Renaming the Ages

I remember when I was pregnant with my first, I was always warned of the “terrible two’s.”  “Watch out,” they would say.  I feared the terrible two’s like getting a flat tire, like somehow you won’t be prepared for it and you won’t know what to do, i.e.…the tantrums in public, the whines and cries.  How will I stop it?  I mean, how embarrassing, right?!  The one way you can make yourself look like an unfit mother; take your 2 year old child out during the witching hour and if he/she skipped a nap.  CRASH AND BURN!

But, the thing is I sailed through the terrible two’s with my first.  She rarely threw tantrums in public.  The worst she would do was drop to her knees in the middle of the mall if she didn’t get what she wanted.  She wouldn’t cry.  She would just drop to her knees.  No big deal.  I would pick her up and walk out.  Now my second…that is another story.  She does the whole bit.  She rolls around, kicks her legs, and cries tears like she won’t have any left ever again.  For the love of God!  But for some reason, I don’t take it seriously.  I kind of laugh it off.  You have to.  Otherwise, these things can and will eat you alive.  We can’t take it as seriously because they are still babies.  They are just starting to truly ‘get it.’  Sincerely, I don’t find the two’s to be terrible.  I find them to be tolerable.  As long as you keep a sense of humor, I am renaming the ‘terrible two’s,’ the TOLERABLE TWO’S.  We are grown adults.  They are babies.  We can take it. 

Bring on the three’s…

SASS!  SPUNK!  TALK-BACK!  What do they call the three’s?  I call them the F’ING THREE’S!

I warned my friend with 2 year old twins.  “Just wait,” I said.  I hate to be the person that says, “Just wait.”  Who likes her?  But, I had to warn her.  At 3, they get it, they know what they want, and they are NOT afraid to fight for it.  They fight with you, with siblings, with friends, with the cashier at the grocery store…anyone.  They want what they want.  Everything is a battle.  Life is a struggle.  It is actually pretty scary! 

I love my one friend that always talked about “age appropriate behavior.”  She always made me feel better. 

“Oh, she is kicking you at bath time…age appropriate.” 

“You know, the refusal to eat is age appropriate behavior.” 

“She won’t go to bed?  Age appropriate.”

That could be my favorite line.  Chalk it up.  You know what, at the time some things seemed hopeless.  At times, I felt like a terrible mother.  How could I raise a human being that does THAT?!  But now I know…they grow out of it.  They grow into something so beautiful and wonderful that I call, “The FANTASTIC FOUR’S!”

“Mommy, I think putting up the Christmas tree with my family is the best thing ever,” my 4 year old said on Sunday.  “The lights are so gorgeous and the ornaments are so sparkly.”  Fantastic!  Positive and happy.  Making deals.  Lots of smiles.  “I’m tired,” she said last night, “I’m ready for bed.”  GOLDEN!  Don’t get me wrong, there are still tantrums and overtired meltdowns.  We still have the TUDE, but on the whole, I would say, this is the best age so far.  I’m having a ball with my 4 year old.  I can’t wait to see what is next!  Tell me it just gets better.  I think it does. 

In the end, there are wonderful things about every age that is for sure.  But, we do have to “get through” some things to come out on the other side.  We have to get through the ‘tolerable two’s’ and fight with the “F’ING THREE’s” and combat the “FANTASTIC FOUR’S.”  We get through them and we come out smiling on the other end.  We say to ourselves, “looking back, that wasn’t so bad.”  And, we know in our hearts, the best is yet to come…

Who knows, maybe the five’s are fabulous?!  But, it seems to me, after years 1-4, nobody is counting anymore. 

