Bikinis and The Old Gray Mare

Before I had kids I owned zero one-piece bathing suits.  Zero.  Courtesy of a pair of cruises and one magical summer mostly spent on the Tawas beach, I did have half a dozen bikinis and a handful of tankinis.  I also had a less than perfect body that I was still pretty comfortable in...I liked the way I looked.  And was unconcerned with anyone that thought I needed to be a size 2 to wear a two piece suit.

Now I have created, carried, and birthed two children in this body.  And she is showing a little wear and tear.  How does that song go?  The old gray mare, she ain't what she used to be, ain't what she used to be... Now, I am the sad owner of not one, but two one piece suits.  I call them "The Tent" and "Tent Jr."

I bought The Tent when I was first pregnant with Baby Boy.  I was four months pregnant when summer hit and I wasn't embarrassed to wear a bikini while pregnant as much as it was too much work.  It was uncomfortable and the ties pulled funny and everything was bigger and I couldn't see what I had actually shaved and what I may have missed.  Too.Much.Work.  So I bought The Tent.  It was actually not a maternity suit, it was just a black, skirted one piece in a larger size...ok, a few larger sizes, than normal.  And it worked and I loved floating, because a buoyant preggo belly is a lovely thing, and I was happy that summer.  Then I had Baby Boy.  I went out and bought Tent Jr, which was one size smaller than The Tent.  It was a little younger looking, sported a few polka dots and a little color...and it still is something a grandma would wear.  Very serviceable tank straps, sturdy structure, no sex appeal AT ALL.  Despite that...by the end of summer, I was pregnant with Baby Girl.  Jack must like polka dots.  

This summer...I am not pregnant.  And I refuse to buy another Tent in any form or color, with any dots or stripes.  No more skirts or industrial strength straps or lycra so strong I cry a little every time I have to wrestle with it to pee.  I am done.

Sooooo...

I tried my old bikinis on yesterday.  And I am still convinced one day I will use them again.  But not this day.  Not this summer.  Not while breastfeeding.  And despite my even less perfect body and the bearing of two children and all the changes that came with it...that is my only problem with wearing a bikini again.  A bikini top has not been made that can sufficiently contain the milk factory.  I can't be walking the beach, hear any baby in a ten mile radius cry and then nail some unsuspecting beach goer with milk in the side of the head.  It would be rude.

I tried finding another bikini top with more support, one to get me through this summer.  In fact, I kidnapped my baby sister to go with me.  She didn't believe me when I said I wanted to go bikini shopping.  And when my other sister called her and heard what we were doing, she didn't believe her either.  And I thought that was the saddest thing.  

Why should I be embarrassed that my stomach is soft and lined with stretch marks?  Why should I feel shame about something as silly as a bathing suit?  I don't see any men out there inventing full body swimsuits to hide their beer guts.  Surely it should more acceptable for me to show the marks of my labor than for a man to show the marks of his trip to the fridge?  This body MADE people!  Literally!  And then it FED them!  And now the muscles you might not see carry them and rock them and play with them all day.  And the soft spots that keep me out of swimsuit calendars support little heads when they are tired or sad or just need a good cuddle.  Those stretch marks and soft baby pooch are the visible reminder of how amazing and strong this body is.  And I am not ashamed that it is packaged in a size 14 with a less-than-defined waist and dimpled thighs.

How can I tell my daughters that God made us all in different shapes and sizes on purpose - and then hide from mine?  What kind of message would that send?  God gave me this body.  And I will continue to work at keeping it healthy and try and eat better and exercise more - to be a good steward of what I have been given.  That does not mean I am going to hide it...under a bushel barrel...made of Lycra...until it is deemed socially acceptable to showcase.  It is beautiful, we are all beautiful...And exactly as God intended.

So to my daughters...And the doubters...here is me, today, in a bikini.  Proud of this exact, flawed, strong, unique, amazing body that God gave me to do marvelous things with.  And as soon as I am done nursing your baby sister, you can watch me burn both the Tents...while wearing a bikini...with a really strong underwire.

Watch for Trucks

Baby Boy has screamed "Mama!" at least a hundred times in the last hour.  Mama is sitting in the rocker in the nursery, having just put Baby Girl to bed in her crib for the first night ever.

