Rite of Passage

It's a rite of passage that women don't often talk about. Ask a woman about the first time she shaved her legs, the day she bought her first bra or the day she "became a woman" and she could probably give you every detail. Walk into a room of women, like at a baby shower, and you'll hear birth story after birth story with details that will make you cringe (episiotimies! scar tissue! excess bodily fluids!). Ask a woman about her first mammogram and well......no ever asks about those, at least not women my age. Why is that? Don't you think it's kind of an important topic? And it's a lot less messy than childbirth, that's for sure.

* Fair warning for my male readers - stop reading now if talk of boobs from a completely clinical perspective weirds you out.

So I found a lump. After nursing three kids, I'd felt weird things before, but since my breast-feeding days ended well over a year ago, I knew this was a not a normal thing. The thing is, it popped up over a weekend: not there on a Friday, but there on a Sunday morning. It was so big it was visible.

When it hadn't gone down by Tuesday, I called Dr. OBGYN, even though I'd just seen him a few weeks ago for my annual checkup and he didn't notice a lump then. The nurse immediately fit me into that day's schedule and long story short, he recommended a mammogram.

Okay, so I knew it was coming eventually. Thirty five is the magic age for having a "baseline" mammogram so I knew I'd have to have one next year (yes, I'm 34 - yikes!). But now I really needed it. Dr. OBYGYN didn't seem to be too worried, since the lump literally just popped up and cancer is usually very slow in growing, but still, y'all, a mammogram. Something only old women have to have done. Well, only old or sick women.

So there I was, sitting in a small waiting room wearing this pastel-colored half poncho thing with one measly snap at the neck. Luckily, I'm petite, so although I had to cross my arms over my chest to retain a bit of dignity, at least the poncho extended the length of my torso. Several of the other women in the room were not as lucky and had to decide whether to cross their arms (which revealed a good portion of their abdomen) or to put their arms down by their sides (which made the poncho open up in the front). Decisions, decisions.

Despite our discomfort, we all tried to make the best of the situation. I'd been told that "diagnostic" or "there's possibly something wrong with you" mammograms were only done on certain days at certain times, therefore, all of us were there for similar reasons and facing the unknown. Some looked more worried than others. Of course, I can't imagine that women who are there for their "routine" or "annual squish job" mammograms are too thrilled to be there, either, but there was a certain level of anxiety in the room.

I was finally called in for my turn and while the (thankfully female) technician was as nice as could be, it still wasn't much fun. It wasn't as bad as a root canal, but it was no trip to the beach, either. After I'd been squished eight different ways, I was sent back to the little waiting room for more waiting. Apparently, my scans weren't thorough enough, so I got the added pleasure of having an ultrasound done, too. To heighten my anxiety, the ultrasound tech seemed puzzled by what she saw so she called in Dr. Radiologist to see what he could make of the images on the screen. He didn't seem too worried about what he saw so I was released and allowed to put my clothes back on. I was never so happy to see a bra in my life.

Overall, it wasn't a terrible experience. It was uncomfortable, but not painful. Actually, the most painful part was having to lock up all of my possessions (including the book I'd brought) and being forced to watch "The View" in the tiny waiting room. Seriously....is there anything worse than four shrill, B-list celebrity women, each of whom think they know everything, arguing over dumb topics and "interviewing" completely irrelevant people for an entire hour?

The lump is gone now. No one has any idea what it was or if it will come back. I'm supposed to "keep an eye on it" and promise to go back in if it shows up again. I hope it won't. But if it does, at least I'll know what to expect.

500

This is my 500th post. Can you believe it? Me, either.

What started as a way to keep friends and family updated on Sydney (since we only had one child at that time), has turned into an outlet of sorts for a stay at home mom who doesn't have the discipline or interest to sit down and write in an actual journal. As an added benefit, I've learned a little bit of HTML and as a huge benefit, I've "met" lots of wonderful fellow bloggers over the past few years.

I know in the grand tradition of blogging, one is supposed to mark the 100th and 500th posts with a truly poignant post or a giveaway of some kind, but I'm at a loss for something truly awe-inspiring to say and the only thing I know to give away is my homemade chocolate and let's face it, due to our already 90 degree temperatures, whatever I sent would be a big pile of brown goo (doesn't that sound appetizing?) by the time it got delivered to someone. (Geez - sorry for the run-on!) But, I promise that once it cools off (so let's say November or December), I'll do another chocolate giveaway.

In the meantime, I'll leave you with a short list of some of my favorite posts from the past four and a half years.

* There's the post about our former neighbor, George, and his contributions to my insomnia.

* There's Liam's post.

