mooshkatoo

Thank you, Angelina.

2013-05-14T08:57:00.000-07:00

Because the first thing I thought, after hearing the news story about her elective double-mastectomy, was “if she can do it, I can do it.”

When I found out, back in November of 2011, that I have the BRCA-1 mutation, the decision to opt for a preventative double mastectomy, followed by an oophorectomy, was pretty much a “no-brainer.” I had lost my mother to breast cancer earlier that year, and wanted to be pro-active in making sure I wouldn’t have to face what my mom had to face: a radical mastectomy, chemotherapy, brain surgery, medication upon medication, and eventually a very heart-breaking, very painful physical decline that preceded her death. I also wanted to do what I could to make sure I would be able to enjoy many years with my children, my husband, my extended family and my friends, without my life turning into a constant battle with a life-threatening disease.

A year and a half has passed since I received the results of my genetic testing. In that span of time, I got pregnant with my second child, had a second c-section, and have breast-fed my son for five months, all which have delayed any steps I can take toward having the surgeries. I have also had time to REALLY come to terms with the decision I am facing, the impact it will have on my body, my brain, and my heart, and have had lots of time to doubt my decision. Do I really want to put my body through yet another surgery? Do I really want to see MORE scars than I already do when I look in the mirror? Am I ok with completely losing feeling in my breasts? Am I okay with becoming post-menopausal in my early 40s? Or should I perhaps just be super-vigilant about self-monitoring, without opting for such a radical surgery?

It’s not an easy decision. But hearing about Angelina Jolie’s choice to get the preventative surgeries has been incredibly comforting. I mean, it’s Angelina Jolie! Never in a million years would I have thought that she and I would have much in common. But here we are, both 37 years old, both with mothers that have recently passed away from cancer, both having the BRCA-1 mutation, both having to decide what to do with the knowledge about our genetic makeup.

And, I mean, it’s Angelina Jolie! Lara Croft, Hollywood goddess, mother of eight billion children, Special Envoy of UN, wife of Brad Pitt! Every move she makes is watched, documented, praised or criticized. She is probably one of the only women in the world who would make international headlines for making this kind of decision public.

It’s not that Angelina’s decision makes my doubts go away. And it’s not that her opting for a double-mastectomy makes my choices any easier. This is still MY body, and MY decision to make.

But seriously, it is encouraging to know that if I DO choose to get the surgeries (which I in all likelihood will), I will be sharing my journey with a very beautiful, very brave, very public figure who chose to be proactive in making decisions about her health, her future, and her identity. Her statement, “I feel empowered that I made a strong choice that in no way diminishes my femininity,” in turn empowers me to make my decisions without feeling like I will be losing my sense of self.

If she can do it, I can do it.

So thank you, Angelina.

Mama's Day 2013

2013-05-13T09:43:00.001-07:00

Growing up, I always had a lot of anxiety when it came to Mother’s Day. As I have mentioned in previous posts, my mother wasn’t the easiest person to get along with, and definitely was not the easiest person to buy or make presents for. She RARELY was enthusiastic about the gifts my older sister and I would seek out for her, and on a few occasions she even returned the presents we got for her. It’s not like we didn’t TRY to get her great gifts. My sister and I would pool our allowances, and spend many hours at the mall debating over which scarf she would like best, which shirt was REALLY her favorite color, etc. But I hardly remember a time that my mom expressed excitement and enthusiasm over our choice of gift.

Cards, too, were an issue. We weren’t a Hallmark kind of a family. I don’t know if it was because bought cards seemed too generic, or were too expensive, or if my parents were simply trying to encourage us to be creative, but we ALWAYS had to hand-make our cards for holidays and celebrations. And along with the hand-made card, it was tradition in our family (and still is) that we write the card-receiver an epic tale describing in endless detail how much we appreciate that person, and why. A card is not complete unless the sentiment written inside it covers both interior pages and spills onto the back of the card, as well.

So not only was the gift-giving anxiety provoking, but the card-making part also made me panic (and still does).

Which is why now, being on the receiving-end of Mother’s Day, I plan on making a concerted effort to make the celebration as low-key and UNstressful as possible for my famil, and to ALWAYS, ALWAYS show my appreciation for ANY gifts or sentiments my loved ones give me.

C definitely made sure yesterday was celebratory (despite his exhaustion) and that we did the things that I wanted to do as a family, which was very sweet and very much appreciated.

Here are the things I MOST appreciated about the day, that made the day very special.

Despite the gloomy weather, we took Em and Oren to the nearby animal farm, where we went on two hayrides (with Oren wrapped up in my sweater looking very much like Obi Wan Kanobi), shared a delicious brownie, and got to see Emmy enjoy her first horse ride (!!) Em looked like such a big girl up on the horse, I couldn’t believe it. My heart melted a little (make that a lot), realizing how quickly she is growing up.

We enjoyed lunch together at Friendly’s, and Em shared her ice cream with both her Dada and I in a very generous way. AND Oren only cried maybe once during our entire meal, which made for a very peaceful, un-chaotic, lunch with two young children (a rare thing, indeed).

When we got back home, the sun was shining, so we took Em’s new tricycle (well, not new, exactly. I found it on sale for $7 at a garage sale, but as far as Em is concerned it is pink and purple and has a storage bin that holds her My Little Ponies and is therefore perfect) for a ride down to Baba and Grampy’s house. Em only started riding on a tricyle a few weeks ago, thanks to our friends Kelly and Wil, who gave us their grown-up-assisted tricycle that let Em practice her pedaling. But already, just a few weeks later, Em is becoming an expert-biker, with loads of confidence and enthusiasm. I am thrilled for her, and thrilled to see her gaining these new skills so quickly. I am also excited that when she falls off her bike, Em gets right back up, brushes herself off, and starts biking again. So proud!!!

My mother-in-law gave me these AMAZING photos she took of the kids, which made my heart so incredibly happy. I can’t decide whether I want to have the photos themselves blown up onto big canvases, or whether I want to try and find time to paint versions of them. Despite wanting very much to do the latter, I will probably end up doing the former, because if I wait to find time to paint these pictures, they likely won’t get done until my children have children of their own.

