Change is never easy. It doesn't matter if it's something you've been working towards for a year or something you've avoided for a lifetime. Change is hard. And goodbyes are even harder.
Two weeks ago we emptied our townhouse in Fairfax and made the move 2 hours south to Richmond. It is something I've wanted ever since we moved to Fairfax 6 years ago. But my kids? Well, they weren't looking to make any changes.
They had been through multiple goodbyes. They had their last day at school, they had their final playdates and sleepovers with close friends, they had their last games and performances, and they spent their last day on Wedgeway place mostly at my neighbor's house. My awesome, super-woman, neighbor who can do it all. She kept my dogs all day while the movers loaded the truck. She brought us lunch. And she entertained my kids while all of their belongings were packed away.
We put the last few items in our cars and I walked over to her house to get the kids and the dogs. I knew this would be the hardest part. And as I watched her daughter throw her arms around Ainsley and cry, I couldn't really hold back the tears either. I watched as two almost 10 year-olds said goodbye to their oldest friend, and it crushed me.
Ainsley didn't cry when she said goodbye to any of her other friends or at the last day of school or when we said goodbye to the townhouse. But as we walked out the door it all came out and she climbed in the car trying hard to catch her breath.
Then, with fresh tears, I walked Freddie the opposite direction to say goodbye to his neighbor friend. He mumbled goodbye and gave him a hug and I struggled desperately to keep it together. As the door shut, Freddie's face crumbled and I added him to the car sobbing.
And not to be left out, Cohen picked this time to lament the loss of his daycare friends and teachers. It was rough and in that moment I wanted to reverse it all. Say never mind. Unload the truck and stay in that little townhouse forever.
But you can't do that. You can't stay in the same spot forever because change is scary and painful. You can't avoid blooming because you're afraid to grow.
I stood in the driver's side window watching hearts break and tears fall and I wanted to take all of that pain away, but somehow in that exact same moment I knew this was exactly what we had to do. Life does not remain static. Life is ever evolving. That is an agonizing, terrifying, and wonderful thing to learn.
I could keep my kids in the same spot forever, but life would still change. Cohen would eventually leave his beloved babysitter for kindergarten. Every year my kids get new teachers and new classmates. A favorite neighbor or best friend could move away. Then there is always the inevitability of a child leaving home. Life is never going to look the same year to year, or even day to day. And even though that's a hard thing to move through, it's also exciting and amazing. To know that you can move forward in life and have new experiences and unexpected adventures, but still have those people and places to return to if you want or need to.
In the two weeks since we've left the friends and school and neighbors that we know and love, we've made new friends. We love our new house. We've had new adventures. It doesn't change how much we love and miss our previous life, but it doesn't mean we can't enjoy this new one. We can do both.
Down the road, when my kids are settled and not missing Fairfax so much, I hope they remember the awesome adventure. I hope the pain of the heartbreak fades. And I hope they learn that good or bad, this too shall pass - so enjoy the good and don't dwell on the bad. Life can change in a moment and it could all look different in the morning.
Showing posts with label Ainsley. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Ainsley. Show all posts
Saturday, July 15, 2017
Friday, May 19, 2017
Sunshine
You would think after 9 years of writing this blog, I would run out of things to write. Especially about Ainsley, because I've been talking about her the longest. But my lack of posts has nothing to do with lack of material. Really, it's all about time. My day starts around 6:30. I read emails while toasting bagels. I take calls while tying shoes. I place orders while reminding kids to pack up their bags. Life is all about multitasking from 7-8:45 each morning. Then work keeps me so busy...from the moment I drop off at the bus, to the moment I sprint out the door to pick them up again...that it's tough to take a moment to write anything. And don't even get me started on the evenings. Between homework and t-ball and baths and trying to have small quality moments with each kid before tucking them in...well, blogging is just not possible.
But, things sit on my mind and my heart. Things that are like 4 year olds. Sitting patiently for a small time, until they can't take the wiggly feeling anymore. Then these things tap and poke until they are all out climbing through my soul.
Writing is so much to me. It is my passion, my validation, my therapy.
So today I have to write. No matter what else is going on, I have to take the time to let it out, because this thing that has been fidgeting on my heart has to come out.
I need to tell you about this girl. I need to put it all down so I can remember. I need to record it so she knows. I need to freeze this moment, for any hard ones to come.
When they handed me this sweet little girl almost 10 years ago, I had no idea what I was getting into. I had no idea how much joy she would bring me, how I would cry for her, how my whole body would ache over her, how I could spend hours and days worrying over the tiniest thing, how looking at her sleeping face could bring tears and smiles at once, how the thought of her could warm my chest.
This girl is so special, and it is apparent to anyone who meets her. She has a light that just bursts out of her. If I could pick one word to describe her it would be happiness. She is rarely sad. She is always flexible. She loves to laugh and sing and smile. I look at her and am amazed by her beauty, but I am in awe of her heart.
Nothing gets this girl down. I met with her teacher last week, because school doesn't come easy for her. She is easily distracted and would prefer to spend her time in her own imagination than doing long division. And I am worried for her. I worry that it will just get harder, that middle school is just around the corner and she'll never keep up. I worry that moving to a new school will make it worse. But then...
Her teacher went on and on about what a wonderful girl she is, how she brings a cheeriness and fun to the classroom that a lot of kids need. That she's the first to include anyone who's feeling left out. How she always encourages others when they are down. She assured me that it's not just teachers that feel this way about her...even her classmates recognize her for what she is. And as I sat there listening to this I had to keep myself from bursting into tears, because she's right. I fight with this girl over homework and I force her to focus on things she's not interested in, and all along, she is a light that we need in this world.
She may fall behind in school. She may struggle with math. But this girl is so much more than I was at 10 years old. She is going to bring so much to this world that you can't teach, that you can't learn. I know however she chooses to live her life, whatever she chooses to do to share with the world, she is going to bring so much sunshine to those that need it. She already does. It's just going to grow and blaze and shine brighter the older she gets. I have seen her arrive in this world has a happy, easy baby. I have seen her grow into a bright and compassionate little girl. I am so lucky that I get to witness her transformation into a passionate woman. That I get to watch that big heart get even bigger and stronger.
I am most grateful, above all else, that I get to bask in her light. I always thought, and still think most of the time, that mothers teach their children. But Ainsley has a knowledge that I don't have, and I am fortunate to have such a wonderful teacher.
But, things sit on my mind and my heart. Things that are like 4 year olds. Sitting patiently for a small time, until they can't take the wiggly feeling anymore. Then these things tap and poke until they are all out climbing through my soul.
Writing is so much to me. It is my passion, my validation, my therapy.
So today I have to write. No matter what else is going on, I have to take the time to let it out, because this thing that has been fidgeting on my heart has to come out.
I need to tell you about this girl. I need to put it all down so I can remember. I need to record it so she knows. I need to freeze this moment, for any hard ones to come.
When they handed me this sweet little girl almost 10 years ago, I had no idea what I was getting into. I had no idea how much joy she would bring me, how I would cry for her, how my whole body would ache over her, how I could spend hours and days worrying over the tiniest thing, how looking at her sleeping face could bring tears and smiles at once, how the thought of her could warm my chest.
This girl is so special, and it is apparent to anyone who meets her. She has a light that just bursts out of her. If I could pick one word to describe her it would be happiness. She is rarely sad. She is always flexible. She loves to laugh and sing and smile. I look at her and am amazed by her beauty, but I am in awe of her heart.
Nothing gets this girl down. I met with her teacher last week, because school doesn't come easy for her. She is easily distracted and would prefer to spend her time in her own imagination than doing long division. And I am worried for her. I worry that it will just get harder, that middle school is just around the corner and she'll never keep up. I worry that moving to a new school will make it worse. But then...
Her teacher went on and on about what a wonderful girl she is, how she brings a cheeriness and fun to the classroom that a lot of kids need. That she's the first to include anyone who's feeling left out. How she always encourages others when they are down. She assured me that it's not just teachers that feel this way about her...even her classmates recognize her for what she is. And as I sat there listening to this I had to keep myself from bursting into tears, because she's right. I fight with this girl over homework and I force her to focus on things she's not interested in, and all along, she is a light that we need in this world.
She may fall behind in school. She may struggle with math. But this girl is so much more than I was at 10 years old. She is going to bring so much to this world that you can't teach, that you can't learn. I know however she chooses to live her life, whatever she chooses to do to share with the world, she is going to bring so much sunshine to those that need it. She already does. It's just going to grow and blaze and shine brighter the older she gets. I have seen her arrive in this world has a happy, easy baby. I have seen her grow into a bright and compassionate little girl. I am so lucky that I get to witness her transformation into a passionate woman. That I get to watch that big heart get even bigger and stronger.
I am most grateful, above all else, that I get to bask in her light. I always thought, and still think most of the time, that mothers teach their children. But Ainsley has a knowledge that I don't have, and I am fortunate to have such a wonderful teacher.
Monday, April 11, 2016
Half Way
We are walking the dogs along the busy road, the sun is falling fast, and the cool April air is getting colder with every step.
Ainsley runs ahead, then runs back, "Mommy, watch. This is my tired round off." She runs again and does a lazy, crooked, cartwheel, sort-of. Then falls on her bottom.
She bounces up, runs toward me and says "Okay, now this is my real round off." She runs faster this time and does a round off. Definitely not perfect, but not bad either. "Did you see?" she asks.
I nod. I watch her skip towards the intersection and I try to remember the last time I skipped.
"Mommy?" She calls, "Are you still looking for them?"
"Yes, Ainsley." I scan the grass, "There's one."
"Oh wow," she exclaims, "That's a big one. How did we miss that on our way?" She runs up the slight hill and gently picks the green stem, not to disturb the cottony wisps on the end.
"You do this one," she says.
"No, you do it. It's almost perfect." I reply.
She stops, thinks, then blows. The little buds dance and flip on the wind. She tells me that she always wishes the same thing so it's guaranteed to come true.
And then we're walking again and I'm listening to her tell me silly lies, then scream "April Fool's" over the roar of traffic. And I'm thinking that she'll be 9 soon. That time is going too fast. Nine is half way. And I'm thinking that I just love this age. I never thought I would. I thought I'd hate the pre-tween, big kid, on the edge of childhood, years. I thought I'd always crave a baby. And sometimes I see a picture of her in a car seat, or a video of her singing as a toddler, and my heart almost explodes with want and need for time to stop. But I love her at this age.
Challenges? Yes, there are challenges. But mostly I love the contradiction that is this age. The moments of maturity surrounded by giggles, tangled locks, missing teeth, and cartwheels.
Yesterday, while I showered, she asked if she could wear make-up out of the house and I told her no. In a moment of content, she accepted no as an answer and left the room. As I finished washing my hair, I thought that I should have told her why the answer was no. That I should have said, this moment is fleeting - please hold it as long as you can. These are your last moments of little girl. That make-up makes you grown. And grown girls don't skip home. They don't do round offs or swing from tree branches. They don't sound exactly like Ariel when they sing in the shower. They don't rush down stairs on April 1st wondering what tricks have been played. They don't blow dandelions into the wind, believing the puffs will carry wishes into reality. They don't slip their hand inside their mother's absentmindedly while practicing times tables.
Nine is half way. How can we be half way? There will be so much time for make-up and grown up girl things. Right now, I just want us to enjoy the little girl that we'll both miss one day.
Ainsley runs ahead, then runs back, "Mommy, watch. This is my tired round off." She runs again and does a lazy, crooked, cartwheel, sort-of. Then falls on her bottom.
She bounces up, runs toward me and says "Okay, now this is my real round off." She runs faster this time and does a round off. Definitely not perfect, but not bad either. "Did you see?" she asks.
I nod. I watch her skip towards the intersection and I try to remember the last time I skipped.
"Mommy?" She calls, "Are you still looking for them?"
"Yes, Ainsley." I scan the grass, "There's one."
"Oh wow," she exclaims, "That's a big one. How did we miss that on our way?" She runs up the slight hill and gently picks the green stem, not to disturb the cottony wisps on the end.
"You do this one," she says.
"No, you do it. It's almost perfect." I reply.
She stops, thinks, then blows. The little buds dance and flip on the wind. She tells me that she always wishes the same thing so it's guaranteed to come true.
And then we're walking again and I'm listening to her tell me silly lies, then scream "April Fool's" over the roar of traffic. And I'm thinking that she'll be 9 soon. That time is going too fast. Nine is half way. And I'm thinking that I just love this age. I never thought I would. I thought I'd hate the pre-tween, big kid, on the edge of childhood, years. I thought I'd always crave a baby. And sometimes I see a picture of her in a car seat, or a video of her singing as a toddler, and my heart almost explodes with want and need for time to stop. But I love her at this age.
Challenges? Yes, there are challenges. But mostly I love the contradiction that is this age. The moments of maturity surrounded by giggles, tangled locks, missing teeth, and cartwheels.
Yesterday, while I showered, she asked if she could wear make-up out of the house and I told her no. In a moment of content, she accepted no as an answer and left the room. As I finished washing my hair, I thought that I should have told her why the answer was no. That I should have said, this moment is fleeting - please hold it as long as you can. These are your last moments of little girl. That make-up makes you grown. And grown girls don't skip home. They don't do round offs or swing from tree branches. They don't sound exactly like Ariel when they sing in the shower. They don't rush down stairs on April 1st wondering what tricks have been played. They don't blow dandelions into the wind, believing the puffs will carry wishes into reality. They don't slip their hand inside their mother's absentmindedly while practicing times tables.
Nine is half way. How can we be half way? There will be so much time for make-up and grown up girl things. Right now, I just want us to enjoy the little girl that we'll both miss one day.
Friday, August 7, 2015
The Bikini Question
So it's been awhile...summers are crazy. I say that like the rest of the year is not crazy. But the rest of the year I have this support structure in place to take care of things. Summer time...all that goes out the window. Camps that I can afford do not cover a full work day. Super hero days are sprung on me hours beforehand. A different location every week. It becomes exhausting. In addition to all that, work is at it's fever pitch for both Clif and I during the summer months. At least it always seems to work out that way.