* There's my rant about Katrina evacuees.

* There's my letter to the gymnastics moms.

* There's the post outlining a really bad day I had.

* There's the post where I announced my pregnancy with Evan.

* There's the trip Sydney and I took to NYC.

* There's my run-in with a live shrimp and one involving a whole chicken.

* There's my post on the woes of being pregnant.

* There's the announcement of Evan's arrival.

* There's the Christmas Carol post.

* There's the post documenting Sydney's big haircut.

* There's the post revealing my doubts about being a stay-at-home mom.


With 500 posts, I could go on and on, but I'll stop because I've already hogged the computer for three hours looking through old entries. But, it's been lots of fun looking back through nearly five years of my life. People may make fun of "mommy bloggers", but I think it's a great way to document our lives.

The Wheels In Their Heads Go Round and Round....

I could actually see the wheels turning in his little head.

Now what do I have to do to reach that thing I want? I know. I'll pull my little table over to it and stand on the table to reach it. Nuts. Still can't reach it. Hmmm..... I know! I'll put my riding toy on top of the table and then stand on it. Surely that will make me tall enough to reach it. OK....here goes. Uh-oh. The wheels on the riding toy are moving and my little balancing trick isn't working. Oh no, oh no, oh no.....and down I go.

And then I heard him crying and screaming, but not because he was really hurt. Surprised? Yes. Frustrated? Yes. Defeated? Heck, no.

Once a couple of kisses made it all better, he was on his feet and planning his next move.

Ahh....life with boys. It is just one surprise after another.

I'm actually awed by their logic and problem solving skills. They may not always get what they want, but they sure do try hard. And their little plans are so creative. They're not always smart, but they're creative. And they actively pursue what they want. While Sydney uses her verbal skills to try to get her way (future attorney alert!), the boys just go for it.

This kind of creative risk-taking is probably why so many things throughout history have been invented by men. It's also probably why most of the stunts-gone-wrong on AFV feature boys and men. :)

Unless they are in imminent danger, I usually let them follow through with their little plans. How else are they going to learn to become risk takers and future innovators? Plus, it gives me plenty of opportunities to kiss the boo boos, both real and imaginary. In fact, in Liam's case, those are the only kisses he doesn't playfully wipe off.

Now when they get older and their risk-taking involves real cars, not just riding toys, that will be another matter. But for now, I'm just going to sit back, watch them hatch their little plans and happily give them kisses to heal their bruised knees and egos.

Gettin' Old

So here it is again. My birthday.

I long for the days when I was excited about my birthday, when the month leading up to it was filled with secrecy and anticipation. I imagine that I probably acted just like Sydney does about her birthday. She gets so excited thinking about it that we've had to set a limit on how much we'll talk about it: no talking about birthdays until the month before.

Even though I'm not as excited about them as I used to be, I'm not all that sad about them, either. I don't particularly dread them (I wonder if I'll feel the same way as I get closer to the big 4-0?), but see them more as just another way to mark time. Some are remembered for the huge life events I experienced around the same time, like when my OB told me on my 30th birthday to go on bedrest for a few weeks and hope that my pregnancy with Liam wouldn't end in a miscarriage. That was a fun one. And some birthdays are unmemorable. Did we go out to eat to celebrate my 28th birthday? What gifts did I get for my 31st? I honestly don't remember.

I think this birthday will be remembered for the slight feelings of "getting old" I've been experiencing. For instance:

* two consecutive days of yard work left me wishing we had some Bengay in the house. Instead, I had to settle for soaking in a hot bath and a few days of groaning every time I moved.

* the birthday presents I requested would probably make others laugh: new clothes (since I always buy for the kids and not myself), new measuring spoons (since I managed to grind up our previous ones in the garbage disposal) and some spice racks to help me organize the kitchen cabinets a bit better. Ryan was amazed at how excited I was about organizing the spices.

* I've found myself having to use both acne and wrinkle creams at the same time. Nature is so cruel to make you deal with both.

* And just this morning, I read this article which explains why, despite eating healthy foods for the past few months, I'm still struggling to fit into a pair of jeans I bought during one of my "skinny eras."

Even though it may sound like I'm whining about getting old, I'm really not. I know that achy muscles and wrinkles are just a part of life and I will gladly accept them in exchange for the gift of being able to watch my kids grow up. To me, that's the best birthday gift of all.

Three Cheers for 3D

Before this past weekend, I hadn't seen a movie in 3D in probably 25 years. From what I remember, the visual effects were just okay so my opinion of them was not too high. And then Ryan and I went to see "Alice in Wonderland" in 3D and all I can say is wow.

