorable, vivacious twin toddlers who still hold a special place in my heart. Clearly, watching someone else's pregnancy and taking care of someone else's kids made me an expert in all things pregnancy and child rearing.*(Cue laugh track) I would later discover that I am not a child development expert and one day it would be MY KID kicking and screaming on the floor of Babies R Us, but more on in a soon-to-be released.  I bet you can’t wait.

Just as I had my own idea of how motherhood would look, I also had dream like images of pregnancy: a growing belly, the pregnancy glow that everyone talks about (which is actually caused by the excessive sweat produced when one is trying not to throw up), giddy joy, and an excuse to eat gluttonous amounts of pasta. Pregnancy was all of those thing and more. Much, much more. The most thrilling moment of my life was seeing those lines on the pregnancy test. From that moment on, I devoured every pregnancy magazine and book in print (it turns out What To Expect When Your Expecting does not tell you to expect hormonal rage that may put your husband and any objects in close proximity in danger). I looked at baby clothes and tried out different baby names. I bought maternity clothes weeks before I actually needed them because it would just be so exciting to grow a belly and not be able to fit into my normal clothes! Soon enough I realized that wearing jeans with a band that came up to my bra was less than comfortable.

During my magazine reading and macaroni and cheese eating I was also doing something else: I was worrying. I was also throwing up excessively but you probably would rather not hear about that. During the whole first trimester I worried about miscarriage. I figured I would stop worrying once I made the notorious twelve week milestone. I did not. I worried about the beers I drank before I knew that I was pregnant, I worried about birth defects, I worried that ingesting the fumes from pumping gas would cause my baby to be born with two heads. I worried that I would get listeria by driving past Subway. Finally, I worried about my worrying because stress must be bad for a growing fetus. I wish I were exaggerating.

The nurse at my OBGYN's office was unable to suppress a sigh while fielding my phone calls and answering perfectly reasonable questions such as, "I just read online that sialic acid causes birth defects and I have been using face wash containing sialic acid for this ENTIRE PREGNANCY! Will my baby be okay?" and "I have a weird stomach ache. Should I be worried?" You would think that I would worry less the second time around, but much to the chagrin of my OBGYN's office, this was not to be the case. In my defense I graduated to more sophisticated questions such as, "I am having weird abdominal pain, should I be worried?", and, "I think the plumber used toxic glue to secure my pipes. Do I have to move?!" Okay, I didn't really ask that. In spite of all of my worrying, Elliott turned out just find and the extra arm is actually quite useful. Kidding! Although maybe moms should grow an extra arm. That would be a much more useful side effect of pregnancy. I could definitely use a third arm when I am maneuvering a stroller and a shopping cart while wearing my baby who refuses to ride in said stroller, and trying to keep my three year old from "accidentally" knocking things off the shelves and throwing random useless items in the cart, like the chili lime mixed nuts that I didn't notice until I got home and unloaded my groceries. (Kindly direct your attention here for more on those trials and tribulations:  http://workdayofsahm.blogspot.com/2013/04/adventures-of-grocery-shopping-with.html)

Anyway, I learned that pregnancy is growing and changing, planning and worrying, battling nausea and dealing with gestational diabetes (so much for my gluttonous pasta eating). Pregnancy is just the beginning, and it is all worth it. Of course, it is possible that I am still high from the toxic plumber's glue.

Adventures of Grocery Shopping with Children

Around the time that I stopped fitting in at Starbucks "stopping at Target for paper towels" became an hour of wielding an enormous cart that should require a driver's license to operate, a half hour of sitting in the fitting room nursing, and saying, "Aiden, put that back" a minimum of fifty times. One of the many things that I have learned since having children is that nothing is every quick and stopping somewhere means spending a minimum of an hour at said place. Okay, that is two things. Everything takes planning, and don't forget diapers, wipes, a nursing wrap, snacks, toys, or your wallet. I have obviously never forgotten any such items.