We were able to get the kids to sleep at a decent time, so C and I were able to enjoy playing a game together (being the nerdy board game enthusiasts that we are). I love my husband.

All in all, a great day. I am so grateful to be a mom, and to have such a wonderful, loving family. I hope all the mamas out there (including mommies of cats, dogs, goldfish, etc.) enjoyed their special day as well.

Recipe Share: My Mocha Nirvana

2013-05-01T10:05:00.000-07:00

So the weather here in Upstate New York has been AMAZING this past week. It’s as if we are being rewarded for the extra long winter we’ve had – the skies are a cloudless, bright blue, the birds are chirping enthusiastically, even the grass seems to be celebrating.

I love Spring, for obvious reasons. I love the fact that I can now plan on going on a run/walk with my baby after work almost EVERY DAY this week. I love the fact that I can wear shoes without socks and not look like a freak anymore (I get strange looks when I go sockless on a -30 below zero day). I love the fact that sunny weather means guacamole can be used as a condiment on EVERYTHING. And I LOVE switching my morning pick-me-up from hot coffee to frozen coffee.

I’ve had quite the long love affair with cold coffee beverages. I was actually introduced to coffee via a pitcher of deliciously cold, insanely sweet iced coffee my college roommate used to make when the weather got warm. I was so enamored by the flavor that I pretty much gulped down the whole pitcher, not realizing the effect all that caffeine would have on me. Sure enough, 20 minutes later, I was inspired to clean our entire apartment. And then run five miles. And then clean our apartment again. From that moment on, I was hooked.

So, due to my enthusiasm for cold coffee, I thought it would be appropriate for me to share my current favorite blended iced coffee beverage (In my head, I call it Mocha Nirvana) as my first ever blog recipe. It’s actually pretty weird that it has taken me this long to share my secret food preparation strategies, seeing as I love to cook (and cooking pretty much goes hand-in-hand with mommying). Nonetheless, I’ve dawdled in that department. I kind of hope that sharing this very simple recipe will be a gateway drug to sharing more of my passion for cooking (especially since, in the near future, I should have a lot more time to cook for our family).

My first issue with most coffee-chain ice blended drinks is that the coffee element kind of separates from the icy part of the drink. The first part of the blended coffee drinking experience is wonderful, because you are slurping down a very delicious combination of concentrated coffee flavor and chocolate flavor or whatever else you’ve asked them to add in. But the second part of the drinking experience is disappointing, because you’re left with this flavorless, slushy mess that is not delicious at all.

My second issue with coffee-chain ice blended drinks is that they cost about $84 dollars a pop.

With this recipe, I’ve managed to address the slushy flavorlessness AND the crazy cost of those coffee-chain concoctions. My Mocha Nirvana is delicious from beginning to end, and won’t set you back more than a dollar per serving.

Oh, and have I mentioned it actually has nutritional benefits?

I won’t make you wait any longer. Here’s my recipe for one serving of Mocha Nirvana:

5 ice cubes of frozen double-strength coffee

1 cup of vanilla almond milk

1 Tbsp. of Chocolate Syrup

1 tsp. or more of chia seeds (the “superfood of the Aztecs”) – optional

1 Tbsp. of Enriched Infant Oatmeal Cereal (the “superfood of the babies”)

So all you have to do is brew up a double-strength pot of your favorite coffee, let it cool a little, and then pour it into ice cube trays to freeze. My husband and I keep a couple of trays of frozen coffee cubes in our freezer at all times now, so we can have our Mocha Nirvanas whenever we want.

Use 4 – 5 ice cubes per serving, adding in the vanilla almond milk (or vanilla soy milk, rice milk, cow’s milk… totally up to you), the 1 Tbsp. of chocolate syrup, the 1 optional teaspoon of chia seeds (they sell them EVERYWHERE now), and the 1 tablespoon of infant oatmeal cereal (I confess, I happen to have this on hand in our house for my baby boy, and one day I just got creative and added it in to my blender. You could definitely just use plain old oats, if you prefer).

Of course, you can totally add in other ingredients as well, to suit whatever mood you are in. I’ve personally tried adding a banana (yum), a tablespoon of peanut butter (double yum), and yes, a scoop of ice cream (I deserved it)!

Blend all the ingredients together. Pour it into a tall glass and decorate the top of it with a teeny bit more chocolate syrup so that you feel like you have just spent $84 on this drink. Stick a straw in it. ENJOY THE DELICIOUSNESS as you sit on your porch or your green grass, thanking heaven that Spring has arrived.

Love Hurts

2013-04-30T07:49:00.000-07:00

He looks very cute and innocent, I know.
Don't let him fool you.

I know I haven’t written much about Baby Oren (or as I like to call him, Sir Poopsalot. Or Baby Boo Boo. Or Smooshers McDuff. I really call him everything BUT his actual name).

Oren is the “Clifford the Big Red Dog” of babies. He’s a very adorable, huggable, smooshable, GARGANTUAN child. He’s only four and a half months old, weighs about 150 pounds, and is about 17 feet tall. He already fits into my husband’s clothing.

Yesterday, my dentist’s assistant asked if she could hold Oren (he was flirting with her). Not two minutes had passed before she handed him right back to me, telling me she had to go set up a new appointment with her chiropractor. She then hobbled away, groaning, with her hands supporting her lower back.

He’s big.

Much like Clifford the Big Red Dog, Oren has the best of intentions. He simply wants to love and be loved. But because he is such a huge, strong boy (with rather unrefined motor skills), his displays of affection generally turn into unintentional displays of physical abuse.

One of Oren’s favorite pastimes is gnawing on my chin like it is a chew toy (oh yes, I forgot to mention he is already teething. Actually, I am pretty certain he came out of my womb teething). It starts out innocent enough, with Oren just trying to tongue kiss my face (strangers at the playground think it looks so adorable). But soon the kissing turns into full throttle chewing, as Oren clenches down with his baby jaw and waves his head back and forth like he is trying to rip my chin off my face (strangers at the playground start to think this might not be so adorable after all).