The graphics are just amazing and the colors are more vivid than anything I've ever seen before. I really did have the urge to reach out and touch the graphics as they "came out of the screen." I generally like Tim Burton's movies and while this one had a style similar to his other movies, this one went above and beyond. Think "Charlie and the Chocolate Factory" on steroids. I've never gone to see a movie twice while it was in the theaters, but I'd be willing to go see this one again and that's saying a lot coming from a person who does not like to spend much money on entertainment.

I can easily see how 3D will become the new norm when it comes to films, especially animated and/or action films. Instead of wearing the cheap, theater-provided 3D glasses, everyone will have their own pair that they take with them to the movie theater and like airplanes, theaters will have to provide barf bags in the seat pockets for their more sensitive patrons. (I actually found myself getting a bit nauseous from all of the graphics, but closing my eyes for a minute or so thankfully made me feel better.)

Ryan was just as impressed with the film (and the technology) as I was. He's already excited about the new 3D Tron movie that is set to come out in December. And he and I both agree that when we're ready to buy a large flat screen TV (yes, we're aware that we're the only people left in America without one), we'll actually consider getting one of the new 3D capable ones because we can see this technology making its way into personal homes.

So if you haven't already seen it, I highly recommend "Alice in Wonderland" for anyone over the age of 10. It's a bit scary, especially toward the end, so you probably don't want to take the little ones, but it's definitely worth spending the money on if you're looking for two full hours of fascinating entertainment.

God 1, Me 0

On our way to a friend's house for dinner on Saturday evening, we were pulled over for speeding. Well, I should say Ryan was pulled over for speeding; the rest of us were just along for the ride. And while the police officer was running Ryan's driver's license and insurance information through his computer, I was silently seething.

This isn't the first time Ryan's been pulled over for speeding. The last time he was caught in a blatant (and unavoidable and completely unfair) speed trap so we're not exactly the most trustful people when it comes to traffic cops. And while Ryan was speeding this particular time (and he readily admitted it to the police officer), our previous experience left us completely jaded when it comes to the fairness of moving violations.

So I was really mad and annoyed. And I'm not afraid to admit that there was a lot of eye rolling on my part because I believe that there are real criminals out there that need to be caught. You know, murderers and the like.* Ryan, however, seemed completely calm which I found to be quite strange since I knew neither of us would be too happy about having to part with a good amount of money for either the ticket or a defensive driving class.

When the officer came back to our car from his, he handed back Ryan's license and insurance card and simply gave him a warning. That's it. Just a warning.

In utter disbelief, we went on our happy little way. When I said that I couldn't believe that just happened, especially since I was so busy silently cursing the existence of traffic cops, Ryan just laughed. He told me that while I was wishing lightning would strike the guy, he was praying.

I should have known that God wins every time.


* Disclaimer: We're both aware that the law is the law and there are consequences if it is broken; we were perfectly willing to pay for a ticket since he did break the law. I'm just saying that in the grand scheme of society and the rules that hold it together, going a little bit over the speed limit ranks toward the bottom of the list of crimes and society would be better served by having the police concentrate on crimes toward the top of the list.

NYC Lessons

I'm back from my whirlwind trip to NYC and I had an absolute blast. I'll post an itinerary and pictures of all the nerdy grown-up, intellectual things I did once I load the pictures off the camera, but for now, I'll leave you with my lessons learned.

* Traveling alone is not as bad as I thought it would be. I rode the subway, took a cab and flew home all by myself. These things may not seem like a big deal to you, but to me, Miss Nervous Scaredy-Pants, they are huge.

* The worst part about riding the subway is coming up from the tracks and having absolutely no idea where you are or in what direction to walk. ("Am I on Lexington or 42nd? And if it's Lexington, which direction do I go?")

* Meter maids are really nice and will gladly point you in the right direction when you're lost. Not that I would know about that. :)

* The clock in the middle of Grand Central Station is apparently the place to meet people. There are always a dozen or so people standing around it waiting for someone. I observed a blind date meet-up while I was standing there waiting for Ryan one evening.

* While I felt a little weird being pretty much the only person in NYC wearing a red coat (everyone there wears black coats), it made it a lot easier for Ryan to spot me in Grand Central Station.

* Only foreigners are interested in touring the United Nations. Of the 25 people in my tour group, I was the only American.

* There must not have been anyone in France on Tuesday because they were ALL at the Metropolitan Museum of Art.

* I must have looked pretty confident coming off the subway and walking toward my destination because I actually had someone ask little old me where the Met was. And I knew! And pointed them in the right direction!