Daddy is putting Baby Boy to bed in his big boy bed down the hall.  This came about from a conversation that went like this:

Daddy:  I don't think pointing out all the trucks and airplanes on tv as you binge watch crime dramas on Hulu until midnight is the appropriate method for putting our toddler to sleep.

Me:  Thank you for your consideration and input.  Perhaps a joint venture into bedtime would help this situation.

Ok, I lied.  Here is what was really said:

Daddy:  Maybe if you ever turned the tv off he would stop screaming -

Me:  If you think you can do better...

I have handled the majority of bedtime up until now, simply because Jack pretty much just falls asleep.  He is very much a morning person.  When he comes up to bed he is ready to sleep...and our children are not.  This does not deter him.  He is a determined sleeper.  This leaves me juggling our one and a half year old that doesn't like sleep and loves his mama and our infant daughter that I am nursing. 

I do realize that hulu-ing our toddler to sleep is not the best method.  I know that he needs to cry it out in his bed and go to sleep.  But he won't stay there, which kinda throws a wrench in that plan.  I can't keep him contained and see to the needs of our new baby without some kind of distraction.  Not without more arms...I always need more arms. So, rather by accident, I discovered that if I told him to watch for the truck he would stop yelling and concentrate on the possibility of seeing a truck on the tv.  I needed that trick, that moment of concentration to keep him still.  And then hopefully a truck would show up.  If not, there is usually good odds that a car or an airplane or a doggie will appear.  That is, if you are watching crime drama.  Doesn't work with my cooking shows.  For some reason he is not as eager to watch for spatulas and immersion blenders.  Huh.

Anyway...the point here is my Baby Boy is crying for me, which makes me sad.  But my husband is helping me out with bedtime, which makes me happy.  Developing story...stay tuned.

Backyard Update

Things are growing! 

Well, some things. 

In our little backyard experiment, we have gleaned some more useful information.  I have picked a banana pepper and Jack has picked about two dozen pickling cukes.  And we have lots and lots of cute little green tomatoes popping up all over.  Today I made a salad for Jack's lunch with our own lettuce.  I have repeatedly snipped from the herb garden for recipes.  I feel so cool homesteading from our little city lot!

Notes for future reference:

Pepper plants thrive in pots...I have a dozen peppers on my potted banana pepper plants.  My ground one has zero and my upside down hanging one has a tiny sprout.

Ditto for tomatoes.  My pot ones all have green tomatoes, all three varieties.  The supersweets are the biggest plant, easily 4 feet already.  The 4th of July and Romas are half that size but still have lots of green tomatoes.  My upside down tomatoes are growing leaf and stalk wise about half the size of the potted ones.  They look healthy and have flowers but no green tomatoes yet.

My upside down pepper plants are confusing me.  They are super tiny plants but two of them have little peppers started.  It will be interesting to see how they end up producing.  My peppers in the actual ground really vary.  They are caged to keep the dogs off but they still sustain damage so it is hard to tell which are not taking and which are attacked by canines.  So far the biggest actual plants seem to be the bell peppers, but the only one to produce a pepper is the habanero.  If I had to decide right now then I would not put anything in the ground next year and just do a collection of pots through that bed.  That way they are out of dog traffic and the warmth of pot soil seems to make a difference.  We shall see.

Pickling cukes are going gangbusters.  Two dozen pickles already and the vines are everywhere.  They are super sensitive to heat and I think the lack of super hot days this summer has made a difference.  It almost makes me want to try them in a semi-shady spot next year and see how they do.  Something to keep in mind. 

My herb garden is not having its best year.   Rosemary, oregano, chive, parsley are all doing well.  Cilantro and basil both seem to not be doing well at the top of my pyramid.  I think they have done better at the bottom where they could get a bit more bushy and where it was a bit cooler.  Dill is too big, I need to stop putting it in here.  On a related note, the dill I started from seed is not taking well.  It is only a few inches high and not flowering at all.  I don't have enough to make fridge pickles with.  Next year I need to either start the seeds indoors early or buy the plants and give them more space.

In the backyard, the inside fence of the west side seems better then the driveway side.  The northeast corner of the deck grows best for pots so far.

