Golden Smiles

Infinite Voices

2011-12-14T07:32:00.000-08:00

A friend posted this article on Facebook. It instantly grabbed me. In this time of more change for our family combined with December's introspection and retrospection for me, it feels as if I need a touchstone to ground myself and remind my heart of the things that really matter. So, thanks B, for sending a reminder.

Top Five Regrets of The Dying

For a long time, it's felt as if we've been living in reaction to everything. There's been very little pro action. Choice. Pro active choice. Where did that go? Did I ever really practice that? Perhaps it's time.

To choose the direction in which we desire our life to travel.

To set our priorities and goals for our family and make our choices accordingly.

To remember that this time here is finite. It will end. And when we look back, will it be with a satisfied nod, holding the hand of someone we love?

I set that intention.

And now it's time to wake the kids.

Our Cardboard Arsenal

2011-10-27T16:45:00.001-07:00

Introducing Ari Hood.

He will rob from anyone and check it off his Christmas List.

About a year ago, it proved challenging to meet Ari's ever-changing weaponry needs. His imagination traveled much faster and was much richer than our bank account. That's when we began our "Found Objects" creations. It began with a cardboard pirate sword and construction paper binoculars and moved on to cardboard battle ax heads attached to a toy golf club. Then we made a street hockey stick for Ally out of a plastic saw and a stick (a la Death's Sickle). There were some bat-shaped throwing stars, which now adorn his bedroom walls. Various tries on a bow and arrow...which brings us to today's pictures. We'd been fairly disappointed with the end results of our archery ambitions until Ari found a bow someone had made on the hill by our house. It'd clearly been lying there for a while so I said, "Woo hoo, let's take it home!" A new piece of elastic and several cardboard arrows later and we have Ari Hood.

Those arrows are sharp.

We'll frequently get some looks as we're playing in the neighborhood or heading to the park and I always wonder why...since cardboard weapons, painted faces and superhero costumes are part of our daily round here, I forget that it could be a source of amusement for "normal" people.

And because I'm not feeling witty and segue-ish today, I'm just going to cheaply tack on the below photos.

Ally sporting her new second hand outfit.

Super Ally, Super Max, Green Lantern

Stop Touching Me!

2011-09-28T10:38:00.001-07:00

Yes, we have entered that phase. And I am about to lose my mind.

"Ally, get off me!"

"Mooooom, she hit me!"

Ally, sniffling: "Awwwi hit me."

"Aaaaaaeeeeeeee!" Smack.

"Stop! Awwwiiiiii! Me say NO!"

Now I know why my parents blew their collective stack in the car with all three of us sniping at each other in the back seat. I am at a total loss of how to deal. So far, this is how I have handled it (in chronological order):

A child under each arm, "Ally, look at Ari's face after you hit him. How does he look? Sad? Ari, how do you feel? When we hit, we hurt, Ally." ...just waiting for her to say Good in response but instead she usually says, "I shaawwy Awwwii, I shaawwy" quickly followed by a too-hard squeeze of some appendage.

I tried the above much-celebrated gem in touchy-feely mom circles about once before abandoning it with my headstrong daughter. I then moved on to:

"Work it out." A gem of my mother's.

When that resulted in absolutely no change in the decibel level, I moved on to:

"Ari, just MOVE away from her. You don't have to be a victim here. Get OFF THE FLOOR!" (My parents will laugh at this one.) Ari's response to this? "I WANT to be here!"

Oh.

Several variations of the below followed:

"Ally, stop licking your brother."

"Keep your body to yourself."

"Kind words, please!" (This, it seems, to the neighbor children as well.)

"Ari, honey, find your power and say NO. Where's your power? There! Yes! Now say NO! Awesome!" Quickly followed by, "Moooom, she hit me!" as I walked away.

Smack!

Someone: Aaaaaeeeeeaaah!

Me: What happened?

Ari: It wasn't me.

"She did, huh? Well, you worry about yourself, I'll worry about Ally." Ari, in response, "But I'm being good!"

So, it probably seems to you that we're raising a tattling pansy (the boy) and an abusive bully (the girl). Great. That's what it seems on my end too. Of course, this is on their bad days, which inherently turn into my bad days. Today has been a constant bad day since 6:30 this morning. Sometimes we have golden good days when I can't believe how blessed I am and how wonderful and loving my children are.

But just to drive my point home, this is not one of those days.

Not-so-raw Talent

2011-06-11T21:48:00.000-07:00

This is a friend of a friend...Someone please pick her up so I can buy her CD.

Night Muse

2011-05-18T22:06:00.000-07:00

"It isn't the things that are happening to us that cause us to suffer, it's what we say to ourselves about the things that are happening."

"The truth you believe and cling to makes you unavailable to hear anything new."

~Pema Chodron

It's not that I'm suffering.

It's more that this bit of wisdom brought to light, yet again, the knowing that we make our own truth. We attach our own meaning. We develop our own stories. And we can swear by them...or we can release them and be truly free. Liberating, in a way. And terrifying. Because if we let our stories go; the things that bind us and restrict us; the framework through which we look upon the world...if we let it go and see things without the warping of that lens...well then, what might that look like?

Un. Be. Liev. Able.

2011-05-18T20:32:00.000-07:00

One guess as to what this is.

That's right.

Yeh. That was my reaction, too.

I walk in to Ally's room after her hour and fifteen minute "nap" and am presented with her proudly extended hands, covered in some brown stuff. My eyes travel to the wall behind her. They drift back to her hands. Return to the wall. To her hands. A quick damage check to her mouth...clean. By the grace of God, she managed to not eat something she's not supposed to.

"What did you do? What?" Mouth agape in disbelief, all I can manage is a whisper. Ally's pride and mile-wide grin are starting to fade. I must have made some strange noises because Ari was drawn to Ally's room out of curiosity.

"What, Mom?" he asks.

All I could manage was a strangled, "Look. At her wall. Hands."

"What is that?" he asks, squinting.

"Poop! It's poop! She painted with her poop!" Finally, my vocabulary returns to me.

Thoroughly grossed out, Ari retreats to his room.

By this time, Ally is beginning to look a little troubled...as if she's starting to realize that I'm not a fan of her unique choice of medium. And she begins to truly grasp the idea as I gingerly hoist her out of the crib and carry her to the tub repeating, "Ally, we don't do that. NO poop on the walls. No. That's not okay." I strip her down and wash her hands and she begins to cry as if her heart is breaking. While I empathize with her disappointed and confusion, I'm still wondering if I should make a two-year-old clean her own poop off a wall.

Her hands now clean, I move South, fully expecting a big swash of poop up the back of her diaper and all over her shirt. Hm. A little poop on shirt and outside of diaper. NO poop on inside of diaper. What the?! How can that be...? And then realization dawns. She must haven taken it directly from the source as it was coming out. That then begs the question...did she poop expressly for her creative urges today or was it more of an "opportunity knocks" kind of a thing?

Now that the artiste is clean and clothed, we stand together before her mural and have a serious talk to get the point fully embedded. I have a few doubts as to how embedded it could possibly be but send her off to play anyhow and face down The Wall.

Did I mention our walls are textured?

Growing Up

2011-05-07T11:40:00.000-07:00

Since turning two a couple weeks ago, Ally has adopted the phrase "Me Too!". And she uses it continuously. So continuously, in fact, that even Ari has memorized the accompanying phrase, "Yes, Ally, you too." It's an interesting thing to watch...how quickly a second child catches on to the intricacies of life. How to use the bathroom, turn on lights, set the table, use a stool to get what she needs, water plants, get dressed (and undressed), serve herself, pour pretend tea and make the appropriate teatime conversation. Before she turned two, Ally was already doing most of these things. Meanwhile, my four year old still complains about dressing himself, feeding himself and washing his hands...but that's another blog post.

Yesterday I sat with a friend, the sun warm on our backs as we watched our kids play soccer, and I silently ruminated while we talked about how quickly our children seem to be growing. My quiet contemplation revolved around the maturity I seem to have gained in the past four years of motherhood. And I was surprised. Shocked, in fact. Shocked to realize that I've matured and become a better mother and also shocked that I noticed.

No longer am I longing for them to grow up so I can "get my life back" or so Sascha and I can sleep in on the weekends (although both would be nice someday). Instead, I am acutely aware of the passage of time. Maybe because Ally is my last child and she has now, officially, left the baby stage...and I know I won't get to experience that again until my own children someday have children. Unbelievably, I mourn this. With tears in my eyes, I think of the baby things that are done: the sloppy baby kisses, the first step excitement, the quiet moments of nursing. Two months ago, Ally loved to lay on my belly and rest her face against mine. She doesn't do that anymore.

And then I think of the Ari things that are almost done: mispronounced words, the jokes that don't make any sense, singing songs while sitting on the potty, mismatched clothes and wild hair, the grand ideas, the snuggles, the innocence. Just the other day he made his first angry self-derisive comment, "Fine! I'll just shut up then!" In shock and panic, I wondered, "Where did he get that? Did he get that from me?" We don't talk to each other that way in this house. We just don't. I could attribute it to playground learnings or the Looney Tunes he's been watching lately but the fact remains that he's growing up. This morning, he rolled his eyes at Sascha - in a fun way - but still, it happened. That innocence is slowly dropping away. But then he climbs into bed with us and rubs his nose against ours and I remember that it's still there. They still want their mommy. They still shout "Daddy!" when Sascha walks in the door. It's still there. For now.

Though tender, I am extremely grateful for this realization...for the new awareness I have. It means I'm embracing this time with at least the intention of being fully present during these days of chaos and noise and messes everywhere. It makes me a more patient mother. It makes me really see them when I look into their crystal eyes.

Have you ever stopped to really see a child when you look in their eyes?

Their soul lights up.

Time Keeps Tickin'

2011-04-25T23:37:00.000-07:00

My wee one's last day being one...

I Can't Believe You Said That

2011-02-18T12:56:00.000-08:00

I was a college undergrad once. That heady time of possibility, knowledge, exposure and freedom without the burden of adult responsibilities. You see yourself in a certain way during this time in your life...increasing sophistication and awareness...one who will make a difference in the world someday usually in the realms of education or business or industry or the environment. You see yourself wearing well-fitted, attractive business casual attire...hair nicely coiffed...perhaps some makeup. You speak with conviction and eloquence. You are knowledgeable in your field. You are "successful".

This proceeds for a few years.

And then...you meet "someone". You make some promises. You buy a dress. You make some vows. You get knocked up. The decision to become a stay-at-home parent and raise your own kids with your family's values seems like the best decision in the world. Since you can afford to do this, you do it.

And then things change.

That well-fitted business attire turns to paint-splattered cargo pants, Birkenstocks and a stretchy T claiming Blondes Make Better Lovers. The nicely coiffed hair? Well, yes, I did brush it today. And makeup...huh?

And then there is the change in your speech. Instead of discussing muscle pathology, Maslow's Hierarchy of Needs or the weather patterns in, say, Bermuda, your lexicon becomes a veritable unwritten language. Fifteen years ago when I was studying public relations by day and attending fraternity parties by night I hadn't the foggiest idea that these words would someday pass my lips. For example...

"Thank you, honey, but I can wipe my own bottom."

"Hands on your belly." (Any parent who uses public bathrooms with a curious toddler knows this one.)

"Don't squish your ears like that...Because they'll stay that way."

"Back away from the potty."

"Because isn't a reason."

"I told you I am NOT OK with you whacking my bottom."

And wait for it....

"Because I'm the mommy. When you're a mommy then you can be in charge."

Or the charming alternate..."Because I said so."

Happy (6 weeks into the) New Year!

2011-02-08T17:15:00.000-08:00

Hello All,

Since this letter is kind of late anyway, I’ll just get right to it :).

This year we celebrated the beginning of Ally’s second year of life and a whole new set of “firsts”. Her first word was “uh oh”. Her first steps had us hanging until she was 16 months of age, at which time she began her specialized head long plunge through life. A tough chick, she’ll cry for 7 seconds over a major facial injury but maintain a 30 minute tantrum over not being able to go outside. Her screams make people shake their heads and bring Ari to tears. She’s commenced the “Me Too!” phase of life and will follow her darling Ari up anything climbable, over any obstacle and into any depth of water. But her kisses and hugs don’t stop and “Daddy” (and “no”) is quickly becoming her favorite word. This is just a small taste of the force that is Ally.

Our Ari turned four this year…though he’s counting the years until he is “17 and can play football with his friends.” I smile at the personal freedom (for me) that dream entails and cringe at what I know he can do with the age of 17. The Ar-man is sort of digging his second year of preschool but frequently reports that it is “boring” and he’d rather stay home with me. I’m not sure what he thinks Ally and I do while he’s gone but “exciting” is not how I’d describe it. Despite the above, he’s learning SO much there, loves his teachers and has begun some good friendships. Other new loves include soccer, Nerf dart guns and dragons…but the unconditional adoration of his little sister hasn’t moved him.

Sascha’s been working his tuckus off this year and had some of his research accepted to present at a professional conference. I strive to get through the weeks with minimal loss of temper and maximum application of love and direction and have finally chosen to embrace my stay-at-home status as a blessing (which is notable for me J).

Two family notes this year…Happily, my brother Andy and his partner Melissa finally got hitched in a beautiful, rain-drenched ceremony this September. We love having Melissa as an official sister and look forward to the razzing that entails. And sadly, our family said goodbye to our Grandpa Schwarz as he took his journey Home this winter. Ari and I travelled together to Iowa to celebrate his life and while it was very hard to say my last goodbyes to a man I adored, it was also good for my soul to be around my extended family again and to hug my Grandma and Grandma Emma Jean. I know we are so very lucky to be a part of this family.

In conclusion, we’d like to share a few things we’ve learned throughout 2010.

1) We like each other a lot more when we’re out of the house.

2) When something isn’t working to your satisfaction, you keep trying.

3) If you don’t know how to do something, find a way to learn it.

4) If Mom is run ragged and doesn’t get a break, nobody in the family will be happy. Ever.

5) Family is everything.

Much love and many blessings to you all in 2011.

May you keep tracking down those dreams.

Conversations

2011-01-22T11:34:00.001-08:00

Some quotable moments from Ari...

After I expressed disappointment over a broken thing:

"Don't worry, Mom. We can fix it with duct tape. Duct tape is absolutely great!"

A random breakfast exchange:

Ari: Thanks for saving my life, Mom.

Me: You're welcome, Ari. When did I do that?

Ari: Because I needed you to.

While verbally running through our day at the breakfast table:

"Get up, eat breakfast, watch TV, go to school, fight some dragons, come home, eat some popcorn."

First joke:

"Who does the chicken talk to? ....Because he has feet! Ha!"

Driving up to the airport:

"While we're waiting for our airplane, we can smoke outside. See that red sign there? That says we can smoke outside. See? Like that guy!

And, (drum roll) some quotable moments from Ally...

Ally is becoming more and more aware of who in our family is not present at any given moment. And when I say "not present" I mean "not in the room". Throughout our day, this is what I will hear:

Ally: Daddy, daddy, daddy, daddy, daddy, daddy, daddy (and if I don't respond soon enough) daddy, daddy, Daddy, DAddy, DADdy, DADDy, DADDEEEEEE!

Me: He's at work, sweetie.

Ally: Oh. (beat) Buh-bye, buh-bye, buh-bye, buh-bye, buh-bye, buh-bye-

Me: Yes, Ally, he went buh-bye.

Silence. And then...

Ally: Awry, awry, awry, awry, awry, awry-

Me: Ari's at school, Ally.

Ally: Oh. (beat) Buh-bye, buh-bye, buh-bye, buh-bye, buh-bye, buh-bye-

Me: Yes, Ally, he went buh-bye.

Silence. And repeat. Over and over again.

Being Ari...from the un-posted archives

2011-01-22T11:32:00.000-08:00

Almost a full year old, this post was found languishing while I was cleaning out some of my files. I'm not sure why I never posted this one because, re-reading it, I found some sweet little memories...some quite reminiscent of "Calvin and Hobbes" moments. So, here we go, from February of 2010.

Some more gems from his "bathroom and body learnings" phase:

While helping Ari back into his pants after using the potty, I stumbled and fell against the open toilet. "Whoa!" I said. Ari assured me, "That's okay Mom! You almost fell in the potty but I gotcha!"

------------------------

One day, Ari chose to get naked at school (just down to his underwear) and thought that it would be a good group activity, starting with his teacher. "C'mon, get naked with me Ms. Deb'bora!" "Yeah, get naked with me!" Then he proceeded to persuade the girls to "get naked with him". I'm very glad his teachers have a sense of humor.

-------------------------

Ari (walking into my bedroom): Mom, do you have a penis?

Me (without missing a beat): No Ari, I have a vagina.

Ari: Oh. Okay. (and walks out of the room)

------------------------

Ari had a bout of flatulence one day and after a noted tooting on the couch, he looks over at me and declares, "It's a tooty day, Mom!"

Car Maintenance

Every time we drive past a gas station, Ari feels the need to check in on my fuel and tire air levels. "We should go get some gas in our tires," he cautions. "Do you mean air in our tires and gas in our car?" I ask. He takes a moment. "Oh, yeah. Heh. That. So let's do it."

Subtle Truths

Doing gymnastics on the couch one morning while watching TV, Ari stands on his head. "Look Mom, I'm losing my brain." "I can see that, Ari." I reply.

----------------------

Wendy (quietly surveying the several sticks and pinecones, miniature pine branch, and now a rock and bouquet of flowers ~~littering~~ adorning the inside of her vehicle): Wow, we sure do have a lot of nature in our car.

Ari: And a lot of God.

Wendy (smiling): Yes Ari, there's a LOT of God in this car.

Salut

2010-12-23T16:58:00.001-08:00

Nine.

'Till We Meet Again

2010-12-08T13:38:00.000-08:00

Thank you, Grandpa, for sharing your life with us. I'll cherish the memories, your resounding laugh and the bone-crushing hugs.