 

Thankful for No

I took my 2 girls to get their hair cut at this very cute little girly place that is a salon and spa for young girls and specializes in birthday parties.  A birthday party was finishing up when we got there to get their hair trimmed.  The birthday girl and her mom were packing up to leave when the little 7 year old girl started throwing a full out, grunting and screaming tantrum.  The growls sounded like something out of a scary movie.  She screamed, stomped her feet, and yelled, “I want my presents!”  She said this as she rolled a suitcase filled with American Girl Dolls.  She dragged the dolls as she squealed and screeched at her mother.  My girls and I just watched.  We couldn’t look away.  I kind of wanted to shield their eyes from it, “Ahhh, DON’T LOOK AT THAT!  Don’t get any IDEAS!!!!!”  But, I let them watch the 20 minute catastrophe unfolding in front of our very eyes.  The hair dresser looked at me and I looked at her, a mutual understanding.  This went above and beyond a regular tantrum.  We have all seen our fair share of tantrums and have to deal with them, but THIS…this was different.

Finally she said and I quote, “In all the years I’ve worked here, I’ve never seen anything like that!”

“How do I NOT get there,” I replied. 

She didn’t say anything but I knew the answer.  I let it simmer in the air around me echoing through the screams.  We don’t get there when we have the ability to say, “No.”  One word.  It is as simple as that.  Do not give our children everything they want.  If we do, we will end up shelling out $500 for a birthday party that only ends in ungratefulness, tantrums and bratty behavior.  They will take, take, take and never learn how to be content with what they have.  They will always EXPECT more!  They will always be searching for the next gift, the next day, the next best thing.    Yes, yes, yes, here, here, here will turn into demand, demand, demand!  STOMP, STOMP, SCREEEEAAAAMMMM!!!!!

My girls and I talked about the behavior we saw afterward.  My 4 year old was very well aware of the fact that she was acting up.  I said, “Well, what did you think about that?”  She said, “She wanted her presents.  But, if she keeps acting like that, she shouldn’t get anything.”  I laughed.  Right, I thought.  Good girl.  You don’t get what you want by throwing a fit.  I gave her a high five.  “You got it.” 

This Thanksgiving, I am thankful for the ability to say no.

I am thankful I can be strong enough to create limitations in our house.  I am hopeful that these limitations will result in positive behavior in the long run.  I am hoping that my girls can sit at the Thanksgiving table and tell me what they are grateful for.  I trust that I can teach them that the things they should be most grateful for aren’t things at all.  That having the best princess dolls or the best birthday party doesn’t and shouldn’t be relevant.  Neither should having the best cars or houses or designer jackets.  By setting barriers, I pray I can find a way to teach my girls how to be content with what they have and be thankful for anything extra.  This world has changed and people seem to care A LOT about the things they have or don’t have.  I am hoping that we can get back to the basics.  We can sit down, around a table, fold our hands together and be thankful for the blessings in our lives.  I am going to make an effort to do just that; be grateful for everything I do have.      

After all, what matters the most, is what we do with our hearts and our time.  Happy Thanksgiving!  

   

 

2 minutes

Yesterday, I walked my daughter to school and thought how warm the day was and how beautiful the trees looked.  My 2 year old sat quietly in her stroller, licking a lollipop, and we silently walked home.  The only noises were my feet crunching on the fallen leaves.  Every once in a while, we get a glimpse of that stillness and it gives off such a feeling of contentment.  I silently counted my blessings.

45 minutes later, I get a text that the school my daughter is at, is on lockdown.

There are no words.

You hear the word, “LOCKDOWN” and you basically lose your mind.

Immediately I think of Newton and Columbine and I feel panic.  I feel helpless. 

My daughter is 4.  She is a baby.  She is so innocent.  I cry silent tears, clutch the phone with shaky hands and call the classroom.  The teacher answers and tells me that they don’t know anything, but nobody is allowed in or out.  She tried to soothe me but my only solace would be seeing my child.  That’s it.  End of story.  My only relief would be seeing her!

The lack of information was what drove the fear like a rocket shooting through the sky without direction.  As information gathered, my fears lessened.  But still, I did not relax until I held her.  When I did, relief flooded me but a piece of fear stayed with me, nipping at my ear, speaking slowly and softly, “we are all susceptible,” it said.  We are susceptible to being at the wrong place, at the wrong time.  We are not immune to it.  We can live in a quiet town and do the right things.  We can be good and happy and quiet in our living.  We can decide not to take risks; to live simply.  But, it just doesn’t matter.  Our lives can change in the span of a second.   If we walk in the middle of New York City at 3am alone, or walk our child around the block to school, anything can happen.  If I’m being honest, that is the scariest thought of all.    

