Cured By Dance

Last night Baby Girl was up seven times in nine hours.  Seven.  Tonight as I write this, I am nursing her for the third time in four hours.  Like always, as I set her down when she has passed into a cozy milk coma, I will say a quick prayer that she stays sleeping for at least a few hours.   While I am awake, I will worry about how she seems to be getting up more, not less.  I worry that she eats too much, that I am not washing her neck rolls enough, that she may develop childhood diabetes.  I worry about stupid things, like she will be kidnapped from my bedside or that I have an undetected cancer mass that will leave her without a mother.

When she woke up this last time, there was a toddler butt in my face.  For the second time tonight, I picked up his little deadweight body and carried him into his room and tucked him into his big boy bed.  If history is any indicator...he will be back.  As I lay back down I worry he will never sleep in his own bed, that he feels too skinny, that he will fall out of bed and hit his head.  I worry about more stupid things, like that he will wake up without me knowing and climb his dresser and fall or that he will be attacked by the two thousand bees that seem to live around our house and go into anaphylactic shock and die.

In the morning, just like yesterday and like all last week, I will get up at nine o'clock while both babies "sleep in".  I dont really think it counts as sleeping in if they were up all night though - it is just regular catch up sleep.  But I don't stay in bed with them for any catch up sleep of my own.  I let the dogs out and eat breakfast and pack up both their diaper bags and my gym bag.  I go back upstairs and lay out clothes and diapers for two.  I wake up Baby Girl and change and babble at her.  I wake up Baby Boy and convince him that he does want to go potty and put clothes on, even as he clutches the blanket up under his chin like it has magical restraining powers. 

I carry them both down the stairs at the same time because Baby Boy is always still clingy.  I throw night time bottles and any needed supplies down the stairs ahead of me and just kick them as we go because I never have any hands.  I detach the clingy child with fifty squirming hands and leave him on the couch, deposit the baby in her swing, and make morning bottles.  Baby Boy insists on sitting on my lap with a blanket in our spot on the couch every morning for a bottle.  Occasionally Baby Girl allows this and talks to her swing animals.  Usually though she objects and my lap is full of babies and bottles.  And as they cuddle up I worry that they will grow up and I will never get this moment back.  And then I worry that they will never grow up and I will never sit in a chair alone again.

We finish morning bottles and I wrangle dogs into kennels and both babies and their bags and my bags out the door into the van.  I think I locked the door behind me but there is no way I am going back to check.  I say a quick, fervent prayer that if we are attacked by thieves while we are away that they take all the dirty dishes.  We head to the gym, even though I am bone tired, where I will walk/run the track and then go swim with Baby Boy.  Because it is good for us.  By the time I have ushered both kids and our gear into the building, through locker rooms, and back out in the van...it has been two hours.  And I have done approximately twenty minutes of actual exercise.

When we get home, I return all the stuff and the babies to the house.  I attempt to feed Baby Boy actual solid food for lunch.  He resists and begs for his bottle.  Two plates of food on the floor later, I give up and it is nap time.  All I have to do is juggle this toddler and nurse his baby sister and get them back sleeping on their respective couch cushions and I can eat my own lunch.  At about two o'clock.

This is the time where well meaning people tell me I should nap while the babies do.  This is also the time where my husband believes I should get everything done that I never seem to have time for.  Sadly, neither are right.  The laws of nature demand that if I even think of resting, one of the babies will immediately begin to move and make noise.  It is never good to piss off nature.  On the flip side, there is no way I am doing any noisy house activity and potentially ruining the magical dual nap moment.  I will do every quiet thing I can think of, but it is never everything.  By the time the babies wake up and I make and feed them dinner and we play outside for a bit and I make Jack's lunch...it is bedtime.   And I feel like I have fought wars today...but it looks like I have done nothing.  I want to cry.  But the babies already are, so I put on my big girl panties.  And we do it again.  Every other week we do it with the three big kids too.