I love summer, but I'm kind of glad that things will be slowing down after today. Camps are over for Ainsley, she'll spend the rest of her summer traveling up and down the eastern seaboard.
So my point is that I have a lot of updating to do. Freddie graduated from preschool, Cohen turned 2, Ainsley turned 8 and life has been chugging along. But I'll save that for another day, when my pictures are not being held hostage in my Mac Book.
Today I'm contemplating parenting decisions. When am I not, right? You know what they don't tell you about being a parent? That you'll have this little baby, and you'll make all these enormous decisions...breast or bottle, cloth or disposable, organic or not, preschool or daycare, stay at home or work away. All these things that you think are so difficult to decide and will totally mold your baby. But now, I can sit on the other side of that baby mess and say those are not the big decisions. I mean, they're hard, and you stress over them, and I'm not belittling them. I definitely thought about all of those things for months before my kids were born. But the really big, character molding decisions...they happen in the tiniest of moments, when you least expect them. They are things that you did not discuss or ponder over as your baby rolled in your belly. They happen in Target or at the playground or in the bath tub. They slap you in the face when you're rushing out the door to swim lessons or when you're late for work...again.
I had one such moment recently and it made me feel like such a hypocrite that it's all I've thought about for weeks. It happened as I was getting the boys ready to go to the pool one afternoon. I had already packed up Ainsley's suit and towel and now we could pick her up and go straight to the pool for a couple of hours before rushing home to start dinner. Freddie refused to put on his rash guard shirt, and honestly I didn't really fight him on it. It's totally fine for boys to wear just their shorts at the pool, especially at 5PM when the sun wasn't a factor.
And as the words "Sure, whatever you're comfortable in" left my mouth, it rolled over me like a truck. This deep worry in the pit of my stomach. This realization that I was a part of the problem that I so desperately wanted to fix for my children and my grandchildren.
Ainsley hadn't been able to wear a bikini since she was a toddler. I felt that I should try and establish a healthy environment where she wasn't wearing skimpy clothes. But instead it had become a point of contention. Ainsley wanted to know why she couldn't wear bikinis. Originally, my intentions were good. Maybe it's not appropriate for a little girl to wear a bikini. But why? I couldn't really answer that question, other than she was a little girl and I didn't want to make her a target. Didn't want her to think that she should dress in skimpy clothes. Wanted her to place value on her internal strengths, rather than her external ones. All those "build girls up," "healthy body image," "don't sexualize a child" things you hear and read.
But in that moment, I realized that I had done exactly the opposite of what I wanted to accomplish. Without a moment's hesitation I had agreed to let Freddie go shirtless, but I wouldn't let Ainsley wear a bikini in a setting where she was already WAY less dressed than either of her brothers. And I had no explanation. All I could conjure up was "she's a girl," and that is BULLSHIT.
So how do I undo that? How do I now go back on what I had said and say a bikini is okay without pushing it on her. And how do I make sure that she still feels all those things that I was trying to instill by not allowing the bikini?
I HAVE NO IDEA!!!
In the end, she asked for a bikini and I bought her one. I tried to explain that I was wrong, that it shouldn't matter what she wears as long as she's comfortable in it and happy with how it makes her feel. I asked her why a bikini was so important to her and she told me it made her look cute. I asked her how it made her feel and she said happy.
So ridiculous that all this angst happens over a bikini. A little item of clothing that only gets worn for a few months of the year. But all this big stuff happens in these little moments and insignificant decisions. I still don't know what I'll say if she comes home at 14 with daisy dukes and a halter top that she wants to wear to school. Because the truth is that the world is going to label her because of it. I can do my best to alter my own opinions and show her how to be her best woman no matter the clothes, but that's not going to change the world view.
I'm at a loss in this department. It feels like a tug of war, go too far one way and you end up in the mud. I guess I just hope that Ainsley can forgive me for all the missteps and she's smart enough and strong enough to make her own decisions and stick by them. That she finds an inner confidence that will take her past all the bullshit. In the end, I hope that's what I can give her no matter what she's wearing.
I love summer, but I'm kind of glad that things will be slowing down after today. Camps are over for Ainsley, she'll spend the rest of her summer traveling up and down the eastern seaboard.
So my point is that I have a lot of updating to do. Freddie graduated from preschool, Cohen turned 2, Ainsley turned 8 and life has been chugging along. But I'll save that for another day, when my pictures are not being held hostage in my Mac Book.
Today I'm contemplating parenting decisions. When am I not, right? You know what they don't tell you about being a parent? That you'll have this little baby, and you'll make all these enormous decisions...breast or bottle, cloth or disposable, organic or not, preschool or daycare, stay at home or work away. All these things that you think are so difficult to decide and will totally mold your baby. But now, I can sit on the other side of that baby mess and say those are not the big decisions. I mean, they're hard, and you stress over them, and I'm not belittling them. I definitely thought about all of those things for months before my kids were born. But the really big, character molding decisions...they happen in the tiniest of moments, when you least expect them. They are things that you did not discuss or ponder over as your baby rolled in your belly. They happen in Target or at the playground or in the bath tub. They slap you in the face when you're rushing out the door to swim lessons or when you're late for work...again.
I had one such moment recently and it made me feel like such a hypocrite that it's all I've thought about for weeks. It happened as I was getting the boys ready to go to the pool one afternoon. I had already packed up Ainsley's suit and towel and now we could pick her up and go straight to the pool for a couple of hours before rushing home to start dinner. Freddie refused to put on his rash guard shirt, and honestly I didn't really fight him on it. It's totally fine for boys to wear just their shorts at the pool, especially at 5PM when the sun wasn't a factor.
And as the words "Sure, whatever you're comfortable in" left my mouth, it rolled over me like a truck. This deep worry in the pit of my stomach. This realization that I was a part of the problem that I so desperately wanted to fix for my children and my grandchildren.
Ainsley hadn't been able to wear a bikini since she was a toddler. I felt that I should try and establish a healthy environment where she wasn't wearing skimpy clothes. But instead it had become a point of contention. Ainsley wanted to know why she couldn't wear bikinis. Originally, my intentions were good. Maybe it's not appropriate for a little girl to wear a bikini. But why? I couldn't really answer that question, other than she was a little girl and I didn't want to make her a target. Didn't want her to think that she should dress in skimpy clothes. Wanted her to place value on her internal strengths, rather than her external ones. All those "build girls up," "healthy body image," "don't sexualize a child" things you hear and read.
But in that moment, I realized that I had done exactly the opposite of what I wanted to accomplish. Without a moment's hesitation I had agreed to let Freddie go shirtless, but I wouldn't let Ainsley wear a bikini in a setting where she was already WAY less dressed than either of her brothers. And I had no explanation. All I could conjure up was "she's a girl," and that is BULLSHIT.
So how do I undo that? How do I now go back on what I had said and say a bikini is okay without pushing it on her. And how do I make sure that she still feels all those things that I was trying to instill by not allowing the bikini?
I HAVE NO IDEA!!!
In the end, she asked for a bikini and I bought her one. I tried to explain that I was wrong, that it shouldn't matter what she wears as long as she's comfortable in it and happy with how it makes her feel. I asked her why a bikini was so important to her and she told me it made her look cute. I asked her how it made her feel and she said happy.
So ridiculous that all this angst happens over a bikini. A little item of clothing that only gets worn for a few months of the year. But all this big stuff happens in these little moments and insignificant decisions. I still don't know what I'll say if she comes home at 14 with daisy dukes and a halter top that she wants to wear to school. Because the truth is that the world is going to label her because of it. I can do my best to alter my own opinions and show her how to be her best woman no matter the clothes, but that's not going to change the world view.
I'm at a loss in this department. It feels like a tug of war, go too far one way and you end up in the mud. I guess I just hope that Ainsley can forgive me for all the missteps and she's smart enough and strong enough to make her own decisions and stick by them. That she finds an inner confidence that will take her past all the bullshit. In the end, I hope that's what I can give her no matter what she's wearing.
Friday, July 17, 2015
Eight
Dear Ainsley,
I didn't realize this before hand, but apparently eight is a big deal. When you're a kid birthdays are always a big deal. Soon, you will snuggle into eight and it will become well worn. It will be comfortable and you will be itching to be nine.
But as an adult, I am looking at my eight-year-old and realizing that this is one of those times that I will look back on and think, "That was the moment when everything changed."
Maybe I'm being dramatic, but over the last few months there has definitely been a shift. Your thinking is different, your attitude is changing. You're maturing and aging and it's like I can see it happening.
Some of it's good, some of it is...difficult. But you are definitely growing up. I've seen that happen for eight years, but this past spring it's become very apparent that you will not be a kid forever. Something that my head knows but my heart is not quite on board with yet. So we have to take baby steps, because just like you've never been eight, I've never had an eight-year-old and we are navigating these new waters together. So we give little bits of independence and judgement, then we pull it back when it gets too scary. I think ear piercing is a good place to start.
You've been begging me for pierced ears for three years. I originally told you, you had to wait until you were nine. Why? Who knows, ask Grandma. That's when I got my ears pierced, so I figured it was a good age. But I won't lie...I couldn't wait to buy you little earrings. So when you begged and pleaded on your seventh birthday I made you a deal. You show me how responsible you can be and I would take you on your eighth birthday to get it done. Well, I'm not going to lie and say you were suddenly the poster girl for responsibility, because you so were not! But I think I wanted your ears pierced as much as you did, so I conceded.
It was a stressful event. I was so worried for you. Not about the actual piercing and if you would be allergic or get an infection. Those are all things we could deal with. No it was more the way you handled it that ripped me apart. You were so brave and insistent that you did not want to cry but you were afraid that you would cry. Ugh...how did you get so grown up to have this emotion? This need to not show your fear and emotion in public. And you did cry a bit. You cried before hand out of sheer excitement/fear/anxiety. But just a tiny bit behind your fists. Then it happened and you laughed and said "Ow, ow, ow..." Because it did hurt, but not nearly as bad as you had imagined.
I have to say, you have impressed me beyond my imagination with the ear hole care. You can be a bit...dramatic...especially when it comes to injury. A scrape on the foot needs a homemade cast and crutches in your opinion. So I was worried that there would be a lot of whining and complaining about turning and cleaning ears. But not once have you belly ached. You listened intently to all the instructions and you come and ask me, "Does this one look a little bit red? Could it be infected?" You always wash your hands before touching them. You worry about going swimming. You clean them every morning and every night without being asked. So I think we made the right decision.
In the end, they are your ears, part of your body. And I always want to make it clear that all of those things fall under your power and your decision making. Not mine. I hope this is one small step in that direction, and I hope that you let me help you make these decisions the older you get.
I'm so proud of you, Ainsley. I'm so proud of who you are and all that you do. I consider myself really lucky to know you, to be a part of your world. You're going to be great things and I'm glad I get to watch.
Love,
Mommy
I didn't realize this before hand, but apparently eight is a big deal. When you're a kid birthdays are always a big deal. Soon, you will snuggle into eight and it will become well worn. It will be comfortable and you will be itching to be nine.
But as an adult, I am looking at my eight-year-old and realizing that this is one of those times that I will look back on and think, "That was the moment when everything changed."
Maybe I'm being dramatic, but over the last few months there has definitely been a shift. Your thinking is different, your attitude is changing. You're maturing and aging and it's like I can see it happening.
Some of it's good, some of it is...difficult. But you are definitely growing up. I've seen that happen for eight years, but this past spring it's become very apparent that you will not be a kid forever. Something that my head knows but my heart is not quite on board with yet. So we have to take baby steps, because just like you've never been eight, I've never had an eight-year-old and we are navigating these new waters together. So we give little bits of independence and judgement, then we pull it back when it gets too scary. I think ear piercing is a good place to start.
It was a stressful event. I was so worried for you. Not about the actual piercing and if you would be allergic or get an infection. Those are all things we could deal with. No it was more the way you handled it that ripped me apart. You were so brave and insistent that you did not want to cry but you were afraid that you would cry. Ugh...how did you get so grown up to have this emotion? This need to not show your fear and emotion in public. And you did cry a bit. You cried before hand out of sheer excitement/fear/anxiety. But just a tiny bit behind your fists. Then it happened and you laughed and said "Ow, ow, ow..." Because it did hurt, but not nearly as bad as you had imagined.
I have to say, you have impressed me beyond my imagination with the ear hole care. You can be a bit...dramatic...especially when it comes to injury. A scrape on the foot needs a homemade cast and crutches in your opinion. So I was worried that there would be a lot of whining and complaining about turning and cleaning ears. But not once have you belly ached. You listened intently to all the instructions and you come and ask me, "Does this one look a little bit red? Could it be infected?" You always wash your hands before touching them. You worry about going swimming. You clean them every morning and every night without being asked. So I think we made the right decision.
In the end, they are your ears, part of your body. And I always want to make it clear that all of those things fall under your power and your decision making. Not mine. I hope this is one small step in that direction, and I hope that you let me help you make these decisions the older you get.
I'm so proud of you, Ainsley. I'm so proud of who you are and all that you do. I consider myself really lucky to know you, to be a part of your world. You're going to be great things and I'm glad I get to watch.
Love,
Mommy
Tuesday, March 3, 2015
The Sleep Issues That Weren't
You may remember our sleep issues with Ainsley. I may have written about it a time or two...okay maybe three times.
Well, we have basically the same sleep issues with Cohen. He has to be rocked to sleep, he wakes up in the middle of the night, he comes to bed with me. Same story, different kid.
But there is something different. Big time different. Me. And probably Clif too.
Poor Ainsley. She's our guinea pig kid. I'm really glad she's so laid back and perky, because I definitely would have turned that kid into an anxious mess if she just had one ounce of stress in her little body.
It dawned on me yesterday that I don't even consider having sleep issues with Cohen. He gets put to bed, he wakes up, we bring him to our bed. No big deal. But yesterday, I was browsing pinterest and I saw a few pins for fixing sleep issues in toddlers. At first I didn't even notice them because they weren't recipes or organizational tips or ways to improve my finances. But then there were quite a few, so finally I clicked one.
How to get your toddler to sleep through the night.
Well, my toddler does not sleep through the night, so maybe I should read this. I couldn't even make it through the first paragraph. Because know what? I don't care if he doesn't sleep through the night.