October 8, 1917 - December 8, 2010

Thoughts on Gratitude

2010-12-04T10:10:00.001-08:00

Someone once said that a woman's sigh is a pressure release...she must sigh lest she explode.

It's that time of year again. And I sigh for several reasons. The head-spinning travel schedule our family experiences each season, observing three holidays in the space of one month, a theme of remembrance and contemplation I adopt each season, simply parenting our precocious children...oh...and Sascha and I are both kind of tired.

But the primary reason I sigh today is over the "Get v. Give" nature of this season combined with an increasingly aware 4 year old. Of course, his focus is on the "get" portion of the festivities and his Christmas list has reached inordinate lengths since its commencement last spring. However, teaching him the difference between a "wish list" and a "shopping list" is another matter entirely.

If I weren't such an all-or-nothin' gal (i.e. if I didn't care so much) I probably wouldn't be as spiritually challenged here. However, some soul-searching over the past 4 months has brought to light a major theme for me and, ergo, my family.

Gratitude.

In this world of "must have it all and if I don't I must get it and nothing is ever enough" (of which 4 year olds must take the prize), I am increasingly aware of the vast importance of gratitude in our daily round and the importance of passing that awareness of "having enough" on to the children. Now, I know it's a process, not a destination so I'm trying to focus on the moments. They are few and far between.

However, sometimes the sun bursts from the clouds so quickly you are almost blinded. This morning I was filling out my Niyama chart* and came across the box for "I thought about how I want my day to be". Since I'm feeling ill today, I thought "restful" would be a good intention to set but I chose to pose the question to Ari and see what he thought.

"What kind of day would be good today, Ar? Should it be a restful day?" I asked.

"No. How about grateful?!" he suggested.

Eureka. This one was a sigh of satisfaction...and gratitude.

"I think that is fantastic, Sweetie, thank you so much!" I said trying to hold back tears.

Of course, a half hour later he was attempting to talk his way into keeping our Toys for Tots donation. The debate did not end in his favor...so another item made its way onto his Christmas list.

*The "My Niyamas" (My Habits) chart is something Ari's preschool sends home each week as part of their emotional literacy curriculum. It lists several healthy habits (sleep, intentions, healthy eating, hygiene, gratitude, exercise) throughout the day and the kids check them off as they go through their week. Ari's not really into it so I thought I'd do it for myself and hang our charts up together...I'm finding that I'm not able to check off that many boxes. Hm.

It Rained Today

2010-09-30T23:10:00.000-07:00

And Another Year

2010-09-15T20:21:00.000-07:00

Ari's Last Day Being 3

We so much wanted them to grow...so they could communicate, could understand, could stop crying, throwing tantrums, hanging on our pant legs. So we could carry less and less snacks and sippy cups and diapers in our bulging bags. We so much wanted them to grow more and more independent...so they could play alone for maybe a whole 15 minutes at once...and we could finish fixing dinner.

However.

Life has a funny way of leading you to irony.

Now, I can't help but feel a wave of melancholy as each birthday arrives...fighting the urge to push them back down those few inches to the stature they possessed a year ago.

"You mean my baby's going to be 4? Well."

Last year the surprise gift was a toddler scooter. This year it's two-wheeler with training wheels. Almost feels like next year they'll be asking for the car keys.

As I ruminated on Ally's birthday, "Slow your grow, kid. Slow your grow."

Insanity Defined

2010-08-26T15:22:00.000-07:00

Insanity = 2 children under the age of 4 + 6 hours in the air + 4 cities + 1 gluten intolerance + 1 wedding

It seemed like a good idea at the time.

Hi, Walker...

2010-08-14T11:44:00.000-07:00

Ally has finally decided that it's time to start walking without assistance...quite possibly the only time in her life that it will be socially acceptable to walk like a drunk. Enjoy it, my dear - as will I.

Actually, now that I watch this video, there isn't a ton of walking going on.

But the tutu's cute.

Oy vey

2010-07-14T12:35:00.000-07:00

It's 12:30 p.m. A supposed-to-be-napping one year old is yelling in her crib. She has 90 minutes left to nap before I need to transfer her to the car for Ari's summer camp pick-up. If she does not get her full two hours to nap, our afternoon turns from sketchy to nightmarish. During naptime, I need to finish up a tax problem with the city, quickly check and promptly (though not willingly) ignore any new email, prep afternoon snack and dinner, prep afternoon activity, straighten up tornado-ed house, check pre-vacation to-do list, shower...oh, and eat lunch.

It was in the middle of my pointless email check that I came across this:

Completely Clueless Woman Who Was Put In Her Place

And because I have no more time to spend on this post, I would just like to pass on a hearty THANK YOU to Dear Carolyn for her response...and I'd like to add that while we're doing everything Carolyn described we're also trying to grocery shop, meal plan, cook for challenging eaters, finagle our way through health or marital problems, keep the house clean, the laundry folded, the hair cut, the appointments made, and deal with our own lack of self worth because we look like shit, feel like shit and we "don't have a real job".

"Hallelujah! Holy shit! Where's the Tylenol?"*

*If you are not familiar with this quote then maybe you shouldn't be reading this blog.

A Hand Extended

2010-06-21T11:26:00.000-07:00

And then there's that moment when your blindly reaching hand makes contact...

The past couple weeks have been emotionally rough for me. I won't go into any more details than in the post below...though that doesn't even begin to cover it. Suffice to say, I have been slowly coming to the resolve that I need to move on. To let the chips fall where they are and allow my energy to gather and focus on "the next thing"...new people, new experiences, new acceptance that what is isn't necessarily good or bad, it simply is. It is my own mind that attaches meaning to it. And, here's the kicker, I can choose that meaning. Huh. There's something on which to meditate.

...but anyway, back to that blindly reaching hand...

I received an email this morning from a friend, Dear Gentle One, that I had almost put into that I-love-her-and-really-miss-her-but-think-we've-moved-in-different-directions part of my heart. There are so many people in that part of my heart that adding Dear Gentle One hurt a bit. But then I opened my email and found her words. And the comfort and relief of re-realizing the sameness in us...of finding like in another human being...brought me to tears. And I was so grateful for her words. She reminded me that some people will always be there, even unexpectedly, and that helped heal part of my heart. She also reminded me of my worth, and at a time when it's hard for me to find it on my own, that reminder could be life-saving. So thank you, Dear Gentle One. Though far apart, you are always in my heart.

**I'd also like to thank an old friend that sent unexpected support as well. Thank you, Valley Girl.

Keep Breathing

2010-06-16T15:24:00.000-07:00

You keep putting yourself out there. You keep trying. You get up in the morning. Again. You reach. You extend a hand. Sometimes in hope. Sometimes in desperation.

Only to have it chopped off.

Sometimes you feel that you are just not of this world. That you just don't belong. "When do I get to go home?" you ask.

That's often how I feel. And so I just keep breathing.

Maybe I'm being melodramatic with the hand-chopping bit but there has been some disappointment lately. Losing friends to relocation...whether they relocated emotionally or physically, doesn't really matter. Health problems with the kids. My continued struggle with depression. A poorly-planned trip that will, in all probability, not happen (further alienating one relocating friend).

Keep breathing.

I'm one of those people who puts a lot of pressure on herself. To do everything; to fix the world; to be pleasing. When, in actuality, I suck. I do next to nothing. I break more than I fix. I am as flawed as they come. Depression blankets life and muffles any extra energy or conviction to accomplish. And still, I expect pleasing perfection.

There was a time several years ago that survival depended upon the "keep breathing" mantra...one minute at a time, one hour, one day...until finally it, once again, became rote and I could automatically breathe my way through an entire week. Back then, I could either be pleasing or I could grasp with both hands my final thread of sanity. I chose the latter. And, somehow, I kept breathing.

So maybe that's the trick. "Fake it till you make it, " was a favorite saying of an old friend. I detested hearing that then...and still do. But maybe that's what you need to do when you have no other option. You keep putting yourself out there. You keep trying. You get up in the morning. Again. You reach. You extend a hand. Sometimes in hope. Sometimes in desperation. And, because the alternative is not an option, you keep breathing.

Keep Breathing

The storm is coming but i don't mind.
People are dying, i close my blinds.

All that i know is i'm breathing now.

I want to change the world...instead i sleep.
I want to believe in more than you and me.

But all that i know is i'm breathing.
All i can do is keep breathing.
All we can do is keep breathing now.

All that i know is i'm breathing.
All i can do is keep breathing.
All we can do is keep breathing now.

All we can do is keep breathing
All we can do is keep breathing
All we can do is keep breathing
All we can do is keep breathing.
All we can do is keep breathing now.

Ingrid Michaelson

She's A Lightworker

2010-05-19T16:42:00.001-07:00

I received an email in response to the post below. This woman guided three children through the 70s, 80s and 90s...during a time that parenthood was not valued as it is now. I'd like to share a bit of what she said.

Well said and I have no words of comment--except--the rule of doctors everywhere also applies to moms everywhere--First and foremost--DO NO HARM--that is a tall order, and usually only apparent in hindsight. Where were insights and videos like this when I needed them most to put my life into perspective? Where was the approval and the high ideals then? Would have been nice to be valued back then--by the world. But we are not supposed to care what the world thinks--

Yes, I know. Do no harm. Though, I believe it's not just apparent in hindsight. It's apparent front and center...the trick is remembering that in the absolute present...and keeping it when your temper is about to burst like that volcano you watched on PBS with your son last night ("Mommy, those hurt people, don't they?" "Yes they do, honey. Yes they do.")

I forget the Do No Harm ideal. Well. I guess "forget" isn't the right word. Rather, my temper sneaks up, stabs that ideal in the back and pins it to the wall so I can go on a half-second rampage. But that half-second is enough to do some serious damage. This morning, I yelled at my daughter. She's 12 months old. Twelve freaking months. She was crying and whining on the floor while I was simultaneously trying to cook breakfast, prepare school lunch and prep a crockpot meal for dinner. The whining had been going on all morning. It has been a month with precious little sleep for me. The milk was boiling over. And then she started in with some screeching. I lost it. And yelled. The second it was out of my mouth, I regretted it with every cell of my body and scooped her up as she started to cry. And then I started to cry. My tears lasted a good hour and a half longer than hers. Regardless of the soothing and the "I'm sorry's", the damage was already done. In haste, in anger, in lack of self-care...we hurt. The damage was already done. And that's why I spent my morning in tears.

The mother who shared that email had a lot less support than I do. From society. From her partner. From the knowledge that is building a force in this world. And I just shake my head about that lack of support AND at the fact that she did it anyway. She probably would have benefited from some of what we're learning now. About the value of love over competition; peace over war; "there's enough for all" over "gimme my share"; the importance of guiding children (not just raising - you "raise" chickens) in a way that teaches them how to use their worth to change the world.

So..."do no harm"? Impossible. Hell, we harm ourselves. How on earth can we not harm something so fragile (and yet so resilient) as a growing child. But when you start to value the job you're doing...when the world's energy starts to resonate with the worth of that job...it helps. It helps you do less harm...to yourself and to your kids. And it helps you remember your function here on Earth...what it was you were sent to do. And maybe, somewhere in the middle of all of that, dear Lightworker, you'll do some good.

To the Guardians of the Future of this Earth

2010-05-17T15:36:00.000-07:00

Someone sent me the video below in celebration of Mother's Day. I just now viewed it for the first time. Talk about making an impact. It reminds you why you're doing this thing...this parenting thing. It reminds you that there is a spiral effect here.

It's more than scraping the week-old banana off the wall. Instead, it's "I explored a banana today!"

More than washing load after load after load of laundry only to have it sit, clean, in the closet for a week before actually being folded. Instead, it's "I got to help fold all afternoon!"

More than rushing to make preschool drop-off and then rushing, rushing, rushing to make preschool pick-up. Instead, it's "Mommy, mommy, mommy, you're here!"

More than wiping noses, eyes, bottoms and hands. Instead, somewhere down the road, it's the remembrance of being cared for.

Those things we do now; coaxing them through a terrifying night, laughing at the ridiculous, loving them so hard that it hurts (us)...those things are building the Future. Their future. And ours. I forget the bigger picture here. A lot. As the author says, you lose yourself. And then you find yourself. And then you lose yourself. For me, it's a cycle. And I need reminders like this. Because, at least for this afternoon, I can be aware of the incredible importance of Being Here.

Screwball Squared

2010-05-17T15:11:00.000-07:00

Thrive

2010-04-27T10:50:00.000-07:00

"To live is so startling, it leaves little time for anything else."

~Emily Dickinson

...which is precisely why I've not written for six weeks. To save my five readers from a prosaic litany of the "reasons why", I'll suffice to say that we have been growing, discovering, learning, imagining, moving, creating, expending energy and renewing energy, resting and then becoming tired again. We have been living. Enough said.

When the need to write again pushes itself to the surface, like our strawberry seedlings outside, you will then hear from me. Until then, I bid you to go live life.

Go.

Thrive.

April Twenty-five

2010-04-25T18:33:00.000-07:00

My baby's last day of being 0...

...slow your grow, kid, slow your grow.

Soul Food #1

2010-03-10T10:14:00.000-08:00

My Morning Prayer

God, grant me the grace to get through this day well. To honor you in my actions and words. To walk gently on this earth. Gently enough to hear Spirit in my heart and follow. Allow me to hold this day sacred and acknowledge it as the gift that it is.

"I shut my eyes in order to see."

~Paul Gauguin

Ooooo...Wipes!

2010-03-01T11:28:00.000-08:00

The Cleansing Project, Need #1: Our Kitchen, Our Food

2010-02-27T10:04:00.000-08:00

My life will always have dirty dishes.

If this sink can become

a place of contemplation,

let me learn constancy here.

~Gunilla Norris

The kitchen.

In my meditation on the needs of this household over the past couple weeks, my attention continues to wander full circle back to the kitchen. It seems I spend approximately 70% of my waking home hours cooking in it, cleaning it or planning out the execution of our daily lives in it. This is our art gallery, our walls feathered with primary color paintings, foam art, paper cuttings of various shapes and sizes. It is also our art studio and game room; an entire cabinet dedicated to Play-Do, paints, stickers, puzzles and the like. This is Baby Food Maker Central with all the steaming, pureeing, freezing and bagging that entails. This is the room that needs to be cleaned at least three times every day. This is the meal and week-planning hub of our lives...the stacks of cookbooks, grocery lists, coupon inserts, flyers, activity notices and calendars attesting to the fact that "shit happens here"...and not in an entirely organized way. This is the room that so often hears "What the hell are we going to have for dinner?!" as I dig, hip-deep through the contents of the freezer. The room that witnesses my blind rush in the morning when I realized that, again, I failed to plan and pack school lunch the night before. The room that cringes when I sigh in frustration that, again, I procrastinated in the weekly grocery shop and now we're out of milk.

Clearly, my meal planning could benefit from a bit of an overhaul. As could the command center that is Our Kitchen.

And so last week I finally bit the bullet. I sent Sascha and the kids on a pre-planned activity with well-stocked diaper bag and sat down at the kitchen table, amidst my piles, and began the painful process of planning our food for the week. For some reason, I loathe this part of my job and I think it's because I never learned how...how to cook, how to plan meals, how to enjoy it. I never learned and it doesn't come naturally so I battle with this. And, damnit, it's time to come to terms. Gone will be the panicked mid-week mini shops after I imaginatively come up with dinner on the drive to preschool pickup. No longer will I scrape the bottom of the baby formula can and realize there is not a back-up can. I enthusiastically welcomed the idea of Organized Living.

It took me an hour and a half.

Granted, 40 minutes of that was spent griping to a friend and saging the house (nothing like clearing out the emotional debris, I say). But still, it took me that long to focus on the task at hand and knock out a menu for four people (with vastly different eating preferences) for a week. It'll get easier, it'll get easier, it'll get easier...

When I returned from the planned and organized grocery shop 90 minutes later, the house seemed fresher, more attractive and I felt a lot more calm about the coming week. Maybe smudging the house helped, maybe it was having a plan and feeling prepared in one realm of existence. Whatever the reason, "fresh" and "attractive" are welcome feelings. And I think I'll do it again this week.

Some Online Support (S.O.S.)

Raise Healthy Eaters 's Family Meal Planning Series has been a godsend. This entire blog, started by a San Diego mom struggling to feed her young, picky child, provides nutrition information, recipe ideas and emotional support for parents in similar situations. Kicks butt.

Slaying The Dragon

2010-02-16T10:36:00.000-08:00

I was searching for reassurance this morning as I took five minutes to luxuriate in a sip of hot, fresh coffee and sit down with my Daybook of Comfort and Joy in the 10:30 a.m. silence granted by preschool and naptime. The past week has me spinning, exhausted and falling prey to the germs lurking in our dusty, cat-hairy corners. With a preschooler finally back in preschool, an infant with a nasty cough and a husband still in bed with the flu, things have been piling up and my excitement over the commencement of last week's project is quickly turning into panic as I realize my week is up soon and I have yet to accomplish A THING...aside from some extreme pessimism and self-directed frustration at my own tantrums and outbursts over the past week.

So I was searching for reassurance as I communed with Ms. Ban Breathnach, hoping to find a light for the end of my tunnel or a silver lining for my cloud.

She talked with me about dragons.

Our dragons are our fears: our day stalkers, our night sweats. Fear of the unknown. Fear of failing. Fear of starting something new and not finishing. Again. Or the real fear....the fear of succeeding...and facing the changes that will inevitably bring.

And I realized that I have some dragons. We all do, I suppose. And to just blithely trip through life without taking our dragons into account is an act of lunacy, if not downright sabotage.