Everything ended up being fine.  The lockdown was a precaution based on a threatening phone call directed at another elementary school in town, but that feels insignificant to me.  What feels significant is the fact that my quiet contented life, spun out of control for only 2 minutes.  But that was enough.  2 minutes was all it took for me to realize what matters the most in life.  Forget about the little things that bother us.  Forget about the fact that my 2 year old cried all morning.  Forget about the fact that I still have to call my bank to resolve a check problem.  Forget about the fact that I still haven’t picked up soap for the kitchen sink.  Insignificant.  What matters more than anything, is our children; our little innocent children.  We don’t want to lose that innocence just yet.  Not yet.  Not now.  There is plenty of time for that.  I want to keep them close and safe.  I want to hug and squeeze and love. 

I really hate the people that threaten that.

So, after I gave my daughter a big squeeze, I sat at the table, stared off into space and ate Halloween candy.  I looked out the window and ate one peanut butter cup after another.  It actually helped.  My girls dressed up in pretty white dresses and smiled and laughed.  I counted my blessings.  For 2 minutes I might have felt helpless, but each minute after that, I will be sure to make it count.    

It's not you, it's me

My husband and I have a quote that we bought in Arizona on vacation and it has blessed all of our apartments and now our home.  It states, “Everyone is crazy besides you and me, and I’m beginning to wonder about you.”  We thought it was hilarious.  We always talk about the “extremes;” those bizarre people we have met along the way which makes us look at each other with a questioning eye and then try to validate that it can’t be us.  “It can’t be us, right??”  It has to be them, yeah?  We thought this quote was funny because sometimes we look at each other and say, “It’s us.”  We are nuts.  NUTS!  Then all of the sudden, you will catch a glimpse of someone else’s ‘wild’ eyes and that will be it; friendship aborted.  It’s them.  Yes, it has to be them.

Everything in moderation; I believe that is the sentence of normalcy.  We can gossip, but not too much. ”Can you believe Noreen and her husband fought over a SOAKED DISH???”

We can feed organic, but give the kid a chicken nugget for lunch and a lollipop for dessert for god’s sake.  Let them LIVE!  Let them have a sugar high, a sugar low, and then scream and cry.  Let it happen!  “I’ll give them Kale tomorrow, I swear to it!!” 

We should care but we should not become a helicopter mom, you know…hovering and micromanaging.  The extremes are what I find to be over the top and at times, a little bit ridiculous.  Someone who is extreme in thoughts or actions, make me question their motives.  Are you doing it because you believe it, or because you believe you are better than me?  Are you judging me if I don’t do the same things?  Those are the questions to dig deep in to with a shovel, a garbage pail and a heavy duty face mask.  As my 2 year old says, “PEE-YOU!!!”

Peel the onion, layer by layer and you will find the core; inside at the heart of it all, the truth. 

And this concept does not just live in parenting decisions.  It resides in relationships and friendships as well.  

What sparked this post is because I’m upset about a few moms who were cold to me today and it bothered me tremendously.  Nobody likes to feel awkward and uncomfortable, if we can help it.  I left asking my husband the same question…is it me?  I don’t understand how some people who used to be nice to me are now cold because a circumstance has changed and it wasn’t to their liking.  It made me feel like I was the foolish one, in this case.  I felt upset and questioned myself; my normalcy.  But, as my husband and I talked it over, we decided that our realities are just different.  I just have to move forward and be confident enough in myself.  I’m not the one being catty, so I’m not the one who should feel bad.      

So, how do we deal with it, ‘the extremes?’  As parents, we try to be as centered and grounded as possible.  We try to teach our children balance.  We try not to let them be too extreme in all things; a lot can be said for a middle of ground approach.  If I put on the TV for the kids a lot in the morning, I try to do stimulating activities in the afternoon.  If they eat one too many cookies after lunch, I try to stuff their face with broccoli at dinner.  Balance.   If someone tells me that TV causes underdeveloped brain activity in 4 year olds, well, I’m going to walk right by you next week and pretend I don’t see you. 