Let me tell you the tiniest of secrets. Ready? You can't tell anyone, especially my husband.
I kind of like sleeping with my kids.
So when I put the kids to bed, I snuggle between them. (Side note: Yes they have separate beds but they choose to sleep together.) And sometimes when I snuggle between them, I let myself drift off, and I always wish that I had nothing left to do so I could stay there. When I go upstairs at night, I always check in on them and sometimes I push one of them over and get in bed with them for a bit. When I finally do make it to my bed, I fall asleep thinking that Cohen will be cuddled up with me in a few hours.
So what does that mean? All that angst and worry and craziness over Ainsley's sleeping habits...what a freaking waste of time! We should all really have our third kid first. Or at least be the parent to our first kid that we are to our third.
I started reading that article and in the first few lines it told me that I shouldn't rock my babies or comfort them in the middle of the night or nurse back to sleep or any of the things that I do on the regular. No thank you! I'll take a few years of sleep deprivation in exchange for all that quiet warmth that comes from holding a baby in the wee hours. I wouldn't change a moment of it.
My mom always says "I'll sleep when I'm dead."
And while I'm here, living, I'll just buy a bigger bed.
Well, we have basically the same sleep issues with Cohen. He has to be rocked to sleep, he wakes up in the middle of the night, he comes to bed with me. Same story, different kid.
But there is something different. Big time different. Me. And probably Clif too.
Poor Ainsley. She's our guinea pig kid. I'm really glad she's so laid back and perky, because I definitely would have turned that kid into an anxious mess if she just had one ounce of stress in her little body.
It dawned on me yesterday that I don't even consider having sleep issues with Cohen. He gets put to bed, he wakes up, we bring him to our bed. No big deal. But yesterday, I was browsing pinterest and I saw a few pins for fixing sleep issues in toddlers. At first I didn't even notice them because they weren't recipes or organizational tips or ways to improve my finances. But then there were quite a few, so finally I clicked one.
How to get your toddler to sleep through the night.
Well, my toddler does not sleep through the night, so maybe I should read this. I couldn't even make it through the first paragraph. Because know what? I don't care if he doesn't sleep through the night.
Let me tell you the tiniest of secrets. Ready? You can't tell anyone, especially my husband.
I kind of like sleeping with my kids.
So when I put the kids to bed, I snuggle between them. (Side note: Yes they have separate beds but they choose to sleep together.) And sometimes when I snuggle between them, I let myself drift off, and I always wish that I had nothing left to do so I could stay there. When I go upstairs at night, I always check in on them and sometimes I push one of them over and get in bed with them for a bit. When I finally do make it to my bed, I fall asleep thinking that Cohen will be cuddled up with me in a few hours.
So what does that mean? All that angst and worry and craziness over Ainsley's sleeping habits...what a freaking waste of time! We should all really have our third kid first. Or at least be the parent to our first kid that we are to our third.
I started reading that article and in the first few lines it told me that I shouldn't rock my babies or comfort them in the middle of the night or nurse back to sleep or any of the things that I do on the regular. No thank you! I'll take a few years of sleep deprivation in exchange for all that quiet warmth that comes from holding a baby in the wee hours. I wouldn't change a moment of it.
My mom always says "I'll sleep when I'm dead."
And while I'm here, living, I'll just buy a bigger bed.
Thursday, February 5, 2015
Tonight
It's a huge cliche in the blogging world. Writing a lasting and deep message about appreciating the time you have with your kids. Not letting a moment slip by. Enjoying those cuddles. Savoring those messy fingerprints. Marking each little milestone. Because they'll all be gone. They'll grow up and leave and you'll miss those times.
And I hate being cliche, but sometimes the weight of it all just overwhelms me and I have to put it somewhere or I'll burst. Plus, what else is there to write about? Vaccines? Um, no thanks. You thought there were wars over breast/bottle feeding, CIO or cosleep, WAH/SAH/Working mothers? Whatever, that's nothing compared to the seething hatred that comes out over vaccinations. You're not changing my mind, I'm not changing your mind, so I'm just going to leave that one alone. Pretty sure the second civil war is going to erupt over that topic.
But I digress...
I climb the stairs to find Ainsley in my bed. I stand there and stare at her for a moment. This happens. Probably once a week she makes her way to our room when Freddie falls asleep before her. She still hates to sleep alone. She is exactly the same baby I brought home 7.5 years ago.
I turn off the light and climb in next to her. I close my eyes and remember night after night of holding a tiny baby as we both fell asleep. Night after night of spooning with a toddler, preschooler, then child. She'll be 8 in July. There are more nights like this behind me than in front of me.
During the day, we are knocking on the door of the tween/preteen years. We're not there, but we're kind of on our way. Sometimes there are tears because she feels wronged. Sometimes she prefers to pretend she's out with friends than with her parents. Sometimes there are slammed doors and stomps up the stairs. Sometimes she talks about imaginary boyfriends. Sometimes there are wishes to be an only child or have the life of a friend. Sometimes I handle these emotions well, sometimes I do not.
But here in the dark, in my bed, she is still my baby. That sweet little girl with a big heart and huge soul. A giggle that warms my heart and a smile that lights my world. She still hugs me every day. She still calls me mommy...most of the time. She still likes to cuddle with me when she sleeps. But I know the days of shrugging off kisses and eye rolls are right around the corner.
So tonight I won't move her back. Tonight I'll smell her little girl hair like I smelled her bald baby head. Tonight I'll hold her long fingers like I held her pudgy hands. Tonight I'll lay here and hold her and pretend that she'll be mine forever.
And I hate being cliche, but sometimes the weight of it all just overwhelms me and I have to put it somewhere or I'll burst. Plus, what else is there to write about? Vaccines? Um, no thanks. You thought there were wars over breast/bottle feeding, CIO or cosleep, WAH/SAH/Working mothers? Whatever, that's nothing compared to the seething hatred that comes out over vaccinations. You're not changing my mind, I'm not changing your mind, so I'm just going to leave that one alone. Pretty sure the second civil war is going to erupt over that topic.
But I digress...
I climb the stairs to find Ainsley in my bed. I stand there and stare at her for a moment. This happens. Probably once a week she makes her way to our room when Freddie falls asleep before her. She still hates to sleep alone. She is exactly the same baby I brought home 7.5 years ago.
I turn off the light and climb in next to her. I close my eyes and remember night after night of holding a tiny baby as we both fell asleep. Night after night of spooning with a toddler, preschooler, then child. She'll be 8 in July. There are more nights like this behind me than in front of me.
During the day, we are knocking on the door of the tween/preteen years. We're not there, but we're kind of on our way. Sometimes there are tears because she feels wronged. Sometimes she prefers to pretend she's out with friends than with her parents. Sometimes there are slammed doors and stomps up the stairs. Sometimes she talks about imaginary boyfriends. Sometimes there are wishes to be an only child or have the life of a friend. Sometimes I handle these emotions well, sometimes I do not.
But here in the dark, in my bed, she is still my baby. That sweet little girl with a big heart and huge soul. A giggle that warms my heart and a smile that lights my world. She still hugs me every day. She still calls me mommy...most of the time. She still likes to cuddle with me when she sleeps. But I know the days of shrugging off kisses and eye rolls are right around the corner.
So tonight I won't move her back. Tonight I'll smell her little girl hair like I smelled her bald baby head. Tonight I'll hold her long fingers like I held her pudgy hands. Tonight I'll lay here and hold her and pretend that she'll be mine forever.
Friday, January 23, 2015
I Don't Hate Many Things, but...
I'm sorry, but I have to say this...
I hate homework. It is my least favorite part of the day. I have tried everything to get it done, and it just sucks.
I have tried screaming and yelling, I have tried simply not caring, I have tried not doing it at all, I have tried doing it before we pick up other kids, I have tried doing it while I cook dinner, I have tried doing it before bed. There is no good time.
So now here's where all the teachers hate me, and I have A LOT of teacher friends. I went to Longwood...hello!
Why the hell does my 2nd grader need to do homework?
She spends 7 hours a day in a classroom. She spends 3 hours at home every night. In that 3 hours we must eat dinner. We also take a bath most nights. We try to read books. We like to play. And these are nights that we have nothing else going on...no errands to run, no practice to go to.
So how in the world am I supposed to also fit in 20 minutes of homework with a child that does not want to do homework because she's been doing work all day in the classroom? And by the way, it is not 20 minutes. Last night, it was almost an hour!!! One third of my night!
I already know what you're going to say. Teachers don't have time to teach everything that needs to be taught to stick with state standards. Am I right? Well, I don't care!!!! And I'm not screaming at the teachers here. I love the teachers in my life and I know how hard the work.
So I'm screaming at the system. It's ridiculous!!!
Last night, we come home and sit down to do homework before we pick up the boys. She is not focused. She wants to eat a snack and talk about other things but we don't have time to eat a snack and talk about other things. Because we have to draw a stupid graph about storms. And then write all the facts we possibly can about them in the graph. I read the directions to her 5 times, she read them, she still did it wrong. Because she's totally not interested. Her brain has been working all day, she wants a break and I don't blame her.
I don't go home and get on my work email. Why should she have to come home and do more school work?
And while we were reading the packet about storms, she kept just telling me all these random facts about storms that were correct and not in the mandatory reading book. So obviously, she has learned something in school about storms, because I assure you, we do not sit around the dinner table discussing Tornado Alley and Hurricanes forming over the Atlantic Ocean and Gulf of Mexico during warm months.
So after a half an hour of reading this packet, and then 20 minutes of pushing her and begging her to do the graph right...I said screw it, she obviously knows the stuff.
I try to take that attitude with homework, but it's hard. I don't want her to fall behind, because even though she knows about storms, she doesn't do as well with math.
I really don't know what the answer is. Any advice?
I hate homework. It is my least favorite part of the day. I have tried everything to get it done, and it just sucks.
I have tried screaming and yelling, I have tried simply not caring, I have tried not doing it at all, I have tried doing it before we pick up other kids, I have tried doing it while I cook dinner, I have tried doing it before bed. There is no good time.
So now here's where all the teachers hate me, and I have A LOT of teacher friends. I went to Longwood...hello!
Why the hell does my 2nd grader need to do homework?
She spends 7 hours a day in a classroom. She spends 3 hours at home every night. In that 3 hours we must eat dinner. We also take a bath most nights. We try to read books. We like to play. And these are nights that we have nothing else going on...no errands to run, no practice to go to.
So how in the world am I supposed to also fit in 20 minutes of homework with a child that does not want to do homework because she's been doing work all day in the classroom? And by the way, it is not 20 minutes. Last night, it was almost an hour!!! One third of my night!
I already know what you're going to say. Teachers don't have time to teach everything that needs to be taught to stick with state standards. Am I right? Well, I don't care!!!! And I'm not screaming at the teachers here. I love the teachers in my life and I know how hard the work.
So I'm screaming at the system. It's ridiculous!!!
Last night, we come home and sit down to do homework before we pick up the boys. She is not focused. She wants to eat a snack and talk about other things but we don't have time to eat a snack and talk about other things. Because we have to draw a stupid graph about storms. And then write all the facts we possibly can about them in the graph. I read the directions to her 5 times, she read them, she still did it wrong. Because she's totally not interested. Her brain has been working all day, she wants a break and I don't blame her.
I don't go home and get on my work email. Why should she have to come home and do more school work?
And while we were reading the packet about storms, she kept just telling me all these random facts about storms that were correct and not in the mandatory reading book. So obviously, she has learned something in school about storms, because I assure you, we do not sit around the dinner table discussing Tornado Alley and Hurricanes forming over the Atlantic Ocean and Gulf of Mexico during warm months.
So after a half an hour of reading this packet, and then 20 minutes of pushing her and begging her to do the graph right...I said screw it, she obviously knows the stuff.
I try to take that attitude with homework, but it's hard. I don't want her to fall behind, because even though she knows about storms, she doesn't do as well with math.
I really don't know what the answer is. Any advice?
Thursday, January 22, 2015
Faking Confidence
Parenting is the hardest job I've ever had. I think a lot of people would agree with that statement. I have a job, sometimes it is hard and busy and sometimes it is not and I can write a blog post :)
But parenting, never leaves my thoughts. I become consumed with how I'm raising my kids, am I doing it right, will they be screwed up forever, how do I avoid mistakes that will turn them into horrible/sad/asshole/(insert any terrible description here) people?
I know in my head that kids become their parents. I am so like my mom. In so many ways. I don't really look like her and we don't really have the same personality. I can be very moody (like my dad), I rarely see her in a bad mood. I can wallow (like my dad), I never see her do that. Sometimes I feel like the whole world is against me and things are unfair (like my dad), but I rarely hear my mom complain. But sometimes I'll hear my voice or catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror or in a picture and it almost takes my breath away at how much I am like her.
So one day, Ainsley will probably think the same thing. How do I make sure that she ends up with the best parts of me?
I have never had the best self-esteem. I don't have a lot of confidence in myself. I'm shy and I often worry about drawing attention to myself. I make excuses. I never admit to being good at anything. I never want someone to think I'm loud or obnoxious, so I stay quiet. I do not take compliments well.
But I wasn't always that way.
As a kid, I loved to put on shows and act in plays and sing in church. Anything to get on stage and draw attention. And better yet, I thought I was amazing at all of it. At some point that stopped and I just wanted to be invisible. I wasn't bullied, wasn't picked on more than any other kid, wasn't abused. No mega trauma happened in my life. Yet right around middle school, my whole personality changed. I can remember walking through the halls and just trying to blend into the walls so no one would talk to me or notice me.
High school was the same. I can barely remember any kids from high school. There are a few that I was friends with and there are a few others that I am Facebook friends with. But this year is my 20 year reunion (sidenote: WTF?!?!? How is that possible?) and I ended up in the Facebook group and I have no recollection of these people. I've been looking them up in my yearbook to try and remember faces. And I can, with 100% certainty, tell you that they have no idea who I am either. Because in high school, I perfected being invisible. Never too good or too smart or too friendly, but not bad either. Just right down that average line.