Oren has given me quite a few chin hickeys. Unfortunately, they are not very becoming, and kind of hard to disguise (I can’t exactly wrap a tiny scarf around my chin). I just try to ignore my co-workers staring at my face, wondering what kind of kinky games my husband and I get into once the kids are asleep.

Oh. Then there is the very random, very thrilling, middle-of-the-night nose punching thing.

Although I had truly intended NOT to co-sleep with Oren, as I had with Emmy, I’ve ended up sleeping in bed with him by my side, every night. For the most part, it works out well, and allows me to do night feedings without having to keep getting up out of bed (yes, I am lazy. Especially at 2 in the morning). It also allows me the distinct pleasure of being punched repeatedly in the nose by my son. I’ll be sleeping peacefully, dreaming of bucolic country meadows and rainbows and dancing fairies, when WHAM! Baby Boo Boo lays the smackdown on my face.

And then he starts kicking me. Repeatedly. Right in my belly, by my c-section scar.

I’m pretty sure it’s just his way of making sure I am still lying next to him.

So now, in addition to “hickey chin,” I also have “fight club nose” and a black and blue tummy.

I should also mention Oren’s miraculous ever-growing fingernails. I swear to you, I clip my baby boy’s nails on an every-other day basis, thinking that perhaps it will keep his talons in check. But its not enough. Oren is still able to scratch “I Love Mama” or “This is great mom, but I would really love a prime rib” on my forearm as I breastfeed him.

Speaking of breastfeeding, have I mentioned Oren is teething? I have. Have I mentioned that I feel like I am in grave danger every time I breastfeed him? I do. I watch his face very carefully, waiting for that exact moment where his mouth transitions from “cute sucky-milk” mode to “Hannibal Lecter” mode. Then I say “no biting,” in a gentle but firm tone, and Smooshers McDuff smiles back at me in a “this is a fun game, mama!” way. I try to explain to him that it is not a game. He smiles back at me in a “I’m four months old and have no idea what you are saying, but I’m sure it’s funny” kind of a way. And then he bites down.

Baby Boo Boo also seems to thoroughly enjoy pulling my hair, pinching my neck, and sticking his thumb in my eyeball. Waaaay into my eyeball. Super fun times.

So next time you see me, if I am wearing a ski mask, and a helmet and breastplate, and perhaps holding a sword and shield, I’m not trying out a new “look”. It’s just that I have a BIG baby boy who loves me very, very much.

The Princess and the Pee Pee

2013-04-18T11:56:00.001-07:00

Em and her beloved Savtah (Grandma)

I don’t remember ever going through a “princess stage,” as a young girl. I remember a distinct “Madonna” stage, circa 1984, when I was about nine years old. I can’t even begin to imagine what my teachers must have thought of my wearing lace gloves and pleather pants to school. I also remember a “Preppy” stage - it was ALL ABOUT the izod shirts and pink jeans and friendship pins and feathered hair (which I failed miserably at achieving). And as much as I’d like to forget, I still remember my (much later in life) “Grunge” phase, which I now believe made me look like a reclusive woodsman, sans the crazy bushy beard. But mostly I remember going through the “I will wear whatever my older sister has handed down to me,” stage.

But dressing like a princess? I can guess that as a young child, dressing up like Cinderella (post-fairy-godmother-makeover) never really appealed to me. I couldn’t climb trees or play ball very easily in a tutu and tiara, after all. Function over fashion was my motto.

Which is maybe partly why Emmy’s very passionate “princess stage” is driving me coo-coo crazy. She insists on wearing a tutu to school, paired with just the right leggings and just the right pink (has to be pink!!!) frilly shirt. This morning she had a mini-tantrum about her purple pants that had been JUST FINE BY HER two weeks ago. I thought I had convinced her that her pretty, flouncy shirt was long enough to qualify as a dress, but when we got to school the first thing she said to her teacher was, “I’m not wearing a princess skirt,” in a woe-is-me voice, while giving me the evil eye.

She’s two and a half years old! If we are having these kinds of issues when she’s just a toddler, I can only IMAGINE what our arguments over clothing will be like when she’s, say, 14 years old. This is gonna be FUN, folks!

The thing is, I WANT Emmy to develop her own sense of style. I WANT her to take pleasure and to feel confident in the clothes she wears, even now, at such a young age. I want her to be her most authentic self. So why do I take such issue when her whole authentic self wants to dress like a Disney character?

I mean, if my daughter was going through a robot phase, and wanted to dress like a robot every day, would I protest? I honestly would probably think it was super cute, and would likely be fine with making sure her silver shirts and pants were always washed and available for her to wear.

I guess, in my head, wanting to look like a princess seems so PREDICTABLE, and so unimaginative. And I equate wanting to look like a princess with wanting to ACT like a princess (pampered, not wanting to break a nail, etc.), which I really don’t want to condone as a parent.

But does dressing like a princess automatically make a little girl ACT like a princess? Probably not. In Emmy’s case, it mostly inspires her to want to do twirly dances until she gets dizzy.

So should I just chill out and check my princess prejudices at the door, and support my daughter’s obsession with looking like royalty? Should I rejoice in Em’s ability to express her uniqueness (even though it’s not so unique), and stop trying to convince her that jeans are super fun to wear? I know there has to be some sort of middle ground here, where I don’t force her to wear overalls, but also don’t have to let her wear a tutu ALL THE TIME (she even wants to wear them to bed).

Have you dealt with this or similar drama? Any words of wisdom to share?

Ah, yes, before I forget, I have to also talk about Pee Pee. Em is doing amazingly well at potty training! She seems to be taking the job very seriously, and seems to be getting excited about becoming a “big girl” – she even mentioned not needing her “massy” (pacifier) for bedtime last night. Of course, that sentiment lasted about two minutes, but it is still great progress… I couldn’t be prouder of my.. ahem.. princess!