There are no bonbons while watching television.  Actually there are no bonbons at all.  Just a hastily swallowed Swiss Cake Roll while chasing a naked toddler that escaped the bathroom without underwear and gleefully realized he has dangling parts.  And the television may be on but I never fully understand what is going on in any show because someone has screamed and/or pooped through the important parts.  And the less important parts.  Pretty much all the parts.  

This is motherhood in our house at this moment.  It is a mass of contradictions.  Exhilarating and exhausting.  Inspiring and frustrating.  Sweetly sung lullabies and muttered curses.  Chaotic dance parties and sullen silent pouts.  Our five beautiful children are this whirling dervish of personalities and life stages; a brand new high schooler, an exuberant middle schooler, an experienced elementary kid, our high octane toddler, and the newborn baby girl.  Some days I feel like I can never keep up.  But some days one of them pulls me by the hand into the middle of the dance party and all is right with the world.

There Is No Coke

I woke up this morning ready to mainline a 2L of Coke.

Baby Girl woke up a bunch last night to eat, because she apparently has made an early life choice to compete in sumo baby wrestling.  And Baby Boy crawled into my bed at five, wide awake, and pointed out things that belong to Daddy and the dogs for two hours.  After that  he fell back asleep and then peed on me, while still sleeping.  In a move destined to get me nominated for mother of the year, I left him wet on my side of the bed and moved to Daddy's side and fell back asleep.  There was no way I was waking him back up.  In a nod to basic decency and to protect the cleanliness of my bed, I did stuff a towel up under him.  I am not a monster.

Soooooo...I want Coke.  But today is the first day in a plan to be healthier.  There is no Coke. I blame extreme weight loss tv shows.  I binge watched a bunch on hulu and got all motivated and now here I am with no Coke.  Goes to show you that no good can come from hulu.  Did I mention that there is NO COKE.

Instead,  in my fridge and my cupboard are beautiful little organized containers that I wrote my name on in huge black Sharpie to try and communicate to our children that the contents are for me.  You wouldn't think that kids would want to eat anything that could be on my healthy eating plan, but I have found that as soon as you think something is safe from kids - no matter what it is- the minute you think that, your child immediately thinks "Hmmm...perfectly portioned crackers in a sandwich bag looks amazing, so much better than these chips, cheese curls, and cupcakes.".   Kids are tricky.  Thus the heavily marked containers with lids.    I spent yesterday filling them up with a week's worth of food and if I eat them all the way I am supposed to, then the internet promised me I will feel amazing by Friday.

I have done this before, and it works for me...as long as I do daily hour long aerobics classes and take long walks every night.  Oh yeah, I was also single and childless then - now I have a husband and five kids.  Hmmm... I am only a few hours in this regime and I already have found several flaws that could derail this whole lifestyle change.

First, I am supposed to eat breakfast within a half an hour of waking up.  Which waking up would that be?  I will skip all the middle of the night waking up, because obviously they don't mean those.  So are we looking at the 5am feeding, the 6am pee incident, the 7am feeding, or the 9am alarm that goes off as I sit up reading Facebook, having given up on sleep?  I think that my babies are going to prevent me from optimizing my metabolic rate right now.  Just a guess.

Next, my FitnessPal app does not have a selection for deadlifting a hysterical toddler from the floor - which definitely burns calories AND builds endurance.  It also does not recognize entries of sprints to the road to keep your toddler from being smooshed by a truck,  deep breathing exercises after finding kids eating perfectly portioned crackers out of a clearly labeled container, or eye rolls. 

Further complicating this new adventure...no one told my toddler he has to cooperate.  My gym has a very lovely kidzone area so mommies can work out while their children play happily.  My toddler does not understand this concept as he mistakenly believes that we are kangaroos and if he looks hard enough, he will find my pouch and live there forever.  We are working on this.

Also...there is no Coke.

You Might Be A Mom If...

You might be mom to a toddler if...