Flower notes:  Begonias did good in the shade by the front tree, not so good in my hanging baskets.  I don't like wave petunia hanging baskets, they get stem-y and viny looking by this time. 

What I Do All Day

Baby Boy wakes up, points out the window..."Light!"

As a good mom I dutifully repeat it back, reinforcing that it is indeed light outside.

Baby Boy's first stop is the potty, where there are 3 light fixtures and a window.  "Mama! Light! Light! Light! Light!"

"Yes, light, light, light, light."

In his room for clothes....2 Windows, a light fixture, a closet bulb.  "Light, light, light, light."

"Lots of lights, outside lights and inside lights"

In the hall...night light and an unplugged lamp still looking for a home.  "Light, light"

"Yes buddy, more lights."

Down the stairs, stopping to be lifted and look out both windows and check out the ceiling fixture.  "Light, light, Daddy, light"

We once talked to Daddy out this window and toddlers remember everything and expect it to stay the same always.

"Ooooh, lots of light, Daddy went to work, more light."

Bottom of the stairs...front door, entry light, living room windows.  "Light, light, outside, baba, light!"

We are creatures of habit, morning bottle in the living room most mornings, after I decline to go outside.

"Pretty light, outside later, baba on the couch."

This process takes about 20 minutes.  In that fuzzy pre-baby world that I used to inhabit -I woke up, peed before my eyelids were even fully opened, and walked downstairs...all in about a minute and a half.

After we finish the "light" conversation and tour we move on to heavier topics.

The "doggie" discussion:  where we follow our three dogs around the house and correctly identify them - repeatedly - as dogs.

The body part test:  "Where are your...eyes, nose, belly, knees,  toes...Huh? Those are your balls?  Well, I guess they are, good job.  You have apparently spent time with your Aunt Lola lately, couldn't she have taught you scrotum instead?  It might be more socially accepted when you grab yourself and scream it in church on Sunday."

The "truck" watch: where we climb up and down the couch back looking out the window yelling "Truck!" at every moving thing.  "No baby, that is a bike...a car...the mailman."

"Truck" watch, Part 2:  Now we must differentiate between types of trucks because, even as toddlers, boys know that there are garbage trucks and pick up trucks and delivery trucks and - my favorite - "BIG TRUCK!" which is a great catch all for mamas that are not proficient in proper truck verbage.

We also have half hour conversations about "bears" and "baby" and "flowers" and much longer, seemingly forever, discussions on "potty".

I never dreamed I could have deep, meaningful conversation for eight hours...using just ten words.

Also...this is why my dishes are never done.

Middle of the Night Rage

I don't know about normal people, but for a stay at home mom who hasn't had a shower in three days or had a stretch of more than three hours sleep in a week or has not had one waking hour where she wasn't dealing with the bodily fluids of one of her children - one careless, ridiculous remark can set off an unmatchable rage.  The kind of rage that makes me almost vibrate, so as I sit here rocking my toddler my body almost hums with anger.  You could probably attach a wire to me and I have enough energy to power...oh...your whole damn house.  Maybe the neighbor.

And I have nowhere to dump this rage.   I have to tamp all this madness down and comfort my baby son who woke himself up with an accident and a sore, red bottom that makes him cry "ow, mama" with half closed eyes as he squirms in my lap trying not to aggravate a raw spot.  Poor, sweet baby.  I can't unload it on my baby girl who just woke up looking for her midnight meal.  She is doing what babies do and these middle of the night feedings are precious and exhausting and will soon be a distant memory.  The rest of my house is sleeping and unavailable to be vented upon, and also would not understand.  They would simply think I had lost my everloving mind.

Which would be pretty close to the truth at this moment.

I can't text or call anyone.  At least not without giving them a mini heart attack thinking someone is hurt.  I can't vent on Facebook because I know I will regret it tomorrow even though I long to reach out to the other sleep deprived mommies on there and share my huge frustration and rage that I know they will understand.  I want so badly to call my Mommy and cry on her shoulder but she probably wouldn't hear her phone even if I did call.  And the years seemed to have morphed her memories of raising children.  Either that or we were very well behaved children that she never had to yell at...which cannot possibly be true.