Too Many Mornings Like This Morning

2013-04-16T07:14:00.001-07:00

I just feel like there have been too many mornings like this morning.

Mornings following horror and tragedy.

I fell asleep last night while watching the news (again). I fell asleep while watching more images of people running in fear, and more images of smoke and ambulances and tears. I fell asleep to the sound of more news pundits interviewing more eyewitnesses and more terror experts.

I fell asleep with my arms wrapped more tightly around my children (again).

How many times has this happened now? Too many times. I don’t want to count.

There have been too many mornings like this. Mornings where I have to quickly switch from the news to Dora the Explorer, so my toddler won’t have to see the images of broken things and broken people. So she won’t start asking questions about accidents and boo boos. So I won’t have to answer questions that she shouldn’t have to ask.

What bothers me the most is I feel myself getting USED to this kind of morning. I feel my brain and body slowly acclimating to news of terror. I feel my heart responding to this kind of news with a sort of:

“Oh no. Again?”

“Again.”

“Senseless killing?”

“Yes, again.”

“Children killed?”

“Yes, again.”

And then I have to go about my day, with a sense of sadness that will slowly fade, with a sense of heartache for people I do not know but can imagine knowing. And with a sinking feeling, knowing that another morning like this will happen again, probably all too soon.

A Scar is Born

2013-04-15T09:15:00.001-07:00

So I was at an event this weekend – one where I knew just a handful of people, but tried my very best to be sociable and meet new folks and make small talk. Generally speaking, I find it easy to talk with other mommies, as there is obvious common ground, experiences to compare, and advice to be shared.

At this event, my daughter quickly made friends with a three year old girl, so it seemed appropriate that I talk with the little girl’s mom. The mommy was very warm, and sweet, and even went so far as to share her daughter’s snacks with Emmy.

After a bit of talking, the mommy and I started to share birth stories. She shared that her daughter had been born prematurely, but she was able to avoid a c-section and birth her baby naturally. I then shared with her that although I had hoped to birth my children naturally, I ended up having a c-section both times.

The mommy said she thought I was lucky for avoiding natural birth, and for some reason said that having a c-section probably helped my stomach look better than someone who had given birth naturally. I laughed and told her my stomach was hardly a thing of beauty, especially given the c-section scar that lives right below my beloved “pooch”.

“Oh, yeah,” she said, “but you can just get that fixed. I think that’s what everyone is doing these days, you know? Having a few babies and then just getting the surgery to get it all fixed so you look even better than your friends who don’t have kids.”

I think I responded by saying, “oh, ” and kind of laughing.

Is that what EVERYONE is doing these days? Popping out a few babies and then getting cosmetic surgery to erase any evidence that their body gave birth?

Granted, the crowd at this event was definitely a different and much wealthier crowd than the one I generally hang with, and this mommy's idea of "everyone," is probably very different from mine. It was a crowd of beautiful mamas with designer clothes and super-expensive bags and even pricier shoes. It was a crowd of families that have gigantic homes or beautiful New York City apartments and nannies and lots of all the best things in life. And maybe it was also a crowd of folks who REALLY don’t want to look like they’ve ever given birth.

I am not here to cast stones, or to judge the affluent crowd. Everyone I met seemed very kind and very smart, and I think they work really hard to support their lifestyles. I am totally envious of their beautiful wardrobes, their homes, and their cars. But I tell you, I am NOT envious of the pressure that comes with the sense of needing to keep up with what “everyone is doing.”

When I got home from the event, and took a shower that evening, I looked in the mirror, and saw the smiley face scar situated below my belly. I won’t lie and tell you I think my belly is beautiful. It’s NOT beautiful. But it is a daily reminder of the two most important moments in my life. I am so proud of what this body has been through, and I can certainly live with my “battle wounds.”

Emmy points to my “boo boo” all the time and asks if it is getting better. I always tell her it’s ok, my “mommy smile” doesn’t hurt me, but it will probably really never go away completely.

And honestly, I really hope it won’t.

She's Making Me DIZZY!

2013-04-12T08:49:00.001-07:00

My head is spinning. Like a whirlpool, it never ends…

No, I didn’t just twirl around and around in circles, or get off a killer rollercoaster.

It’s my daughter. She’s a whirlwind. She talks about 286 different topics in a matter of minutes, and it is SO hard to keep up with her.

Here’s a transcription of a few minutes of “conversation” we had yesterday, on our way home from daycare. I put conversation in quotation marks because truly it is just Emmy talking, with me TRYING (in vain) to interject.

EM: OHHHH! There’s a clock, MAMA!

ME: Yes, there..

EM (interrupting): It’s RAINING outside!

(without skipping a beat) I don’t want to get poop in my eye.

ME: You don’t want

EM (interrupting): Do you have a lollipop, Mama?

ME: Yes, I do, but why did you say

EM (interrupting): I’m a dancing dancing princess.

Look out the window. Do you see something scary?

The trees are SCARY! BAAAAAAAAAAH!

ME: The trees aren’t scary

EM (interrupting): I am going to say MEOW MEOW.

The trees are going to say MEOW MEOW.

ME: How was your day at school Em? What did you do today?

EM: I do did puzzles. And I said I want a bandaid, too. Is Dada here?

ME: No, Em, Dada

EM (interrupting, talking to her Mickey Mouse doll): Mickey, I got you.

ALAZAM! ALAZAM! ALAZAM! (this is Em’s way of saying “Alacazam!” which is her way of magically making the car windows go up and down)

Those cars don’t have an accident.

Mickey, Mickey, YES YES!

ME: Did you do anyt

EM (interrupting): I love food but I DON’T like hot chocolate. I DOOOOO like hot chocolate.

After that I just gave up on asking questions, and listened to Emmy talk TO her Mickey Mouse doll, and FOR her Mickey Mouse doll. Which is all for the best, because it seems Mickey can keep up with my daughter’s train of thought much better than I can.