...you have ever used the bathroom - while holding and/or feeding a child.

...your exercise regime consists of running stairs (after toddler), lunges (to catch falling toddler), and aerobic dance (one more time...head, shoulders, knees and toes, knees and toes...)

...you have been peed, pooped, and puked on - all by 9 a.m.

...your basic food groups are cheese, crackers, and cheese crackers.

...your kitchen contains two wine glasses, half a dozen big plastic cups, and forty three sippy cups - none of which match each other.

...there is nothing you can't clean with baby wipes.

...you have lied and made a sad face while telling a child a toy was broken rather than replace the batteries and hear it sing one more time.

...you have to fight back the urge to punch people that innocently suggest you'd be less tired if you just slept when the baby slept.

...you don't know any current songs on the radio but hum Elmo's World in the shower.

...your last pair of decent jeans are also your "dress up" clothes.

...you can recite ten different books from memory.

...you trade stickers for pee.

Whole Wheat Pasta

In approximately 2004, on some reality cooking show, a woman made a whole wheat pasta dish.  (I believe you are familiar with my binge tv habit, yes?).   She made this dish - with tons of fresh veggies and a pesto sauce - for a challenge to create healthy kid food.  When they asked her where she got the idea, she told them she makes it all the time...with the assistance of her young daughter...and she loves it.

Let me get this straight.  She makes very healthy, fresh food her child not only will choke down, but loves AND she lets kids in the kitchen to help make dinner??

Lady, you're ruining the curve.  Knock it off.

Let's not even dwell on the kids in the kitchen part.  Our older two daughters can make sandwiches and boxed mac 'n cheese - but when they are done cooking it looks like they cooked for an entire squad of Army Rangers...that ate with their hands tied behind their backs...while doing jumping jacks...with every dish in my kitchen. There is rarely some picture of domestic bliss where I pass on generations of cooking secrets while wearing matching aprons in our house.  Sometimes I yell instructions from the living room on how to make brownie mix.  When I want brownies.  Sometimes.

So not only does her daughter help her make this, thereby seeing all the ingredients, but she also eats it.  I can't get Baby Boy to eat much more than a few servings of ketchup that he licks off any food I give him.  Does that count as a vegetable serving?  I am going with yes.  And whole wheat pasta?  I am not that mom.

I am the mom that embarrasses her kids during a shopping trip by getting visibly excited over a sale on regular, plain, starchy pasta.  79¢ a box?  Whaaaatttt????  Then as my daughters cover their heads in shame I gleefully toss ten boxes in one of our carts.  And then wonders if I shouldn't just buy ten more.  The kids think I have lost my mind. 
Which I must have, because I am on a grocery store with five children.

If you want to see heads turn, take a bunch of kids out in public.  I am not sure exactly what is so fascinating...like statistically one of them will explode without warning if they keep watching long enough?  Maybe?  But we are a bit of a spectacle at the grocery store.  We look a little like a very organized train, which is pretty much what I am aiming for.  Our modus operandi this summer is each big girl takes a baby, our nine year old takes care of himself, and I bring up the back to catch falling debris and make sure no one dies.  So far...no death.  

So, in conclusion... I let my kids pretend to feed Army Rangers, eat brownies, ingest their vegetables in liquid form, learn about the importance of a good sale, and I take them in public.

Hmmm...maybe I am the one ruining the curve.

Where Are Your Children?

So the other night, I went to dinner with my friend Charlotte.  Not counting adventures in the grocery store, this is my first night out since Baby Girl was born where I was alone.  Jack and I have had a few dinners out, I have gone out with the kids, and twice now I have gone in the steam room at the Y alone while Jack watched the kids in the pool.  I was so excited to go out with a girlfriend that I put on mascara and a real bra with underwires and everything.  It was fabulous.

Of course, we are both moms to little children, so over our adult beverages and dinners that we didn't have to share with anyone, our conversation went something like this:

Me:  Baby Boy refuses to sleep!
Charlotte:  Mine too! 