* It is not a good sign when your cab driver relies a little too heavily on his talking GPS. It's also not a good sign when he asks you which airport terminal you need to go to. Umm....hello? I told you the airline - aren't you supposed to know which airlines go to which terminal or at least be able to read the signs differentiating between the terminals?

* My parents are absolute saints for watching the kids for four straight days. I think they have a whole new appreciation for what I do all day.

* The four day break from my hectic life was really rejuvenating. Somehow I've got to make this sort of trip an annual thing!

Charity Talk

One of our goals as parents is to instill the value of generosity in our three children. This is such a tough thing to do in our materialistic and consumer-oriented culture! Thanks to the DVR, they don't see a whole lot of commercials so we don't often get the "Can I have that?" or "Will you buy me that?" questions. And we already do the basics: take the time to talk about what the church does with our monthly tithe money, have the kids write thank-you notes for gifts, etc. But this year, we're taking it even further.

We took the time to talk to Sydney about the earthquake in Haiti and even let her watch the news just so she could see the extent of the devastation. I could tell that the pictures of the hurt and orphaned children really affected her because she asked about them several days later. I wanted her to physically be able to do something to help the orphans so I bought the supplies for each of our kids to put together an UMCOR Health Kit and that seemed to ease her mind a bit.

We've also started her on Dave Ramsey's plan for kids. Every week, she gets a $3 allowance for doing her chores. One dollar goes in her piggy bank for savings. Another one goes in her wallet for spending money. The third dollar goes in a glass jar marked "Charity." At the end of the year, all of the money in the jar will go to a charity of Sydney's choosing.

Thankfully, I think some of what we're doing is sinking in. The other day, she found a dime on the ground and asked me where she should put it; I told her she could put it in any of her three "money zones." She put it in the charity jar because "it's nicer to give to needy people than to buy something for ourselves."

Our next big family project is choosing a monthly charitable donation. I can't decide whether we should support a soldier, "adopt" a child through Save the Children or buy someone a cow through Heifer International. Anyone donate to one of these organizations? Positives? Negatives? Any other suggestions?

To Dog or Not to Dog

When I was little, if I missed the school bus in the morning, I had to make a lonely walk down to the end of the street to catch it on it's way back through the neighborhood. Normally, this was no big deal. But one morning, when I was about eight years old, I was making my way down the street when a neighbor's Doberman began to chase me. I threw my lunch at it and screamed bloody murder until another neighbor came to help me. Ever since that day, I've disliked dogs.

And then last spring, as we were all walking down the street to Sydney's bus stop, a neighbor's annoying Beagle chased poor Sydney down the sidewalk and into the path of an oncoming car. Luckily, the car was able to stop a good three feet from a terrified and screaming Sydney. However, the experience traumatized both her and Liam and they both freak out if they see dogs, even small and friendly ones.

As much as we dislike them, I know we're in the minority. In the past couple of weeks we've been to several houses with dogs and while the owners have (mostly) been accommodating by putting their dogs in the garage/backyard, I know this won't happen everywhere the kids go. They have to to learn to be around dogs. And as a non-dog person, I have no idea how to do this for them.

Should I just give in and get a family dog? Surely the kids would get over their fears of them if we got one, right?

The problem is, I really don't want one. I don't want to have to bathe it. I don't want to have to entertain it. And Ryan has informed me that he really doesn't want to have to pick up poop.

So, my internet friends, what do we do? How do we get our kids to stop fearing dogs without actually having to get one? Is that even possible?

Goal

Everyone seems to be posting their New Year's Resolutions. I don't have any this year. Yes, I'd like to eat healthier. Yes, I'd like to exercise more. Yes, I'd like to spend more quality time with the kids (not yelling, scolding or potty training). Blah, blah, blah. I say the same things year after year and while I do work on them, repeating them yet again makes me feel a bit like a broken record (sadly, I've recently discovered that this is a metaphor that my six year old will never understand, but that's neither here nor there), so I will not repeat them this year.

Instead, Ryan and I have a goal to work on our finances this year. We're not in dire straights by any means, but we'd like to be more organized. Our church is offering Dave Ramsey's money management course this spring so I think we'll take advantage of that just to raise our financial IQ a bit.

We've also decided to cut some expenses by doing things ourselves this year. We already do quite a few things that a lot of other middle class Americans pay others to do: clean our house, mow our lawn, fix our food (we only eat out once a month or so). I paint my own toenails. Ryan cuts his own hair (a buzz cut on a balding man is not all that hard). We do our own laundry and ironing. When our carpet needs cleaning, we rent a machine and do it ourselves. You get the picture.