And I think that's what happened to me this week. I forgot to allow for the dragon. Her name is Betsy. She's chartreuse. With a pink tail. Yes, she's sassy-looking but she's not real nice. She's made up of a considerable amount of self-contempt and impatience, which then leads to a donning of gray-tinted glasses. She doesn't finish things. She's kind of selfish, needing and desiring some "me" time and look out if she doesn't get it. Yet at the same time she puts herself and her needs in absolute last place forming a sort of passive-aggressive self-care program (or lack thereof). None of this is remotely beneficial in raising a family and running a home.

So that's Betsy. She's been there the whole time but we were never introduced until this morning. I wish I could tell you that we're now working out our differences but that's not quite the case. What we're currently doing is that wary, circular dance, glaring at each other through slitted, suspicious eyes. I supposed I'm her dragon too.

I hope I'll have something concrete to report Thursday...some tangible step forward in the Project. But considering the Life handed to us last week, I may not. And I'm going to learn how to be okay with that. Because Betsy has a lot to teach.

Women have always known how to deal with dragons hiding under beds or lurking in closets. We turn on the lights and reassure worried souls with love. We need to slay the dragons in our minds the same way.

Today, if you feel frightened or unsure about the future, pick up the double-edged sword of Light and Love. Always remember, it's not an adventure worth telling if there aren't any dragons. ~Sarah Ban Breathnach

I love you...don't breathe on me

2010-02-14T20:03:00.001-08:00

Our Valentines Weekend

Sascha: down

Ari: down

Ally: coming down

Wendy: and she's still up, ladies and gentlemen

So It Begins...

2010-02-11T08:33:00.000-08:00

Sigh.

I walk downstairs at 8am with Ari plastered to my front. Having awakened at 6am to a hungry baby, I've already been up for two hours but it took all that time to prep the bottle, empty the dishwasher, have my morning cuddle with Ally and then transfer with Sascha so I could coddle a sick Ari for over an hour. This is the second time he's been sick this month and I've learned that the difference between a good stay-home day and a bad stay-home day in his mind is morning time with Mommy. Ah, the learnings of an emotional and sensitive child.

So anyway, back to that sigh. As I walked down the stairs I came into full view of the living room carpet...and the huge pile of kitty puke in the middle of it. Sigh. Our family has become quite familiar with "Bella throw up", as Ari calls it. He even likes to help me find the extra piles in the vomit trail, all the while exclaiming "yuck, gross". According to our vet, Bella may have irritable bowel disease...ergo, the cat vomit I clean up at least three times a week. After months of this, it's getting old.

I don't dare complain too much or Sascha will start in with his old mantra of "animal shelter animal shelter animal shelter" and since I have chosen the full-term responsibility of care for these two little animal souls, I really don't want to be hearing that. So I clean up the puke. In all fairness, Sascha handles litter box detail (unbelievably) so I really have no place being irritated with his mantra.

But that early morning throw up got me to thinking...I really need to just cleanse this place. I mean a full physical cleansing...which will, in effect, make way for the spiritual and emotional cleansing this home so desperately needs. People (and cats) have been ill, spirits have been low, piles have accumulated and chaos seems to be the order of the day. It is time.

And so I invite you along on this cleansing journey. I will go through this house, room by room, space by space and need by need. Restoring order, repairing brokenness and assisting the return of health and healing. Heck, I may even sage the place.

Yes, some of it will be mundane...there's only so much excitement involved with the sorting of outgrown clothes. But some of it will be transformative, if only just for me. It's my intention that I learn something along the way, clear the debris from my soul and make spiritual space for the projects to which I'm feeling called.

So check in every week to see what we've been up to...which piles have been eradicated; which closets cleared and the discoveries made. We may even find a way to heal our vomit comet that is Bella.

"If a home doesn't make sense, nothing does."

~ Henrietta Ripperger

Over And Over Again

2010-02-04T16:00:00.001-08:00

It was a loud drive home from our play date today. Ally, exhausted beyond words and constipated to boot, was screaming bloody murder from her car seat. Ari, exhausted beyond words and frustrated, his sensitive ears ringing with Ally's screams, was trying to tell me something but each time I asked him to speak louder he only softened his voice. Eventually he fell apart with a strangled sob of grief and despair.

That sound stopped me in my tracks.

Because I had experienced it myself. Over and over again.

But I'm an adult with almost 35 years to my credit. He has been on this earth not even three and a half years.

"Oh, Ari. Hon. Would you like to hold my hand?" I offered from the driver's seat. "Yes!" he gasped with desperation and sobbed as our arms reached across the chasm between our seats. I never do this anymore...hold his hand while I'm driving. It's something I haven't done for two years. But I could see he was desperate for a base to hold him down from his outward spiral and, for once, I could be his rock with only compassion in my heart. That doesn't happen very often now that he's a preschooler...usually it's frustration and exasperation tinged with just a hue of compassion.

As Ari quieted down and Ally fell asleep, I started thinking about that sob. When that desperate sound has passed my own lips, it was at times when my broken spirit pooled around my feet and I believed I just couldn't take one more step...times when I would rather die than try anymore. Death, however, doesn't entertain ridiculous invitations and I know that. So I keep on breathing and eventually learn how to take one more step. Over and over again. That's the base of experience a 34 year old holds. A three year old, however, can't fathom the fact that life will go on after this most wretched moment. For him, the world really is ending...even if it's only due to a loudmouth baby sister. And so he needs a hand to hold, a rock to anchor him to the earth.

Luckily, a hand and a hug (and maybe taking a break with Curious George) are usually all he needs to pull through these moments. The hard times are when I cause his heartache...when something I did or something I said or the way I said it makes his little lips clamp shut, his face turn red and his eyes well up...trying so hard to hold it inside until it slips out in a little whimper and then a little sob. I wasn't the cause of the sadness today. But tomorrow, I might be.

We try and we try and we try but, ultimately, we fail. And we break their hearts. Over and over again. And we tuck them into bed with a kiss and then climb into our own beds and cry and then get up again in the morning and try all over again.

But their grace and unbounded love save us. And they forgive us. Over and over again.

Still Here

2009-12-23T13:05:00.001-08:00

...though I'm not sure how "here" I am.

I am "here" enough to realize that people have been checking my blog and have noticed the lack of activity over the past month. I am not "here" enough to care about reassuring their queries with my okay-ness.

I am "here" enough to want to post something special on this Day. Something that speaks from my depths to the depths of others. However, I am not "here" enough to be able to dredge those depths and procure something of worth.

I am "here" enough to look out over this snowy Michigan landscape, it's unbroken white, and feel absolute stillness and acceptance inside my heart. Though I am not yet "here" enough to translate this vision to voice.

Is there a voice left?

Yes.

Somewhere in there.

It is a quiet day.

And I'm still here.

I officially renounce my parenting privileges

2009-11-15T19:41:00.000-08:00

Sigh. Well, today Ari lost his TV privileges. Ally is on the verge of losing her eating privileges (Ari having voluntarily relinquished his own last week). And Sascha and I are on the verge of leaving them both with a casual acquaintance and high-tailing it for the border.

Pass the rum.

from the mouths of babes

2009-10-28T21:36:00.000-07:00

Ari, after handing me his art project:

"Don't break my heart, Mom. Don't break it."

I'll try not to, Ari. I really, really will.

"I am woman...

2009-10-17T19:05:00.000-07:00

...hear me roar. "

That song always plays through my head as I walk back through the parking lot after a day at an amusement park with both the kids and zero adult back-up. Today, the early evening sun was slanting across Sea World's parking lot as I pushed my spawn through the Back 40 to our patiently waiting orange chariot. "...oh yes I am wise, but it's wisdom born of pain..."

As Sascha had other "adult" errands to attend to and couldn't share the parenting responsibility today, I decided "why the hell not have a little fun?" and packed up the kids to go see Shamu. It wasn't until I was almost at the park did I realize that a) it's a Saturday and b) it's a Halloween Spooktacular weekend at Sea World. Oh God. A lethal combination. Very quickly my flippant "why the hell not have a little fun?" turned into "what the hell have I done?" as the friendly parking attendants kept motioning us further and further away from the main entrance. How many people are here today? and Will we have to take a shuttle into the park? and I don't think they have a shuttle. However, I kept up a brave front and chattered away with Ari about Shamu and the dolphins and where-oh-where are we going to park? Luckily, we grabbed a spot, I popped the kids, several changes of clothes (ahem, potty training, ahem) and the sunscreen into the stroller and off we went.

Really, it wasn't that bad. Navigating the crowds of Elmo-clad children provided the biggest challenge...a dualie stroller isn't exactly the most deft child-hauling implement. Overall, the kids were great and I discovered yet again that if you toss enough snacks at Ari he'll sit through as many breast-feeding sessions as you want.

I also discovered anew that theme parks are some of the best places for people watching. Especially theme parks during Halloween. Children dressed as Nemo, Elmo, various levels of princesses and fairies, pirates, etc. etc. Beleaguered parents pushing strollers with screaming children (doubtlessly coming off a sugar high) slung over their shoulder. Pink-haired teenagers in the strangest moon-boot-high-top shoes...although I don't think that was a costume. "I told you to keep that thing in there or I'm taking it away," says a highly tattooed dad pushing his sword-wielding pirate in a stroller. A middle-aged woman in a walking cast and two elderly women cowgirlin' up and mincing through the throngs with their canes. As a young mom lost her daughter for about 90 seconds, I watched the panic bloom across her face and witnessed her thoughts fast-forward through the next 20 years without her little girl. "...Yes, I've paid the price. But look how much I've gained. If I have to, I can do anything..."

There were several moments that I had to force myself to keep a straight face. Yes, because some situations were simply laughable but also because I was reminded time and again of how we're all a part of this humanity-sludge and we all pretty much walk the same line when it comes right down to it. Our little trio was probably the subject of people-watching as well...At the Shamu show when Ally decided it was time for her nap and threw a Fuss while Ari was trying to sit on my lap so he could see Shamu. Grabbing Ari tends to calm Ally down so I allowed her to do this until the repeated grabbings provoked a Fuss from Ari. The Shamu Show wasn't nearly as inspiring for Ari and I this time around, although we got some chuckles from our seatmates...And again when I had to push through the throngs of waiting parents, with a nursing baby still attached, to pull Ari out of the bouncy house when his turn was up and he refused to come out on his own. As we all sat back down on the bench I had formerly been feeding Ally on, the mom next to me chuckled and said, "I've been there. I think I've walked across this whole park nursing one kid or the other. You basically just survive it, huh?"

And it all comes back down to that. We're all in this together. And yes, you basically survive it...this life thing. And if you're lucky, and if you actually try a little, then you end up living it. That's what I'm shooting for...the living it. Julia Alvarez wrote, "We are all the same size, don't you know? Just some of us stretch ourselves a little more." So I guess that's why I take small children to theme parks by myself. Why I'm determined to run another marathon. Why I choose to do childbirth without drugs. That's why I can't blow certain ideas (not to be mentioned here) out of my head. Just trying to stretch, trying to live. And as I look at a lot of the women around me, I see that I'm not alone.

I am woman, hear me roar

In numbers too big to ignore

And I know too much to go back an' pretend

'cause I've heard it all before

And I've been down there on the floor

No one's ever gonna keep me down again

You can bend but never break me

'cause it only serves to make me

More determined to achieve my final goal

And I come back even stronger

Not a novice any longer

'cause you've deepened the conviction in my soul

I am woman watch me grow

See me standing toe to toe

As I spread my lovin' arms across the land

But I'm still an embryo

With a long long way to go

Until I make my brother understand

Oh yes I am wise
But it's wisdom born of pain
Yes, I've paid the price
But look how much I gained
If I have to I can face anything
I am strong
I am invincible
I am woman

~Helen Reddy

Wiggle Room

2009-09-30T14:13:00.001-07:00

In a rare moment when both children are napping, I find myself drawn to the idea of change. How life changes, how it has already changed and how it will yet again and again and again. And so I went to QuoteGarden and looked at quotes on change and found the one I've posted in the margin.

...so true, it is. Each major change I have gone through, even the improvements...the positive changes, have involved a bit of grief. Some more than others. Some less.

Right now, I'm pondering the change our entire family has recently begun...Ari starting preschool. What was initially "not such a big deal" in Sascha's and my eyes had morphed into a "let's rethink this whole thing" once Ari began his first full week at school. The entire family's schedule changed...Sascha, of course, was the least effected...Ari the most...with Ally and I left spinning in his wake.

For two years, well, since Ari could make himself understood, he has begun his day with this question: "We going now?" or "Where we going, Mommy?" The kid had an itch to go, to get out, to meet and greet and discover. Every day. If we didn't leave the house by 11 am, I faced retribution in the form of tantrums, whining or a boycotted nap. So, Sascha and I understandably assumed that preschool would be a boon for him. Imagine! A place to go every day!" But, it didn't turn out like that. As most things in life, there would be a breaking-in period...a period we, idiotically, were not expecting. Ari cried at drop off, clinging to my hand and begging me to sit on the steps with him. Or he would sit on the couch in the morning, crying that he didn't want to go to school today. He would refuse to get dressed, refuse to leave the house and take inordinate amounts of time picking out a toy(s) to bring with him in the car. Diversionary tactics, all. So we started thinking that this was too much. Too many days a week. Too soon for him to be away from Mom. I started talking to the teachers about decreasing his days. I started to doubt myself and my choices for our son.

As for me, I did in fact long for Ari to begin school. And then, the week before the blessed event, I started feeling sad. Sad that we wouldn't have time during the week to go to the beach, the zoo or to have morning park time, although each of these things involved a bit of planning now with a baby in tow. I had to grieve the stay-at-home-kid time that had passed for Ari and me, even though it had been such a huge challenge while it existed. It surprised me, this grieving. And Ari's simultaneous grieving surprised me even more.

And then, one day out of the blue, he brightly bid me "'bye!" over his shoulder and skipped in the door without a backward glance. He stopped fussing over his clothes and crying on the couch. The morning toy selection still takes a while but it now happens cheerfully instead of desperately. And a couple days ago he told me, "I love my school. I have fun at my school."

Ah, how one wiggles into a new role. Rolling, nudging, turning around until it feels snug and comfortable once again. For some, apparently, this happens easier than others.

Change. With each big change, several smaller changes trail behind. You would think that, after having so much change occur in my life, I'd be a bit more savvy to all it entails (more savvy than, say, a three year old). That I shouldn't be surprised by the peaks and troughs so much anymore. That in fact, I should be expecting them. But each time, I flounder through, learning as I go and trying not to berate myself for not having it more together. Slowly, I'm finding that forgiveness must walk hand-in-hand with change.

The changes will keep on coming. May grace and forgiveness follow alongside.

Bam, Bam, Bam!

2009-09-27T13:58:00.000-07:00

Ari's newest favorite activity involves the bottom half of a white turkey baster (which he calls his "white thing"). He carries this around the house, aiming it at various objects and/or beings and shouts out "bam, bam, bam, bam!" with a vicious little battle face.

He is playing "guns".

He is three years old.

Being a pacifist and also knowing and loving someone who very nearly lost his life to gun violence, I am strongly unthrilled with this new development. But every time I express displeasure and disapproval and try to explain "why we don't shoot at people with turkey basters or anything else", it only seems to ignite his passion as he merrily proclaims, "Yes we do! Yes we do! I like it!". What am I to do? This kid has a vicious streak that no one but his parents seem to notice. The parents of all his little cronies think he's "so sweet, so cute" while I know there's a tiny little anarchist inside him, busy exercising his second amendment rights and honing his skills of argument. Sometimes I'm at a loss for how to guide him at home without the use of a firm hand on the backside...and how could that help as that, itself, is violence?

Sascha believes that guns are an unavoidable essence of boyhood (cops and robbers, cowboys and Indians, etc.) and, while he doesn't encourage the behavior, he also does not discourage it. Although, I take that back as, just today, I heard Sascha exclaim, "bam bam bam" in response to Ari's turkey baster report. So, no help from that quarter.

I staunchly disagree that guns are innate to boys. And even if it were, for God's sake he's three. He's been on this earth all of thirty-six months. I doubt that's enough time for his little gun-totin' chromosomes to kick in. So that begs the question, in a gun-free, non-hunting, non-ghetto-urban household, where did he learn that "guns are fun"?

I believe the answer is three-fold: the older and very crazy boys he hung out with this summer; the video games they taught him to play; and Buzz Lightyear of Star Command, The Adventure Begins. Damn that movie and the fact that we bought it for him, I had no idea...

So what's a mom to do with a son who shoots at her and then argues and yells when she tries to explain about not hurting people? Well, she says, "Don't shoot at me, I don't like it" quite a bit. She would like to move, preferably to Switzerland. She plans on hiding or chucking that damned Buzz Lightyear movie and his turkey baster. And finally, she is wondering if three years old is too young for a talk about death and how shooting people makes them go away forever.

Any thoughts?

she's got a hat

2009-09-25T21:15:00.001-07:00

The Things We Say, Revisited

2009-09-25T21:04:00.000-07:00

You may bring one toy with you. One. I said one. No, one. One or none. One or none. Oh, okay, none then. ... ah, that's what I thought.

You have five minutes left before we turn off the TV and get in the car. Four minutes. Three minutes. Two minutes left, babe. One minute. Okay, I'm turning the TV off now. Ari, I gave you five minutes. No, the five minutes are now over, you don't get five more minutes. You may walk to the car or I can carry you. Well then use your legs to get off the couch and walk if you don't want me to carry you. Okay then.

No, don't eat the napkin! (to the baby)

No, I don't want to play right now. It's my quiet time. It's your quiet time too.

Do you have a poop? You're still working on it? Remember if we wait too long it gets ouchie. Okay, you have five minutes to finish up what you're doing and then we change the diaper. Four minutes...etc. Time to change the diaper! Yes. Yes. It's time. You can walk or I can carry you. Well, I told you it would get ouchie if we waited. We have to clean it. I KNOW it's ouchie. I have to clean your penis, there's poop all over it. No, it's not naked time.