(insert talk about never sleeping)

Charlotte:  My baby boy has crazy poop!
Me:  Baby Girl has the strangest poop schedule!

(insert talk about poop and potty training)

Me: Baby Boy is starting swim lessons!
Charlotte:  My boy loves water!

(insert talk of baby swimming and how I almost killed Jack for sending our toddler down a 40 foot enclosed water slide with no life jacket all by himself)

We did discuss a few non-child related things as well, but kids take up a lot of your attention - even when they are home with their daddies.

So after dinner, I continued my big night out by traveling all the way across the parking lot...to the dollar store.  I have been wanting to go to the dollar store for a while now.  But every time I go, one or two or all five kids start doing something asinine or embarrassing and I flee the store with the few things I have.  I really wanted to take my time to peruse this particular dollar store because they have a very nice greeting card selection.

I hate, despise, loathe not having a card on hand when I want one because then I always just buy one at the grocery store.  And I hate, despise, loathe paying four bucks for something that is ninety percent likely to be in that person's trash three days later.  So I had this grand idea to buy a huge amount of cards for all upcoming events for months and months and months.  I had this idea months and months and months ago.  So when I had the prime evening alone time...I made straight for the dollar store.

After a good half hour of selecting cards and impulse buying window clings and baseball stickers, I got into line to pay.  When it is my turn I have to wait for an eternity because this poor clerk has to scan my cards each individually and I have them all tucked into the flap of their envelope.  So this is a process.  As she finishes up, a man behind me says:

"How did you get out of the house without any kids?"

It ends up being a nice couple from my church and we laugh and I explain that they are home with Dad and as soon as this clerk rings up my cards and I stop to get milk (we always need milk) I will be back home with them.

But how funny is that?

People are surprised to see me in public without a child attached.  I am with them so much, that people remark on it when I don't have them.  I hope my kids read this some day and realize how completely they overtook my life.  In fact, on days they are being unappreciative I may pull this up and show them.

"See how much I loved you???  I talked about your poop over filet and red wine!"

So my big night out was talking mostly about my kids, going to the dollar store alone, and being reckless and daring at 7-11 by buying a Cash for Life, that was a loser.  And then realizing I have totally lost my individual identity. I am now simply my kids' Mom. 

Sounds good to me. 

My Father's Fish

My dad is going to be less than thrilled that I  have shared this with the blogosphere.  Similarly, I was less than thrilled about being forced to eat stuffed peppers as a child.  Seems fair.

About ten years ago now, my dad built a small fish pond in his backyard.  It was originally a funny looking hole and has since grown into its surroundings a bit more.  Every year he seems to tinker with it, adding something new or adjusting a piece here or there.  Thankfully, there is a small fence around it...but let's be honest.  It's only a matter of time before a grandchild ends up in there trying to grab a fish.

Speaking of fish, my dad is raising goldfish in this pond.  They are pretty huge.  Goldfish apparently can get pretty big when you give them enough space.  Also, they are surprisingly hardy.  One year, frost came earlier than expected and their little pond dwelling froze over with them inside and they had to wait for a mini thaw before my dad could rescue them and put them in their winter home down in the man cave. I am not sure if all of them survived - because my dad refuses to Facebook - but at least some of them did because there are still giant goldfish in my parent's backyard.

Simultaneously to all this serious fish business, our 12 year old daughter decided she wanted fish again.  This feeling comes and goes about every six months.  I am totally for fish...in tanks with filters.  However, my better half has some old fashioned attachment to gravel and fishbowls.  He is anti-things-that-clean-for-you apparently.  No roomba for me.  Anywhoo... During the last round of fish-sanity, he and our daughter bought a little fish bowl with a nemo-like background and a crazy blue backlight, presumably to scare off all the sharks that hide in our kitchen.  The thing with fish bowls is they need to be cleaned.  Often.  By hand.  And let's be honest again...I have enough things to clean.