The Thing That Comforts Him Most

2013-04-11T08:33:00.001-07:00

Sometimes my baby boy gets himself a little worked up. Whether it is because he is tired or hungry or his belly is full of gas, he gets all tied up in knots over it, like the whole world is just falling to pieces. Oren cries, arches his back, kicks his little legs to and fro, tries to scratch his own eyes out with his teeny little fingernails. He can really make quite a scene.

I’m his mama. It’s my job to figure out how to calm him down.

So this is what I do: I lie down, and hold him real close to my body, with his ear directly over my heartbeat and his belly touching my belly. I hold his arms down at his sides, so he can’t continue to injure himself (this is sometimes quite challenging). And I just concentrate on breathing – long, deep breaths.

Oren continues to cry for a few minutes. It seems like he is protesting being held. But then, slowly but surely, my calm becomes my baby’s calm. He starts quieting down, breathing like a normal person, and the storm begins to subside.

It is such an amazing feeling, knowing that I have the ability to comfort Oren this way.

Last night, while using this method to get my overtired son to fall asleep, I started wondering how long I will be able to provide him with this same sense of comfort.

When he is a toddler, and gets bent out of shape over a lost toy or a cut finger, will I still be able to comfort him this way?

When he is seven years old, and he comes home crying because he got teased at school, will I still be able to calm him, with my arms and my steady breathing?

How about when he is a teenager? When his heart is broken for the first time? Will he still come to me? Will I still have the ability to soothe his head and heart?

And when he is an adult, will I even know when he is panicking? Will he even tell me if he feels like his world is falling apart? Will he understand, even then, that I am his mother, and it is my job to figure out how to calm him down?

I hope so. I hope so. I hope I can be a source of calm and comfort for Oren, for many many years to come.

I Discovered a New Source of Energy!

2013-04-10T09:57:00.003-07:00

After running around on the trampoline, Emmy becomes a great source of "clean energy"! Now if only we could figure out a way to somehow hook her up to our house's electrical wiring...

Kids Say the Darndest Things

2013-04-08T08:45:00.002-07:00

Emmy is a talker, with a vocabulary that seems to be growing by leaps and bounds every day. For the most part, she is totally easy to understand. But recently I’ve been noticing and appreciating “Emmyisms” – words that are uniquely (and repeatedly) mispronounced in a way that is hugely endearing.

I figure that over the next few years, these words will fade away as Em becomes aware of their correctly spoken origins, so I should probably write them down. That way, when Em is cramming new words into her head in preparation for the SATs, many moons from now, we’ll be able to take a break from studying and look back on this list for a good laugh.

When I was a kid, I won all of my adult relatives over with my mispronunciation of “ketchup” (which was, and still is, my favorite food in the whole wide world). I called it “keppitch” which, I agree now, is a MUCH cuter word than ketchup (hey Heinz CEO, I am willing to license the word “keppitch” to you, for mere millions). Even when I learned to call my favorite food by its true name, my grandparents would continue to call it “keppitch” in my presence, as a kind of eternal running joke.

And I still remember how my younger sister (who will soon be turning 30) called nightmares “NIGHT MIRRORS,” when she was a toddler. “NIGHT MIRRORS” is just a wonderful way of describing dreams, isn’t it?

Will I continue to replace actual words with their Emmyisms for years to come? I have to say, I am half-tempted to continue to call penguins “pengos,” as my daughter does, because it just sounds so much sweeter.

A little list of Emmyisms:

PENGO = penguin

GUBRELLA = umbrella

CHICKY SAMMICH = turkey sandwich

LELLO = yellow

JAMILLA = Vanilla. To her credit, for a while I was working and carpooling with a woman named Jamella, and we used to talk about our friend Jamella a lot. But it still sounds funny when she says she wants Jamilla ice cream.

FRIGERERR = refrigerator

LASSHOLE = lasso (yes, this one makes me particularly happy. Em was drawing one day, and I said, ‘Em, what’s that you are drawing?’ and she said ‘I drawing a LASSHOLE.’ And after projectile spitting my juice clear across the room, I asked her again what she had drawn. ‘A LASSHOLE! To catch!’ she said, making round movements with her hands. Aaaaah. Ha ha. Got it. A lasso.)

Oh yes, and there is the way she sings “Baa, Baa Black Sheep,” that always has me in a fit of giggles. It goes a little something like this:

Baa baa black sheep

Have you any wool?

Yes sir, yes sir, three bags full,

One for my massser, one for my LAME,

And one for the little boy who lives down the LAME.

I’m sure there are SO MANY more words than just these, but I’m sleep deprived and my capacity to remember is totally shot. I think I will keep a running list somewhere on my blog, so I can add to it as I encounter more Emmyisms.

How about you, or your kids? Did you famously mispronounce certain words as a kid, or does your child re-name objects with much more adorable names? If so, please share!

Spring Fling

2013-04-05T11:54:00.001-07:00

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

This winter was soooo very long, or at least seemed that way to me. Maybe it seemed long because I had Oren (or Baby Orange, as we like to call him) back in December, and have pretty much been a total recluse for the past four months. I’m not big on driving a tiny little infant around on icy roads, for obvious reasons. And the media made it seem like this winter’s flu season was the worst flu season EVER, and that if you went to the grocery store you were definitely going to get the flu and die from it, so that kind of killed my enthusiasm for socializing.

Or maybe the winter seemed long because I was anxiously awaiting Season 3 of Game of Thrones, which only began this past week.

Regardless, there were many mornings in March where I woke up thinking spring was just around the corner – the sun was shining, the birds were chirping, the grass seemed to be yawning and stretching, waking up from a long sleep (the grass on everybody else’s yard, that is. The grass on our lawn still looked like it was deeply depressed. Our grass is the Eeyore of all the neighborhood grasses).

But just as I would get my hopes up, and start thinking about maybe storing my bulky sweaters and puffy winter jackets, the local weatherman would put the kibosh on my dreams, telling me that I needed to prepare for the arrival of yet another 6 inches of snow the very next day. And then the snow would come, and Albany looked like yet another winter wonderland (the snowglobe look is so romantic and beautiful in DECEMBER, but I tell you, it wears thin after five months), and I would cry silently into my mismatched scarf and mittens.