If you don't think a simple task such as grocery shopping requires a survival plan, you have never had children, in which case you are probably not reading this in the first place. If you are reading this while your live-in nanny is locked in the basement with the kids, you can leave now. I am sure you have a pedicure to get to.

Okay, now that they are gone, I will share with you my own personal grocery shopping survival rules. I am opened to further tips. Here it goes:

Grocery Shopping with Kids Survival Guide

1. Know your kid friendly stores. Jewel is not one of them. For those of you residing outside of the Midwest, Jewel is an overpriced version of every other grocery store. If you want to pay 5.69 for a loaf of Wonder Bread, by all means shop there. I usually choose Trader Joes, which has mini carts for the kids to "help" with shopping, or Target which has carts large enough to seat an entire preschool.

2. Go at a time least likely to produce melt downs. In other words, not at 4:00 P.M. when your preschooler is hungry only for cookies and you ran out of patience five hours ago. Now that I learned this the hard way.

3. Accept the fact that you will buy at least three items that you do not need because you will get tired of putting things back on the shelf after your child has hurled them into the cart. I hope you like chili lime dusted nuts.

4. Try to avoid the bathroom. Enough said.

5. If necessary, scout out places to discreetly nurse before you need them, and come up with a snide response for the employee that asks, "Can't you do THAT in the bathroom?".

6. Just by the damn chocolate chip cookies.

7. When your baby starts wailing and concerned onlookers start giving you the eye, say something smart ass like, "I wish this thing had an off switch!"

8. When people ask, "Aww, how is he sleeping? Are you getting any rest? You look tired." try to resist throwing a tub of cream cheese at them. They mean well.

9. Let your toddler help throw things on the belt and don't be too shy to ask the checkout clerk for a sticker. And something for your child.

10. If you only spend two hours in the store, you all get home alive, and the groceries make it from the car to the house to the cabinets/fridge sometime before bed you have succeeded. Congratulations.

Happy shopping!

The Day That I Stopped Fitting In At Starbucks

Here I am sitting at Starbucks enjoying an over-priced, 600 calorie mocha and joining the other studious, laptop-wielding workers as I get some writing done while Aiden is at preschool.  I have decided that using 40 of my 150 preschool minutes driving back and forth is a sad waste, and I have long ago given up the fantasy that I will actually complete some housework, so here I am at the Starbucks.  Conveniently, the Starbucks is located right down the street from preschool. No, the location of this Starbucks had nothing to do with my choice of preschool, why would you even think that?

Even so, I love coffee and I have always enjoyed the atmosphere at Starbucks. The coffee, the over-sharing cell phone conversations, the professional working people, the crying baby... oh wait, I am the only with the crying baby.  Don't mind us people, just continue your work.  See, I have a laptop and I am working too!  I realize that my laptop has a monkey rattle on the keyboard. Hmmm, why is the man next to me plugging headphones into his computer?  The man on the other side of me is saying into his cell phone, "Sorry, I am at a Starbucks. They should not allow crying babies in this type of establishment," while glaring in my direction.  Okay, he didn't actually say the last part out loud.

I am tempted to grab my cell phone and say something like, "I will have that report in your inbox by two, Jerry" before my undercover act as a professional working person is completely blown. I don't know who Jerry is, by the way, but it sounds like a boss's name, right? Just agree. Okay, now I have spit up on my laptop and my suit pants, okay fine five year yoga pants with the knees worn from crawling around on the floor with my preschooler playing garbage man.  

Cover blown! Cover blown! Abort mission!!!

I have never received so many dirty looks in one establishment, and that is really saying something. I realize it is my own fault. Clearly my delusional fantasy of the baby sleeping soundly in his stroller while I type away uninterrupted was, well, delusional. I blame lack of sleep. And lack of coffee. Now if you will excuse me, I am going to further ruin the workday of the gentleman next to me with public nursing and then I am going to flee this Starbucks and add it to the list of places at which I am no longer welcome.