The Things We Say

2009-09-24T10:47:00.000-07:00

As I was perusing my friends' blogs (and laughing my ass off), I was inspired to share here some of the things I've been saying lately:

Get your fingers out of your butt. Does it itch? Well then put on some big boy underpants and then scratch it. Because there's poop in your butt. I know you wiped but there's still poop in there. Yes, even though you can't see it. No! Wash your hands before you eat that! Because you were touching your butt.

Please stop touching your penis. Yes. Okay, then please go to your room and do it. Because that's a private thing that you do alone. ... Okay, time for clothes.

No more naked. You're getting too old to be naked all the time. Okay, 5 more minutes of naked. ... Okay, naked time is over. Big boy underpants or diaper? Yes. Please pick one. Shall I pick for you?

Now what's the rule when you're wearing underpants? That's right. And where do we pee and poop instead? That's right.

Let's have a potty break! What do you mean "no"? It's time to try the potty. So you don't pee in your underpants. They'll get wet and icky. Remember, we pee in the potty when we wear underpants. Okay. 5 more minutes. ... What do you mean you peed on the floor? Oh, now you're skating in it.

We're at the park. Please get your hands out of your pants.

...You see a theme here...here are some more, off-theme:

Please don't chase Mo. Don't shine the flashlight in his eyes, he doesn't like that. Well, he's probably running away because he's scared. He doesn't know you want to pet him, the last time you followed him you shined a flashlight in his eyes. Please speak gently to Mo. No, you don't need to yell. He's just being a cat. He's not being bad for running away from you.

Leave the spider alone. Watch it wi

th your eyes, not your fingers. No,

we're not going to "shmack" it...or catch it. What did I just say!! It doesn't matter that you used a cup and not your fingers. We leave spiders alone. Wait a minute...that's a...that's a black widow...let's just go inside now.

What is that?!

Please come here. I have something to show you. You see how there's poop in your chair? That's why we wear a diaper when we eat. No more naked eating. Let's go wash hands.

Remembrance

2009-09-11T15:28:00.000-07:00

"Time is passing. Yet, for the United States of America,

there will be no forgetting September the 11th.

We will remember every rescuer who died in honor.

We will remember every family that lives in grief.

We will remember the fire and ash, the last phone calls,

the funerals of the children."

~George W. Bush

A Thousand Words..

2009-09-11T15:17:00.001-07:00

Sascha's unofficial summer project has been to get one of those sweet father-daughter shots.

Ally has been less than cooperative.

I could have so much fun captioning each of the below but I think they're better off speaking for themselves. View and enjoy...and Sascha, I love you, my good sport :).

Baby in a Barf Bucket

2009-09-01T16:56:00.001-07:00

Remember the family barf bucket from your elementary school days? You know the one. We all had one, whether you called it the barf bucket, puke pail, or vomit can. I have a few non-dear memories of staring into our own dear barf bucket's ringed bottom and feeling the panicky rise of something not-so-pleasant.

Being the practical folks that they are, my parents have saved the barf bucket because it has myriad uses aside from its sordid past. Below, I share a picture. Yes, 25 years later, we're washing the baby in it.

Scene From Our Days

2009-08-10T16:58:00.000-07:00

It is 4:30 p.m. I'm in the kitchen trying to prepare dinner. I emphasize "trying".

Ally is producing a sort of whining, grunting shrillness from the swing positioned in the middle of our small kitchen (around which I continuously dance in my attempts to chop broccoli and stir the onions lest they carmelize).

Ari is plopped in the living room, taking in another Veggie Tales and 1/4 cupful of yogurt raisins while asking good-naturedly every 15 minutes if "my dinner is ready". No. It isn't. Dinner will not be ready until Daddy is home. Is Daddy home yet? No. He is not. I have repeated this I-don't-know-how-many times. It has yet to sink in.

Mo is hanging in the kitchen doorway meowing plaintively for his dinner. As if, in our 9 years of feline-human companionship, I have missed a meal. I repeat, it is 4:30 p.m., he does not get fed until 6:30. Two more hours of meowing to go.

I move Ally from the swing into the Bjorn. Instantly, her mood improves as she jerks back and forth with me in the kitchen, watching me chop, saute and peer into the hot oven. This, of course, requires that I curve my back, keeping her away from the chopping knife, hot pan and hot oven door. Yes, funny you should mention, my back does hurt.

Ari, again, requests that his dinner be finished. This time before Daddy comes home. I would be extremely excited that he wants to eat real food so badly...if I didn't know for a fact that he would later eat three bites and declare himself finished (aside: this did later happen)...probably because he filled up on the random pieces of Mac & Cheese scattered over the kitchen floor from lunch with the neighbor boys.

By now, Mo has worked himself into a lather requesting his own dinner; eliciting repeated "No, Mo" from even Ari.

Ally begins to squawk from the Bjorn.

It is 5:15 p.m. The veggie pie is in the oven. No, Daddy is not home.

Bathtime

2009-08-04T18:05:00.000-07:00

It is Sascha's job to bathe Ari. And they frequently go round and round about which body part Ari does not wish to be washed on any particular day. This day, it was the penis.

Ari: No, Dad. No. Don't wash my penis!

Sascha: But Ari, we need to wash it too.

Ari: No no no no no no no.

Sascha: Why, Buddy? Is it ouchie? Does it hurt?

Ari: Noooooo.

Sascha: Then why don't you want me to wash it?

Ari: Because it will fall off.

??????

7 a.m. Musings

2009-07-18T09:35:00.000-07:00

Sometimes I'm afraid I will never have another original thought...and then sometimes I'm afraid I already have too many.

Hmmh.

Ari-isms

2009-07-12T21:35:00.000-07:00

Well, my little boy is growing up. As is his vocabulary and language skills (as evidenced in an earlier post). Following are some anecdotes providing further evidence of said skills.

Here It Comes

I was changing Ari's diaper on my bed one day last week and was letting his bottom air out when he got That Look in his eye. All of you with toddlers know That Look. Uh oh.

Ari: Pee in Mommy's bed?

Wendy: Noooo, we pee in the potty or in a diaper, Ar.

Ari (grinning and nodding): No, pee in Mommy's bed...Here it comes...Look out...

He never actually meant to pee on my bed but he did mean to tease the heck out of me. Where he got this idea, I don't know.

Music Man

Whenever Ari is jamming on a guitar or rocking out to something inappropriate on the stereo, this is his favorite line to bellow:

"Yea, baby, yea. Yea, yea baby. Yea, yea baby. Yea, baby, yea!"

Babe Ruth

Over the past couple of weeks, Ari's gotten quite good at baseball. Not T-ball, mind you, baseball. He and I headed out to the street after dinner one evening last week intent on getting some ball in before bath. We set up the bases and I began to drag out the T, as usual. He vehemently stopped me. "No mom, not that. Just throw." Completely confused, I kept trying to set the T up. He finally got frustrated, threw the thing towards the garage and said, "Throw the ball! I knock it out of the park." Ok. I will. And damned if he didn't do just that. Two years old, no T...and he knocked it out of the park (or at least to the opposite end of the street).

Music Snob

As we were driving along on an errand one day, I was attempting to enjoy a little "mommy music" as opposed to the endless requests for the Wiggles or "The Batman Song" or "The Rock CD". My "mommy music" that day happened to be JoDee Messina's Greatest Hits (fantastic girl CD). About 30 seconds into the first song, Ari pipes in from the back seat, "No Mom, I don't like that moogoo (music)." "Well Ari, we're listening to my music this morning." A pause as he considers this, and then, "No, not that moogoo, good moogoo." Well excuuuuse me. Persecuted by a two-year-old for my love of girlie country.

Coach

I took a stroller fitness class last week and one of the stationary exercises we were doing gave you the option of adding a jump to make the exercise more strenuous. This being my first class, I opted out on the jumping portion. As I turned around to answer one of Ari's questions (he and Ally were in the stroller behind me), I noticed him eyeing the mom next to me who, of course, was doing the jumping part. About 5 seconds later, Ari yells out to me, "No, no Mom. You're supposed to jump." This amused my neighbor immensely. Me, not so much.

Love of My Life

While laying in bed this morning, Ari says to me, "Mom, you're my best friend."

Yeah, I melted too.

Apparently he said the same thing to his father 5 minutes earlier when I was in the next room. So he's fickle as hell. We couldn't care less.

Ally O'Malley

2009-06-27T23:17:00.000-07:00

"I love to beee diaper freee."

Not stoned. Just dazed and confused.

...and happy.

We call her The Lizard...loves to pop that tongue out.

My first non-jammy outfit!

Raising a Heathen, Revisited

2009-06-27T22:21:00.000-07:00

It being a "disorganized and running late" sort of day earlier this week, I was a little lax in my cuss-word-restraint. Ari brought this to my attention in two instances:

At Target...as I pushed the cart into the store, Ari bumped his head against the side when we wheeled over the bump at the threshold. "Oh shit, shit, shit. Oh shit. Shit." He proclaimed to whomever would listen. In my attempts to ignore, and not laugh at, his outburst, I probably did not provide enough attention to the much celebrated ouchie. Which is possibly why he tacked on that last "shit".

At the grocery store...again, a cart incident. Trying to maneuver the gigantic grocery-cart-with-kiddie-car-on-front (if you don't have small children you probably have no idea what I'm talking about) through the freezer aisle, I got hung up on a freezer door (don't ask). "Son of a bitch," I mutter as I struggle to free the cart. Ari, all the way in the kiddie car on the front of the cart, cheerfully calls out, "Son of a bitch!" Sharp ears on that one.

And a couple more anecdotes from a precocious two-year-old...

Two Mondays ago, I was having a rough mothering day. Everything seemed to be going wrong. I caught Ally's skin in a buckle. Ari kicked her swing as I was pulling her out and she bumped her head. He flew a wooden toy airplane into her head, on purpose. Ari and I were butting heads on almost everything. By lunchtime I was pulling my hair out and decided to throw caution to the wind, build a blanket fort on the patio and have some dinosaur sandwiches inside it...thinking that "fun mommy" would save the day. Um, no. It began with Ally starting to fuss because it was getting pretty hot in the fort (she hates to be hot). Then Ari refused to sit still and eat more than a bit of his dino sandwich. After some supreme frustration, I held it for him so he could take a bite. Whoops, bad precedent. He wanted me to hold it for the next bite, then the next. I refused and said, "I can't do that, Ari, you can use your hands." He threw my parent psychobabble back in my face with, "You can do it, Mommy!" with as much enthusiasm and encouragement as he could muster. I sat there as stoically as I could before cracking a smile (one can only hold back so much) and picking up the sandwich. He took a bite, grinned at me and blessed me with, "You did it, Mommy!"

Two minutes later, Ally was in a full-fledged tantrum because of the heat so I took her inside, followed by Ari, and tucked her into her infant seat then went back to the patio to clean up. I hear the sliding glass door slide shut behind me. And then..."click". Damnit. I knew it was a bad thing when Ari learned how to work the door locks. You see, our patio is enclosed by a six-foot wall and picky shrubs. Slowly, I stood up, turned around and walked to the door. "Ari, you will unlock this door now." He smirks at me. The little shite smirked at me. And walked away. What the f...when I get my hands on him... What to do? Baby inside with insidious toddler. Am stuck on patio. Please, God, help.

Ah, inspiration! I decided to work on my tan. I laid down in the middle of the patio and pulled my shirt up over my head. And waited. Sure enough, through the glass I hear, "Mommy, what you doing? Mommy? Mommy?" And then, a click and a whoosh as the door opens. Slowly I get up, walk to the door and sit down in front of him to give him the 411 on why we don't lock Mommy out of the house. As I begin my speech, he interrupts with, "But Mommy, I was being patient!" As in "I was being patient while I waited for you to be able to come back into the house." Since we've been working on "being patient" lately, I wasn't sure if he was genuinely learning a lesson here or if he was snowballing me. I'm leaning towards the latter.

Sometimes it's very funny in our house and sometimes it's very tiring. Usually it's both at the same time.

Happy Girl

2009-06-10T09:12:00.000-07:00

Please, only Grandparents watch this...because I sound like an idiot. (or turn off the volume)

We've Made it 6 Weeks

2009-06-06T21:08:00.000-07:00

Well, now that our out-of-town guests have slowed to a trickle and Ally has graduated to 6 weeks old, we've decided to transform the guest room/office into the baby's room...mostly so we can stop climbing all over baby furniture and sneaking around at night in our own bedroom.

Ari helped...gotta love power tools.

It was a big job but, whoop, there it is.

Ari looks like quite the enthusiastic helper here, doesn't he? In reality, his enthusiasm is more the product of having a "project" and playing with his toy power tools. The quantity of his enthusiasm for his baby sister can be summed up in two examples:

"Mommy, the beebee's crying." ..."Ari, can you rock her a little, please?" ..."No. You do it."

...and one rare instance that almost landed me on the floor:

(as Sascha carried Ally away to change her diaper) "I like dat beebee." (We're still not sure if he really meant that.)

Ally is the doll of a daughter that I had always hoped for. Her patience, grins and baby chuckles are what get me through the times when Ari declares that he does not love me or turns his back and pushes me away. Sometimes I think what have we done? only because my firstborn seems to be unravelling, not because of the adjustment to sleep deprivation and a crying newborn. Whatever. We're still here and we'll live to fight another day.

Six-week-old Ally. Hello Old Soul. If only babies could share their wisdom.

Sigh #1

2009-06-03T07:40:00.000-07:00

And what does one do? At a time that should be happy, yet chaotic, and full, yet sleep-deprived and overwhelming, I'm sitting at the kitchen table reading a paragraph and dissolving into tears because the author is talking about her two very small boys and the friendship and mutual admiration they've developed.

Here is a scene from this morning:

I wake at 7am to Ally stirring next to me, knowing full well that Ari will be walking in our door (in a questionable mood) in approximately 5 minutes. I sit down to perhaps nurse Ally quickly before he arrives and then hear a loud thump from Ari's room and his door opening. Shit. Quickly, I set Ally down as Ari comes barreling into our room, his face crumpling and his arms outstretched to me. We sit down in the chair together and rock. He won't look at me. Won't talk to me. Ally starts to cry. Sascha picks her up. Not good enough. Ari is still catatonic on my lap. Ally increases the volume. So I figure, "Well, there's room for two, right?", and ask Ari if perhaps Ally needs to eat in order to stop crying. No answer. With nothing left to lose (presumably, I've already lost him), I plunk a pillow on my lap and nurse Ally in a football hold while holding Ari with the other arm. He arches away from the baby, frowning. "Ari, as soon as she's done, I'm only going to hold you," I placate. No go. After two minutes he twists away from me, slides off my lap and runs to his room. Ally finishes. I hand her to Sascha and make my next move to Ari's room to see if I can fix the wrong-doing of which I am guilty (mothering two children). As soon as I walk in he starts crying, whining and writhing. The prefix to a tantrum. Again. I sit down with him and try to resume "our time". No go. So I ask if he really wants me to leave. Yes. Really? Yes. Okay, I'll be downstairs when you need me. Okay. Would you like me to cover you? Yes. I tuck him in and he allows me a kiss (amazing). Which brings me to the kitchen, a cup of coffee, Guideposts, and tears of frustration. And that's one of the less dramatic starts to our day.

Needless to say, there is no friendship or mutual admiration present here. And though it may only last a few months, I am sad.

To be continued...

The Centerpiece

2009-05-27T21:52:00.000-07:00

Reality Check

2009-05-21T21:43:00.001-07:00

Scene: Two days ago. Sascha and Wendy eating cinnamon rolls at 10am. Clutter and chaos reining all around. Ari watching Clifford on PBS, about 30 minutes away from his morning meltdown because he wants to "go out". Ally asleep in her infant chair, oblivious to the fact that her morning nap and post-nap nursing delays Ari's going out time indefinitely.

Wendy (looking around her): So. We really need to get our shit together.

Sascha (with wide eyes and mumbling around a mouthful of roll): Mmm-hmmm!

The above exchange basically means that Wendy needs to get the collective shit together.

The shit is still all over the place.

Because Wendy is tired.

Birth Story

2009-05-14T16:35:00.000-07:00

I just want you all to know up front that I am skipping a nap in order to update the blog with the "birth story". So...if there are moments when I make no sense or misspell several words or let fly with a cuss word or two...please don't call me on it, just blame severe lack of sleep.

As far as the story of Aletha's birth goes...I guess that I'm not all that anxious to share it. Which is, perhaps, why I haven't as yet. Nothing out of the ordinary happened this time around, thank the good Lord. No hemmhorage, no going into labor in a parking lot, no breaking point at 8 cm and almost asking for the epidural. This time around we knew what to expect (a load of pain and a lot of mess) and for how long to expect it (at least as long as last time). We didn't go into this thinking I could "hypnobirth" my way through and smile as the "birth surges" passed (what complete crap). We weren't expecting a 5 hour labor because our birth class instructor said we could put our desire out into the universe and receive it in kind (again, what crap). We went into this expecting solid reality and that's what we got. But in a good way. No, really.

My parents flew into town three days before Ally's due date. My dad could only be in town for one week and as the days ticked by and I didn't feel anywhere near labor, a slight panic set in as I realized that he may have to fly home without meeting his granddaughter. Since we were naming Ally for my grandma (Dad's mom), I was not happy with this possible scenario. So. I had a little talk with our little fetus...No pressure or anything, kid, but you've had a lot of time to cook in there and we're all very anxious to meet you. I'm ready whenever you're ready. But let's be ready in the next couple days, 'kay? She was due on a Wednesday, we had our "talk" on Friday, contractions started on Saturday and she came sliding out on Sunday. Since a frank discussion worked with her, I'm thinking her personality is light years different from her brother's. Again, thank the good Lord...because I'm not smart enough for two of Ari.