But now, with the ten day forecast showing no signs of surprise storms, I think it might finally be safe to start thinking “spring”.

Yesterday, I took Em and O to the playground after picking Emmy up from daycare. Despite the fact that the playground was PACKED with people, and despite the fact that their WAS a strong wind that made me sort of worry about the kids being too lightly dressed, we had lots of fun. Em was all sunshine and happiness on the swing, watching out for planes flying overhead, and throwing her head back in laughter as I tried snatching her shoes off her feet each time she swung forward. We also kicked and threw Em’s bouncy ball around the field for quite a bit of time, visited with the ducks and fishies, and played in the sandbox (I know, I know. The sandbox has cat and skunk pee in it, and is just a total germy nightmare. But I DO wash Em’s hands off after she plays in it, and I try to encourage her not to EAT the sand).

It was wonderful, getting to breathe in lots of fresh air, feeling the sunshine on our faces, seeing all the other folks out walking their dogs and biking and chasing other kiddos around. I felt like a whole new person, saw my daughter totally ecstatic and “in her element,” and gave my son his first real dose of life outside our house. I vowed to myself that I would do my best to take the kids to a playground or engage in another outdoor activity on all the future good-weather days. Because , after all, we DO live in Upstate New York, which means next year’s winter is only about 3 months away.

The Tricky, Tenacious Twos

2013-04-02T10:30:00.000-07:00

Terrible is a very strong word. Therefore, I hesitate to use the word “terrible twos” to describe my daughter, even on her worst days.

Tricky, though? Oh, yes.

And tenacious? Yes, and yes.

Em is two and a half now. Yippee (exclaimed with a very sarcastic undertone).

For those of you who have not yet experienced parenting a two-and-a-half year old, and for those of you who do not remember what your kids were like when they were two and a half, and for those of you who have miracle toddlers who behave beautifully all the time, let me share the joy of this stage.

First of all, Em has about 18 teeth simultaneously pushing their way into her mouth. Not pleasant. To help take the edge off her pain, Em chews on her fingers. She also likes chewing on people (which is even less pleasant than watching her sticking her whole fist in her mouth). C and I have yet to introduce Emmy to the whole Twilight saga, so I don’t know why she thinks acting like a vampire is cool.

I looked up “muzzle for kids” on Amazon.com. Unfortunately, they only offer the Hannibal Lecter style of human muzzle, not a Dora the Explorer or princess-themed muzzle that Em would actually ENJOY wearing. Do you think Disney and Nick Jr. would license their characters for use on child muzzles?

I jest, of course. I would never put my child in a muzzle. It’s hard enough getting her to agree to put on a shirt.

Another issue we are currently running into is Em’s inconsistent sleep schedule. On daycare days, Em takes two hour naps from 1 p.m. to 3 p.m. This would be a GOOD THING, of course, if it meant she was also able to go to sleep at a decent hour in the evenings following daycare days. Instead, she becomes super wired from her afternoon siesta, and stays bright-eyed and bushy tailed until about 10 p.m. I am pretty sure 10 p.m. is not a recommended bedtime for tiny tots. I have tried to convince her teachers to cut her nap short, but apparently my request is problematic, for whatever frustrating reason.

On the days that Em is NOT in daycare, she doesn’t nap at all. This is a GOOD thing, in that she is in bed and asleep without any issue by 6:30 p.m. But it is also a NOT-SO GOOD thing, in that the last few hours of her non-nap days are spent with her in a state of near-catatonia. She stares into space, mumbles incoherently, and walks like a drunk. Not so cute on a two and a half year old.

There is no middle ground. There is no day when she takes a quick but much needed EARLY nap. She is either Zombie toddler or Night Owl toddler. Yayyy.

Other issues?

She seems to be making up for her rather small stature by trying to control everything around her. In other words, Emmy is turning into Napoleon. She often barks orders at us like we are her minions (of course, we try our best to remind her to ASK us to do things with her or for her, rather than TELLING us to do things). One of the most often heard phrases around our house is “Talk like a ROBOT!” or “Talk like a MONSTER!” or “Talk like MAP!” (which means we should talk like the map in Dora the Explorer). Yesterday, while we were doing our grocery shopping, Em wanted me to talk like Thomas the Train the ENTIRE time we were at the store. Apparently, she doesn’t like it when we talk like PARENTS. Because parents are super boring, compared to monsters and robots and… maps? I LIVE for the day when she outgrows this phase.

Emmy also pretends she is stuck, like, ALL the time. She’ll walk into any given room, get down on the floor, throw one leg up in the air, and scream “I’m STUCK! I’m STUCK! I need help!” Or she’ll crawl under a table and get herself stuck, specifically so she can TELL us she’s stuck.

I actually remember going through this phase myself as a kid. I remember wedging my body between a sofa and a wall, and screaming for my mother to come and help me. My mom just came over to me and told me that I had gotten myself stuck, so I could get myself UN-stuck. After panicking for a few minutes, realizing that I had to rely on my own ingenuity to figure out an escape route, I finally managed to wiggle myself free. I think it was a useful lesson. Therefore, unless Emmy truly seems STUCK, I tell her she needs to figure out how to un-stick herself.

Emmy is also scared of going into rooms by herself.

She also needs her sandwich to be made a very SPECIFIC way.

She also throws fits when we don’t let her have bandaids (she doesn’t NEED bandaids, mind you. She just wants to put bandaids all over her body on imaginary boo boos).

I’m no dummy. I know that all of this behavior is just Emmy being a two and a half year old who is growing increasingly aware of this big world, and is therefore anxious and acting out. Emmy needs love and attention, as well as guidance and rules, to help her get through this phase. It’s our responsibility and our JOB, as parents, to give her those things. Right now it is just a very EXHAUSTING job that requires a heck of a lot of patience.