It looks like Aiden will have to change preschools...

In The Beginning

It was just two high school sweethearts making plans for the rest of their lives and beginning the blueprints for their 5,000 square foot home on a golf course in the middle of a spiraling horse ranch. The boy will grow up to be a professional golfer with a booming accounting career on the side while the girl will be a Lexus-driving PhD with her own counseling practice. Even though she has a full client load, her house will always be clean, her hamper will always be empty, and a piping hot nutritious organic dinner will be just out of the oven when her hubby gets home from the golf course (or his own accounting firm, depending on the day). Having ample savings, the girl will make a seamless transition to stay at home mom when her first baby is born, and she will continue to keep her house clean, her Lexus running, and she will puree her own baby food. She will never resort to yelling, spanking, microwaving chicken nuggets, or saying I told you so. Her husband will arrive home at 5:00 P.M. each day and continue to provide a sizable paycheck. The high school sweet hearts are very confident in their life plan as they try to secure a non parental ride to prom.

Fast forward fifteen years, two kids, and a double mortgage. My husband and I met in high school (no awwws, please). We went our separate ways for a while in college while he studied accounting in Florida and I stayed in Illinois freezing my ass off, collecting cats, and working on my clinical psychology degree. I figured I would have my career well-established and have adequate savings by the time I had children at the ripe old age of twenty five. My now-husband and I reconnected in our last year of college and my first year of graduate school. We got married just six months after I lost my dad to cancer and put my degree on hold, just until we got settled. It turns out a half of a masters degree is not very useful.

Today I am a stay at home mom with two boys. Aiden is three and a half and Elliott is four months. No, he does not sleep through the night but thanks for asking. I started my blogs: The Crib and Mom At Home: My Boss Wears Diapers when Aiden was a baby and I found that blogging (which is just a trendy, modern-professional sounding way to say "journaling") was a great way for me to capture memories, commiserate with other moms in the trenches, and keep a sense of humor about the daily grind of motherhood. As you have probably guessed by now, I never launched my counseling career. Spit up is my main fusion accessory, I no longer shower on a daily basis and I haven't slept in three and a half years. More often than not I need a ladder to access the top of my dirty laundry tower, I have yelled, "stop yelling" more times than I care to admit and getting out of the house requires a minor miracle and involves a lot of coffee and  tears. Sometimes the kids are fussy too. Oh, and my SUV was not made by Lexus. 

So this is stay at home motherhood. It is not a glamorous job, my performance reviews are given by a three year old who has called me "a good mommy" and “the meanest mom ever" within the same half hour. I don't get sick days, promotions, or hot coffee but I do get a lot of love, joy, challenges and a daily run for my money (or lack thereof). This blog will give you a glimpse into my pretty ordinary, fairly disorganized, and often humorous life as a stay at home mom. Maybe you will see yourself in some of my posts. After all, we are all figuring it out as we go along, right? Just smile and nod at that poor, disorganized mother rocking in the corner with a cup of cold coffee and a screaming baby. Hey, if you can't relate to my posts you are still welcome to have a laugh at my expense.

Here I am pushing thirty with no earning power and a drawer full of yoga pants that have nothing to do with yoga or any form of exercise unless you count desperately swaying and bouncing a screaming baby while chasing an obstinate preschooler, cooking dinner, and skimming an electronic copy of The Strong Willed Child (which I am reading for a friend, of course). I am a stay at home mom with two kids, two cats, and a traveling husband. I don't even have most of it together but hey, it is on the job training. I may have traded paychecks for pacifiers but I wouldn't have it any other way. I still have dreams of my own, like using the bathroom with less than two people accompanying me, being able to lease a minivan, and telling my husband's boss exactly where he can put the travel schedule. But more about that later. At this point I would come up with a clever ending to my first post, but I have to throw out my cold coffee, try to keep the baby asleep, and pick up Aiden from preschool.