So our daughter is told she can have more fish but she is in charge of cleaning the fish bowl and feeding them.  This goes well for longer than I thought.  Playing with the old strainer and the gravel and putting her fish babies in Dad's coffee mugs is wildly entertaining for about two months.  We lose two of the original four and as her interest in them starts to wane I start looking forward to seeing them belly up in our kitchen.  They are 10¢ fish from the grocery store - how long can they last?

FOREVER.

These are industrial strength goldfish.  I don't know how they got mixed up with the normal 10¢ ones, but it must have happened.  They refuse to die.  Their survival is solely tied to the whims of a 12 year old...and they continue to live.  Week by week, she continues to put off cleaning their tank a little longer - so every time it is smellier and nastier.  She lets it develop 'algae' which seems impossible in this little bowl and is horrified when she realized she has to scrub it off.  After about two months of being dragged to the kitchen to take care of these fish she had to have, she breaks...

"Can we just throw them down the toilet or the garbage disposal already?????"

Awwww...sweet music to my ears.  However, we are not fish killers.  Also, as much as I hate the fish bowl, we are not looking to teach our daughter that when you are tired of a responsibility you just flush it down the toilet.  Wrong lesson.  When you are tired of a responsibility....you give it to Grandpa.

Sooooo...we bagged up the fish and sent them home with Aunt Lucy so she could dump them in the pond.

A week later I was visiting my parents and we were sitting outside by the pond.  I asked my dad how our daughter's fish were adjusting and he look at me, flabbergasted.

"Is that where they came from???  I have been telling everyone my fish finally spawned!"

Well, that's embarrassing.

Backyard Garden: Aug 1 Pictures

Update as of the first weekend of August:

* Potted banana peppers continue to be our breakout plant.  It is producing so much that we are unable to eat them fresh quickly enough, so I found a recipe to make refrigerator peppers.  It will work with these bananas and also habaneros and jalapenos.

* Peppers in the ground are finally making some progress.  All have flowers or mini peppers started.  Bells seem to be about twice as high as my hot varieties.  Jalapeno and banana are the only two on the fence that have peppers started.   Hanging peppers are still about half the size of potted/planted ones.

*  Tomatoes are all growing well in pots.  Supersweets have the most green tomatoes, followed by 4th of July, then Roma.  Roma is the only hanging tomato to have a green tomato started.

*  The one planter of lettuce seems to yield enough for a salad for Jack every other day.  I should increase lettuce pots next year.

*  Pickles have almost stopped producing, they have developed some kind of rot.  They seem to do this to some extent every year.  They just seem to dry and and die from the bottom up.  I should really research this.

Backyard:Before & After

Our back yard before this spring...and now.  So pretty :)

Doing Something Right

Yesterday, Jack and I took three of our kids to the YMCA for a little family workout and swim.  On the way in we noticed a half dozen police cars parked all around.  Jack and I finally realized it was because our city commission was meeting next door and there were people picketing out front.  We told the kids the police were there to keep the peace and went inside to sweat and swim.  Or sweat and walk behind a toddler in water.  One of those things.

On the way out, the kids (and Jack) wanted to drive by the picketers and they had lots of questions about this very exciting event, having never seen anything like it.  Jack explained that he has been in events like this many times, being a union bricklayer.  He explained to them that it is one of our rights to make our voices heard in a peaceful way.  And then they wanted to know what these particular people were protesting, which was the housing of illegal children in our town.  I have already posted my view on this here :

http://chroniclesoflarive.blogspot.com/2014/07/what-was-it-jesus-said-about-children.html

This is a hard thing to explain to a 12 year old and a nine year old.  How much do you tell them?  What is enough information to widen their world just a bit but not overwhelm them?  Is this hot button issue just too complicated and too adult for them to be exposed to right now?  We want them to be kids as long as possible but we also want them to be responsible adults someday.  This is a fine line to walk.

Here is what we said.