But I’d like to end on a positive note (because that is just who I am). For as many headaches as Em provides in any given 24 hour period, she also provides many laughs, many hugs, and many “awwwww” moments. She floors me with her intelligence, her humor, and her heart. She’s as terrific as she is tricky, and she’s as tremendous as she is tenacious.

Baby O

2013-03-14T09:01:00.003-07:00

I haven’t blogged much since Oren was born. Forgive me. It’s been super challenging to find the time and the space to think, let alone translate my thoughts into cohesive sentences and paragraphs. But I figure I should probably write SOMETHING about my baby boy before he turns sixteen.

It’s no secret. I was pretty nervous when I found out I would be having a son. After all, having grown up in a household with two sisters and NO brothers, my expertise when it comes to boys is pretty darn limited. Even in my vast history of babysitting gigs, I’d only babysat for boys MAYBE twice or three times (which seems very strange, in retrospect, given the amount of babysitting I did).

In preparation for the second kiddo, I gleaned some priceless information from other mamas who’ve had boys. And while I don’t believe in generalizing when it comes to gender, I did hear the same thing from MANY women. First they told me to guard myself when changing my son’s diaper (and yet I didn’t buy the peepee teepee, which would probably have saved me a few wardrobe disasters these past months). Then they told me that boys are MUCH easier to raise – they require a lot of physical energy, sure, but not as much emotional energy as girls do. Thirdly, these mamas told me that boys LOVE their mamas (as opposed to our daughters who just… put up with us?)

Of course, it was silly of me to be nervous. Oren is only three months old, but he’s been a bundle of (albeit, sometimes very cranky) love. Generally speaking, he is a GREAT kid (although right now he seems to be going through some kind of crazy three month old growth spurt that resulted in my being awake since 2:30 this morning. And I was not so pleased when he woke my daughter and husband up with his wails at 4:15 am. And I kind of wanted to run away from home when, having been woken, my daughter demanded breakfast at 5:15 am. And at 7:30 this morning, after three hours of my kids taking turns crying and screaming and acting sleep-deprived and crazy, I considered enlisting them in the army. I’m on my second cup of coffee and my third piece of chocolate, and it’s only 11:00 am).

Though he’s got some strong pipes which he uses to let us know when he’s not happy, Oren causes a lot less drama than Emmy did when she was an infant. He doesn’t cry when we are in the car and I start to slow down at a stop sign, for instance. And he doesn’t scream bloody murder if we put him down for a nap in his crib rather than holding him in our arms the whole time.

He DOES hate having gas. And he has A LOT of gas.

And he hates being left alone in a room. Even for ten seconds. So did Em.

On many an afternoon, I look at my little boy’s face and just wonder about the person he is going to become. Is he going to be an extrovert or an introvert? Is he going to like Math or English better? Is he going to be silly or serious? Is he going to be creative (please, yes)? Is he going to enjoy doing things outdoors, like hiking and camping and stuff? Is he going to have a nice singing voice? Is he going to like telling knock-knock jokes? A few years from now, will he have a collection of toy dinosaurs, like his cousin? Will he be a good swimmer? A hard worker?

Of course, Oren’s little three month old face doesn’t reveal many answers about the future.

But that’s ok. Because all that matters right now is this:

When I smile at him, he smiles back at me. And when he smiles, my heart melts. Even when I’ve only had two hours of sleep.

A Three Year Old Meanie Made Me Cry

2013-03-13T13:04:00.004-07:00

There’s a back story to this.

In the days before Em discovered Dora the Explorer (or as I like to call it, “Dora the Explorah,” temporarily adopting my dad’s New York accent), my daughter’s favorite program was “Daniel Tiger’s Neighborhood.” It’s a great show, if you haven’t seen it. Basically, it’s an animated spin-off of Mr. Roger’s Neighborhood, which focuses on the characters from Mr. Roger’s Land of Make Believe (because, let’s face it, those of us who grew up watching Mr. Roger’s TOLERATED the rest of the show but LOVED the part that took place in the LoMB).

Each episode of Daniel Tiger’s Neighborhood focuses on very real toddler issues, and addresses the issues through well-written dialogue and catchy musical numbers. For instance, in the episode that deals with Daniel Tiger’s fear of his parents’ leaving him, he is reassured that “Parents Always Come Back” – a sung mantra that is repeated through the entire episode. In the episode about dealing with anger and disappointment, Daniel’s mom sings, “if you feel so mad that you want to roar, take a deep breath and count to four.”And the sentence is sung about 18 more times during the remainder of the half-hour program. In one of our favorite all-time episodes focused on going potty, Daniel’s teacher wisely instructs, “if you have to go potty, stop and go right away. Flush and wash, and be on your way!”

Em’s obsession with Daniel Tiger resulted in our whole family singing many of these simple tunes as a means of remembering how to deal with our real life toddler issues. So, for instance, when Em doesn’t want to go potty because she is too busy playing with her toys, we sing the “if you have to go potty” song, and she GETS it. If, on rare occasion, Em throws a fit when I drop her off at daycare in the morning, I sing her the “Parents Always Come Back” song and it calms her down a little.

There is also an episode of Daniel Tiger’s Neighborhood that focuses on the concept of sharing toys. In it, in true toddler fashion, Daniel and his friends are hesitant to let each other play with their most prized possessions. They learn to share through a little song that goes, “you can take a turn, and then I’ll get it back.” This assures the children that even though they are being kind and letting another child play with their favorite toy, after the friend is done playing with it, it will be returned so they can hold it and play with it once again.

That’s the back story.

So yesterday, I dropped Em off at daycare. Em’s been really great about drop-off recently, which I am supremely grateful for. Em took off her coat without fuss, and we walked over to one of the classroom’s play areas, where she started looking for something to play with.

One of her classmates, a bigger boy with a really cute smile AND a slightly aggressive manner, came over to Em with his plastic dinosaur and started roaring at her in a rather intimidating way. Em sort of backed up against a wall, and giggled in a semi-frightened way.