But we've decided to take it even further. Yesterday, Ryan changed the oil in our cars. He's always known how to do this, but we've become accustomed to taking them in for oil changes. At $40 a pop, though? No, thank you - we'll do it ourselves. We also cut the boys' hair ourselves yesterday. I've watched the lady at the salon do it and since we have all the equipment (see above regarding Ryan cutting his own hair), I decided that we could save about $15 a kid by doing it ourselves. It turned out a bit shorter than we like, but it'll grow back and we'll know how to do it better next time, right? Besides, the boys' friends aren't the kind that are going to make fun of them for having their hair cut at home. Not yet, anyway.

We've decided that when our satellite contract is up in a few months, we're going to cancel it and go back to good 'ole antenna TV. We might get a Netflix subscription to supplement, but that's still a heck of a lot cheaper than the $100 a month we're currently spending to stare at a screen.

Oh sure, there are things that we absolutely need to have done by someone else. We haven't quite figured out how to trim the trees in our yard or completely rid our kitchen of the ants that call it home, but I can honestly say we've tried. And when I figure out how to teach my daughter gymnastics or piano, I'll let you know. But I wouldn't hold my breath if I were you.

So, anyone have some more money saving tips for us? Anything you've found that you can do just as good as the professionals? I'd love to hear about them!

Sad Beyond Belief

I found out today that the son of one of my internet friends accidentally drowned in the family swimming pool earlier this week. I met her a few years ago in an online support group for women with secondary infertility (which I realize seems like a joke considering I now have three children). She and I, along with about ten other ladies, supported each other through the emotional roller coaster of infertility tests, treatments, losses and successes. Her son was born a few months after Liam and I can't help but think of my sweet boy when I think of her losing her sweet boy.

To make matters worse, my friend is now being vilified by the media. You see, she's a popular blogger and twitterer and since I'm not on Twitter and I don't quite understand the whole process or concept of it, I don't quite know what happened. But, according to an article I read in a national newspaper, she tweeted about his drowning several times right after it happened.

While this is probably not how I would have handled the situation, I don't think it's right to judge her or question her abilities as a mother. The poor woman is grieving for her son and the media refuse to leave her alone. I wish they would remember what it is like to be human and let her grieve in peace (which is why I won't give the national newspaper more hits on their website by posting a link to the article).

I don't know what else to say.

I think I'm going to go hug my children now.

Slumlord Non-Millionaires

We are now landlords. Or slumlords if you take the overgrown vegetation surrounding our old house into account.

I spent the better part of last Friday and Saturday cleaning our old house in preparation for our new tenant. I don't particularly like cleaning, but I was not about to have our renter move into a house full of dust and grime. And while I really didn't mind the work, not even the whole standing on the kitchen counters so I could scrub the top of the cabinets kind of work, I did mind the temperature in the house.

See, we had this whole battle going between us, the city and the gas company as to why there was no natural gas being pumped into the house. With no gas, there's no oven, hot water or central heat. Definitely not tenant-friendly. Of the three entities in the battle, we lost (surprise, surprise), so a huge chunk of change later (the plumber we had to call is going to have a fabulous Christmas this year), we were cleared to have our gas turned back on the day before our tenant was to move in. Yikes.

Since Ryan has another job (you know, one that actually pays our bills), he absolutely could not take another day off of work to deal with our money pit house. So he "worked"* from home on Friday while I waited for the gas guy. For six hours. In a house that was, I kid you not, 47 degrees.

Fortunately, I had a radio tuned to a station playing Christmas music to entertain me and plenty of cleaning to keep me busy and warm. Unfortunately, most of that cleaning involved having at least one hand un-gloved and in and out of cold water because, well, we had no gas to heat the water. But I managed to get quite a bit done and nearly kissed the gas guy when he showed up.

And then I wanted to slap the gas guy when he couldn't get the heater to work once the gas was turned on. Turns out it was no big deal, but I wasn't about to stay in the house any longer than I absolutely had to.

I headed home, took a really long and hot shower, wrapped up in my fluffy bathrobe and a blanket and promptly fell asleep on the couch. As my parents were nice enough to keep the kids overnight so that Ryan and I could go out to eat to celebrate our upcoming anniversary, we were kidless. But I was in no mood to venture back out into the cold, so we ordered in and watched a movie. Real exciting anniversary, right?

But you know me and how I always look for the lessons to be learned in a situation. I, of course, found some. First, if you're having a problem with the gas company, you should probably take care of it well before you (or your tenant) move(s) in. Second, most tenants don't expect the houses they rent to be as clean as ours (as verified by several reliable sources). And third, there really isn't a whole lot of variety when it comes to Christmas music. I think if I hear yet another version of "The Little Drummer Boy" I am going to lose it. The only version I even remotely like is the SNL/Mary Catherine Gallagher one and it most certainly was not being played on the radio. (I truly tried to find a video clip to link to, but could not. I promise it was really good though!)