As adults, we try to do the same.  Lead by example.  Show others friendliness and kindness and shrug off the ‘extremes’ that are trying to tell you that you are doing it wrong.  If you feel like you are put off by someone else’s approach to life, it is probably best to steer clear of them.  Maybe they think it is you, maybe you think it is them.  Whoever it is does not matter.  Just steer clear.  Lead your life how you want to lead it, but don’t judge others who do not lead it the same way.  There are no experts here; just a large amount of information that we have to sift through.  If someone tells me (with wild eyes) that Johnson and Johnson shampoo causes cancer as I’m lathering my children’s hair with it, I’m going to take note and then rinse.  My phone will ring off the hook when you call.  I’m just saying.  Help, yes.  Don’t try and convict me.  I don’t see your gavel.

The truth is we are all just trying to do our best.  Right now, if you feel like you are being a tad extreme and feeling a bit senseless yourself, put on some sunglasses to hide those telling eyes.

But, if you are working hard to stay grounded and sensible, you can show those eyes in the sun and be proud of yourself.

Fleeting Moments

I don’t like big changes.  Sometimes I wish everything could stay the same.  I know change is inevitable but sometimes it hits hard, like a death in the family or a new stage in life.  I want my kids to stay this age.  As hard as it may be at times, I don’t wish it away.  I love the fact that my 2 year old will sing happy birthday to me when I get her out of her crib in the morning.  I don’t know what I did to deserve that!  I think it is funny when my 4 year old stalks off with her arms crossed stating that she does not “appreciate sharing!”  This morning, she was getting herself dressed and got all tangled and squealed, “I can’t do it. I’m so frustrated.”  I like that she can communicate her feelings a little better now.  And I laugh a little when she does so with a huff of frustration and an eyebrow crease.  It’s funny.  I snicker.  She definitely doesn’t appreciate my laughter though.  “Don’t laugh MOM!”

“Please,” I say to myself.  “Don’t let me forget this.”

Do you ever have those moments?  Where you desperately cling to it and don’t know how to hold on to it, because it is fleeting. 

Me and my girls bought new dresses for a wedding this weekend and then skipped to the car holding hands.  Fleeting.

My 2 year old quietly looked out the window on the way home and sang, “Once upon a Dream” Fleeting.

My 4 year old daughter told me yesterday, “You are the best mommy in the world.”  Fleeting.  I know she will not say that when she is 14.  If she does it is probably because she will want something from me.

Tears emerge as I think about all that I have and all that I stand to lose as time ticks away…

I read a post the other day on how we shouldn’t “wish away” the stages of life.  We shouldn’t say, “When my baby does this…then it will get better.”  I happen to agree wholeheartedly with that post.  The “if only” thought will only serve one purpose in life, unhappiness.  Then we will always be waiting and what we are waiting for will never come.  We will be grasping at straws; happiness never within our reach.

I have to remind myself of this, constantly…especially when I am knee deep in nebulizer treatments, the croup, ear infections and antibiotics.  Welcome to fall.  It is hard to remember this mantra when I am chasing a 2 year old around the house with a face mask.  “For the love of God, BREATHE IN THE STEAM!”  Or holding my 4 year old in a wrestling tackle to squirt steroids into her mouth.  “OPEN!…SWALLOW!!!”

I have to remind myself to embrace each and every stage and phase while it is happening.  I mean, the 2 year old molars emerging aren’t pretty.  But, if I wish it away, I wish away the constant snuggles and the chubby thighs.  If I wish for my 4 year old to be in school all day, I will miss her singing out loud with her dolls, “Listen to the beat of your heart,” she sings, “keep on dancing!”  Very fitting.   