So Saturday around noon I started feeling icky and exhausted and went to lie down. Some people get an energy burst before labor starts...I get an energy drain. I'm not kidding. Saturday afternoon random contractions started and Sascha and I actually got to take a walk by ourselves through them. I woke up at midnight with more contractions and got up and went downstairs to get things ready for the hospital (second kid...you don't have a hospital bag waiting weeks in advance...it's the night before). Around 3am I got too tired to stay up and keep the contractions going so I fell asleep for a while and woke up to stronger ones around 6am. After hanging out in the shower for a while with Sascha "timing" the contractions (i.e. "How long was that one?" "Oh, I forgot to look at the clock." Again, second kid.), I called in to the midwife on call and in response to his "What can we do for you, Wendy?" I said, "Yeh. We're coming in. Now." At this point, I had no patience for excess verbage.

Ari threw a fit as we tried to leave for the hospital without him and the only way we could get out the door was to give him the gift-from-his-new-baby-sister early...meaning, right then. So we left with tears dropping behind us as I muttered over and over "we waited too long, we waited too long" through the contractions.

In reality, we had not waited too long. I was only 4cm dialated when we reached the hospital, though it felt like 8. As soon as we walked into our lovely birthing room, I promplty headed for the bathroom and threw up (same thing happened when Ari was born). Yep, I'm a birthing puker. Some women scream and throw hysterics while bringing their children into this world. I moan loudly and throw up.

I'll spare you the details of the next nine hours. All I will say is that birthing tubs rock. Always, always, always ask for a birthing tub. And nurse midwives are the saviors of the birthing world. Always, always, always go with a midwife if you can. Our midwife, Rebecca, was fantastic...humor at the appropriate moments, wisdom at others and an endless source of tips and suggestions. She was truly "with woman" (which is the meaning of "midwife"...only intervening when necessary) in that she didn't deliver our daughter, she intead received her. Because Rebecca held to the true meaning of being a midwife, we felt that Ally, Sascha and I were in charge of our own birth process and it was just the three of us that brought Ally into this world. It was a wonderful thing and I have nothing but good memories from her birth.

Thank you, Rebecca, for standing by with patience and wisdom and for gently handing me my girl. Thank you, Sascha, for holding me when I needed to be held, breathing with me through the pain and for politely asking me to release your nipple as I blindly grabbed it during the "ring of fire". Thank you, God, for guiding us safely through our daughter's birth and for giving us such a beautiful gift.

And thank you, Aletha, for trusting us to be your family throughout your journey on earth. May we always do right by you.

I'll love you forever,
I'll like you for always,
As long as I'm living my baby you'll be.
~Robert Munsch

Aletha Marin, Our Sweet Girl

2009-05-13T11:06:00.001-07:00

Sweet

Aletha "Ally" Marin Freiwald

April 26, 2009 6:22 p.m.
7 pounds 4 ounces

Precious

Aletha: Wendy's grandmother's name, meaning "truth"
Marin: meaning "by the sea"

Comical

Noisiest baby. Ever. She's not even quiet when she sleeps.

(Despite the above noisy claim, you will have to turn up the volume for this video.)

40 1/2 weeks...and counting

2009-04-25T20:17:00.000-07:00

Things are getting...uncomfortable...

Sports Nut

2009-04-14T18:30:00.000-07:00

Brother & Bump

2009-04-14T09:40:00.001-07:00

Weariness

2009-04-10T16:24:00.000-07:00

You reach a certain point in your pregnancy when you would love to don a tshirt that states, "Frankly, my dear, I don't give damn." This week, I reached that point. Have a pointless question? Need to test my boundaries? Would like to rethink the baby's name? Well I have lost my capacity for bullshit. I defer to the shirt. This may make me look short of patience, obstinate and, at times, grouchy with those who cross me. But I prefer the word "firm". I am busy perfecting "firm" and am putting the finishing touches on "the look". Because sometimes that's all I have energy for anymore...a look. So it'd better be good.

Those of you who have not the child-producing capacity (ahem, men, ahem) don't get this and can be pretty insensitive to it. I'm sure they're thinking something along the lines of "oh suck it up". Trust me. I'd love to suck it up. I'd love to plow through the housework, meal preparation and freezing, endless loads of laundry and toddler tantrums with a serene pregnancy glow. Barefoot, too. However, when climbing the stairs has me resting at the top for 30 seconds lest I pass out; when bending over sends me into contractions; when I'm battling my 4th sinus "thing" since February; when a ligament in my groin spasms and sends me to my knees throughout dinner prep; and when a healthy sneeze or belly laugh forces me to cross my legs or reap the consequences...it's a little hard to "suck it up". Basically, I defer to the shirt. Think what you will, I don't give a damn.

**Ari sings "Shimmy Shake" along with the Wiggles while I type this. He doesn't care if I don't give a damn.**

All of this isn't to say that I am ready to have this child. Sometimes the thought of a second child terrifies me and sometimes I am overwhelmed with curiosity and a desire to meet her. Ah, the dichotomies of parenthood. They begin even in utero. And, really, there are only three things that frighten me in respect to this blessed event: a) parenting two children - when I previously believed Ari took everything I had; b) the possibility of another hemorrhage; and c) postpartum depression. People frequently say that you fear the unknown. However, I don't. I fear the known. I know what it feels like to give your all to a child and know that it's still not enough. I know the fear of hemorrhaging after birth. And I know the darkness of postpartum depression. I'm taking steps to prevent and/or deal with each of these things but how much can you prepare? Will nature even let you? Sometimes you just have to trust and take the leap.

I think of people I know and love who are taking leap after leap after leap. My grandma, who is giving up her home, her things of 70 years, and moving to a retirement home. For good. A friend who just moved to Chicago to begin a new job and a new life. A strong woman who will follow her husband to a new state and start all over. Someone who is beginning his life again with someone new. An amazing woman still healing from the sting of loss. Leap after leap after leap. Life.

Another dear friend of mine wrote in her blog about a man who predicts that in 35 years we, as a human race, will have merged with our technology and may be able to overcome death. He did not state that this is a positive thing. And even so...even if this is true someday...can it detract, make less of, the Life we follow here? Our Path? Can our knowing that death or struggle is not inevitable make these leaps of faith less significant? Maybe. Our Lives are about lessons learned and choices made. Consequences. And what if, someday, there aren't that many consequences left? That may be a scary day for our children and I'm not sure I want that.

This has become more of a monologue on the virtues of technology v. the sacredness of Life than a rant on the weariness of pregnancy. And that's okay. I guess, when it comes to the former, time will tell. Hmmm, looks like a give a damn after all. Rats.

The screwdriver goes in the drawer, Ari.

2009-04-08T16:18:00.000-07:00

I was making rice crispy treats today...with brand new coco crispies and 6-months-past-the-best-by date marshmallows (pretty typical in our house)...while Ari tried my patience from the living room, then the kitchen, then the living room, then hanging on my leg and standing on my foot. I was slowly losing my cool after a day of "I want, I want" without the please, whining and general American-bred entitlement that only a two-year-old can display with such vulgarity at times. Finally, he opened the junk drawer next to the stove, peaked in, pulled out a screwdriver and looked at me with the devil in his eyes. My first thought: My goodness, he's getting tall. My second thought: Why that little shit...

Ari: Mommy, I pay wif shooshiver?

Me (giving him my best regal-queen-of-the-Amazon-I-take-no-crap look): Ari, do we play with screwdrivers in this house?

Ari (actually looking abashed): No.

Me: What do we do with it then?

Ari: Put back in dwawer.

Me: That's right. Thank you very much.

Ari (slight chuckle, shaking head and smiling as if suprised by his former silliness): Okay.

I was shocked that the above exchange went so smoothly and so according to what I wanted. Could not believe that he actually looked embarrassed when I called him on the screwdriver thing. My God, my kid is growing a conscience!! And then...he pulled the same stunt again with a second screwdriver. It played out exactly the same way again but I knew he was testing a) his boundaries, b) how tired I was and how much I was going to give, and c) my benevolence in not yelling. Mission accomplished, lesson learned, I announced that I was done with my krispy treats and that we could go into the living room for two more songs before naptime.

Aside: One of his favorite activites is rocking out to adult music and seeing his parents dance along with him. See below post.

So I played the "Animal Song" and the "Move Song" (renaming compliments of Ari) and danced with him, pulling out some fomer clubbing moves and shaking my pregnant belly for all I was worth. Consequently sending me into another contraction. However, the Ar-man bellowed out, "Go, Mom, go!" so I knew I was doing just fine and the contraction was worth it.

Friday Night Dance Party

2009-03-30T20:02:00.000-07:00

On any given night after dinner, the three of us can be found in the living room jamming to volume-pumped "Apple Bottom Jeans" and several other highly innapropriate songs. Here are some glimpses from our post-7pm life...I'm sure our neighbors just looove us.

Right now, Sascha and Ari are rocking out to songs with lyrics that should be labeled with a Parent Advisory sticker. Sascha sings the lyrics (yes, he does, out loud) and Ari repeats whatever words he can keep up with. Case in point: Ari called the last song on the playlist the "Animal Song"...that's not the actual name and I refuse to share it.

Someone is going to call Children's Services...

Tim, The Tool Man, Taylor

2009-03-21T11:15:00.000-07:00

Because I'm avoiding my housely duties, I thought I'd share another "thing we've been up to". In our efforts to prepare our home for this baby (yes, we're nesting) and make room for everything and everyone that will be entering our lives over the next few months, our little townhouse is undergoing some "renovations." DIY renovations, that is.

Overall, we've moved the "office" out of the "office/guest room", turning it into a "baby/guest room"...the office being relegated to an IKEA P.O.S. desk in the corner of the living room. I've never heard someone cuss so much when putting together a piece of furniture...yes, each component seemed to have been created in separate international factories without any communication whatsoever, but it contains our paperly chaos and keeps nosy little fingers at bay. This move displaced our CD racks, which are now living, backwards, in the kitchen. In order to find a CD we have to pivot a case at random and glance in sideways. Of course, all we ever play anymore are Jock Jams and the Wiggles so I guess it doesn't really matter. We've repainted and big-boyed-up Ari's room with some bright colors and a toddler bed (pictures to come). And...our biggest project, we removed our old TV solution and, thanks to Sascha and his Dad's ingenuity, rigged a whole new space-saving way to watch TV. Here begins the odyssey...

Our former TV and armoire, a beloved wedding gift that we just don't have space for in this house...maybe in a future house. It was butted up against the built-in TV alcove with a curtain covering the wall and alcove behind. Adios armoire. It now resides in the garage and our old TV with our babysitter.

Hello built-in. With a little work, you just may do...

You see, we had to fit this new flatscreen (37") into a 26" space. Ain't. Gonna. Happen. I tried to tell Sascha that maybe we just had to settle for smaller this time around...you ever try telling that to a man? Nope, 37" it had to be and thank goodness we have an engineer in the family. Maybe two now...

No, not him. Although he was a big help...

...and provided a bit of comic relief.

Sascha and his Dad (Arnie) collaborated via phone on this project and came up with an amazing solution. I was SO impressed watching it all come together.

Our couch and living space will eventually be across the room from the TV (it's a completely whacked set-up in this house) so the TV had to be able to articulate and turn almost 45 degrees. So this is what happened...and it happened beautifully.

Of course, Sascha had some help...

Et voila! I'll post some pics soon of it completely finished and looking nice. Probably after we try rearranging the living room today.

Portland Trip

2009-03-19T15:58:00.001-07:00

Okay. Yes. I know. This trip happened three weeks ago. And I am, just now, posting some shots. Well, we've had house projects. And out-of-town guests. And laundry. And I'm eight months pregnant. Whaddyawant? So here you are. Better late than never.

As Andy walked us out of the Portland airport and an icy 40 degree wind blasted us (truth: gently buffered us), I knew we had been living in San Diego too long...the wussification process was almost complete...that, and I had neglected to pack appropriately for 40 degree weather. Hopefully, there's a parka I can borrow somewhere...

Our first night at Andy & Mel's was spent meeting their dog Bodie, eating some delicious pasta and drinking some great Oregon wine...yes, even I decided to partake. Ari and Bodie quickly took a liking to each other and as long as we kept wine glasses clear of wagging tails and flying balls, things went pretty well.

On our first full day in Portland, we walked along the river until Andy had to head to class. And then the three of us headed into town to explore and grab lunch. Ari was introduced to pad thai (my favorite)...and chopsticks (his favorite)...when we visited the Nob Hill neighborhood. Kickin' neighborhood. Check it out if you're ever in the city. Andy and Mel took us out to dinner that night at a great little place not far from their house. Wine, crayons and toddlers...that's about how our dinners out with friends go.

The next day, we all took a walk through their neighborhood (Alberta Arts District) to get donuts. Ari decided that Melissa needed help walking Bodie. The walk turned out to be longer than anticipated and all I can say is Thank God Andy gave me a parka to wear.

Sascha can't say no to donuts. He'll down a half dozen in one sitting. Like father, like son.

After the donut melee, we drove through the Columbia River Gorge and checked out the fantastic views and waterfalls. Winds were blowing so hard at one spot that the cars were shaking (hence, the flying braids on the right). Sascha was in his element: the forest. Ari was a little grouchy that day and decided to simply sleep through most of it. Actually, I think he was cold...time to move back to the North...

Our last night there, Andy and Melissa so kindly offered to babysit while we went out on the town. Since we were pretty tired we decided to just walk around Nob Hill together, pick up some Indian for everbody and then head home...where they were giving Ari a bath, God bless'em!

All in all...cool town, good trip, great to see family. Love you guys!

Hedonistic Adventures

2009-02-26T07:17:00.001-08:00

"Okay, ready. Let's go. Now!"

I swear we did not put him up to this. This is 100% Ari...we're very proud.

A fly on the wall

2009-02-11T10:20:00.000-08:00

A couple days ago...

Scene: Sascha and Wendy are loading up the dishwasher one night.

Sascha (chuckling and shaking his head as he rearranges plates): Did Ari help you load the dishwasher today?

Wendy (strange look): No, that's where I put those plates when I want to make room for something bigger. (beat) Whaddya mean "did Ari help you"?

Sascha (deer in headlights look): Oh. Sorry. Nothing.

Wendy (you're not foolin' me look): Mmmhmm. Nice, honey.
----------------------------------------------------------
This morning...

Scene: Wendy walks by as Ari is watching PBS.

Wendy: Whatcha watching? Clifford?

Ari: Yeh. Cool guy.

Wendy (pauses): Did you just say "cool guy"?

Ari: Yes!

30 Weeks

2009-02-08T19:50:00.000-08:00

(for those of you not on Facebook...:)

Sometimes You Gotta Be Grateful

2009-02-08T17:58:00.000-08:00

For...

The walking trail behind our condo complex. It's become my early morning quiet time.

The rain over the past couple days. It washes things.

Ari's cuddly, sweet and loving moments. They ensure his survival. And mine.

My cats. And their 6am alarm clock meowing. I'd never get my morning walk otherwise.

Ikea. For its $4 pillows, $10 comforters and 99 cent Mac & Cheese. And its ability to entertain a two year old for 3 and a half hours.

My husband. Who does the dishes and the vaccuming if it needs to be done.

Craig's List. And the fact that I can buy a year's wardrobe for my daughter for under $75.

Peanut Butter M&Ms. Enough said.

Sunday night Pizza Night.

George at the Saturn Service department. I will never entertain the thought of a different car.

San Diego weather and the ability to get a tan on your arms in February simply by walking to the park.

A couple of good girlfriends, some coffee and Java Mama.

Holding my temper during those rough moments at the dinner table.

Being okay with sitting on the couch and wasting two hours on the computer.

...now where are those M&Ms?

Ban This Book

2009-02-01T21:38:00.000-08:00

Our financial advisor's family got Ari this book for Christmas: Don't let the pigeon stay up late.

It's all about this pigeon that tries to finagle a later bedtime. He doesn't succeed but, boy, does he work it. It's hilarious for adults and, we're finding, quite influential on the two-year-old wheedling process. For example, this evening:

I tuck Ari into bed and as I walk out the door...

Ari: Wait, Mom. Wait, wait.

Me: Yes, Ari?

Ari: Um, um, um, um, um, um. Choo choo book.

Me: Yes, we'll read it together in the morning.

Ari: Wait. No. Choo choo book here. (pointing at the mattress next to him)

Me: Okay. (retrieving the choo choo book from the bookcase)

Ari: No. Wait. Not that.

Me: You want the Toby book?

Ari: Yes.

I swap out the choo choo book for the Toby book.

Ari: Wait. Wait. No, not that.

Me: (with growing fatigue) Ari, I'm going to give you one more book and that's the end of it.

Ari: (quite cheerfully) Okay!

I add one more train book to the crib, say good night and begin to walk out the door.

Ari: Wait, wait. Wait, Mom.

Me: Yes, Love?

Ari: Um, um, um, um, um, um, um, um. Sixteen.

Me: Sixteen?

Ari: Yes!

Me: Sixteen, huh? Okay, I'll see you in the morning. I love you.

I close the door to the muffled sounds of more random numbers.

Pancakes and Toe Jam

2009-02-01T13:27:00.000-08:00

During breakfast today, Ari determined that his toe fuzzies needed to be examined. This is a normal occurance as he likes to remove the sock fuzz from between his toes. He ripped his socks off and started picking between his toes. "No fuzzies, Mom." Bear in mind, this child has not been bathed in an undisclosed amount of time...He then started to pick at some accumulated toe jam. Even after I warned him that those feet may be a bit stinky, he put his fingers to his nose, made an awful face and proclaimed, "Oh! Grrghak! Yucky!"

I told you.