So, we're landlords now. We were feeling a bit nostalgic as we put the finishing touches on the house, remembering various things that happened in our little bungalow. I found it quite odd to watch our tenant put their dishes in my kitchen cabinets. I had the urge to say, "The cups don't go there...they go by the refrigerator," but I didn't say a word.

After all, it may technically still be our house, but it's now someone else's home.

_______________

I say "working", not because I don't think Ryan does any real work, but because the boys were at home with him, so I don't know how much work he was actually able to get done.

Bikinis and Birthday Parties

We experienced our very first instance of multiple birthday party bookings today. I took Liam to a classmate's party and Ryan took Sydney to a church friend's party. Poor Evan tagged along to Sydney's party as he really had no choice in the matter.

It got me to thinking about how birthday parties bring out some of my deepest parenting insecurities. For me, a child's birthday party is pretty much the equivalent of swimsuit season: it's a completely unavoidable situation in which I spend the entire time comparing myself to others.

What makes the better mom? One who bakes the cake or the one who buys a fancy one? One who hosts the party at home or one who pays a fortune to have it somewhere else? Should there be structured activities or free play time? Are crafts passe? Is everyone well-fed and having fun? How big of "swag bag" should be given to each partygoer? If you're invited to a big party, does that mean you need to bring a big or expensive gift? What will the other moms think of me if my kid has a meltdown in the middle of the party? And it goes on and on.

Taking your kid to a really awesome or expensive party is like seeing a mom of five at the beach who looks smokin' hot in a bikini. You're in complete awe and a little jealous, but the thought of putting that much work and/or money into it makes you want to cry. But then again, taking them to a really fun or unique home party is like seeing a mom of five at the beach who has a few lumps or stretch marks, but is completely comfortable with who she is. Having fun and enjoying the here and now are more important than looks or what others think of you.

So who do I want to be - the hot mom or the comfortable mom? Do I have to choose? Is it possible to be a combination of both?

Because I'm Apparently Doing it All Wrong....

About a year ago, an acquaintance and I were talking about staying at home with our children and she said, "If you're a stay at home mom and you're bored, then you're doing it wrong." I was so shocked by her frankness, I had no idea what to say.

I still have no reply to it. It obviously hit a nerve because for nearly a year it has been eating away at me and I cannot get that statement out of my mind.

Do you think it's true? Does the fact that I'm bored to tears while singing "The ABC's" for the billionth time mean I'm doing it all wrong? Does the fact that I'm often bored at home mean it's time for me to go back to work? I just don't know.

It's not as if I let the boys watch TV all day while I read or get on the internet. We play with blocks and cars, we read books, we go to the park/library/zoo. Granted, I find myself not reading to the boys as much as I did with Sydney (my bad, I know), but I certainly don't ignore them. In fact, I think there's quite a bit of merit in making them learn to entertain themselves; after all, of the three kids, it is Sydney who had my undivided attention for so long and now has a really tough time finding things to do on her own.

I've spent a lot of time lately thinking about going back to work. I would love to be able to have adult conversations every day; you know it's bad when you look forward to grocery shopping so that you can have a two minute exchange with the sales clerk. I would love to be able to contribute financially to our family, too. For six years, Ryan has been the breadwinner and he has not complained one bit, but I still feel guilty about spending money and not earning any.

But then, there's the guilt of daycare. The dreaded daycare decision. For both boys to go to a good, full time daycare, my entire paycheck would be eaten up, so, really, what's the point of going back to work? And there's the issue of sick kids. All three of them have been sick a lot in the past few weeks and it has been convenient that I've been home to take care of them. Mind-numbing, but convenient. Had I been at work, either Ryan or I would have had to take off to stay home with them.

But I am bored a lot. I just don't have the energy or even the desire to entertain/teach my kids all. day. long. I would love to be one of those moms who home-schools and loves spending 24 hours a day with her kids, but that's just not me. I'm a certified teacher and I know I could do it, but it does not interest me one little bit. In fact, I am more than happy to send Sydney off to school each morning and the ten hours that Liam is in Mother's Day Out each week are almost more precious to me than ten hours of sleep, and you know how much I love my sleep.

Most days, I feel like if I don't get a break from my kids, I am going to lose what's left of my mind. (And for those of you who would say something to the effect of, "Children are a joy and blessing. I just don't understand why you don't want to be around them all the time!" I would counter with something like, "I love my children more than life itself, but I dare you to do what I do day in and and day out for years with no end in sight.")