I'm getting off on a tangent here, because this post isn't about me and my issues. It's about Ainsley.
My girl, who is so full of energy and happiness and sunshine. So totally over the moon about herself. She can stare at herself in the mirror for hours if I let her (I did the same). She loves to sing and dance (so did I). She'll try anything. Loves to be the center of attention. Adores pictures and videos of herself. She even has started her own "how to" video series. All her idea. This girl has so much confidence...
but...
Lately, she's been saying things. She and Freddie will play a video game and she'll quit, saying "I'm not good at that, Freddie is way better than me." She and a friend will do cartwheels or rolls and she'll want to stop saying "I can't do those."
And then, at the end of one of her videos...How to make Mint Chocolate Cupcakes...she was icing a cupcake all by herself for the first time ever. And on video she said "So this one I put green icing on...it looks horrible I know, because I'm terrible at it."
And my heart broke. Tears stung my eyes. Because here she was being so brave to do something she had never done, on camera, to post to You Tube, and she was talking about how bad she was at it...
Just. Like. Me.
And in that moment, it finally sank in. Something I've known since I was pregnant with her. Something I've tried to instill. But something I have never practiced in front of her. I can not expect to make her a strong, independent, confident woman unless I show it to her.
So really this is a post about my issues, because I can't let them become Ainsley's. It's not easy to change 30 years of doubting myself, judging myself, criticizing myself for every move. But I'm trying. And I'll keep trying until I truly believe it so Ainsley can keep her confidence.
Here's her first video..."How To Brush Your Teeth and Hair"...more to come.
But parenting, never leaves my thoughts. I become consumed with how I'm raising my kids, am I doing it right, will they be screwed up forever, how do I avoid mistakes that will turn them into horrible/sad/asshole/(insert any terrible description here) people?
I know in my head that kids become their parents. I am so like my mom. In so many ways. I don't really look like her and we don't really have the same personality. I can be very moody (like my dad), I rarely see her in a bad mood. I can wallow (like my dad), I never see her do that. Sometimes I feel like the whole world is against me and things are unfair (like my dad), but I rarely hear my mom complain. But sometimes I'll hear my voice or catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror or in a picture and it almost takes my breath away at how much I am like her.
So one day, Ainsley will probably think the same thing. How do I make sure that she ends up with the best parts of me?
I have never had the best self-esteem. I don't have a lot of confidence in myself. I'm shy and I often worry about drawing attention to myself. I make excuses. I never admit to being good at anything. I never want someone to think I'm loud or obnoxious, so I stay quiet. I do not take compliments well.
But I wasn't always that way.
As a kid, I loved to put on shows and act in plays and sing in church. Anything to get on stage and draw attention. And better yet, I thought I was amazing at all of it. At some point that stopped and I just wanted to be invisible. I wasn't bullied, wasn't picked on more than any other kid, wasn't abused. No mega trauma happened in my life. Yet right around middle school, my whole personality changed. I can remember walking through the halls and just trying to blend into the walls so no one would talk to me or notice me.
High school was the same. I can barely remember any kids from high school. There are a few that I was friends with and there are a few others that I am Facebook friends with. But this year is my 20 year reunion (sidenote: WTF?!?!? How is that possible?) and I ended up in the Facebook group and I have no recollection of these people. I've been looking them up in my yearbook to try and remember faces. And I can, with 100% certainty, tell you that they have no idea who I am either. Because in high school, I perfected being invisible. Never too good or too smart or too friendly, but not bad either. Just right down that average line.
I'm getting off on a tangent here, because this post isn't about me and my issues. It's about Ainsley.
My girl, who is so full of energy and happiness and sunshine. So totally over the moon about herself. She can stare at herself in the mirror for hours if I let her (I did the same). She loves to sing and dance (so did I). She'll try anything. Loves to be the center of attention. Adores pictures and videos of herself. She even has started her own "how to" video series. All her idea. This girl has so much confidence...
but...
Lately, she's been saying things. She and Freddie will play a video game and she'll quit, saying "I'm not good at that, Freddie is way better than me." She and a friend will do cartwheels or rolls and she'll want to stop saying "I can't do those."
And then, at the end of one of her videos...How to make Mint Chocolate Cupcakes...she was icing a cupcake all by herself for the first time ever. And on video she said "So this one I put green icing on...it looks horrible I know, because I'm terrible at it."
And my heart broke. Tears stung my eyes. Because here she was being so brave to do something she had never done, on camera, to post to You Tube, and she was talking about how bad she was at it...
Just. Like. Me.
And in that moment, it finally sank in. Something I've known since I was pregnant with her. Something I've tried to instill. But something I have never practiced in front of her. I can not expect to make her a strong, independent, confident woman unless I show it to her.
So really this is a post about my issues, because I can't let them become Ainsley's. It's not easy to change 30 years of doubting myself, judging myself, criticizing myself for every move. But I'm trying. And I'll keep trying until I truly believe it so Ainsley can keep her confidence.
Here's her first video..."How To Brush Your Teeth and Hair"...more to come.
Monday, August 25, 2014
Pretending
I'm back at work today after an awesome, super-fabulous, week off with my minis. So I'm feeling all sad and weepy and searching for any way to cover my salary so I never have to leave them again. Probably should be going through the hundreds of emails I have, but get rich quick schemes are way more productive and fun.
Next week Ainsley will be back in school, I'll be back in full swing at work, and the hectic crazy schedule of fall will settle on us and I won't necessarily feel this way. But last night, I was almost crying as I went to bed. Knowing that I would close my eyes, and when I opened them it would all be over. I stayed up way past my bedtime, just prolonging the inevitable.
Last week was great. We packed a summer full of fun into one week. So it was busy, but worth it. Last summer, we had the luxury of being lazy. With a newborn around sometimes we needed to be lazy and spend the whole day in our PJs.
But not this time. This time I wanted the week to be filled with smiles and giggles and fun. Cohen barely napped...we were always on the go. We hit the zoo, the water park, a concert, a farm, the fountains, Chick-fil-A, the pool, bike riding...and we even found a rainy day to snuggle on the couch and watch a movie with popcorn and candy.
Normally, I am fine with work. I don't hate it, I don't love it...but I do love getting paid. I'm okay with my kids being away from me. Some days I miss them like crazy, others I welcome the break. I know they are off learning and doing things that I have no business teaching them. I know they are loved where they are. My kids are well adjusted and independent and bright and a lot of that has to do with daycare and preschool and extra activities.
But I won't lie, coming back to work is always hard and I know that for a few days I'll have this knot in my stomach. I know that today I'll blow off work and look at their pictures for most of the day. I'll recall Freddie asking me every day "Mommy, what we gonna do fun today?" And after I told him, he'd say "What else we gonna do fun today?" If you could just hear the way he says "else" you would fall madly in love. I will remember Cohen dancing at a Rocknocerous concert. The grin spreading across his face, his bottom bouncing up and down and his hands waving back and forth. I will think about how big Ainsley is getting. How kind she is to her brothers. How she watches out for them. How she can't wait to be big and grown and all I want to do is stop her.
Most of all, I will look forward to the next time I pretend to be a stay at home mom and spend all my time with the most awesome people I know.
Next week Ainsley will be back in school, I'll be back in full swing at work, and the hectic crazy schedule of fall will settle on us and I won't necessarily feel this way. But last night, I was almost crying as I went to bed. Knowing that I would close my eyes, and when I opened them it would all be over. I stayed up way past my bedtime, just prolonging the inevitable.
Last week was great. We packed a summer full of fun into one week. So it was busy, but worth it. Last summer, we had the luxury of being lazy. With a newborn around sometimes we needed to be lazy and spend the whole day in our PJs.
But not this time. This time I wanted the week to be filled with smiles and giggles and fun. Cohen barely napped...we were always on the go. We hit the zoo, the water park, a concert, a farm, the fountains, Chick-fil-A, the pool, bike riding...and we even found a rainy day to snuggle on the couch and watch a movie with popcorn and candy.
Normally, I am fine with work. I don't hate it, I don't love it...but I do love getting paid. I'm okay with my kids being away from me. Some days I miss them like crazy, others I welcome the break. I know they are off learning and doing things that I have no business teaching them. I know they are loved where they are. My kids are well adjusted and independent and bright and a lot of that has to do with daycare and preschool and extra activities.
But I won't lie, coming back to work is always hard and I know that for a few days I'll have this knot in my stomach. I know that today I'll blow off work and look at their pictures for most of the day. I'll recall Freddie asking me every day "Mommy, what we gonna do fun today?" And after I told him, he'd say "What else we gonna do fun today?" If you could just hear the way he says "else" you would fall madly in love. I will remember Cohen dancing at a Rocknocerous concert. The grin spreading across his face, his bottom bouncing up and down and his hands waving back and forth. I will think about how big Ainsley is getting. How kind she is to her brothers. How she watches out for them. How she can't wait to be big and grown and all I want to do is stop her.
Most of all, I will look forward to the next time I pretend to be a stay at home mom and spend all my time with the most awesome people I know.
Wednesday, July 23, 2014
Popped Balloons
As a parent, I believe it's a natural instinct to want to fix problems. At least it is for me. Even after three kids, I jump up when one of them falls down. I hate to hear them cry. It actually feels like someone is squeezing my heart. Like it will just shrivel and dissolve in my chest. It doesn't even matter if they're crying because they're bratty. And believe me, I can recognize bratty. The problem is that they are genuinely hurting, no matter the reason - even a bratty one, and that hurts me.
I have to make a conscious effort to not fix things for my kids. To not do everything for my kids. Ideally, my kids stay where they are forever and ever, never grow up, and never leave home. Ideally.
Realistically, they grow up and need to be functioning, independent, reliant, adults. They leave us and start their own lives. That's the way of the world, right? As much as we'd like to shelter and protect and fix...eventually, we won't be here. It is natural that a child leaves his/her parent to start his/her own family. It is natural that I will leave this world before my children. So as much as I want to take care of them now, I need to know that at that time, they will be okay.
I am not a stranger to disappointment. This is not an "oh poor me" statement. It is a fact. I was shown how to be independent and self reliant. My parents didn't do everything, they didn't fix everything. I actually think these things go hand in hand. If you're never disappointed, you never learn to fix/adjust, you are forever dependent on someone. I think it's just the way my generation was raised. And the generation before that and before that and before that...
Until now.
The other day, Ainsley went to a birthday party. She was particularly tired. It's been a crazy summer. Different activities every week. Late nights. Full weekends. She got a balloon as she left. It popped the moment we walked outside and she dropped it to the ground. She burst into tears. I literally took two steps towards the door to get another. I stopped. I knelt down and said "Ainsley, balloons pop. It's a fact of life. I'm sorry you're sad, but it's the way it is. Let's go."
She nodded and cried a bit more, but was over it by the time we were driving away. So is it natural that my immediate response was to fix the problem? A very silly problem. A problem that wasn't actually a problem at all. The less balloons in my house, the better. Was it natural because I'm a mother and I don't like to see my child upset? Or was it natural because every where we look these days a parent, a school, a teacher, a government, a nation...is leveling the playing field. Telling everyone that you're all the same, and everything's fair, and everyone deserves anything they want.
You're not good at math? Well of course you are, here let's make it easier.
Your closet's too small? Okay, let me bust down this wall and make it bigger.
The other team won? Oh no, that's not fair...no more scoring.
You're offended by the word bossy? Well, that word no longer exists.
Someone teased you? BULLY!!!!!!! SUSPEND HIM! LOCK HIM UP!
As much as it hurts me to see them hurt, I want my kids to lose. I want someone to pick on them. I want someone to break their hearts. I want them to flunk tests. I want them to get rejected from a school/job/team/audition. Because if none of that ever happens, and they go through life with everything being easy and handed to them, then aren't those good things lessened? Why is winning awesome? Because you know what it feels like to lose. Why can friends be lifesavers? Because you know what it feels like to be lonely. Why is falling in love and getting married and having babies the best thing that can happen to a person? Because a broken heart sucks.
You can't have joy without sorrow. Happiness can not exist without sadness. That feeling you get when you laugh so hard you can't breath, the one where the rumble of laughter consumes your whole chest and belly. You can't have that if you haven't also been overtaken with breathless tears.
I want my kids to love what they earn. To be proud of themselves for an accomplishment. And I want it to be their accomplishment. Not mine. If it's me handing them the toys and cars and clothes, if it's me working the math problems and writing the papers, if it's me picking up their dirty clothes and putting away toys - without any effort on their part - they'll never understand that feeling. You know the one. That feeling that makes you beam. That feeling that you, just you, actually did something that was hard and challenging. Sure it might suck in the now. It might be the hardest thing to get through. But that feeling when you get the reward, nothing beats that. And to deprive my children of that? That would make me a really bad parent.
I have to make a conscious effort to not fix things for my kids. To not do everything for my kids. Ideally, my kids stay where they are forever and ever, never grow up, and never leave home. Ideally.
Realistically, they grow up and need to be functioning, independent, reliant, adults. They leave us and start their own lives. That's the way of the world, right? As much as we'd like to shelter and protect and fix...eventually, we won't be here. It is natural that a child leaves his/her parent to start his/her own family. It is natural that I will leave this world before my children. So as much as I want to take care of them now, I need to know that at that time, they will be okay.
I am not a stranger to disappointment. This is not an "oh poor me" statement. It is a fact. I was shown how to be independent and self reliant. My parents didn't do everything, they didn't fix everything. I actually think these things go hand in hand. If you're never disappointed, you never learn to fix/adjust, you are forever dependent on someone. I think it's just the way my generation was raised. And the generation before that and before that and before that...
Until now.
The other day, Ainsley went to a birthday party. She was particularly tired. It's been a crazy summer. Different activities every week. Late nights. Full weekends. She got a balloon as she left. It popped the moment we walked outside and she dropped it to the ground. She burst into tears. I literally took two steps towards the door to get another. I stopped. I knelt down and said "Ainsley, balloons pop. It's a fact of life. I'm sorry you're sad, but it's the way it is. Let's go."