My Wish List

2009-02-01T12:48:00.000-08:00

To awaken in the morning, not to the sound of dramatic whining from a baby monitor or loud breakfast-demanding meows from the hallway...but to the cheerful sound of birds chirping...during daylight hours. Please, cats, about the 6am. You have got to be kidding me.

To shower and dress for the day before leaving my room and walk downstairs to prepare breakfast on my own terms. Without the pajama-bottom-losing effects of toddler-induced gravity. Please, with the pulling down of my pants while I'm preparing a meal.

To drink a cup of coffee in the morning. The whole cup. Over a reasonable amount of time and not having to re-heat it in the microwave several times over a four-hour period.

To leave the house for the day quietly, quickly and gracefully, without 15 minutes of shoe-application, explanations and convincing enthusiasm or loaded down with kiddie coolers, water bottles and diaper bags. Pack mule, I am not.

To schlep through errands and daily work efficiently and completing the list of intended things to do. Without back-up plans, Cheerios crushed into the bottom of my purse and stuck to my sweater, throwing toys into the back seat or listening to the Wiggles on the car stereo.

Oh, to stop multi-tasking, even while driving.

To finish a thought.

To remember I used to be an intelligent adult capable of holding deep conversation.

To just do things. Without making it all a game or thinking 10 minutes ahead of every moment or explaining why. To just do it.

And despite my losses and my learnings from those losses...Oh for the pre-people-in-my-house days when I could decorate as I liked, cook what and when I wanted, write when I wanted, come and go as I pleased and when my career plans were my career plans and didn't have to take into consideration the well-being or convenience of three other people.

Oh for the days when I could be selfish, self-absorbed and completely oblivious to the needs of a spouse and children.

...I miss that sometimes.

But then...who would I kiss good morning and good night? Who would I laugh with over silly Thomas the train faces on TV? Who would give me a pat on the shoulder and a "hi Mom" at the oddest of times? Who would chastise me when I drop the f-bomb or let the s-word slip? Who would tell me I'm doing a good job and scrape me up off the floor when I fall? And what on earth would I write about? Yes, life would be all about me...but would it be nearly as full?

Choosing Creativity Over Crying

2009-01-30T20:41:00.000-08:00

An Ode to Insanity

For there is nothing like 2 year old insanity.

It rages and stomps and calls you by name.
     "Hey Mom, Hey Dad. No, no, go away now, Dad."
It is waking at 7:30, yawning for two hours, and then
     refusing to go to bed until 10pm.
It is instantaneous mind changes and mood changes
     and taking high offense when the term "bipolar"
     is employed (how does he know what bipolar means?).
It is...tiring....

For there is nothing like 2 year old insanity.

It will rage irrational and then shrewdly bargain for
     "just one more cookie".
It flirts and cuddles and then screams, "No Mommy!"
It is disagreement at its most volatile...and frequent.
It confuses...it frustrates...

For there is nothing like 2 year old insanity.

It throws tantrums at a restaurant as parents glance
     longingly at the bar.
It then gazes adoringly at the waitress as she brings
     the Mac & Cheese.
It does not gaze adoringly at Mom when she brings
     the Mac & Cheese.
It enrages...

For there is nothing like 2 year old insanity.

It creates babbling idiots out of highly educated adults.
It defines the phrase "a rock and a hard place".
It makes a grown woman want a nap at 10 am...
     or reach for the rum at 4pm.
It will make you stronger, they say...
     ...if it does not kill you in the process.

For there is nothing like 2 year old insanity.

(case in point...of the more positive side of insanity)

6 Month Health Streak!

2009-01-24T19:52:00.000-08:00

...ended.

And so I sit, curled into the fetal position breathing wetly into a fistful of Costco Kleenex (i.e. not the kind that come with "Plus") and wondering if an orange, 5 strawberries and a couple spoonfuls of organic mac & cheese will constitute the wonder-food I need to magically reconstruct my former glowing health. Being six months pregnant, it is frowned upon to imbibe in any pharmaceutical aid...and so I sit, rasping out a "hey buddy" and offering a wan smile to the little urchin charging into my room every so often to "see Mommy".

Blessedly, said urchin has avoided the bugs passed back and forth between mom and dad. Sascha started this germ fest off a couple weeks ago with one of those "oh-my-god-i'm-dying" sinus infections that lasted three days (of course, he still claims the residual "draining"). With any hope, I'll be wrapping up this familial episode of viral drama entirely on my own with a stellar presentation of clogged sinuses, raw dripping nose, 80-year-old-large-man sneezes and body aches that I'm starting to confuse with contractions. And I need to finish it all by Monday.

As I write, my two boys are in our bathroom, trimming Ari's nails as he tells me all about life. "Shower there - wash wash." "What got there?" (referring to my laptop)...and launching into a description of watching Handy Manny on daddy's computer while Skyping with Nana. When I ask Sascha if I spelled "Skyping" correctly, Ari answers with absolution, "Yes." He's become quite the chatterbox, even though we can only understand about 70% of his verbal stream. Now preferring to call us "Mom" and "Dad", I can see him babbling his way into a prom date 15 years from now. A terrifying thought. But for now it's "football, soccerball, baseball" in "Daddy's car". And that's all I could ever want.

Scenes from Our Evening

2009-01-20T19:20:00.000-08:00

I come in from getting the mail.

Sascha: Whatcha got in there? Can I see, babe?

Ari: See, see, babe? See, babe?

.....

Of course, the humor of the above anecdote is clouded a mere 15 minutes later by Ari eating only his garlic bread and three bites of his nutritious spelt pasta dinner and announcing that he's "all done, down please"...only to get down, realize there are crumbs on his sock, pick them off and proceed to eat them.

Sock crumbs. Where did I go wrong?

Perhaps it was when I allowed him to eat his oatmeal in front of the TV this morning so we could watch the inauguration. The day seemed to go downhill from there. It's never good to start the day with TV but when you live on the Left Coast and a major event in our history is taking place at noon on the Right Coast, you make accomodations. Besides, it choked me up to sit next to my two year old and witness this change in our history and to listen to Obama's words.

And Ari didn't let me down. Five minutes into the program, he looked at me with his soulful hazel eyes and said, "Where football?" I tried to explain what was going on and why we were watching this, to which he shook his head in toddler disgust, slid off my lap and, muttering something about "predent" and "football", walked away to play with his train set.

Diagnosis: Failure to Thrive

2009-01-14T15:14:00.000-08:00

"When they were very small, I suppose I thought someday they would become who they were because of what I'd done. Now I suspect they simply grew into their true selves because they demanded in a thousand ways that I back off and let them be."
~taken from On Being a Mom by Anna Quindlen, pulitzer winner, author, mom to 3

Oh.

That's right.

Sometimes you need reminding.

On this day, during naptime, when I'm feeling aimless and senselessly avoiding my to-do list, I stumbled upon this essay, which was sent by a friend last Mother's Day.

Perfect timing since I'm puzzling (he puzzled and puzzed 'till his puzzler was sore, Dr. Seuss) over how to raise this child, two children soon, and do right by him. At the tail-end of an emotional and physical battle over food, eating and weight-gain (i.e. failure to thrive), I feel spent at times and tearful at my failures as a mother. And now we have a new lesson to learn, both of us. Ari's now in occupational therapy to learn how to be open and accepting to new (i.e. nutritious) foods and I'm in self-mandated mother school to learn the ins and outs of nutrition and offering food to a toddler...and then letting go.

Anna wrote this as well: "Eventually you must learn to trust yourself. Eventually the research will follow. I remember 15 years ago poring over one of Dr. Brazelton's wonderful books on child development, in which he describes three different sorts of infants: average, quiet, and active. I was looking for a sub-quiet codicil for an 18-month-old who did not walk. Was there something wrong with his fat little legs? Was there something wrong with his tiny little mind? Was he developmentally delayed, physically challenged? Was I insane? Last year he went to China. Next year he goes to college. He can talk just fine. He can walk too."

Due to the nature of, well, nature...I know Ari will not need help eating in the fourth grade. I know he will be able to prepare his own meals and buy his own groceries in college. I know my challenges in the kitchen will not impede his ability to develop a healthy romantic relationship in the FAR distant future. But due to the nature of mother-guilt and our need to carry the world on our shoulders, it's difficult sometimes to just provide what's needed, trust, and then let his little hands and mouth take over. I guess this applies to all areas of child-rearing as well. Letting go...a lesson I never thought I needed to learn at my son's tender age of two.

Some "Comin' Out" Pics

2008-12-21T12:28:00.000-08:00

C'est la femme! (It's a girl) Not that you can tell in this lovely profile shot...

Pictures of our completed kitchen remodel. Yes, we're quite happy with it :). (You'll have to scroll way down to see the post with "before" pictures.)

Raising a Heathen

2008-12-10T15:23:00.000-08:00

Sascha came home on Sunday to an exhausted post-four-days-of-supreme-attitude-and-sleep-deprived family. Ari was in rare form, wanting to play "socka" outside with Dad but also extremely tired and ready for a nap. Sascha comes in after 10 minutes of play with a strange look, his eyebrows elevated. Apparently, Ari was so tired that he cussed his way through playtime, proclaiming "shit shit shit" while running along and trying to kick the soccer ball.

I think we need to start watching our language...

-----------------------------------------------------------

Listening to an NPR segment on the history of Christmas celebration today, Ari and I held the following discussion:

Ari: Mugoo, mugoo! (music, music)

Wendy: Ari, Mommy's learning about Christmas right now, that's what they're talking about.

Ari: silence, as he considers this...

Radio: yadda yadda yadda Christmas yadda yadda

Ari (sudden gasp): Santa Clause!

Wendy (eyebrows raised): Yes Ari, that's right. Santa Clause...and Baby Jesus.

Ari: Deedas? Beebee?

Hm, somehow we've gotten our priorities messed up...

Update

2008-12-10T15:19:00.001-08:00

For those of you sending up prayers, thank you.

Arnie is doing better, as of last night, despite a random rapid-onset fever yesterday. The chest tube (a horrible "discomfort") was removed, as were a couple other tubes and he was able to get up for a little bit.

My Grandpa has decided to pursue heart surgery and is doing better (although exhausted), back home, diagnosed with "angina" and awaiting a cardiologist's visit to his small, rural hospital to discuss and schedule heart surgery in Sioux City, IA.

Hunkering Down

2008-12-08T10:52:00.000-08:00

Once you become Real you can't become unreal again. It lasts for always.

As it states to the right, Margery Williams wrote this in her profound children's book, the Velveteen Rabbit. And let me tell you, things are certainly Real right now. In this yuletide season of joy, gratitude, warmth and deliverance I find myself crying more than laughing. Of course, it has something to do with the month. December brings this on for me. But this year, my extended family is hunkering down with me. Time to weather the storm.

After surviving an away-from home Thanksgiving week, Sascha flew out to Michigan to be with his dad (Arnie) Thursday during his complicated and serious surgery on Friday. He came through very well and everyone was relieved. Sascha flew home Sunday after another Michigan blizzard and arrived safely in San Diego. A few hours later we received word that Rigo, Arnie's Rottweiler, had fallen through the ice and has not yet been found. Arnie was told while still recovering in the hospital.

Reality.

This morning, my grandfather was taken to the hospital for the third time in a week, this time by ambulance. Prognosis: an artery is blocked and his body is gearing up for a heart attack, after a stroke last week. A 91 year old man with more lives than 10 cats, he now has to decide whether to go in for surgery or allow "nature to take it's course".

Reality.

After all of this, topped off by the sheer exhaustion of single-parenting a toddler going through yet another boundary-challenging phase (along with a small death wish), I've come to realize that Reality isn't something I've really been facing lately. Hell, most people don't face it at all. Ever. The Reality I'm talking about is the stark in-you-face knowledge that life is *not* absolute. It is temporary. It is a fleeting thing and can disappear in an instant. We take it for granted, this life thing. We yell at people we love. We criticize. We trudge or drink our way through the holidays with a sense of duty and "just get through it" rather than joy. We lack faith in our fellow human soldiers on this field and lack even more faith in God. I've been picking at this bone for weeks now and, now that I'm emotionally, physically and mentally shredded, it's finally come to a head.

I plead with all who may read this...appreciate your loved ones while they're here. Tell them you love them, to their face, and mean it. If you don't mean it, if you really don't love them, then either deal with it and heal or admit when it's finished. For goodness sake, life is too short not to be honest (I'm talking real situational honesty, not that nit-picking criticism cloaked as honesty). And I'm as guilty as any other - for keeping quiet when I have something to say, for being scared to draw confrontation or for lacking the words to voice the thoughts inside. Well, as a resolution, this ends now. It will take time for me to find a new strength and a firm voice. Just as it will take time for others to work their way through the truth, if it happens at all. But if we have faith...

I first became Real when Matt died. The reality and truth of life hit me square in the face. And that slap mark hasn't gone away. It takes something like that to wipe the benign insouciance off your face as you trip your way blithely through life. Suddenly everything is meaningful and you're staring Truth in the face. As I re-entered life, some of that insouciance returned but the dark knowledge of loss keeps me pretty grounded and I manage to keep my priorities straight most of the time. I hope that continues, although I miss the blind innocence of the past.

There are some who may lift an eyebrow at this posting. Well, lift away. It's my blog. Start your own. But at least be honest.

Paraphernalic Update

2008-11-12T16:28:00.000-08:00

Cat Update
All blood tests came back clean...according to the lab, Bella is a healthy cat. Oh, praise the whiskered gods. Although the vet did suggest doing a $300-400 ultrasound to "potentially" rule out Irritable Bowel Disease and/or Lymphoma since she's lost so much weight over the past year and a half. I said no, we'll just feed her more, thanks. If she has cancer, she'll get more sick and die. If she has IBD, she'll throw up and won't gain weight. Call it a low-rent, do-it-yourself diagnostic test (she's a cat for Christ sake).
Status
Weight: She's now filling out and doing just fine.
Fleas: Dead.
What I learned: Trust your gut. Don't freak out. This too shall pass. Don't always follow a "medical professional's" advice. An animal is an animal and people are people. Try to remember the difference. Sometimes vets forget that difference.

Remodel Update

Well, we'll be eating out for at least two more days although I have considered trying to create oatmeal in a coffee pot so maybe there are some merits down certain avenues I haven't yet contemplated. Ari loves our contractor. His name is Bob. Bob the Builder. Ari is nicer to Bob than he is to me. When Bob leaves for the day, Ari rushes in with his wooden hammer and says, "tools, work, fix" and bangs away on the sides of the cupboards. Ari likes to fix things. And while he doesn't like noise itself, he does like to create his own.
Status
Kitchen: Dusty, gaping hole with promise of resurrection.
Appliances: Slight hope for a sink this weekend. Little hope for a stove before Monday.
Spirits: Really not bad. Would be better with wine.

Here are some pictures from our dust-covered adventure this week.

Before (Sunday). Hmm, this looks nice, actually. Hint: you can't see the cracked, moldy tile grout, the plastic coating peeling off the cabinets, the chipped sink or the appliances-on-their-last-leg.

It's Hammertime.

Hey, who put that there?

Tuesday.

Wednesday. We're refacing the cabinets, not replacing.

Baby Update

Had our 4 month check-up today. I had to ask my midwife how far along I am...you tend to leave those kinds of details up to the professionals when it's your second. Answer: 17 weeks. Ari enjoyed weighing himself over and over again while waiting for the adults to stop talking.

Midwife: "Ari, how much do you weigh?"
Ari: "Two."

Status
Baby: Fine. Heart's a-beatin'.
Momma: Fine, albeit with varicose veins and killer heartburn.

The Prodigal Cat Returns

2008-11-09T19:57:00.000-08:00

Yep. She came home.

If you've been keeping up with the Freiwald Family Sagas, you'll know that our slightly dingy cat Bella disappeared three weeks ago last night. We had pretty much given her up for dead (and had gotten quite used to an enjoyable one cat household)...until she showed up Friday night. Un-friggin-believable. I was sitting on the couch thinking about dinner when I heard feline yelling through the patio door. My first thought, "No way. No. Freaking. Way." I walked onto the patio and found that the yelling was coming from our neighbor's patio. I looked through the crack between our walls and found a cross-eyed pair of blue eyes staring back at me. Yep, that's Bell. After three weeks. (No, our neighbor did not steal her...there's a large crack in her patio that a very skinny cat can wiggle through from the outside.)

After much ado, I managed to get a relieved/freaked-out Bella back into our garage and she scarfed down food and water like she hadn't eaten in, well, three weeks. Which she probably hadn't, given the way she looked. After a night spent in the garage, during which she threw up everything I tried to get into her, I took her to the vet. They were flabbergasted that she came home after that long. I guess that just doesn't happen here with all the predators. Everyone kept telling me how lucky she/I is/am. I'm not so sure "lucky" is the word...

The prognosis:

Bella's lost over 50% of her bodyweight in 18 months (since her last vet checkup), half of which was probably lost over the past 3 weeks...my best guess.
Due to the severe weight loss over 18 months, her psychosis and vomiting, the vet's testing her for hyperthyroidism, diabetes, kidney disease and cancer. (Sometimes I think the vet can go a bit overboard...I mean, jeesh, maybe she's just a mentally disabled cat who hasn't eaten in three weeks.) We'll get the lab results today. I know Sascha's praying for cancer so I'll be okay with simply putting her down...but I don't want to drag our dirty laundry out on this sunny day.
And. She has fleas. Oh joy.

Ergo, Bella's been sequestered in the garage since Friday night, waiting for the flea medication to do it's lovely stuff. Mo's really not too clued in that she's back...or he just doesn't give a crap. Ari kept repeating "bawa, bawa, bawa" all Friday night and now every time I go into the garage to pull my feline Florence Nightingale he mantras "bawa cat, bawa cat". Add to that the fact that our kitchen remodel began today with much banging, sawdust, plaster, tools and boxes of kitchen paraphernalia taking refuge throughout our house...and you'll see that chaos continues to reign nicely in the Freiwald household. It's nice that some things remain constant, isn't it?