So do these thoughts make me a bad mom? Should I throw in the stay at home mom towel and go back to work? Should I suck it up and pretend to be thrilled to read "Goodnight Moon" for the 6,789th time? Or should I just stop whining about it all and shut up about it?

I just don't know anymore.

Home Sweet Home

Yesterday, my old (as in former, not OLD) play group pal Jenny wrote a hilarious post about living in a neighborhood full of attachment parenting (AP) families. It had me cracking up remembering some of the conversations I had with AP moms at some of our play groups. I also remembered how much I don't miss that aspect of our former neighborhood.

Take the time when I took Sydney to a paint your own pottery place one rainy day and was hit in the head with some random object being thrown by an AP kid (in a store full of breakable stuff, mind you). How do I know he was an AP kid? Well, his mom saw him throw said object, saw it hit me in the head and rather than forcing the kid to apologize (like most parents I know would do), she said, "That was not a wise choice, now was it, Ashby?" The kid looked at me, laughed and went on his merry little way. Ugh.

There are a lot of things I do miss about our old neighborhood, though. I miss our friends. I miss walking to various parks, the market, little cafes and Sydney's pre-school. I miss being ten minutes from any kind of restaurant you can imagine. I miss our old church and church family.

But along with the AP parents, I don't miss the crime of our old neighborhood. We used to watch drug deals take place on the street in front of our house. The very busy street in front of our house. We should have realized how busy it was when our neighbor's dog was hit by a car two days after we moved into our house. I petitioned the city several times to put in speed bumps and/or stop signs, but no one seemed to care. We never did feel comfortable playing in our front yard for fear of a flying, out of control car (which happens - we had one land in our ditch at two in the morning one time). And we didn't particularly want our kids to witness a drug deal, either.

And as if drug deals aren't bad enough, our former neighborhood is now plagued with a serial arsonist. Over a dozen fires have been set within a few blocks of our old house in the last couple of months. The closest one was just three blocks away.

And, while out watching for the arsonist and any suspicious activity, a neighbor around the corner from our house noticed a man lurking in another neighbor's yard. When the police arrived, the suspicious man was wearing latex gloves and carrying a butcher knife. He told the police that he'd been watching the house for several days and knew that the husband had gone to work and that the wife was home alone with the baby. This was just around the corner from our house. Five houses away. All I can think is That could have been me.

And, don't get me started on the schools. That is a whole other blog post.

So, as much as I miss our sweet little house and our friends and all, I'm glad we moved. At first, I was so homesick for our old neighborhood that I wasn't sure we'd made the right choice. But I'm happy that the worst crimes I hear about include the spray painting of the park slide or houses getting wrapped in toilet paper. I'm thrilled that our kids can play out in the yard and the driveway without a huge fear of getting hit by a car. And I'm overjoyed that the schools here are great.

Our old neighborhood in The Big City is a wonderful place, but it's just not the place for us anymore. Who knows...once the kids are grown and off to college, we might be ready to move back to the little artsy community we grew to love. But for now, we're home.

Attitude

Can I just say that the Terrible Twos ain't got nothin' on the attitude that accompanies the standard six year old girl?

When one of the boys throws a temper tantrum, it's usually because they're tired or hungry or for some other reason that I can usually figure out within a minute or two. But when my six year old girl gets an attitude, I am usually clueless as to the reasoning behind it.

And when I'm unlucky enough to have to deal with a toddler's temper tantrum, at least I know that it will be over in a few minutes and said toddler will be back to his silly, playful self in no time. Not so with the attitude. It can last for hours. Hours, I tell you.

Luckily, I get respite from the dreaded attitude when she goes on her weekend camping trips with Ryan. But then, of course, he has to deal with it. And apparently, Sydney was in fine form this past weekend. She knew she'd crossed a line or two because here is a little recap of the conversation they had on the way home from their trip (secondhand, of course, since I wasn't there):

Sydney: Daddy, I'm sorry about my attitude this weekend.

Ryan: That's OK, but you need to try to be nicer.

Sydney: Are you going to tell Mommy?

Ryan: Why?

Sydney: Because she'll get mad.

Ryan: I don't know. But the attitude needs to stop.

Sydney: I'm good at school, though.

Ryan: That's good.

Sydney: If you want, I can switch. I'll be nice at home and have an attitude at school.

Ryan: No, you need to be nice all of the time.

Sydney: I know. But it's so hard to be good all of the time.