She nodded and cried a bit more, but was over it by the time we were driving away. So is it natural that my immediate response was to fix the problem? A very silly problem. A problem that wasn't actually a problem at all. The less balloons in my house, the better. Was it natural because I'm a mother and I don't like to see my child upset? Or was it natural because every where we look these days a parent, a school, a teacher, a government, a nation...is leveling the playing field. Telling everyone that you're all the same, and everything's fair, and everyone deserves anything they want.
You're not good at math? Well of course you are, here let's make it easier.
Your closet's too small? Okay, let me bust down this wall and make it bigger.
The other team won? Oh no, that's not fair...no more scoring.
You're offended by the word bossy? Well, that word no longer exists.
Someone teased you? BULLY!!!!!!! SUSPEND HIM! LOCK HIM UP!
As much as it hurts me to see them hurt, I want my kids to lose. I want someone to pick on them. I want someone to break their hearts. I want them to flunk tests. I want them to get rejected from a school/job/team/audition. Because if none of that ever happens, and they go through life with everything being easy and handed to them, then aren't those good things lessened? Why is winning awesome? Because you know what it feels like to lose. Why can friends be lifesavers? Because you know what it feels like to be lonely. Why is falling in love and getting married and having babies the best thing that can happen to a person? Because a broken heart sucks.
You can't have joy without sorrow. Happiness can not exist without sadness. That feeling you get when you laugh so hard you can't breath, the one where the rumble of laughter consumes your whole chest and belly. You can't have that if you haven't also been overtaken with breathless tears.
I want my kids to love what they earn. To be proud of themselves for an accomplishment. And I want it to be their accomplishment. Not mine. If it's me handing them the toys and cars and clothes, if it's me working the math problems and writing the papers, if it's me picking up their dirty clothes and putting away toys - without any effort on their part - they'll never understand that feeling. You know the one. That feeling that makes you beam. That feeling that you, just you, actually did something that was hard and challenging. Sure it might suck in the now. It might be the hardest thing to get through. But that feeling when you get the reward, nothing beats that. And to deprive my children of that? That would make me a really bad parent.
Tuesday, July 15, 2014
Sweet Girl
Dear Ainsley,
Long before I ever had children, or even considered being a mom, I figured I'd have girls. Three or four sweet little girls. Sisters...all close in age so they could grow up the best of friends.
Well, the universe has a way of throwing your grand plans in your face and saying "NO WAY!" Somehow, the universe always seems to know what is best.
So instead of three little girls in matching bows and dresses, I got you and two little boys.
If you would have told me this 10 years ago, before I had a chance to experience any of you, I probably would have cried.
I couldn't have known that the first baby the universe sent me would be the perfect little girl for me and there would just never be a way to top her. Now when I think about having another little girl, it seems so strange. You really are so perfect, how could any other girl compare?
All the things I like about myself are in you tenfold. I try to be sweet and kind and caring. I try to be brave and creative. I try to be strong and confident.
You are all of those things on steroids.
This year you went to first grade. You lost your first tooth. You learned to read, to write. You've learned some Spanish. You can add and subtract. You know about tree parts and bird species. You've made best friends. You joined Daisy scouts and became a Brownie. You cut your hair off because you wanted it that way, and now you've decided to grow it out. You learned to tie your shoes. You learned to whistle. You played soccer and loved it. You gave up dance. You know every word to every Frozen song, but really...this year it wasn't Frozen that you fell in love with, but Star Wars and Princess Leia and Queen Amidala. You started calling us Mom and Dad...but most of the time it's still Mommy and Daddy.
My favorite thing about you is the excitement in your eyes over everything. You just love life and all that comes with it. I hope you never loose that.
Six was an awesome year, but I think seven will be even better.
Happy Birthday Ainsley Bug, we love you!
Love,
Mommy
Long before I ever had children, or even considered being a mom, I figured I'd have girls. Three or four sweet little girls. Sisters...all close in age so they could grow up the best of friends.
Well, the universe has a way of throwing your grand plans in your face and saying "NO WAY!" Somehow, the universe always seems to know what is best.
So instead of three little girls in matching bows and dresses, I got you and two little boys.
If you would have told me this 10 years ago, before I had a chance to experience any of you, I probably would have cried.
I couldn't have known that the first baby the universe sent me would be the perfect little girl for me and there would just never be a way to top her. Now when I think about having another little girl, it seems so strange. You really are so perfect, how could any other girl compare?
All the things I like about myself are in you tenfold. I try to be sweet and kind and caring. I try to be brave and creative. I try to be strong and confident.
You are all of those things on steroids.
This year you went to first grade. You lost your first tooth. You learned to read, to write. You've learned some Spanish. You can add and subtract. You know about tree parts and bird species. You've made best friends. You joined Daisy scouts and became a Brownie. You cut your hair off because you wanted it that way, and now you've decided to grow it out. You learned to tie your shoes. You learned to whistle. You played soccer and loved it. You gave up dance. You know every word to every Frozen song, but really...this year it wasn't Frozen that you fell in love with, but Star Wars and Princess Leia and Queen Amidala. You started calling us Mom and Dad...but most of the time it's still Mommy and Daddy.
My favorite thing about you is the excitement in your eyes over everything. You just love life and all that comes with it. I hope you never loose that.
Six was an awesome year, but I think seven will be even better.
Happy Birthday Ainsley Bug, we love you!
Love,
Mommy
Friday, May 30, 2014
Lemonade Stand
Ainsley's been begging me to have a lemonade stand. I don't really ever remember doing this as a kid. Just setting up shop in the front yard, but maybe I did.
She had big ideas about the sign and what we would sell and for how much. I convinced her that we would only sell lemonade and it would only be $.50. She was trying to push some pretty high profit margins. I had to explain that most likely no one would be buying lemonade for $5.00.
In my true annoying mom fashion, I tried to make it a learning experience. I was trying to get her to tell me how much change she owed people and how much multiple cups were. Eventually, I had to give up or we'd probably still be dealing with out first customer.
She also tried to give a few people 2 quarters instead of collecting the fifty cents. I told her she wouldn't make much money that way.
Having a lemonade stand makes you realize that people are pretty awesome. It's easy to make a little kid feel really good about themselves, and our neighbors did just that. Most slipped the kids a little something extra and came back for seconds.
After an hour or so the lemonade was mostly gone and the kids were $12.75 richer. They considered this a big success.
So they got to drink the rest and split the profits.
Ainsley had a hard time understanding that she started with $12 from her piggy bank so she shouldn't give Freddie half of the total amount. Just half of the $12.75. Freddie didn't seem to mind.
It was fun, and not so hard. The hardest part was finding a nice afternoon that we were free to do it. Ainsley has informed me that this was her FIRST lemonade stand. So I guess we'll be doing it again soon. Heck, maybe she'll become the lemonade queen one day and turn her $12 into millions.
We can dream, right?
Tuesday, May 27, 2014
My Little Box
I heard the squeals and laughter and looked up to see Ainsley running towards me.
"Mommy, it fell out! It fell out!" she exclaimed.
She bounced in front of me with a big grin on her face. A grin that now included one less tooth. Clif helped her rinse her mouth of the blood and she placed the tiny, little chip in my hand. Then she headed back on the field to finish soccer practice.
I watched as she smiled and pushed her tongue through the empty space, over and over again. This day has been a long one coming. She is the last of her friends, classmates, neighbors, teammates to lose a tooth. She'll be 7 in a little over a month, and she's been searching for any sign of a loose tooth since the first week of Kindergarten. Most kids her age already have big adult chompers pushing through their little mouths.
I held the tooth in my hand. It was so small. It didn't look that small in her mouth. I searched my inside purse pocket for any holes, so sure I would lose this lost tooth.
We placed it under her pillow that night and the next morning she awoke $5 richer. I told her that the first tooth is special, so the tooth fairy brings the first tooth back to the mommies and daddies so they can hold on to it forever.
Kind of weird, right? To keep a tooth. Just like keeping those first little curls that were cut off her head. Sometimes I open the little box her blond curls are in and I feel them between my fingers. Remembering her as a bald, toothless baby. That silky hair doesn't feel the same any more. It feels more like my hair. Like grown up hair. Now she uses conditioner and brushes it herself. Her first tooth sits in a plastic baggie on my nightstand because it hasn't made it's way to the box yet. I stare at it every morning while I put on lotion. And I always think it's strange that I keep these things. These are essentially dead human cells, parts of a body, that I plan on stowing away forever.
But then I remember. I remember sitting in the back seat of Clif's car with her. We are leaving Nanny and Poppa's after a weekend visit. I rub my finger along her gums and feel that roughness. For the first time her gums are not pudgy and smooth and pink. This one little spot is hard and rough and white. That first little tooth has pushed itself through. And now that tooth sits for me to stare at every day.
And I remember...waiting for hair. Waiting so long for hair. I remember the first time I saw a curl at the back of her head as I rocked her one night. I remember getting ready for a Memorial Day party at my friend Tara's house and deciding that maybe we could pull off pigtails. Little, itty, bitty pig tails that really did curl like a pig's tail. And now those first little hairs that sprouted from that big shiny head, sit in a box surrounded by velvet, so I can run my fingers over them.
So yes, it's weird. So extremely weird...but necessary. Because one day, her mouth will have expelled all those little teeth, and she will have a beautiful smile filled with big grown up teeth. And one day, her hair may not be so blond. Maybe it will grown long and straight, maybe she'll keep it short and stylish. Little toes with jagged nails will become pedicured. Little knees with scrapes and bruises will be shaved and lotioned. Little hands with pudge and marker streaks will become long and lean. All these little things of her babyhood and childhood will be gone, erased from her face and her mouth and her head. But they'll stay in my heart and in my little box.
"Mommy, it fell out! It fell out!" she exclaimed.
She bounced in front of me with a big grin on her face. A grin that now included one less tooth. Clif helped her rinse her mouth of the blood and she placed the tiny, little chip in my hand. Then she headed back on the field to finish soccer practice.
I watched as she smiled and pushed her tongue through the empty space, over and over again. This day has been a long one coming. She is the last of her friends, classmates, neighbors, teammates to lose a tooth. She'll be 7 in a little over a month, and she's been searching for any sign of a loose tooth since the first week of Kindergarten. Most kids her age already have big adult chompers pushing through their little mouths.
I held the tooth in my hand. It was so small. It didn't look that small in her mouth. I searched my inside purse pocket for any holes, so sure I would lose this lost tooth.
We placed it under her pillow that night and the next morning she awoke $5 richer. I told her that the first tooth is special, so the tooth fairy brings the first tooth back to the mommies and daddies so they can hold on to it forever.
Kind of weird, right? To keep a tooth. Just like keeping those first little curls that were cut off her head. Sometimes I open the little box her blond curls are in and I feel them between my fingers. Remembering her as a bald, toothless baby. That silky hair doesn't feel the same any more. It feels more like my hair. Like grown up hair. Now she uses conditioner and brushes it herself. Her first tooth sits in a plastic baggie on my nightstand because it hasn't made it's way to the box yet. I stare at it every morning while I put on lotion. And I always think it's strange that I keep these things. These are essentially dead human cells, parts of a body, that I plan on stowing away forever.
But then I remember. I remember sitting in the back seat of Clif's car with her. We are leaving Nanny and Poppa's after a weekend visit. I rub my finger along her gums and feel that roughness. For the first time her gums are not pudgy and smooth and pink. This one little spot is hard and rough and white. That first little tooth has pushed itself through. And now that tooth sits for me to stare at every day.
And I remember...waiting for hair. Waiting so long for hair. I remember the first time I saw a curl at the back of her head as I rocked her one night. I remember getting ready for a Memorial Day party at my friend Tara's house and deciding that maybe we could pull off pigtails. Little, itty, bitty pig tails that really did curl like a pig's tail. And now those first little hairs that sprouted from that big shiny head, sit in a box surrounded by velvet, so I can run my fingers over them.
So yes, it's weird. So extremely weird...but necessary. Because one day, her mouth will have expelled all those little teeth, and she will have a beautiful smile filled with big grown up teeth. And one day, her hair may not be so blond. Maybe it will grown long and straight, maybe she'll keep it short and stylish. Little toes with jagged nails will become pedicured. Little knees with scrapes and bruises will be shaved and lotioned. Little hands with pudge and marker streaks will become long and lean. All these little things of her babyhood and childhood will be gone, erased from her face and her mouth and her head. But they'll stay in my heart and in my little box.
Friday, February 21, 2014
That Time My 6 Year Old Asked About Same Sex Marriage
I think if you read my blog, if you know me, you know how I feel about same sex marriage. I think it's discriminatory and down right mean to assume that anyone can dictate who another can love or marry. So I am a supporter.
However...
I've never talked to any of my children about it. My kids are young. They watch a lot of Disney movies where a prince and princess meet, fall in love, get married. I honestly don't know if my kids are ever in contact with kids who have two dads or two moms. It has never come up. And I'm not really one to bring those things up. I figure all in good time. When they have a question, they'll ask.
I'm not going to lie. These conversations do make me nervous. I know that my kids will see this and experience this WAY more than I did as a kid. That's a good thing, I think. But, it still doesn't make it easy to explain. Don't get me wrong...I'm dreading any kind of sex/love/intimacy talk down the road. This just happens to fall into that category.
See, I have 37 years of life experience. My viewpoints are shaped by those experiences. To try and explain romantic love, emotion, sex, to a child who doesn't have any experience with that is difficult. When all they see are girl characters falling in love with boy characters, it's not easy to explain the reasons or the motivations. They see what they see, and they think that's all there is.
A few weeks ago we were home, probably because of snow or sickness or cold weather. Who knows. But we were all home, on the couch, watching TV, playing, reading...
Clif landed on a replay of the Grammys. Not sure why, we don't watch those kind of things. I think we both find them dull and indulgent on the part of the honorees. Maybe Tay-Tay (Taylor Swift) was singing. We do enjoy her in our house.
Whatever the reason, we were soon in the middle of the Macklemore/Queen Latifah/Madonna Same Love wedding ceremony. Before I could even make a decision as to whether or not I wanted to have this discussion with my children at that moment, there we were watching multiple couples joined in matrimony. There were heterosexual couples, interracial couples, homosexual couples. I'm sure you've seen it or heard about it.
And there it was, two men kissing on the TV.