I’m not ready for 5^th grade clicks at school.  I’m not ready for high school boyfriends that cheat.  I’m not ready for any of it right now.  At this moment, I am ready for whatever happens today.  I have to be.  We all have to be.  I am ready for this stage.  Hopefully when the next stage comes, I will welcome it and be ready.  I’m sure I will.  We are only given everything that we can handle, facemasks and steroids included.  Because each stage/phase serves it purpose.  Time keeps moving, seasons change, and children grow…and these present moments with our children are elusive.  We have to remember that.  We cannot take hold of them because they are fleeting.  We can try to etch them into our brains, write them down, take pictures, but it won’t matter.  They will be gone.  But we can wrap our arms around them with our hearts and hold on for dear life; trying, if we can to embrace them while we have them and appreciate the now…

 

The Soaked Dish

I wrote a post called “The Soaked Dish.”  Normally, I don’t let anyone see anything I write before I send it, but I had a nagging guilt about this one.  I asked my husband to read it first and tell me if it was ok to send.  It got DENIED!

I think he decided it was horrible when it got to the part where I pictured his face as a soaked dish not done, “bubbles popping from his ears.”  I think it was that part that he stopped reading and stated emphatically, “I hate it.” 

Yikes! 

I was having a bad day and I vented.  “How would you feel if I wrote a blog about how you are a witch if you don’t have 8 hours of sleep,” he asked.  “Been there, done that,” I responded.  I’ve said it all.  I’m not shy.  I lay it out there, the good and the bad.  “Should I write about my spare tire again,” I asked with a twinge of sarcasm.

“Look,” I went on, “you are wonderful and helpful, but you have such a busy life.  Things slip through the cracks and it isn’t your fault.  It’s ok.  It is the way it is.”

We ALL cannot do it ALL.  Nobody claims to be perfect.  Nobody is.

 And I am so grateful for everything that he does and how helpful he is to me and this family. 

One in a million.  With that said, I have been allowed to share “The Soaked Dish” 

Enjoy.

The Soaked Dish

You know when the smoke alarm starts running out of batteries, it starts chirping.  It starts off slow, a chirp every 45 minutes or so.  You tip toe around the house trying to find the direction of the chirp.  Is it coming through the baby monitor?  The kitchen?  Upstairs?  Downstairs?  Finally you give up or get distracted by a little person that needs your attention.  But, you hear it, every so often.  And then all of the sudden, you go downstairs a few days later to throw a load of laundry in and you hit it dead on.  CHIRP!  Ahhh, it is the basement one.  You know now, but you don’t change the battery, because that one isn’t your responsibility.  That one’s not mine, I think.  I’m not touching it.

You tell your husband and he hears you, so you think.  “Can you change the smoke alarm battery in the basement? I’m not tall enough.”

The chirps get closer together. 

Weeks go by; the chirps come at you every 3.25 minutes.  CHIRP!!!!!!!!

And with each chirp, your patience starts to wear down until the chirps become a resentment that festers and bothers you almost as bad as the soaked dish.  You know, the one not scrubbed but soaked overnight for you to take care of in the morning.  That one.  My friend tells me I need to coin my phrase, “a soaked dish is not a done dish.”  There. Coined.

We have so much going on as moms, how are we expected to take care of everything?  At some point, the tasks alone can drive you mad as a hatter until you are running around with an irritating tick.  Was the garbage taken out?  Tick.  Did the recyclables get taken to the curb?  Tick.  Did you call about the gutters?  Tick.  Eventually, you look at your husband and all you can see is the soaked dish as his face, bubbles popping from his ears.  Then you give a weak smile trying to forget the image of yourself dragging the recyclables to the curb in your bare feet and polka dot pajama pants that morning.  The grass is wet.  Your hair is in a messy knot of a bun.  And your neighbor drives by…

And then you think to yourself, I just can’t do everything.

And we can’t.

Mothers are extraordinary human beings.  We can birth babies like warriors and run a household like a business.  Nobody is running out of toilet paper, not on my watch. (A sound of a whip cracking).