And she's right. It is really hard to be nice all of the time. It's hard for everyone, not just six year olds. And it's really hard to be nice to a six year old who is copping an attitude with you.

I am glad to hear that she's polite at school, though. Her conduct grades are always excellent and her teacher told me that she's never had an issue with talking back so at least I can stop worrying about that.

Hmmm....since she's a stereotypical firstborn who worries about her grades, maybe I should start giving her an attitude report card. Or maybe I'll just keep praying for patience. Either way, I have a feeling we're going to have some pretty tumultuous years ahead of us.

Momisms

You know you're a mom when...

...in an effort to help your child's class win the box top contest, you're tempted to ask your neighbors if you can cut the box tops off of the boxes they've left for the garbage men.

...you smell something weird in the playroom, look for it, can't find it and then just forget it knowing that eventually it will smell so bad that there will be no doubt about its source.

...you really don't care who sees you without makeup because it is more important to squeeze in an extra five minutes of sleep than to put it on.

...punishing your child by taking away their TV privileges for a day is more of a punishment for you.

...the only thing keeping you from dropping your semi-sick kid off at Mother's Day Out is a fear of being known as that mom.

...your hair is in a ponytail so often that the kids on your daughter's bus think you're her babysitter, not her mom.

...you really don't care if your two year old eats his dinner or not. You know he'll eat when he's hungry. Besides, that's more for you to eat since half your dinner winds up on your one year old's high chair tray.

...you've given up hope of ever sleeping past 7 am again.

...you've come to the realization that there is no point in fixing and/or replacing the things your kids break until they're in junior high because they'll just break them again. Window blinds and nasty carpet, I'm looking at you.

24 Faces of September 11th

I'd only known them for a few weeks. I was still mixing up their names and getting my classroom completely organized when it happened. And while many of the faces of my former students have become blurs, the faces of those 24 fourteen year olds will be burned into my memory forever.

I remember standing in the front of the room and taking roll when the announcements came on the loud speaker. The assistant principal had already come to my hallway during the second and third periods class switch to hurriedly whisper what had just happened. I already knew what the principal was going to say, but I still found myself shaking and barely able to hold my pen while I marked the attendance. I was glad that my students didn't notice that my eyes were filled with tears.

The looks on their faces as the principal related the morning's events will haunt me for the rest of my life. In a few short moments, these 24 teenagers went from carefree adolescents to thoughtful and worried almost-adults. They wanted to be brave and strong, but most of all they wanted to understand why such a horrible thing could happen and who could commit such atrocities. Sadly, I could not explain it or the motives behind it.

We only knew the most basic of details. The television in my room was not connected to cable or an antenna so it was (thankfully) useless. I was unable to find out much on the computer since millions of people across the world were trying to access the same internet sites as I was. We spent our time rehashing what the principal had just told us and I tried my hardest to put an end to speculation and rumor.

I could only try to comfort them. I did a pitiful job of it and I'm sure my tears did little to lessen the confusion and emotional pain they felt. We talked a bit about Pearl Harbor and I did my best to assure them another world war was not going to break out. Of course, I had no way of guaranteeing such a thing, but I knew those kids were looking to me for reassurance and I didn't think a little white lie would hurt.

One of my students knew better, however. Her father was in the National Guard and she was well aware of what could be coming - the inevitable fallout from such an attack was not a mystery to her. I could do little to comfort her as she laid her head on her desk and sobbed.

The bell eventually rang and they left my room looking like zombies, as did the other 950 students who had just had similar experiences in their 3rd period classrooms. We spent a few days discussing, reassuring and comforting and then we went on with our school lessons and lives.

Every year on this date I think about those 24 kids. I wonder where they are and what they're doing. They'd be 22 or 23 years old now - old enough to have jobs, to have graduated from college, to have started families. They'd be old enough now to have a bit of historical perspective on the situation, perspective they didn't have as teenagers.

I wonder how they remember this date. When someone asks them, "Where were you when it happened?", what do they say? Do they remember how the principal's voice broke while she read the announcement over the loud speaker? Do they remember hugging their classmates? Do they remember how they felt when they realized that the world would never be the same again?

Obviously, I'll never know how they have or will respond to the question. But I'd like to think that they would remember that their teachers and administrators did the absolute best that they could on such a horrific day. I hope they realize that we were just as lost and sad as they were and that nothing could prepare us for their questions and for the range of emotions that we all felt.

Most of all, I hope they never forget how they felt that day. I know I won't and I will most certainly never forget those 24 teenagers. We share a bond, those teenagers and I. And when someone asks me where I was on that fateful day, I think of them and how the events of that day may have helped shape them into who they are today.