"Mommy, did that man marry a man?" Ainsley asked.
"Yes," I replied.
"I didn't know a man could marry a man!" Ainsley said.
"Sure, a person can marry any other person. It doesn't matter as long as they love each other." I explained...in my head I was quickly trying to figure out how to explain this to her in terms she'd understand.
"So then if they have a baby, there will be two dads?" She asked.
"Yep," I said.
"Cool."
And that was it. She went right back to doing whatever it was she was doing before the wedding caught her attention.
I know this is the first of many conversations we will have about this subject, but know what struck me? How absolutely fine she was with it.
I am a supporter of same sex marriage. I'm a supporter of love in any form. But apparently I have my own preconceived notions. Don't we all? I expected her to ask so many questions and to think it was weird. But why would she? To her, marriage is just two people who love each other. We've tried very hard to allow our children to be who they are and not put them in boxes based on gender or race or eye color. I'm proud of us for that conversation. Proud that she saw no issue. It makes me very hopeful for our future. I think maybe our kids are going to turn around and teach us all how it should be done.
However...
I've never talked to any of my children about it. My kids are young. They watch a lot of Disney movies where a prince and princess meet, fall in love, get married. I honestly don't know if my kids are ever in contact with kids who have two dads or two moms. It has never come up. And I'm not really one to bring those things up. I figure all in good time. When they have a question, they'll ask.
I'm not going to lie. These conversations do make me nervous. I know that my kids will see this and experience this WAY more than I did as a kid. That's a good thing, I think. But, it still doesn't make it easy to explain. Don't get me wrong...I'm dreading any kind of sex/love/intimacy talk down the road. This just happens to fall into that category.
See, I have 37 years of life experience. My viewpoints are shaped by those experiences. To try and explain romantic love, emotion, sex, to a child who doesn't have any experience with that is difficult. When all they see are girl characters falling in love with boy characters, it's not easy to explain the reasons or the motivations. They see what they see, and they think that's all there is.
A few weeks ago we were home, probably because of snow or sickness or cold weather. Who knows. But we were all home, on the couch, watching TV, playing, reading...
Clif landed on a replay of the Grammys. Not sure why, we don't watch those kind of things. I think we both find them dull and indulgent on the part of the honorees. Maybe Tay-Tay (Taylor Swift) was singing. We do enjoy her in our house.
Whatever the reason, we were soon in the middle of the Macklemore/Queen Latifah/Madonna Same Love wedding ceremony. Before I could even make a decision as to whether or not I wanted to have this discussion with my children at that moment, there we were watching multiple couples joined in matrimony. There were heterosexual couples, interracial couples, homosexual couples. I'm sure you've seen it or heard about it.
And there it was, two men kissing on the TV.
"Mommy, did that man marry a man?" Ainsley asked.
"Yes," I replied.
"I didn't know a man could marry a man!" Ainsley said.
"Sure, a person can marry any other person. It doesn't matter as long as they love each other." I explained...in my head I was quickly trying to figure out how to explain this to her in terms she'd understand.
"So then if they have a baby, there will be two dads?" She asked.
"Yep," I said.
"Cool."
And that was it. She went right back to doing whatever it was she was doing before the wedding caught her attention.
I know this is the first of many conversations we will have about this subject, but know what struck me? How absolutely fine she was with it.
I am a supporter of same sex marriage. I'm a supporter of love in any form. But apparently I have my own preconceived notions. Don't we all? I expected her to ask so many questions and to think it was weird. But why would she? To her, marriage is just two people who love each other. We've tried very hard to allow our children to be who they are and not put them in boxes based on gender or race or eye color. I'm proud of us for that conversation. Proud that she saw no issue. It makes me very hopeful for our future. I think maybe our kids are going to turn around and teach us all how it should be done.
Thursday, February 20, 2014
A Fine Line
When I was a kid, I got to pick one thing to do. I took ballet for a year, when I was very young. I liked it, I can't remember why we stopped going. I took piano lessons for about a year. I hated it, I never practiced...I was horrible. Same with the trumpet I tried to play for...about a year. My mom's rule was that I couldn't quit. If I signed up for something, I couldn't quit it.
Eventually, I found softball and that's what I stuck with. I was always playing softball. Fall ball, winter conditioning, spring ball, summer travel ball. If I wasn't at home, I was playing softball.
As an adult, I'm a bit regretful that I have zero musical ability, but as a kid I never felt sad that I stopped any of the instruments I tried. It just wasn't me. It probably still isn't, but it would be nice to sit down at a piano and play something every once in awhile.
Now kids are so scheduled. My kids are all under the age of 7 and already we've done ballet, tap, jazz, cheerleading, swimming, soccer, and girl scouts. Ainsley has asked to take gymnastics and ice skating lessons.
When you work full time and have three kids, it is tough to do everything your kids want. I can't sign her up for a gymnastics class at 4 on a Tuesday afternoon. We can't go to swim practices at 7 AM every summer day. Most of our extracurricular activities happen on the weekends.
Since Ainsley was 3, we've had dance every Saturday morning. She has loved dance. Now, let me be clear...she's not the best dancer. I see the other girls in her class, she is right in the middle of the pack. There are girls who are just naturally good at it. Ainsley is not naturally good. But she has worked hard and always learns her steps. The thing that Ainsley has over most of the girls I've seen her dance with, is personality. She is a performer. She has imagination and energy. She may tangle her feet during a shuffle ball change, but she does it with a smile on her face and lightening in her eyes.
At least she did.
This year, things changed. We had to go with a different teacher. Same studio that is owned by friends, but now the owner was no longer her teacher. The owner that Ainsley has just adored from day one. The owner that was teaching ballet, then tap/jazz beginning at 4PM on Wednesdays. We live 30 minutes from the studio and Ainsley doesn't get off the bus until 4:15ish.
Immediately I saw a change. This teacher had a different style, one that I knew immediately was not going to work with Ainsley. I wanted to give her a shot. She was new, all of these girls had been dancing together with the same teacher for years and she needed to assess their abilities. But as the weeks went on and I watched Ainsley laying down in class, twirling during instruction, and talking to herself in the mirror - I knew this wasn't working.
About three weeks in, it was a fight to get her to go. That was in September. I told her she had to make it to the winter show. They had already started preparing and she had made a commitment and it wasn't fair to bail on her teacher and class. She made it to the winter show, even though I felt like she had learned next to nothing. She didn't know her steps and for the first time ever, was nervous to be performing.
After the winter show I spoke with her old teacher. She thought maybe we could bring Ainsley to her class and just not attend the first hour of ballet, but keep her in tap/jazz.
We agreed. Ainsley agreed. It would mean giving up after school cheerleading, but Ainsley so bad wanted to be back in her class. So now I leave work a few minutes early on Wednesday, pick up Cohen, pick up Ainsley and rush across town to get there by 5.
The first week we were 10 minutes late. As we walked in the classroom, I could tell Ainsley was nervous. And I could see that she was behind the other girls.
Last night, we were right on time, but as soon as I sat her down to change her shoes the tears started and she told me she didn't want to go. She had been saying it all week, but I thought she'd be fine once we got there. It took me and the teacher 10 minutes to convince her to stay. So she danced, through tears at first, but then her smile returned and I saw her laughing by the end.
There is a fine line between quitting and knowing when its time to move on.
Sure, I'd love to be able to play the piano...but know what? There was only once that I wanted to quit softball. I played for 11 years and only once did I entertain the idea of quitting. I started at 7, played all the way through high school, tried out for the college team and that's when I knew. It was time to move on. I did and I don't regret it.
But with a 6 year old, how do you know? It is a struggle to get her there. It is something that I know nothing about, so I can't even help her. I don't like seeing her cry. I don't want her to think it's okay to quit, but I also don't want to force her into something she doesn't enjoy anymore.
Right now, I 'm pushing her into it because I know how much she once loved it. I'm trying to view it like I view forcing her to eat broccoli. I know what's best...but do I? Or does she?
I'm hoping it gets better, that I see that big ole grin on her face even when she misses a step. That she lights up the stage even when she's turning the opposite direction of everyone else. She is not the best dancer. She will not be a Rockette or perform with the American Ballet...but I do love to watch her love dance.
Eventually, I found softball and that's what I stuck with. I was always playing softball. Fall ball, winter conditioning, spring ball, summer travel ball. If I wasn't at home, I was playing softball.
As an adult, I'm a bit regretful that I have zero musical ability, but as a kid I never felt sad that I stopped any of the instruments I tried. It just wasn't me. It probably still isn't, but it would be nice to sit down at a piano and play something every once in awhile.
Now kids are so scheduled. My kids are all under the age of 7 and already we've done ballet, tap, jazz, cheerleading, swimming, soccer, and girl scouts. Ainsley has asked to take gymnastics and ice skating lessons.
When you work full time and have three kids, it is tough to do everything your kids want. I can't sign her up for a gymnastics class at 4 on a Tuesday afternoon. We can't go to swim practices at 7 AM every summer day. Most of our extracurricular activities happen on the weekends.
Since Ainsley was 3, we've had dance every Saturday morning. She has loved dance. Now, let me be clear...she's not the best dancer. I see the other girls in her class, she is right in the middle of the pack. There are girls who are just naturally good at it. Ainsley is not naturally good. But she has worked hard and always learns her steps. The thing that Ainsley has over most of the girls I've seen her dance with, is personality. She is a performer. She has imagination and energy. She may tangle her feet during a shuffle ball change, but she does it with a smile on her face and lightening in her eyes.
At least she did.
This year, things changed. We had to go with a different teacher. Same studio that is owned by friends, but now the owner was no longer her teacher. The owner that Ainsley has just adored from day one. The owner that was teaching ballet, then tap/jazz beginning at 4PM on Wednesdays. We live 30 minutes from the studio and Ainsley doesn't get off the bus until 4:15ish.
Immediately I saw a change. This teacher had a different style, one that I knew immediately was not going to work with Ainsley. I wanted to give her a shot. She was new, all of these girls had been dancing together with the same teacher for years and she needed to assess their abilities. But as the weeks went on and I watched Ainsley laying down in class, twirling during instruction, and talking to herself in the mirror - I knew this wasn't working.
About three weeks in, it was a fight to get her to go. That was in September. I told her she had to make it to the winter show. They had already started preparing and she had made a commitment and it wasn't fair to bail on her teacher and class. She made it to the winter show, even though I felt like she had learned next to nothing. She didn't know her steps and for the first time ever, was nervous to be performing.
After the winter show I spoke with her old teacher. She thought maybe we could bring Ainsley to her class and just not attend the first hour of ballet, but keep her in tap/jazz.
We agreed. Ainsley agreed. It would mean giving up after school cheerleading, but Ainsley so bad wanted to be back in her class. So now I leave work a few minutes early on Wednesday, pick up Cohen, pick up Ainsley and rush across town to get there by 5.
The first week we were 10 minutes late. As we walked in the classroom, I could tell Ainsley was nervous. And I could see that she was behind the other girls.
Last night, we were right on time, but as soon as I sat her down to change her shoes the tears started and she told me she didn't want to go. She had been saying it all week, but I thought she'd be fine once we got there. It took me and the teacher 10 minutes to convince her to stay. So she danced, through tears at first, but then her smile returned and I saw her laughing by the end.
There is a fine line between quitting and knowing when its time to move on.
Sure, I'd love to be able to play the piano...but know what? There was only once that I wanted to quit softball. I played for 11 years and only once did I entertain the idea of quitting. I started at 7, played all the way through high school, tried out for the college team and that's when I knew. It was time to move on. I did and I don't regret it.
But with a 6 year old, how do you know? It is a struggle to get her there. It is something that I know nothing about, so I can't even help her. I don't like seeing her cry. I don't want her to think it's okay to quit, but I also don't want to force her into something she doesn't enjoy anymore.
Right now, I 'm pushing her into it because I know how much she once loved it. I'm trying to view it like I view forcing her to eat broccoli. I know what's best...but do I? Or does she?
I'm hoping it gets better, that I see that big ole grin on her face even when she misses a step. That she lights up the stage even when she's turning the opposite direction of everyone else. She is not the best dancer. She will not be a Rockette or perform with the American Ballet...but I do love to watch her love dance.
Wednesday, November 13, 2013
Nag, Nag, Nag
So I have this little voice in my head nagging me...
"Write a blog post. Write a blog post. Write a blog post."
It won't shut up!!!
The problem is that all the other noise - good noise, but lots of it - that fills my life is totally drowning out that little voice. I hate not writing. I love writing and I feel so complete when I'm doing it regularly. It's been way too long since I did it regularly. But so often it happens that you do what you have to and what you love has to take a backseat for awhile.
So enough people have nagged me that I'm just doing it. Yes, Tara Pratt, you are the straw that broke the camel's back. And having people "like" the post helped push me over as well.
It's not a burden. I love this blog. The problem is time. So here we go. Let me give you some updates and then I'm really going to try to put up a post once a week...at least.
Let's start with me, because that's who you care about right? Riiiiiight. I'm just the most boring. The reason I'm so busy? Other than the 3 little people clamoring at my feet every waking moment? Well, I got a promotion at work. A whole new and different job. Same department, same coworkers, but more responsibility and learning a whole new job. Good right? Right. Bad part...they have not filled my old position. So guess who's pulling double duty at work? This girl!
So I get in at 7. I bury myself in budgets and spreadsheets and schedules and marketing strategies and conference calls and PUMPING and then BAM, it's 3 o'clock, or sometimes 3:15, and it's time to run out the door and pick up Ainsley.
And then it's 66 and traffic and bus stops and daycare pick ups and dinner and laundry and baths and bedtime and then I'm DONE. Even if our computer at home was worth the table it sits on, I don't think I'd have the energy to carry myself down the steps and pound out a post. I know it wouldn't be my best. So I save it for another day.
As for Clif, he's equally boring as me. His job is going pretty well. He gets the kids off in the morning so I can go in early. Then once he's home we eat dinner and get the kids ready for bed. We do sneak in "The Walking Dead" every week.
So that's us. Now on to the good stuff.
Let's start with Ainsley. Notice anything different about our buggy?