Serenity now.
Serenity now.
Serenity now.

Ari-Week in Review, an Update for Grandparents

2008-11-09T16:55:00.000-08:00

I realized earlier this week that I never posted Halloween pictures...that's probably because Halloween was less than climactic in our household. Hm, scratch that. It was climactic, but not in a good way. During the day, Ari and I met up with some friends of ours at a pumpkin patch to do some ride-riding and popcorn eating. We had a blast.

Below: our friends (Syndney & Brandi) and Ari in the Bouncy House.

However, Ari awoke from his nap that day in such a snit that I feared dragging out the fuzzy puppy costume so we could go trick or treating at our local mall. As I feared, the world erupted when I even suggested he don such a garmet. He threw a fit for an hour, which is when Sascha stepped in and went all hard-core Halloween Nazi on him. "You will put on this puppy costume and we will have fun tonight, goddamit." I thought it was a little over the top for something that's a bit of an optional event...but it did work. Ari put that over-padded puppy costume on in almost 80 degree weather and sweated and scratched his way through trick-or-treating (I failed to check the inside for itchy parts...). All in all, it wasn't that much fun, but at least we experienced the holiday.

a) With friend Lexy...both of them looking dubious; b) Still doubtful.

The next day, Ari peed in the potty for the first time. I know, we'll post anything.

He also used his first name (aside from "mom, dad, pop pop" and his own name)..."Mo". Our cat. And I quote, "Here Mo, hey Mo, eat, eat!" And trying to feed Mo pieces of his train set.

Prentending has really become the new game over the past couple weeks. He pretends to be our dog by barking, sniffing, licking and bringing us blocks in his mouth. He pretends to cook a meal or a cake and then serves a round tupperware lid to me, placed neatly upon a rectangular lid. We pretend to sneak through a jungle looking for spiderweds while prowling through the bushes at the park. He pretends to see a bug and then "gets it" by slapping his hands together..."Got it!"

Modeling his sunglasses...loooves the groovy look.

Contemplating life while eating a snack.

Today we went to Balboa Park and played "tourist for a day"...or maybe it's "local for a day" since you could seriously pick out all the freezing tourists who only packed shorts for our 65-plus-a-very-cold-wind weather. (Everyone fails to realize that the posted temperature is sans consideration of the cold ocean breeze.) We love going to Balboa, it's a fantastic and unique place, full of history and things to do. Despite Ari having a moderate head cold, he didn't stop dashing from climbing tree roots to examing fountains to jumping off everything. We all had a great time. Not bad for a day free of charge.

Below: Ari jumping at the Hospitality House.

a) a massive tree in the Zoro Garden, Ari is the small speck in the lower left corner; b) climbing the roots to the top, he did it himself; c) on one of the walls in the Zoro Garden, where we watched a dozen teenage ninjas jump and flip over the railings; d) Ari wishing in the Botanical House.

At the Botanical House...

With Child...

2008-10-31T14:34:00.000-07:00

My children cause me the most exquisite suffering of which I have any experience. It is the suffering of ambivalence: the murderous alternation between bitter resentment and raw-edged nerves, and blissful gratification and tenderness. Sometimes I seem to myself, in my feelings toward these tiny guiltless beings, a monster of selfishness and intolerance. Their voices wear away at my nerves, their constant needs, above all their need for simplicity and patience, fill me with despair at my own failures, despair too at my fate, which is to serve a function for which I was not fitted. And I am weak sometimes with held-in rage...

...And yet at other times I am melted with the sense of their helpless, charming and quite irresistible beauty - their ability to go on loving and trusting - their staunchness and decency and unselfconsciousness. I love them. But it's in the enormity and inevitability of this love that the sufferings lie.

Adrienne Rich, from her journal, 1960

Sometimes another's words so better capture the wholeness of what's inside you that you are better off using them instead. This is motherhood. This is the Oh-My-God-if-you-whine-at-me-one-more-time-I-will-rip-my-hair-out BUT when-I-place-my-hand-on-your-peanut-butter-toast-scented-head-I-would-rip-the-heart-out-of-anyone-trying-to-harm-you...the bipolar dualities of parenthood. The lump in your throat while you look at your sleeping toddler and think of him, one day, leaving for college...while five hours earlier you were praying feverishly for that very day. Highs and lows. Ins and outs. Dirty and clean. Yes and no (an awful lot of no's). Given this, it's amazing anyone produces more than one child.

And yet...we are. Yes, I am with child. Back in August, I took a test. And it came back positive. Ari enjoyed playing with the results.

After a few weeks of denial, we visited our midwife and received visual confirmation. Yeh, that's a baby in there.

Several more weeks of denial...and morning sickness, junk food, mood swings, emotional outbursts and fatigue...later, I can feel the Little One moving inside me. That's right. Tactile confirmation. I guess we're having a baby.

The truth of this situation hasn't really hit us, I believe. We are distracted by many things...an energetic and opinionated toddler, the health of our parents, a kitchen remodel, the economy, politics...all of this occasionally punctuated by strange questions, "Hey, how about Rosie?" or "Whaddya think of Judah?" or "Do you think I'll hemorrhage this time?" There are certainties that we know:

We know April will bring changes we are not prepared for.
I know there is a life inside of me for which I am, at this point, solely responsible.
We know Ari needs to get into a big boy bed by March if we're to recycle this crib.
We know it will be a logistical miracle to rearrange this little house to accommodate everyone happily.
We know life is uncertain and the economy unstable and the where's and how's of our place this time next year are not set in stone.
I know my stomach, and thighs, are growing a lot faster than they did the last time (hmph).

So I guess time will tell. This isn't to say we're not happy. Thrilled, even. Re-reading the above, it seems melancholy and...reluctant. But I think a better word would be introspective. Because that is what I have been these past few weeks. More and more, thinking of this life...of the possible daughter I may bring into this world, of the legacy of strong Clausen-Schwarz-Boers-Freiwald women that waits for her...of the possible son who may grace us, how to continue raising my boys in a way that benefits them and the world. And how to do that without losing your head...or your own identity. There's the question. And there's the challenge. Time will tell...

...welcome Baby.

CAT-astrophe

2008-10-22T12:03:00.000-07:00

Where do I begin?

I guess...at the beginning.

Sunday night, we came home from a weekend trip to Nevada to visit Paula and Jay. Mo came pounding out to greet me, per usual, complaining mightily at being left in the lurch. Each of us caught a glimpse of Bella, we think. This is not usual...she usually comes out for dinner, at least. Before bed, Sascha opened the garage door to take the trash out. We haven't seen Bella since. That was almost three full days ago.

So, we're missing a cat. While I'm not remarkably bothered by this fact (she's been getting more and more reclusive and senile lately so I'm wondering if she's been preparing to die), I am bothered by the idea that she a) ran into a coyote; b) picked up the ubiquitous rat poison around here; or c) is lost, scared, starving and freezing. Meanwhile, I'm pretty sure Sascha's planning his own little celebration for tomorrow night, providing Bella still hasn't returned. Four days was his opined deadline for being "concerned" as to her whereabouts. "Concerned", my ass. I still love you, Sweetie, but I can read you like a book.

And then.

I've been noticing this weird dirt falling off the cats over the past couple weeks. They'd been itching and shedding more as well. Being that I was distracted by some other personal issues and was simply happy if they weren't sitting on me, I wasn't paying too much attention. So it took about four weeks to catch on to the fact that my cats have fleas. Fleas. Yes, fleas. Oh. My. God. Being from the Midwest and having, up to a few months ago, strictly indoor cats, I have absolutely zero experience, and tolerance, with said pestilence. I didn't even know what the friggin' things looked like. Well, I know now. One flea bath* and one "picking" session later (ugh), I showed up at the vet's office this morning with fleas still hopping on an unhappy Mo (Bella likely being coyote fodder by now). An hour later, I left the vet's office armed with a flea-treated and fully vaccinated cat, 5 more doses of Revolution, an appointment for a feline dental cleaning and the assurance that this is the worst flea season on record in Southern California** and, oh yeah, flea season doesn't really end here and, oh yeah, the fleas are becoming resistant to the treatments but maybe this one will work...and I was $130 lighter.

Thus begins the Eradication of the Household. Borax on the carpet, vacuuming every day (my favorite chore), washing galore. Well shoot, the house will probably never be cleaner, I should be grateful.

So, if you have any extra white light hanging around, wanna toss it this way? I'm tired.

*Sascha redeemed himself by helping me contain and wash a yowling Mo.

**We have encountered more pests since moving here than I thought possible in one year. Spiders, ants, termites and strange bugs of the what-the-hell-is-that!? variety throughout the house. Gigantor spiders dangling over the sidewalks. And now fleas. Oh, and then there are the coyotes lurking in the canyons, which are everywhere.

Pre-Birthday Thoughts

2008-10-14T15:32:00.000-07:00

I just received three birthday cards in the mail...from my mom, mother-in-law and grandmother. The matriarchs in my family all came through on the same day. It's a "woman" kind of day. Here's what the card from my mom said:

If I were your age again,

I'd spend a lot less time examining what's wrong about me,

and a lot more time enjoying what's right about me.

Because, you know what?

You're already perfect enough

So, live life on your own terms.

Be who you are and love what you love.

Reserve the right to be wrong.

If things take an occasional turn you hadn't planned on,

don't be tempted to call it a mistake.

Just call it life, and tuck the experience

in your back pocket for safe-keeping.

Pretty soon you can take it out,

share it with someone else,

and call it wisdom.

I'm not kidding. That's how it works.

So, hey-enjoy the life you're in.

Be as happy as you can.

And feel how deeply and completely you are loved.

Always loved.

Now isn't that just about right? About says it all, whether you're male, female, 33 or going on 16. I just wish I could hard-wire this prose into my brain. Because I've been a pro lately at focusing on what I'm doing wrong, what I'm not accomplishing, how I'm not mothering and what I'm not contributing to this world. Since when has the negative become so attractive? I'm a Libra for God's sake and have been, to a fault, optimistic for most of my life.

And so, today, while I was playing with Ari and mentally cataloging my to-do list, I unconsciously reprimanded myself for not accomplishing very much of it. And then Ari took a nap and I checked my email. And there was a letter from a friend who had a baby almost six weeks ago...as her little girl came into this world, her 7 year old nephew passed from it. An hour apart.

Who. The. Hell. Cares...

...About making sure the house is clean before you leave on a weekend trip or before the babysitter comes?

...If you didn't get up at 6am to get a jump on that writing project?

...Whether or not you look a little greasy at Target because you didn't get a chance to shower this morning?

...If you're the kind of mom who can get her kid to eat anything in the world or just Cheerios three times a day (this one really has nothing to do with the mom, but we feel like it does)?

...If you've been upset because you're pretty sure you're not doing the thing you're supposed to be doing?

As a wise man once told me, "there is no supposed to. There is only what is and what you make it to be." (Thank you, Bernie.) If you don't like it, change it if it can be changed. If it can't, then accept it and change what you can to make yourself happy. In the case of my friend's nephew, change is impossible and acceptance is a long time in coming. I know this. But for so many of the rest of us who get caught up in the day to day displeasures that can rob you of joy...this is something we can change. We can choose to "live life on our own terms". We can choose to be accepting or proactive.

On my birthday, I'm usually a little introspective about the year that is closing and I set goals (spiritual resolutions, if you will) for myself over the next year. It's a tradition that I can't quite kick. My own personal New Year. Though I'm not sure I'll share those goals here tomorrow, suffice it to say that one will encompass change v. acceptance. The challenge will be in following through. But maybe, if we all keep ourselves accountable and remind each other that we're perfect just the way we are, then perhaps it won't be such a challenge. I'm game. Are you?

87 degrees and counting...

2008-10-08T16:25:00.000-07:00

...October heat wave. With no air conditioning.

Well, today is quite possibly the messiest day we've had on record for a very long time. It began around 11:30 this morning with tears while we were whooping it up at Gymboree. Some of the girls had decided to get a little vocal (i.e. toddler argument) and Ari absolutely detests confrontation. So after 15 minutes of listening to two little girls screeching it out, Ari sidles up to me with his big hazel eyes rich with tears and says, "home, home". I tried to tempt him with bubbles and "parachute time" but it was a no go. He was upset and I needed to take him home.

Enter lunchtime. And broccoli cheddar soup, his favorite. Picture a red dinasour bowl 3/4 full of beautiful broccoli cheddar "boot" (soup). Picture an eager Ari climbing into his chair and catching the edge of the bowl with his hand. Picture deep yellow soup covering his entire left side and a decent 3'x3' area around the kitchen table...and 1'x5' sludge toward the kitchen sink. Oh! no.....

I de-clothed and mopped off the sobbing Ari and proceeded to wipe up by the sink only to see him run back over to his "boot" on the floor and go skidding through it on his now-bare bottom. More sobbing Ari. The whole process, including "boot" replacement, took about 20 minutes...and a load through the washing machine.

As I was cleaning up the kitchen for the third time today, Ari peacefully "read" his books in the living room. I cheerfully walked in to ask what he was reading and found him looking at a flap book (one of those books with flaps you can lift up and see pictures/words underneath)...and saw that he had removed (i.e. ripped out) said flaps and piled them neatly next to his leg. That was a library book.

The flaps collected and the book placed high out of reach until I could get at it with some Scotch tape, I decided it was time Ari helped me for a change. So he helped me sort coupons...and did a fine job. Until I realized he had pooped (he had a diaper on by now). So I schlepped him upstairs for a change and, upon plopping him down on the changing table, saw a nice brown swath across my soup-stained shirt. I haven't had poop on my own clothes since he was an infant.

Did I mention he has a runny nose?

Like I said, messy day.

Birthday Shots

2008-10-03T13:50:00.000-07:00

Almost three weeks later...I almost decided to nix this post altogether but I pomised a couple of people I'd put up a picture of the train-wreck (ha!) of a cake I threw together. Not my finest culinary moment. But Ari had a great birthday, loved the choo choo cake - we had to re-light and blow the candle out three times before we decided enough was enough - and, of course, present opening was a blast. The pictures below encompass gifts from Sascha and I, Sascha's parents and my parents.

One of Ari's many blow-outs. He now calls candles "blow".

His new "cheese" look, with his new "boop".

Books!

The big-ass choo choo table.

Zoom zoom.

Ari Speed

2008-10-03T12:38:00.001-07:00

So I'd like to tell you about my day...

I wasn't feeling a particular rush to be anywhere by a certain time today...maybe because it's Friday...maybe because we had no plans...maybe because I simply calmed down and decided to let life happen along with us today...I don't know. Be it as it may, the end result is that we took the morning at Ari Speed. We dawdled over breakfast and I poured my son more Honey Nut Cheerios when he asked for them, even though he still had some in his bowl (it's less frustrating to spoon your O's when there's a lot in there). I watched with amusement as he grabbed my devotion book, flipped through the pages until he landed somewhere in May and proceeded to hunker down on his elbows, "reading" the devotion (nary a juvenile literature page in sight) and spooning Cheerios into his mouth. Just like Mom.

I took the time and patience to politely ignore him while I washed my face and dressed for the day, letting him learn how to wait for five minutes while Mommy does something. And it worked. After five minutes of whining and clinging to my leg and getting zero response, he huffed and walked into his room. Two minutes later, I was finished and found him playing with his cars.

Then we went to the library. Instead of me jamming our book returns into the slot, I let Ari slide our read-up bounty down the chute and we counted each one as it went clunking to the bottom. We explored wall decorations and took the time to ask the librarian where to find some truck and train books after Ari loudly stated "tuck, no tuck" as we looked through the sections. You can't imagine his excitement and the number of "oh boy's" he let loose when she led us to a jackpot. All because I took the time to listen, understand and help him find what he needed instead of forcing him to follow my path for the day.

We ate our snack in the car and Ari got to sit in the driver's seat. After a quick count-down (i.e. "2 minutes left, now one minute, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1, okay, all done"), he willingly turned off the hazard lights (loves that red button) and went into his car seat. Because I let go of needing to be in control every minute and trusted my son to cooperate...

We went to Trader Joe's and he almost learned how to say "Wazzzuuup" from the very loud, yet friendly guy that checked us out. And even though he was more intimidated than enlightened, the guy still gave him four Trader Joe stickers, which he decided to plaster all over my arms. I was extremely flattered, since Ari usually covets all stickers, and took it that he was happy with me today.

Then we went to Ralphs (our grocery store chain, but at a different location). And that's where my day got really interesting...and enlightening (yes, I know that's the second time I've used that word).

Quick digression: I've noticed, in my two years of being a mom, that I now have a lot more conversations with complete strangers. All because I have a child with me. There's something about a young one that acts as a liaison between human beings and makes us...more open, friendlier, more aware of each other's humanity and worth, I guess. And, frequently, those strangers that come out of the woodwork because of a child are ones that pass my character radar.

Again due to my unhurriedness for the day, I let Ari out of the cart and allowed him to help me push and to jump alongside me like a frog. At one point, he climbed up and clung to the mesh, feet up on the bars, and announced, "OKAY, GO!" Apparently, I was supposed to start pushing now that he was Monkey-Boy. So, we wandered around this strange Ralphs looking for eggs, with Ari asking for kisses along the way (I'm telling you, it was a kick-ass morning). That's when we bumped into Elan Cohen. A complete stranger for all of 2 seconds.

So, about 10 feet short of the eggs this morning, I had a meaningful conversation with a lovely gentleman whom I never would have noticed had Ari and I not just let life happen today. For five minutes, Elan held Ari. And I mean held Ari - he was draped right over Elan's shoulder in the nicest Grandpa kind of hug. We talked about his grandchild, children, love of family, spouses, his history, how to raise children with love and respect and truth. In ten minutes, I learned more from this 57 year old French-British Jewish man, born and raised in Egypt, then serving 20 years in Israeli intelligence, than I have from most of the moms in our playgroup. Granted, I didn't share much from my life...but with people like this, the ones whose paths you intersect, I've found that what I need to do is listen. That is why this person was sent to me today. And when it comes to my elders, what I always need to do is listen. They've lived. And they have earned the right to speak. How else am I going to learn?