I really want to be childish and throw a giant tantrum.  This is unfair and I know that I am in the right and I am filled to overflowing with indignation and frustration and self pity.  I want to spend the whole day tomorrow spending money and eating carbs, which always made me feel better before I had kids.  However.  I am a mother now and no one has time to indulge me with shopping and cheese bread.   I can't waste a perfectly good offer of babysitting on shopping aimlessly for myself.  If I have a babysitter then I better be taking full advantage and getting all this shit done, taking care of important business, or eating candy bars in my van in a parking lot.  The essential things.  No, I need to smother this rage without the use of any of my previous crutches.  So I will breathe in the smell of my baby's hair and let her tiny fingers curl around mine.  I will repeat over and over to myself that I am a grown up now.  And I will eventually fall asleep tonight after distracting myself by reading mommy blogs, probably the angsty ones that use the f word, until my eyes give out.  And then tomorrow...I will order pizza for lunch and shop online while my house naps.

Where I Spend My Free Time

Speedway.

More specifically in the parking lot of the Speedway gas station around the corner from my house.  If you ever pull in to get gas sometime and wonder about the soccer mom minivan parked in the farthest parking spot with the seven stick people and three stick dogs in the back window...me.  Don't come visit. 

I cannot express in mere blog words how much I love being a stay at home mom.  It is the bee's knees.  I can think of nothing else I would rather do in a day than raise my kids and run our home.  And I know that I am very lucky, that not all mothers can be home with their kids.  And not all women can be mothers.  And I know that some of them may read this and express outrage that I dare utter one word that is not positive and glowing and thankful.  Choke back the rage, I know how blessed I am.  But I am also other things.  Namely tired. 

Mothering children is hard work.  Way harder work than I have ever, ever done.  And I have done food service AND retail.  I am convinced the reason it is so hard is that it is constant.  Especially with the babies.  When it was Jack and I and our big kids, it was still hard.  But then they went to bed, we poured wine, had conversation about things besides breastmilk and poop -and by morning we were recharged, ready to go.  With addition of Baby Boy and Baby Girl?  There is no bedtime.  Not for Mama.  I am on call 24/7.  And not the kind of on call where you get paid to pretty much sleep and get the occasional emergency. 

I am always ON.  I don't have moments where I stop mothering.  There is always a child attached to me or trying to attach to me or screaming at me because I won't let him attach to me.  And in that rare magical moment when they both sleep - at the same time - well, then I try and get as much housework done as fast as I can because it is very hard to do housework with all that attachment.  And we need clean spoons for our cereal and doughnut dinner later tonight.

Even when Jack comes home, I am still in high demand.  Daddies do many things that are apparently not safe for one year olds.  Go figure.  I usually make dinner in between potty training sessions and nursing breaks.  We try and eat as a family unit.  Then Jack has to get things ready for tomorrow and take a shower, so I mother through that.  Then it's bedtime.  And Jack is tired from a long day and has to get up early, so he falls asleep even if he tries to help.  So I juggle bedtime and mother them to sleep.  It is usually midnight at this point.  Then I attempt sleep, but mothering means you hear every noise and think every awful thought and never achieve actual restful sleep.  You are always sleeping close to the surface ready to jump up to ward off home invaders or investigate suspicious coughs or check for regular breathing.  (Which you said you would never do before you had kids, but you will).  If someone wakes up at night, which they do, I mother them through hunger or belly aches or the need to cuddle.  And then I wake up with the first one and do it again for the next 24 hours.  It does not stop.  Someone always wants something from me.  There is never a moment to think or even breathe my own air sometimes.  I am always ON. And I LOVE it, but it is HARD.

So I sit in the parking lot at Speedway.

Here is how it goes down.  I go grocery shopping.  Alone.  I try and do it every other week by myself.  The other times I drag kids.  But every other week, twice a month, I go all alone.  I take a long time, too.  I go up and down all the aisles.  I peruse the ads and check my online coupons.  I meal plan in my head.  I take free samples of things I don't even like.  I walk down the shampoo aisle and think about all the hair products I would buy if I ever had time to do my hair or if our tweens wouldn't just abscond with them anyway.  I walk the home office and smell the new paper and look at the pretty planners and fantasize about how it would be if I had a family planner that my family would utilize and respect.  As if.  I am happy we are successful with the dump bucket system.  Then, when I am sure that my families nutritional needs will be met and have tossed in some kind of sugar treat to appease their sweet tooth...then...I head for home.