There are two groups protesting, each side has points.  Each side also has people that take things too far and create chaos.  Half of those people do not want kids from other countries staying in our city while their legal troubles get sorted out.  The other half wants those kids to stay here.  These kids they are talking about came here from Mexico and other countries because they live in places where they are very poor or in danger so their parents think they will be safer here.  But they didn't send them here the right way, the didn't follow the law.  So now we have thousands of kids here without parents or homes or meals - and they need to be taken care of. 

I will admit that I am biased because to me it is a pretty black and white issue.  We take care of children.  All children.  No matter the cost.  Period.  But to try and teach our kids to look at both sides of a situation and think it through, I did try and present the facts evenly - although I am sure my opinion crept in there.  Which I think is just fine, since we are also trying to teach our children to be compassionate, kind, loving Christians.

After hearing everything we had to say and seeing these seventy some people screaming at each other through a line of policemen, our daughter sat and thought in her seat in the van and then looked up at me and then matter-of-factly said the wisest thing ever.

"Jesus would want us to take care of them."

Yes, my darling girl, he would.

Head Trauma

Baby Boy gave me the first real heart-in-my-throat moment when he was about 9 months old and he took a header into the corner of our dining room wall.  He screamed bloody murder and when he turned his head there was a giant goose egg on the left side of his forehead.  It was ginormous and livid red and it throbbed when he cried; making it look alive, like some kind of angry mini alien squatting on my son's head.  It.Was.Awful.

But it looked way more awful than it ended up being and other than that first mental picture and heart in my throat feeling, all I really remember was thinking how ridiculous it was that my toddler would give himself a head injury right before bed.  Sure kid.  Anything to avoid sleep, right?

Well, he has done it again.  This time by bouncing on his big boy bed with his older brother laughing encouragement.  It was so exciting that he forgot to move his feet fast enough and his head kissed the wood hard enough to immediately bring back the pulsing mini alien, this time to the right side.  Symmetry, maybe?  I suppose, as a parent of a very adventurous toddler boy, that I should make friends with this alien.  Give it a cookie...ask politely about his family...see if he likes long walks in the park...and quick trips to the ER.

Fortunately we have a medical professional on speed dial, so we sent off a picture of the alien to Baby Boy's godmom who is an alien specialist. 

"Drown him!" she cried.

Oh wait, wrong story.  Different alien.

Instead she told us to stay awake for an hour or so...no problem since Baby Boy thinks bedtime is the devil spawn baby of green vegetables and cleanliness.  And then...then she said to wake him up...all night long. 

Convinced this was an evil joke my parents put her up to as payback for my teenage years, I asked for clarification.

"How awake are we talking?  Open his eyes awake so I know he is sleeping and not unconscious?  Or full out awake, exposed to bright light and talking?"

She replied that he actually needed to be really awake so I could check for signs of concussion.  Well, shit.

So I waited an hour, made Baby Boy go to sleep, and two hours later I woke him up to assess him.  Here is what I was looking for...

Does he seem disoriented or fuzzy?  Ummm...of course.  I just woke his ass up at one in the morning and I forgot to leave a night light on.

Can he walk steady? Ummm....of course not.  I actually am unable to get him to even sit up or hold his head up.  After initially waking up he now just keeps nodding back off into an adorable pile of boneless baby goo that melts off my lap into the pillow.

Is he cranky, irritable, or off schedule? What the hell web md?  Of course he is!  I just woke him up!  Off his schedule!  He is an annoyed pile of baby goo feebly swatting at me every time I attempt to make him get up.

This is freaking ridiculous.  He isn't throwing up, he does not have a fever, and he isn't breathing weird.  Mommy wisdom tells me he is fine.  Annoyed at my relentless prodding perhaps...but fine.

New plan.  Mommy wakes up every two hours to do a sheet check for baby vomit and/or fever sweat, listens for even breathing...and rolls over and goes back to bed.  Perfect.