Ari and I walked away from Elan, both smiling, both warm in the fact that we had learned something. About trust. About openness. About the value and community of each of us doing this thing called life. Ari learned, as a little boy missing his grandparents, that there are grandparent-types to be found everywhere. Even one that sounds kind of like his own Grandpa Arnie. And what I have recently been exploring and learning about motherhood and being a family was underscored with every word Elan and I shared.

So, a thank you to the Universe and to God for handing me Patience and Understanding as I climbed out of bed this morning. I am the better for it.

To All Those Sometimes-Hurting Moms Out There...

2008-09-22T19:10:00.000-07:00

Occasionally, I have a rough time. Contrary to popular social thought (according to Ari's playmate's mothers), Ari is not the mellow, easy-going child you'd think when you see him playing calmly at the park. The minute we get home, sometimes, all hell breaks loose unless I have a solid Ari-accepted activity with which to woo him. Play by himself? No, not really.

Also, contrary to popular grandparent thought, I am not what you'd call a "natural mom". I did not take to this. No duck in water, am I. Nope. This chick flounders. But she also tries really hard.

Take Monday night, for instance. Dinner was a flop. Ari, although starving, refused to eat the intended-to-be delicious and nutritious meal that was lovingly placed in front of him. After trying it myself, I had to agree. It sucked. So, thoroughly heartbroken and amidst a chorus of whining and drama coming from the general direction of the booster seat, I toasted a Gardenburger and doused it with Ranch dressing. And then had to leave the table when His Highness refused to eat that as well. Judging from the conversation downstairs (as I hid out upstairs), Sascha got him to eat most of it. God bless him. He also cleaned up the kitchen...my husband can be a saint at times.

And so, Monday night sent me spinning to the safety of my laptop. My first action was to email a group of girlfriends, just to connect with some kindred souls. My second action sent me to the Hearts At Home website for a little inspiration and a little direction in this swirling madness known as stay-at-home motherhood.

Which brings me to the title of this blog...for the hurting moms...

When Ari was born, my best friend told me about Hearts At Home, an organization for the professionalizing and emotional support of stay-at-home motherhood. I was skeptical. And then...we moved away from my entire support system, Ari started his tantrum-phase and I was going through a substantial depression. I needed all the help I could get. At about this time, Hearts At Home came to San Diego for a motherhood conference and I jumped on board immediately. Let me tell you. I get a lump in my throat when I think of how understood I felt that day. Hundreds of ladies were present and we all laughed and cried together. I didn't make any bosom friends that day but thanks to the wonderful speakers and workshops, I did start to forgive myself for my failures as a mother; cut myself some slack and allowed my frustration to show at times; learned a trick or two in organizing our lives; and began the realization that I needed to put Sascha's and my marriage first, not our parenthood...something that had been lacking since we moved here. We're still working on that but at least we're aware of it.

And so, when I need inspiration or a little nudge to keep on keeping on, I frequently turn to Hearts At Home...either my notes from the conference, a book by one of their speakers or their website. Thanks Jolyn, for the recommendation. I owe you one.

-----------------------------------------------------

Upcoming conferences dates:

October 3-4, 2008 Grand Rapids, Michigan
November 7-8, 2008 Rochester, Minnesota
March 13-14, 2009 Bloomington, Illinois

If you don’t live close enough to drive to a conference, and hopping on a plane isn’t an option, you can also order a Home Conference Packet which gives you the conference via CD.

http://www.hearts-at-home.org/

Random Thoughts

2008-09-09T20:09:00.000-07:00

Seems everyone is having babies. I just posted another "congratulations" in the announcements section and it gave me a moment's pause to count how many of those I've posted in the past year...

Hm.

When you get right down to it, I guess not that many (at first it seemed that all my friends were procreating like rabbits). One new baby boy, two sets of twins, one new baby girl, one new baby boy. I think that's it. That's seven new kids since November (God help me if I missed someone). Well, I guess, given the stage that we're at in life, this is pretty typical. In 15-20 years I'll probably be posting graduation announcements.

Deep thoughts...Jack Handy (remember him?)

Perspective

2008-08-27T15:29:00.000-07:00

Today is better. I managed not to lose anything. Yet.

However. I would like to thank my mother for emailing me with the "positive spin" I needed. And thank you, dear Julie, for commenting with honesty on how this happens to all of us. And I'd like to thank MSN.com for the video clip on the North Carolina mother who survived 5 days pinned in a car. Nothing like sweet perspective. My day wasn't so bad.

It makes me wonder if I'd have the wherewithall to survive for 5 days like that...they said she did it for her kids...

Speaking of kids.

After a brief melt-down this afternoon, which soon became obvious that it was merely for the purpose of reminding Mom that it was "TIME FOR MY NAP", Ari and I settled down to read books. He picked out a book entitled, "Why A Son Needs A Mom." Now, this book is boring for toddlers. Filled with black and white photos of moms with sons and bits of sweet advice on why moms are important, it's really more for parents and grandparents who want to get all weepy and nostalgic. However, Ari ate it up. While I read the captions, he looked at the pictures and got all giggly when the mom was kissing the kids. Then he wanted a kiss from *his* mamma. We pointed out the mammas in the picture and the sons in the picture and then I asked where his mamma is and where my son is. Darned if he didn't nail the son part. Pointed right at himself.

So that was neat.

If you're going to fingerpaint, at least have the foresight
to do it in a hotel room.
(Our condo was fumigated last week and this is how we whiled
away some of our time at the Hampton Inn.)

Supreme Personally-Directed Frustration

2008-08-26T16:29:00.000-07:00

Have you ever lost a credit card? Have you ever had to cancel said credit card?

Okay then. How 'bout this?

Have you ever completed the afore-mentioned process twice in six months?

I rest my case.

For some reason, over the past 10 days, my brain has chosen to vacate the premises surrounding my head. This has been a recurring (is that a word?) condition over the past year but it seems especially virulent this time around. Enough so I finally allowed myself to burst into tears at the sorry, disorganized state in which I've allowed my life to crumble. It didn't help that it took me 40 minutes to finally talk with a human being at my bank, merely to find out if I left my card there. I wasn't on hold. I just couldn't get past all of the "automated services"..."services" my ass.

This brain-vacation is especially noticeable (and aggravating) when you're married to the poster child for Supremely-Organized-I-Know-Where-EVERYTHING-Is. Apparently he has his shit together. Apparently, I do not.

I'm searching for a positive spin on this but, frankly, I'm coming up short.

Anniversary

2008-08-01T08:30:00.000-07:00

One year here.

Zora Neale Hurston wrote, "There are years that ask questions and years that answer." I'm not entirely sure which kind of year this has been...maybe some of both.

Week in AV Review

2008-07-31T17:30:00.000-07:00

We went to a Move-in-the-Park last Saturday on Coronado Island. Tres fun. You can see the movie screen and the Coronado Bridge in the background.

We walked around while we were there and saw this sky-writing in progress over the San Diego Convention Center. Sascha thought for sure they were writing his initials. They weren't.

Oreo cookies at the park.

A little more cookie action.

Swim gear.

I'm fairly certain this is in no way legal. Or safe.

Ari's World

2008-07-31T16:10:00.000-07:00

Aaah, silence.

For the past seven hours, I have been at the epicenter of the whirling, chaotic exuberance known as "Ari". And the exuberance is finally napping. Albeit reluctantly.

It's difficult to effectively describe what it's like to spend that much time in the company of a lone, yet highly energetic, toddler. And I'll probably fail miserably and you'll wonder "so why the hell is it so exhausting?"...unless, of course, you've been there yourself. For those of you who haven't had the pleasure, imagine, if you would, a three-month old Labrador Retriever after a nice, restful nap. This post-nap phase lasts for seven straight hours. You can't kennel him. You can't really scold him because he's not misbehaving. And he wants you to join in with every game, song and dance that meanders through his head.

Now, mind you, I'm not complaining (for once). The kid has been unusually happy and relatively tantrum free for the past week or so. He's been a pleasure to be around, in fact. We've had a blast. But mom's pooped. Ari's bedtime has been stretching later and later. He's now going down (wide awake) at 9:30 and Sascha and I are left scratching our heads as to how it happened. The kid is simply not tired. Granted he sleeps in till almost 9 am now so I suppose if I were to start getting him up earlier, he'd then go to bed earlier. But, oh, let me tell you how much I savor those quiet Wendy-time mornings. I cringe at the thought of waking him up before I finish my pot of coffee. However, here's the kicker, my day still starts around 6:30 am (usually). Ari's doesn't start till 9 am. Ergo, his nap doesn't happen till 4 pm. That makes Mom's day ultra-long...I'm practically comatose and drooling by 3:30. So, still drooling, I decided to update the blog with a little blast from Ari's world :).

He's talking now. In fact, we have achieved, "No, I do." I shit you not. He did not want me anywhere near his toothbrush last night. "No, I do." We have also achieved a vague "Luv vu." Then there's the usual, "truck, car, kitty, cat, dog, puppy, baby, momma, dad, wawa (water), choo choo, apple, ball, eat, Adi (Ari), poop, pee, pee pee, poo poo (he also calls Pooh Bear "poo poo"), penis (yep), hair, eye, ear, teeth, sock," colors, animals and animal sounds, etc. etc. It's very neat because he finally understands most of what I explain to him and I can finally understand about 50% of what he's saying to me. We were driving to the library today to turn in his summer reading hours (okay okay, our summer reading hours) and he starting pointing violently and saying "cannes, cannes, cannes". I thought, huh, we have a francophile on our hands here...and then was relieved to see that he was pointing at a crane from construction site. He likes anything truck, car, construction or train-related. The bigger the better.

Songs are huge right now. He, himself, has been singing the ABC song and "Bingo" (you know, about the dog B-I-N-G-O). Anytime I start randomly singing anything (which is often), he's right there asking me to do more. Today he had Bingo stuck in his head for about 4 hours.

Climbing is also topping the charts as one of the top things to do at any minute. He's conquered our bed, which is about 32" high, every chair in the house, the couch, the stroller, the car and his car seat, playgrounds and the stairs (facing front, like a big person). The only apparati he hasn't attempted are his crib and table-like surfaces, thank God.

Reading has been taking up a lot of his/our time lately. Especially any book about trains or trucks. We sat at the library for an hour the other day, just reading and looking for "more choo choo" books.

Praying. The boy likes to pray. Don't ask me why because I wouldn't describe either of us as "devout". I have a well-used devotion book sitting in the kitchen, which I call the "God book". Almost every day while we're eating one meal or another, he says "God" and goes to get the book. "Pay, pay", he urges and folds his hands. I've tried to tell him that we don't need the book to pray, we can make the prayers up, but he insists that the book must be there. And it must be open. On the back, this book has little pictures of all the contributing authors. After we pray, Ari turns the book over and points at pictures while I read off the names. Today, he kept looking up at me and saying "God?" while pointing at one picture or another. I had no idea what he meant. "Yes, Ar, this is the God book." Points at picture, "God?" Again, points at picture, "God?" Oooh. I'm a little slow sometimes. "No Ar, God isn't in these pictures. We can't see him. He's invisible. These are the people that wrote the God book." "Ooooh. Okay." Like he totally got it.

Water. Water. Water. Any water, anywhere. Mud puddles. Suspicious-looking puddles. Bath water, hose water, water standing in flower pots, sprinkler water, water in a Rubbermaid container on the patio, water in spray bottles, water sitting on the countertop, water trickled from his sippy cup onto his highchair tray. Any water except pool water and ocean water. Go figure. He stills says "no" when we walk into swimming class. And he ran away from the water at the beach last week, laughing, like he knew it totally flummoxed me. This dissapoints Sascha just a little, being the water bug that he is. I kind of want to remind him that he was scared to death of even bath water at Ari's age.

We've been spending more and more time with kids Ari's age and, by default, mom's my age. So much that we're out socializing almost every day of the week. This gets a little tiring for me by the end of the week and I think it does for Ari as well. Today we were supposed to head to the park to meet up with the Thursday gang and he simply refused to don his clothing and leave the house. He wanted to play at home in his jammies. Well slap my ass and call me Judy. You could've knocked me over with a cat hair. This is the kid that always wants to leave the house. The kid that isn't happy unless he's out, away from the house. I guess I had finally out-played him. So, by God-Almighty, hallelujiah, we played at home (which, ironically, is more tiring for me since I'm then the prime playmate).

Oh. And he's still drooling. Check out that shirt.

That's about all that comes to mind for now, when it comes to the World of Ari. Which is good because I have, in all probability, lost all of you except grandparents by now.

July Shots

2008-07-20T20:58:00.000-07:00

Trying on the new life vest. He seems to like it.

"That sure is a stiff breeze there, Mom."

The Schwarz Clan, et al. sorting their fire power (i.e. firework prep).

Ah, boys and fire.

Gettin' jiggy wid it. Ari introduces Aunt Paula, Uncle Jay and Grandma to "Naked Dancing".

Ari and I sharing an "aha" moment on the boat.

At Sascha's Dad's place on Lake Michigan.

"Build a castle, knock it down. Build a castle knock it down. Build a castle knock it down."

Snack time with Grandma Nana.

"Oh my gosh!"

Learning lawn care with Grandpa Arnie.

Yes, we're still here.

2008-07-16T15:58:00.000-07:00

Two months later...

Clearly, things have been busy. But as I look through my calendar of the past two months, other than a two-week vacation, I'm not sure what has sucked up all the time. Oh yes, that's right. We were living. After I take a quick look at my last post here, I'd like to bring you up to speed on Vie de la Freiwald (if that successfully translates to "Life of the Freiwalds" then I've had a good day).

...goes to read below post...

Oh. Okay. So that's where I left off.

Our good friends, Theresa and Kevin (from MI), came to see us in May. We spent a pretty great weekend introducing them to the rigors of toddler rearing...i.e. Ari couldn't have been sweeter, better behaved or more endearing. Good Lord. The kid really knows how to put on a show. He adored these guys, especially Kevin (no offense T), and spent most of the visit dragging them around by the fingers and pulling them to the ground for more playtime. Since our friends have the goal of hitting every single pro ball park in the contiguous 48, we schlepped downtown to the Padres stadium and saw them go into major overtime against...huh...can't remember (it was two months ago, cut me some slack). Anyway, they did end up winning.

The week after that, Ari and I headed out to Michigan for a week to stay with Mom and Dad while Sascha was away at a conference in Denver. When we booked the tickets, we had no way of knowing that Pfizer, in a financial attack of nerves, would cancel most travel for the rest of the year. Ergo, Sascha stayed home to worry about his job and Ari and I continued on to Michigan. We had a great trip and, shocker, remained healthy the entire time. AND, I got to experience thunderstorms again...they don't get those things down here.

Ari started "swimming lessons" just before we left for Michigan. Really, it's more of a chaotic festival of freaked-out or joyous toddlers held above water by their moms while the joyous ones splash water on the freaked-out ones. Ari sides more with the freaked-out variety. Our Tuesday mornings are still a little tense but I think he's slowly getting used to it...even though he only smiles when the floaty balls come out. Three weeks ago, at swimming class, Ari picked up a bug. Yes, another friggin' bug. I know this because two days later he started in with another fever. Oh no, not again. The next day, he threw up all over himself and the swing at the park. That was a nice, interesting experience. Luckily, there was no one else there and I had a bottle of water in the stroller. Ironically, that was a day of great pride for me. For several reasons:

I stayed very calm as Ari projectile vomited over the sand, the swing and himself.
I held him as he finished draining his stomach.
I didn't flinch when I, too, was covered in apple juice barf.
I remembered to pick the pacificer out of the puddle under the swing.
I carried him home, uphill, and managed to pull the stroller after me. Both of us dripping just a little.
I can proudly claim that day as the first time I cleaned vomit out of a pair of kiddie shoes.

This may seem like child's play to some of you. But I surprised myself at how calm and unbothered I was...it was as if this was something that happened to me every day. Let's hope not :). Anyway, it turned out that Ari had Hand-Foot-Mouth Disease. No. Not Hoof and Mouth Disease - that's for cows. This was enterovirus, which presents with fever and painful blisters in the mouth, throat and sometimes hands and feet. By the time this sucker was done with our family, we had all had the worst throat pain of our lives. I could not believe how bad it was. You simply did not eat, it hurt that much. Ari seemed to have the easiest case out of us (thank God), Sascha had the worst. The only upside to this was that I managed to lose those last five pounds and fit into a bikini I hadn't worn in 7 years.

In the midst of the Great Freiwald Sickness, we flew to Michigan for our Two-Week-See-The-Grandparents-At-The-Lakes trip. Both of our parents have lake homes. My family's tradition is July 4th...but I think that's just an excuse so Dad can buy contraband fireworks in Indiana, smuggle them into Michigan and shoot them off over the lake. We're not the only ones. I think every other cabin on Wixom Lake is an incendiary expert. After we left my family at Wixom Lake, we drove down to Ann Arbor for a few hours to hang with our old Baby Posse and then drove to Holland (on Lake Michigan) to stay with Sascha's family. We had a great time all around, Ari fell in love with his uncles, and weren't really ready to leave Michigan. I guess it's just home.

I have some pictures of our July trip to Michigan but my laptop is failing to recognize Sascha's desktop (where we keep the new pictures) as it's here-to-fore lifemate and won't let me access them. Hmmm. Interesting. Veddy, veddy interesting. Hopefully, Sascha can work some voodoo on it tonight and I'll be able to post some more tomorrow.

...come to think of it...I guess it has been a pretty full two months.