But at the same time, we are human and we need help.  Our husbands or partners need a present role in our lives and need to be actively participating in SOME of those aggravating tasks.  Otherwise, they will be married to aggravating women.  Nobody wants that.  Truth be told, we don’t like ourselves like that. A scrubbed dish and a battery change will go a long way.  We just want a little help and we would love it if we didn’t have to ask sometimes.  That’s all.  It isn’t hard, I promise and I am not dogging my husband.  This isn’t about him.  This is about me.  We all just need a little understanding.  He does, I do, we do, and you do.  I guess we cannot let it fester.  I THINK we have to communicate.  Give and take.

My husband and I are actually in a wonderful place and I’m sure this is the first he is hearing about the chirping smoke alarm.  Actually, I know it.  After all, he isn’t the one who hears that infuriating noise all day long.  And, I’m sure I told him at a very distracting moment as he was slugging his work bag on the arm of the chair and 2 little rug rats were running full speed at him.  In any event, here is my communication… “Honey, the basement smoke alarm is chirping, can you change it?”

 

 

 

Pop the bubble

Sometimes I feel like I live in a bubble.  I zip around my town and surrounding towns in my car with my kids, dropping off and picking up, running errands, seeing friends, living life.  Everything is neat in its place.  My feathers don’t get ruffled much.  You get yourself into a tidy routine and then you assume positions.  I like it.  It’s safe and natural.  It’s life.  We all have our routines and we make it work, whether we trek into work by bus, or stay home with your kids, we all fall into our prospective bubbles and places.  And I float around bouncing from one thing to another waving to familiar faces and bursting with protected situations.  Bounce to the gym.  Bounce to school.  Bounce back home.

It’s funny because I recently went to get myself a wax and spoke to the owner of the place.  I walked into a conversation about her discussing her “bubble.”  “I was just thinking about my bubble,” I said.  And I was.  I was thinking about my neat and tidy bubble.  And sometimes it is nice if you pop the damn thing.  There is nothing wrong with being safe in your life and your routine, whatever it is.  But there is something liberating about leaving it for a moment.

A few weeks ago, I went out with some friends on a Friday evening.  We took the train into New York City for a night out.  I used to feel like Penn Stations was a second home but it has felt like years since I’ve been there.  I walked out of the train and couldn’t keep my eyes still.  OVERSTIMULATED! 

Look there!  Do you see that?  Is he asleep?  Should we give him money?

It’s like I was 12 years old or something.  I didn’t’ have enough eyes to see everything around me. 

I got so used to my little bubble that I was struck hard by my surroundings, especially the man doing gymnastics through Penn Stations. “Watch him,” I whispered to my friend sipping our roadies in brown paper bags.  I watched the men and women in their suits and business attire breezing by living a different life from mine.  I saw a couple kissing in a corner, a mom carting her baby in backpack; I saw it and I liked the view. It was so fun to step outside and experience something other than filling sippy cups and making sure I have enough diapers in the house.  We went to a beautiful rooftop bar and clicked our martini glasses in solidarity.  Moms are out in our high heeled shoes.  Click, clank, click clank.  The little 20 something’s need to watch out for us because when we go, we go hard.  We drank, we danced, and we stumbled home.  We stepped out of our routine and away from our bubble for a night, for a change in scenery.  We had fun.  And then we went home, woke up to our children, and assumed our positions.  But somehow, my life felt even more pleasant after a moment away.  It gave me a little more perspective.  Yes, I can be a mom but I can also be me.  Yes I can be serious and teach lessons, but I can also yell at the DJ for not playing MY SONG!

We might be married and have children, but we also have lives to live outside that bubble.  We have been stretched out physically and stretched thin mentally.  Perhaps some of us have stretch marks under our spaghetti strapped tops to prove it but it only tells us that we have truly experienced life.  We have been there, where they are.  We have done it.  We have survived through it and ended up where all those young kids want to end up, like us, with children.  Well, most of them anyway.  There is nothing more beautiful and over stimulating than that.

In the end, I nursed a hangover for 8 days which turned into a very bad cold on day 9.  But, I did it with a smile on my face; happy to have popped that bubble and stepped out of it, if only for one night.