Halfway there is the magical place.  The place where no one knows my name.  Like the anti-Cheers.  I am anonymous.  I always park in the corner, buy a 20 oz Coke and two candy bars.  I always think I should buy two candy bars so I have one for later...but of course I just eat them both.  Who are we kidding here?  If I take that home my children will sniff it out in three minutes flat.  Also, I have no self control.

I sit in the parking lot with my seat back and enjoy my snacks and play mindless things on my phone....All. Alone.  For ten whole minutes sometimes.  I don't answer calls.  I don't pick up the van.  I don't check my responsible apps like the calender or the to-do list.  I do nothing productive.  Just shovel in the sugar and crush candy.  Ahhh...sweet release.

After ten minutes I am ready to pick back up my mothering.  I am actually looking forward to it.  I am thinking about what my kids and Jack are doing while I was away, planning our week out in my head, smiling on my way home.  Because I am blessed, and I do love my kids and my husband and our home.  And I appreciate this beautiful opportunity I have to mother these little people.  But every two weeks, for ten minutes, in the back of a Speedway parking lot...it is all about me.

Things I Don't Understand: DeepSpace Exploration

Why?  I get exploring our immediate space, the space that theoretically we could travel to one day, close enough to build a McDonalds on.  It could be important to future generations to know what's out there once you punch through that ozone layer.  Don't want some fun loving man-child to pop through there on a dare from his smarter, but devilish older brother with some futuristic fighter jet and be like "What IS this!?!  Why didn't anyone ever tell me THIS was here??  And why am I now floating?  I thought 'Gravity' was science fiction?  Mommy???"

But deep space?  Light years away space?  What's the deal?  Sure, it's cool.  And I am sure space people like having bragging rights...like dogs like peeing on their territory.  "Haha Moscow, planet 62 in solar system 588773 in the 87th galaxy?  All. Mine.  Find your own planet....oh....you have planet 63?  Oh...well....fine then.  Just stay away from 62- THAT one is mine. Finders keepers, ya know.  Astronaut Code.". And then they hang up and chest thump and hurt themselves and then self medicate with space food cotton candy.

The truly mind bending thing about deep space exploration is the amount of money that we spend on it.  I read that it costs something like 430 MILLION to launch a space shuttle.  430 MILLION DOLLARS. Does NASA know we are a country in debt?  Or that there are millions of kids on the planet that do not get enough food in a day?  Why do I see commercials telling me I can feed a kid for a day with a dollars, and we have 430 billion of them to play with and we think no, not children's lives...space toys.  We have children starving but it's ok, because we got some great space pictures for them to hang on the wall of their hut. How do we justify not taking care of our own planet and its inhabitants to go check out other planets we will never go to and never be sure are what we think they are anyway?  What do they think they are going to find?

Do we think that five galaxies down, take a left at the second black hole and just past the asteroid belt, we are going to find God?  Chilling out on some random planet, maybe in a lawn chair with a margarita next to some alien river?  Sandals off, toes in the sand?  He sees us coming and jumps up all guilty looking- "What?  I know it's only Tuesday and 'rest on Sunday' and all that, but you humans are really pushing the envelope this week, seriously, Russia can NOT grow the hell up and don't make me flood the Gaza strip...why can't you all just get along for one day?  One freaking day? .. and how'd you find me again exactly?  Why aren't you home feeding Africa? This is supposed to be off limits, oh why do I even bother.  You people always want your paws on things you aren't supposed to touch.  Yeah, that does have alcohol in it, why did you guys even bother making non alcoholic drinks anyway?  I gave you vodka for a reason.  It is only ten o'clock in the morning, don't judge me...its five o'clock somewhere, right?"

What Was It Jesus Said About The Children?

Let them come to me?

I do not know all the facts about the immigration crisis we are facing as a nation.  In a population of varying amounts of knowledge and interest and research, I put myself slightly above the middle.  Sometimes I delve into an issue that catches my attention, sometimes the kids hold all my attention and I miss a week's worth of news.  I know some things about the immigration situation but there is much that I do not know.  I don't have any solutions or real, tangible strategies to fix the problem.