Yeppo, she got a hair cut. She's been begging me to cut it off for months and months. I finally caved. It's shorter than I wanted, but she gets lots of compliments on it. It's growing on me and I know before I know it she'll need it cut again.
I've already filled you in on the attitude that is required of first graders, so we'll skip that. Ainsley is great. She's tall, with loooooong legs. Reminds me of my sister.
Ohhh, speaking of my sister....look what she got...
This is Brooks Patrick. He is a precious doll. Mommy, Daddy, and little Brooks are all adjusting well and doing great.
Okay, back to Ainsley. It's amazing how quickly a child can change and grow. Just about every week she's reading more, writing more clearly. Crazy stuff watching that transformation. She's also taking Spanish at school and she's doing awesome. Last night we got her report card and her best scores were in Spanish. So I asked her if she could speak it at all and she rattled off a bunch of words and songs. I couldn't believe it. I guess I'm so focused on her homework and reading that I don't even ask her about Spanish...which she LOVES. So I need to be better about that.
She's riding her bike like a pro. I have a whole post planned about her finally learning to ride it this past summer, but it has not come out of my fingers yet. I still want to write about our summer, so I will, eventually.
She has also learned to tie her shoes and blow bubbles. Not at the same time.
She's dancing again this year...ballet, tap, and jazz. But, I will say, she's not as into it as she once was. She's asking to do other things, like play soccer and take ice skating lessons. So we may take a break from dance soon. Let her try some other things.
She's still doing cheerleading at school and loving that.
Also, Girl Scouts. Yes, I know! I had this totally bad view of girl scouts. No chance, I thought. But here I am, learning the Girl Scout law and all. Like so many things, I had it judged all wrong. It's all about bringing up women and treating everyone like a sister and friendship and giving back to your world. All right up my alley. I'm glad we're doing it. So now you all know where you can get your thin mint fix come Spring!
Alright, who's next? We'll go with Freddie.
This kid "Cracks me out" as Ainsley would say. He is so funny and so sweet and just incredible. Rotten...rotten to the core, but a good rotten. He's loving preschool. Loves his friends, loves his teachers, loves the school, and gives me the biggest hug every night when I pick him up.
He is obsessed with the Power Rangers. Oh yeah, they're still on. Jason and Kimberly (a big thank you to Chris and Eddie for making sure I know those names) are long gone, but they have been on for the last 100 years or something ridiculous like that. Ainsley and Freddie were both Power Rangers for Halloween.
Freddie just finished his first season of soccer. It was just a developmental league, no games, but he seemed to like it.
He's at that age where his vocabulary is expanding rapidly but he hasn't mastered all of our grammar quirks. So instead of saying "I hate the couch" he'll say "The couch hates me."
He loves potty talk. Oh and he's potty trained...finally. I worked on it all summer with little success, he went back to preschool and was potty trained within 2 weeks. Sure does make you feel like a big success as a parent!
Anyway, we are trying to curb him of his potty talk, but he's a boy. It's like what they live for.
My favorite thing he says is "Dat's weally cule!" (That's really cool). Can't get enough of it. Then of course at dinner, after he has fought tooth and nail not to eat a thing on his plate, he finally takes a bite and says "Mmmmm, yummo!" I swear, I could make him the exact same thing every night and he'd cry when he got to the table every night and eventually try it and say "MMMMMM, YUMMO!" every night!
So that leaves us with this guy.
Cohen. He's the reason I feel the worst about not blogging. My blog is my baby book and I'm missing all these milestones because I can't get it done.
He's rolling over now. Barely. Apparently he does it at daycare, but not much at home. He also started baby food last month. We're just about through all the fruits and veggies. Sometimes he eats it up, other times he wants nothing to do with it.
He is grabby grabby these days. He loves our water bottles. And wooden spoons.
He thinks Freddie and Ainsley are hysterical.
He's huge. Last time I checked, over 17 pounds. He just turned 5 months on Saturday.
He has no hair, so he's very jealous of cousin Brooks. We try not to bring it up.
My favorite thing about Cohen right now is when he's excited to see me he tries to kiss me. Like when I pick him up from daycare or when he's been fussing and I've been busy and he's been waiting for me to hold him, he flashes a huge grin, grabs my face and pulls it towards his mouth like he's going to kiss me. Really, he probably just thinks my nose or chin are nice chew toys, but it reminds me of someone grabbing you and kissing you excitedly.
So there you have it. Life is good, it's really good. It's busy and hectic and sometimes I want to jump on a plane to a deserted island for a few days, but it's really awesome. I am often reminded how lucky I am. I have bad days, but I wouldn't trade my life for anything. Clif and I are truly blessed and we know it.
"Write a blog post. Write a blog post. Write a blog post."
It won't shut up!!!
The problem is that all the other noise - good noise, but lots of it - that fills my life is totally drowning out that little voice. I hate not writing. I love writing and I feel so complete when I'm doing it regularly. It's been way too long since I did it regularly. But so often it happens that you do what you have to and what you love has to take a backseat for awhile.
So enough people have nagged me that I'm just doing it. Yes, Tara Pratt, you are the straw that broke the camel's back. And having people "like" the post helped push me over as well.
It's not a burden. I love this blog. The problem is time. So here we go. Let me give you some updates and then I'm really going to try to put up a post once a week...at least.
Let's start with me, because that's who you care about right? Riiiiiight. I'm just the most boring. The reason I'm so busy? Other than the 3 little people clamoring at my feet every waking moment? Well, I got a promotion at work. A whole new and different job. Same department, same coworkers, but more responsibility and learning a whole new job. Good right? Right. Bad part...they have not filled my old position. So guess who's pulling double duty at work? This girl!
So I get in at 7. I bury myself in budgets and spreadsheets and schedules and marketing strategies and conference calls and PUMPING and then BAM, it's 3 o'clock, or sometimes 3:15, and it's time to run out the door and pick up Ainsley.
And then it's 66 and traffic and bus stops and daycare pick ups and dinner and laundry and baths and bedtime and then I'm DONE. Even if our computer at home was worth the table it sits on, I don't think I'd have the energy to carry myself down the steps and pound out a post. I know it wouldn't be my best. So I save it for another day.
As for Clif, he's equally boring as me. His job is going pretty well. He gets the kids off in the morning so I can go in early. Then once he's home we eat dinner and get the kids ready for bed. We do sneak in "The Walking Dead" every week.
So that's us. Now on to the good stuff.
Let's start with Ainsley. Notice anything different about our buggy?
Yeppo, she got a hair cut. She's been begging me to cut it off for months and months. I finally caved. It's shorter than I wanted, but she gets lots of compliments on it. It's growing on me and I know before I know it she'll need it cut again.
I've already filled you in on the attitude that is required of first graders, so we'll skip that. Ainsley is great. She's tall, with loooooong legs. Reminds me of my sister.
Ohhh, speaking of my sister....look what she got...
This is Brooks Patrick. He is a precious doll. Mommy, Daddy, and little Brooks are all adjusting well and doing great.
Okay, back to Ainsley. It's amazing how quickly a child can change and grow. Just about every week she's reading more, writing more clearly. Crazy stuff watching that transformation. She's also taking Spanish at school and she's doing awesome. Last night we got her report card and her best scores were in Spanish. So I asked her if she could speak it at all and she rattled off a bunch of words and songs. I couldn't believe it. I guess I'm so focused on her homework and reading that I don't even ask her about Spanish...which she LOVES. So I need to be better about that.
She's riding her bike like a pro. I have a whole post planned about her finally learning to ride it this past summer, but it has not come out of my fingers yet. I still want to write about our summer, so I will, eventually.
She has also learned to tie her shoes and blow bubbles. Not at the same time.
She's dancing again this year...ballet, tap, and jazz. But, I will say, she's not as into it as she once was. She's asking to do other things, like play soccer and take ice skating lessons. So we may take a break from dance soon. Let her try some other things.
She's still doing cheerleading at school and loving that.
Also, Girl Scouts. Yes, I know! I had this totally bad view of girl scouts. No chance, I thought. But here I am, learning the Girl Scout law and all. Like so many things, I had it judged all wrong. It's all about bringing up women and treating everyone like a sister and friendship and giving back to your world. All right up my alley. I'm glad we're doing it. So now you all know where you can get your thin mint fix come Spring!
Alright, who's next? We'll go with Freddie.
This kid "Cracks me out" as Ainsley would say. He is so funny and so sweet and just incredible. Rotten...rotten to the core, but a good rotten. He's loving preschool. Loves his friends, loves his teachers, loves the school, and gives me the biggest hug every night when I pick him up.
He is obsessed with the Power Rangers. Oh yeah, they're still on. Jason and Kimberly (a big thank you to Chris and Eddie for making sure I know those names) are long gone, but they have been on for the last 100 years or something ridiculous like that. Ainsley and Freddie were both Power Rangers for Halloween.
Freddie just finished his first season of soccer. It was just a developmental league, no games, but he seemed to like it.
He's at that age where his vocabulary is expanding rapidly but he hasn't mastered all of our grammar quirks. So instead of saying "I hate the couch" he'll say "The couch hates me."
He loves potty talk. Oh and he's potty trained...finally. I worked on it all summer with little success, he went back to preschool and was potty trained within 2 weeks. Sure does make you feel like a big success as a parent!
Anyway, we are trying to curb him of his potty talk, but he's a boy. It's like what they live for.
My favorite thing he says is "Dat's weally cule!" (That's really cool). Can't get enough of it. Then of course at dinner, after he has fought tooth and nail not to eat a thing on his plate, he finally takes a bite and says "Mmmmm, yummo!" I swear, I could make him the exact same thing every night and he'd cry when he got to the table every night and eventually try it and say "MMMMMM, YUMMO!" every night!
So that leaves us with this guy.
Cohen. He's the reason I feel the worst about not blogging. My blog is my baby book and I'm missing all these milestones because I can't get it done.
He's rolling over now. Barely. Apparently he does it at daycare, but not much at home. He also started baby food last month. We're just about through all the fruits and veggies. Sometimes he eats it up, other times he wants nothing to do with it.
He is grabby grabby these days. He loves our water bottles. And wooden spoons.
He thinks Freddie and Ainsley are hysterical.
He's huge. Last time I checked, over 17 pounds. He just turned 5 months on Saturday.
He has no hair, so he's very jealous of cousin Brooks. We try not to bring it up.
My favorite thing about Cohen right now is when he's excited to see me he tries to kiss me. Like when I pick him up from daycare or when he's been fussing and I've been busy and he's been waiting for me to hold him, he flashes a huge grin, grabs my face and pulls it towards his mouth like he's going to kiss me. Really, he probably just thinks my nose or chin are nice chew toys, but it reminds me of someone grabbing you and kissing you excitedly.
So there you have it. Life is good, it's really good. It's busy and hectic and sometimes I want to jump on a plane to a deserted island for a few days, but it's really awesome. I am often reminded how lucky I am. I have bad days, but I wouldn't trade my life for anything. Clif and I are truly blessed and we know it.
Wednesday, October 9, 2013
The Facts of Life
You take the good, you take the bad, you take them both and there you have...
Today I have been back to work for one month. Cohen is four months now. Ainsley and Freddie have been in school for five weeks. We should be settling in to a new routine, but instead, I feel like my life is in a tailspin!
The first time you have a baby, you are shocked by the change to your lifestyle. You wonder how you ever got anything done...EVER. Laundry piles up, dishes don't get washed, dog hair accumulates in the corners, and it's hard to remember your last shower.
Then eventually, you adjust. You figure out a new system that works. I think after Ainsley it took me about a year. Maybe you don't scrub the bathrooms once a week anymore and maybe toys scatter the living room floor, but you become okay with your new reality.
Then the next baby comes and you think, "well I've already done this, so I'll go back to my normal routine again." But you forget how exhausting life is with a baby. How you're nursing always. How everything takes just a bit longer. And that you now have this new person to fit into your family. So again, toothpaste builds up on the bathroom sink, fingerprints don't get wiped from the windows, and mail takes over the counter.
Again...you adjust. You nail that new system. I think after Freddie, it took me less than a year...maybe 8-10 months. Now hopefully you can get the sheets washed once a month and the toys just belong in the corner of the living room. But again, you change your expectations and you learn to live in the new now.
So then you have a third baby...and wow, are you dense. Because really, you think "I've done this twice, how hard can it be." Hard. It can be really hard. So hard that you end up on the verge of a nervous breakdown in the middle of your disgusting kitchen while your children run around naked because it's bath night - but you don't have time for a bath because it's also bedtime, and your baby gnaws on your arm because you haven't had time to feed him yet.
I walk in the door right around 5pm every night (side note...I leave work at 3pm - yeah NOVA traffic rocks). In that moment the baby needs to eat, the dogs need walked and fed, the older kids want a snack, dinner needs to be cooked, homework needs to be completed, everyone wants to enjoy the cool weather outside, and all I can think about is crawling into bed.
I wonder how long it will take this time? And I wonder what my new normal will be? Before Cohen came along, I had a system. A few simple chores each night, heavier cleaning on Saturdays, groceries on Sundays, a load of laundry every night. Now, Clif has has gone to the store two nights in a row for things we can't get by without. I'm not sure when I'll be able to fit in an actual trip. I don't know when I'll be able to sign up for a 5K or train for it. It may be years before I see the bottom of the hamper again. Not sure if I'll be able to finish Cohen's letters before he outgrows the crib.
But I do know that we will all come out of this eventually. We always do. I have my moments of utter hopelessness. I'm a crier. It's the way I let off steam. But somewhere in the back of my brain is always this little chant "This too shall pass, this too shall pass." My life can be spinning out of control and a little voice keeps saying "This too shall pass, this too shall pass."
And it will pass. The good and the bad. It always does. And even though I am eager for this constant overwhelmed feeling to pass, I can not wish away the days or hours. They already fly by too fast. So I will take the good with the bad. Because the good is seeing Ainsley finally figure out a tough word in a book, even though I'm digging through the dirty clothes to find a pair of pants that haven't been spit up on. The good is listening to Freddie sing a new song, even though the sink is too full of dishes to drain the pasta. The good is seeing Cohen smile ear to ear, even while delicately removing the onsie he just pooped all over.