Here is what I do know.

These are people we are talking about.  Someone's grandma.  Someone's father.  Someone's baby girl.  These are people that that have hopes and dreams and faith in the future.  These are people that are probably in desperate circumstances.  So desperate that they would send their babies off alone across a border.  I won't even leave my baby alone upstairs.  I cannot imagine what living situation must be so horrible that it seems not only reasonable, but best for your child to send them to another country without you in squalid conditions.

No matter our political leanings, we should have compassion for these people.  They are not stray cats or mosquitoes or an invasive fish or plant species.  They have just as much worth as you or me or our next door neighbor or some man in China or a woman in Africa.  Why do we talk about them with such disdain, as if they are a sub-species instead of our brothers and sisters?  Why are there people boycotting their buses and publicly shaming them?  Can you just imagine being one of these children, or even adults, alone in a strange place without any idea of where your next meal will come from or where you will sleep? Faced with a crowd of people protesting in the ways they have been?  What is the matter with these protesters?  These people have worth and value and dignity.

It is sad and appalling to me to hear the way people speak on this issue.  People who speak smugly about how they deserve all they have, how they worked for it all - and they aren't handing anything over to these lazy, illegal immigrants.  For starters, it seems to me that the people that are actually lazy are probably still sitting in their own country.  Smuggling yourself and your family into a country with pretty much nothing seems to be a lot of work to me.  I''ve never tried it, but I have legally entered the country through customs and that was a huge pain in the ass so it has to be way harder illegally.  These people are people with hope and faith in a future.  Hope that will make them endure anything to just try and find the possibility of a better future somewhere else - even if it is the wrong way to go about it.  Maybe it is their only way.  They are so focused that they are undeterred by our scathing words and looks of condemnation. 

It is easy, I think, to get caught up in all the media and the politics and what we think is fair.  It is much harder to remember we have all we have by the grace of God.  We have not earned this ourselves.  We are blessed to be in a situation where our hardest days would be bliss to so much more of the world.  Instead of condemnation, disdain, and judgement we should practice thankfulness, compassion, and openness of heart. 

Baby Blues

I hate the term "baby blues".  It is so completely inadequate for what happens after childbirth.  I also hate the term "postpartum depression".  This seems too clinical and so far removed from what I experienced.  I was not blue or depressed or delicately unhappy or leaking pretty silent tears.

I was good old fashioned bat-shit crazy.  Is that a technical term?

It hit me like a freight train after Baby Boy was born, but I didn't recognize it as crazy right away.  I thought I had legitimate new mom worries.  Until I was afraid to leave him in his crib down the hall because if someone put an extension ladder on the side of our house, all the way up to his second story window, ten feet down the hall from me and kidnapped him...I might not hear it happening.  The next morning I remembered this and thought....yup, bat shit crazy.

I was always fine in the morning.  Sunshine combined with the happy babble of my new baby had a way of banishing the nonsense that my brain dreamt up in the middle of the night.  Then, as the day went on, it would kind of creep back up on me until nightfall - where it would all just kind of spiral into crazytown. 

Bridges was a big one for me after Baby Boy.  I had recurring nightmares about getting in an accident on a bridge and going over.  How would I get him out?  What if I had other kids with us?  How would I choose who to help?  What is the best survival advice for sinking in a car?  How would it feel to drown holding my baby?  It was awful.  Gut wrenching and devastating and I could not shake it.  The fear clung to me and whispered in my ear and made me doubt what I knew to be true.

It slowly went away, kinda morphing into normal parent worry - which is so much more manageable.  And this time, when I had Baby Girl...I knew it was coming.  I knew when it got bad, it was hormones and that if I hung on, it would get better.  And I am still working my way through it one day at a time.  Every night is not always bad now.  Some nights I sleep again somewhat normal.  And on a bad night I don't succumb to the crazy.  I distract myself with binge watching tv on hulu or playing on Facebook or blogging...and eventually I fall asleep or the sun comes up and the crazy fades.  Mostly.  Some days it may carry over a teensy bit.  And on those days I guarantee Jack doesn't leave the house thinking his wife has baby blues...he is definitely thinking bat shit crazy all the way.