Even in the chaos and mess, the good comes through.
Today I have been back to work for one month. Cohen is four months now. Ainsley and Freddie have been in school for five weeks. We should be settling in to a new routine, but instead, I feel like my life is in a tailspin!
The first time you have a baby, you are shocked by the change to your lifestyle. You wonder how you ever got anything done...EVER. Laundry piles up, dishes don't get washed, dog hair accumulates in the corners, and it's hard to remember your last shower.
Then eventually, you adjust. You figure out a new system that works. I think after Ainsley it took me about a year. Maybe you don't scrub the bathrooms once a week anymore and maybe toys scatter the living room floor, but you become okay with your new reality.
Then the next baby comes and you think, "well I've already done this, so I'll go back to my normal routine again." But you forget how exhausting life is with a baby. How you're nursing always. How everything takes just a bit longer. And that you now have this new person to fit into your family. So again, toothpaste builds up on the bathroom sink, fingerprints don't get wiped from the windows, and mail takes over the counter.
Again...you adjust. You nail that new system. I think after Freddie, it took me less than a year...maybe 8-10 months. Now hopefully you can get the sheets washed once a month and the toys just belong in the corner of the living room. But again, you change your expectations and you learn to live in the new now.
So then you have a third baby...and wow, are you dense. Because really, you think "I've done this twice, how hard can it be." Hard. It can be really hard. So hard that you end up on the verge of a nervous breakdown in the middle of your disgusting kitchen while your children run around naked because it's bath night - but you don't have time for a bath because it's also bedtime, and your baby gnaws on your arm because you haven't had time to feed him yet.
I walk in the door right around 5pm every night (side note...I leave work at 3pm - yeah NOVA traffic rocks). In that moment the baby needs to eat, the dogs need walked and fed, the older kids want a snack, dinner needs to be cooked, homework needs to be completed, everyone wants to enjoy the cool weather outside, and all I can think about is crawling into bed.
I wonder how long it will take this time? And I wonder what my new normal will be? Before Cohen came along, I had a system. A few simple chores each night, heavier cleaning on Saturdays, groceries on Sundays, a load of laundry every night. Now, Clif has has gone to the store two nights in a row for things we can't get by without. I'm not sure when I'll be able to fit in an actual trip. I don't know when I'll be able to sign up for a 5K or train for it. It may be years before I see the bottom of the hamper again. Not sure if I'll be able to finish Cohen's letters before he outgrows the crib.
But I do know that we will all come out of this eventually. We always do. I have my moments of utter hopelessness. I'm a crier. It's the way I let off steam. But somewhere in the back of my brain is always this little chant "This too shall pass, this too shall pass." My life can be spinning out of control and a little voice keeps saying "This too shall pass, this too shall pass."
And it will pass. The good and the bad. It always does. And even though I am eager for this constant overwhelmed feeling to pass, I can not wish away the days or hours. They already fly by too fast. So I will take the good with the bad. Because the good is seeing Ainsley finally figure out a tough word in a book, even though I'm digging through the dirty clothes to find a pair of pants that haven't been spit up on. The good is listening to Freddie sing a new song, even though the sink is too full of dishes to drain the pasta. The good is seeing Cohen smile ear to ear, even while delicately removing the onsie he just pooped all over.
Even in the chaos and mess, the good comes through.
Friday, September 27, 2013
The Name Game
Naming someone is very hard. Clif and I take it very seriously. We want names that are unique but not weird. We want names that mean something. I don't mean that the name needs to mean peace or love or anything, but that it has something behind it. And I do not want to see my kids' names splashed all over every kid's show and kid's store advertisement. If it's in the PBK catalog you best believe a thousand people are falling in love with it.
We picked Ainsley from a TV show. And not a current TV show. The West Wing. Which was not on when Ainsley was born, but my husband is obsessed with it and watches the whole series once a year. Well, he used to, before we had three children.
It is still the most beautiful name I've ever heard. I love it. And it's not over used. There are lots of pretty names, but you just hear them everywhere. Coming from a Jaime Lynn who was born the year the Bionic Woman hit the airways, I think it's nice to have a name like no one else. Even though my mom did not pick my name because of the Bionic Woman, I ended up in elementary school with two other Jaime Lynns. In a small school I was forever known as Jaime L. And they were Jaime G. and Jaime M. Then when we got to middle school there were two more Jaime Lynns. They ended up being Jaime T. and Jaime R.
So I'm glad that Ainsley, so far it seems, will be the only Ainsley. Her middle name is Lynn. My middle name, my mother's middle name, my mother-in-law's middle name. Then my sister is CaroLYN and my sister-in-law is CaitLYN. So lots of Lynns.
Freddie was our easiest child to name, but it was the most difficult nickname. I didn't want him going by Frederick Clifton White IV. Though Clif and I always knew that if we had a boy, he'd have that name. I love it and it has history behind it...it's the 4th one in a row. But Freddie was tough. I didn't want him going by Clifton or Clif, not because I don't like the name but because I didn't want two in the house. We tried to find something with the IV, like people do with III (Trey, Trip, etc), but nothing really worked. People suggested Ivy or Court to play off the 4. Nothing really struck me as perfect.
Freddie was the very first nickname we thought of, but I didn't really like the idea of people calling him Fred. So then I tried to think of other Frederick nicknames...Derick, Ricky. All nice names, but just too common. So about a week before I had him, we decided...Freddie. So far we don't know any other Freddies and have not come across any in school or other activities. I personally think there is no other name that would fit my Freddie better. Even my mother-in-law (who once said "no grandson of mine will be named Freddie") agrees - love you, Denise.
Cohen was HARD. Boy names are HARD. Before we found out he was a boy and I was SURE he was a girl, we had two names picked out. Both of which would have used my grandmother's name in some way. So when he turned out to be a boy, we could not come up with something that we both liked. We had lists and lists of names. Cohen was one of the first ones I threw out there. Clif was kind of indifferent on it. Didn't love it, didn't hate it. Eventually, he came around. Flynn came from Ainsley and Freddie. It was on our list, but it wasn't my favorite. When we were at our wits end in the naming game, we enlisted the help of Ainsley and Freddie. They loved Flynn. Most likely because of Flynn Rider in Tangled. So Cohen Flynn it was. And I have NEVER heard the name Cohen on anyone.
And then today this in my zulily.com email...
WTF?!?!?
I have one thing to say...Step OFF Pottery Barn Kids. I better not see Cohen on every page of your next catalog!
We picked Ainsley from a TV show. And not a current TV show. The West Wing. Which was not on when Ainsley was born, but my husband is obsessed with it and watches the whole series once a year. Well, he used to, before we had three children.
It is still the most beautiful name I've ever heard. I love it. And it's not over used. There are lots of pretty names, but you just hear them everywhere. Coming from a Jaime Lynn who was born the year the Bionic Woman hit the airways, I think it's nice to have a name like no one else. Even though my mom did not pick my name because of the Bionic Woman, I ended up in elementary school with two other Jaime Lynns. In a small school I was forever known as Jaime L. And they were Jaime G. and Jaime M. Then when we got to middle school there were two more Jaime Lynns. They ended up being Jaime T. and Jaime R.
So I'm glad that Ainsley, so far it seems, will be the only Ainsley. Her middle name is Lynn. My middle name, my mother's middle name, my mother-in-law's middle name. Then my sister is CaroLYN and my sister-in-law is CaitLYN. So lots of Lynns.
Freddie was our easiest child to name, but it was the most difficult nickname. I didn't want him going by Frederick Clifton White IV. Though Clif and I always knew that if we had a boy, he'd have that name. I love it and it has history behind it...it's the 4th one in a row. But Freddie was tough. I didn't want him going by Clifton or Clif, not because I don't like the name but because I didn't want two in the house. We tried to find something with the IV, like people do with III (Trey, Trip, etc), but nothing really worked. People suggested Ivy or Court to play off the 4. Nothing really struck me as perfect.
Freddie was the very first nickname we thought of, but I didn't really like the idea of people calling him Fred. So then I tried to think of other Frederick nicknames...Derick, Ricky. All nice names, but just too common. So about a week before I had him, we decided...Freddie. So far we don't know any other Freddies and have not come across any in school or other activities. I personally think there is no other name that would fit my Freddie better. Even my mother-in-law (who once said "no grandson of mine will be named Freddie") agrees - love you, Denise.
Cohen was HARD. Boy names are HARD. Before we found out he was a boy and I was SURE he was a girl, we had two names picked out. Both of which would have used my grandmother's name in some way. So when he turned out to be a boy, we could not come up with something that we both liked. We had lists and lists of names. Cohen was one of the first ones I threw out there. Clif was kind of indifferent on it. Didn't love it, didn't hate it. Eventually, he came around. Flynn came from Ainsley and Freddie. It was on our list, but it wasn't my favorite. When we were at our wits end in the naming game, we enlisted the help of Ainsley and Freddie. They loved Flynn. Most likely because of Flynn Rider in Tangled. So Cohen Flynn it was. And I have NEVER heard the name Cohen on anyone.
And then today this in my zulily.com email...
I have one thing to say...Step OFF Pottery Barn Kids. I better not see Cohen on every page of your next catalog!
Thursday, September 26, 2013
Little Miss Thaaang
This is my Ainsley the week she was born.
And here she is at her first birthday.
She has just turned four in this picture.
Cute and sweet, right? Right. She has always been so sweet. I would dare say, she's just about perfect. She listens, she hates getting in trouble, she helps out, she's a good girl.
This is Ainsley on the first day of first grade.
This picture sums up my daughter these days. Hand on hip, check. Cutesy head tilt, check. Attitude, check.
There is a body snatcher in her first grade class. I sent my sweet little girl and got back Miss Attitude. There are fights, and tears, and screams, and door slams.
After 3 weeks of this attitude every day at the bus stop, I had to take a step back and really look at the situation. Honestly, I was tired of losing my mind and fighting with her every. single. day.
Little girl has plenty of attitude and sass. She's definitely feeling high and mighty these days, so she needs to be taken down a notch. I think Ainsley has been put in "time out" of some sorts more these past few weeks than she has in her first 6 years of life. I'm trying not to let the attitude escalate. She back-talks, she goes to her room. She speaks nasty, she gets an extra chore. She's ugly to her little brother, she gets a time out on the stairs. She throws a fit and acts like a 2 year old, I treat her like a 2 year old and take away 6 year old privileges.
But you see, that's the easy part. There's another component to this tug of war. Me.
Again...this is my sweet baby girl.
And I think in some way, I will forever see her this way. Big blue eyes, round face, bald head. When really, this young lady stands before me.
A young lady who is just starting to find her way. A girl who is testing the waters and yearning for independence. A little kid, on the brink of becoming a big kid...finding her own path and desperately wishing to be grown.
It's my job to preserve her innocence, to let her be young. But it's my responsibility to let her be free and become the strong, independent woman she'll be.
That balance is proving difficult. I'm not quite sure how to be this parent. For 6 years Clif and I have had to do almost everything for our kids. We've known their every move, haven't let them out of our sight. Now, she's beginning to pull away and part of the attitude is coming from me not letting her.
So I'm trying. Trying to let her wander the little girl clothes in a store, while I look at shoes. Still where I can hear/see her, but not right at my side. Trying to let her walk ahead of me from the bus stop, still stopping at every street crossing. Trying to let her play outside without me hovering, as long as she stays in a certain spot.
Ainsley is our oldest, so she will get the most bruises from this bumpy path. By the time Cohen is flexing his wings, we'll be pros. But Clif and I were both the oldest, and we turned out...okay...I think. Parenting is the ultimate dead end job. In order to be successful, you absolutely have to make yourself unnecessary. The pay is terrible, but the benefits are the best around.
And here she is at her first birthday.
She has just turned four in this picture.
Cute and sweet, right? Right. She has always been so sweet. I would dare say, she's just about perfect. She listens, she hates getting in trouble, she helps out, she's a good girl.
This is Ainsley on the first day of first grade.
This picture sums up my daughter these days. Hand on hip, check. Cutesy head tilt, check. Attitude, check.
There is a body snatcher in her first grade class. I sent my sweet little girl and got back Miss Attitude. There are fights, and tears, and screams, and door slams.
After 3 weeks of this attitude every day at the bus stop, I had to take a step back and really look at the situation. Honestly, I was tired of losing my mind and fighting with her every. single. day.
Little girl has plenty of attitude and sass. She's definitely feeling high and mighty these days, so she needs to be taken down a notch. I think Ainsley has been put in "time out" of some sorts more these past few weeks than she has in her first 6 years of life. I'm trying not to let the attitude escalate. She back-talks, she goes to her room. She speaks nasty, she gets an extra chore. She's ugly to her little brother, she gets a time out on the stairs. She throws a fit and acts like a 2 year old, I treat her like a 2 year old and take away 6 year old privileges.
But you see, that's the easy part. There's another component to this tug of war. Me.
Again...this is my sweet baby girl.
And I think in some way, I will forever see her this way. Big blue eyes, round face, bald head. When really, this young lady stands before me.
A young lady who is just starting to find her way. A girl who is testing the waters and yearning for independence. A little kid, on the brink of becoming a big kid...finding her own path and desperately wishing to be grown.
It's my job to preserve her innocence, to let her be young. But it's my responsibility to let her be free and become the strong, independent woman she'll be.
That balance is proving difficult. I'm not quite sure how to be this parent. For 6 years Clif and I have had to do almost everything for our kids. We've known their every move, haven't let them out of our sight. Now, she's beginning to pull away and part of the attitude is coming from me not letting her.
So I'm trying. Trying to let her wander the little girl clothes in a store, while I look at shoes. Still where I can hear/see her, but not right at my side. Trying to let her walk ahead of me from the bus stop, still stopping at every street crossing. Trying to let her play outside without me hovering, as long as she stays in a certain spot.
Ainsley is our oldest, so she will get the most bruises from this bumpy path. By the time Cohen is flexing his wings, we'll be pros. But Clif and I were both the oldest, and we turned out...okay...I think. Parenting is the ultimate dead end job. In order to be successful, you absolutely have to make yourself unnecessary. The pay is terrible, but the benefits are the best around.
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