I wanted to step in and tell Em not to be scared of the boy or his plastic dinosaur, but I figured I’d be hovering, and she would be okay without mom’s help. So I went to put her lunchbox and jacket in her cubby.

When I came back to kiss her and hug her goodbye, the little boy was grabbing a toy out of Em’s hand. And my beautiful little girl responded by singing, in a very soft voice, “you can take a turn, and then I’ll get it back.”

The boy didn’t pay any attention to her song. He just took the toy away from her and ran to the other side of the room.

At that point I DID try to intervene a little. I gave Em a hug and told her that maybe when the boy was done playing with the toy, she could have another turn with it. But I didn’t want to scold the boy because there was already a teacher in the room, and I didn’t want to make it seem like I was doing HER job. I was also just totally emotional about seeing my daughter deal with the issue, and try to reason with her classmate, by singing her little song. I had to get out of the classroom before I started crying in front of the toddlers and making a fool of myself.

Luckily, I held it together long enough to get out to my car before bursting into tears.

I don’t know exactly what made me so SAD about the situation, but it totally hit me right in the gut (and it still makes me cry when I think about it). Maybe it makes me sad because I think it is naive that my daughter believes that conflict can be resolved through song, just as she’s been taught on Daniel Tiger, and I wonder how much longer she’ll believe that singing is a means of resolution. Maybe it makes me sad that the boy DIDN’T stop and listen to her song, and it made me feel my daughter’s vulnerability in the situation, and it made me realize I won’t be able to protect her forever.

But maybe I should look on the bright side. After all, I am proud of my daughter for trying to reason with the little boy, even if it was unsuccessful. I am proud that rather than pushing, or screaming, or grabbing the toy back, Em has learned a different coping mechanism.

I guess I should learn a lesson myself, from yet another Daniel Tiger episode. When Daniel Tiger is sad about his beautiful birthday cake getting smushed, his parents comfort him by telling him, “when something seems bad, turn it around, and find something good.”

Isn't It Romantic? (A blog post in honor of my husband)

2013-02-13T10:33:00.002-08:00

Dear C:

So, this year, we probably won’t be celebrating this Valentine’s Day with a romantic dinner out at our favorite restaurant… or even a romantic picnic dinner on our living room floor. Instead, one of us will likely be busy consoling our sick baby boy, while the other pretends to be a horsey in one of Emmy’s imagined games. Maybe, if we’re lucky, we’ll steal a moment (and by that I mean A MOMENT) to ourselves, in the kitchen, while we are preparing Em’s dinner. Maybe we’ll even get a chance to share a kiss.

And even though that doesn’t sound like an IDEAL Valentine’s Day, per se, it will still be wonderful. You know why? Because I will spend the evening watching you be the amazing dad that you are. As you sit on the floor in Emmy’s room, with a stuffed animal in hand, talking in silly voices, I will be falling more in love with you. And as you make Em laugh hysterically with rubber ducky antics during bath time, I will be falling more and more in love with you. And as you walk our son up and down the hallway, talking to him in soft whispers until he stops crying, I will fall more and more and more in love with you.

Parenting two little human beings might not give us lots of “alone time.” And it might not be super romantic when I tell you I love you while I rush Emmy to the potty or clean Oren’s spit up off my shirt. But parenting has also allowed me to see just how incredible you are, in ways I couldn’t imagine pre-parenthood. Parenthood hasn’t made me notice you or appreciate you less. It has made me notice and appreciate you more. It shows me how darn lucky I am, to have found not only a fantastic husband and friend, but also a brilliant father for our children.

So thank you. Thank you for loving me, and thank you for loving our children, in such a complete and wonderful way. Thank you for treating fatherhood like a gift, and for giving your all to raising our kids.

True, it may not be the most romantic Valentine’s Day ever. But please know that even if this holiday is full of poopy diapers and toddler tantrums, I will be busy loving you and being grateful for your love, in more ways than I could ever express.

Love you forever,

p.s. If we DO get that moment in the kitchen, let’s make sure to make it a GREAT one. :)

My Capabilities

2013-01-29T13:06:00.002-08:00

When I was in my twenties, I thought I was capable of anything. I went to art school, and thought I could become “the next great artist” and change the world with my artwork. I watched the Olympics and thought that with a little training, I could compete in a triathalon. I criticized my bosses (in my head ONLY) and thought that I could do their jobs better than they could. I don’t know if it was arrogance or ignorance, but my self-perception was pretty skewed.

Then I turned thirty. And then I became a mommy. Let me tell you, parenthood has really helped me clearly understand my capabilities and the things I am simply incapable of doing. In being a mama, I have discovered many of my limitations, and have also found out I am able to do things I never thought I would be able to do.

For instance, I have discovered that I am INCAPABLE of going to sleep later than 9:30 p.m. Even if 76 trombone players come marching through my bedroom. Even if the season finale of Homeland is on t.v. My eyelids go on strike every night, somewhere between 8 p.m. and 9:25 p.m. My husband told me the other night that we were invited to go see our friend’s band perform… at 9 p.m. We both started laughing (in that, “wow, we’re super pathetic” kind of way) and reminiscing about times past, when we could actually socialize with our friends AFTER sunset.

On the subject of sleep, I have also discovered that I am TOTALLY CAPABLE of functioning on 3 hours of sleep per night, for a pretty extended period of time. To be clear, it’s not the kind of functional where I would confidently volunteer to, say, operate heavy machinery or solve complicated math problems. It’s the kind of functional that is required to toast and eat a bagel.

I have discovered that I am INCAPABLE of wearing UNstained clothing. This is not totally my fault. I have a baby that takes spitting up to a whole new level and has incredible range with his urine stream, and a toddler who sees me as a walking tissue. Between the two of them, and my own talent for spilling food and beverages all over my body, I’m pretty much a constant HASMAT situation. I still have grandiose ~~delusions~~ visions of being able to wear hip, trendy, unstained outfits SOME DAY in the future. SOME DAY.

I have discovered that I am CAPABLE of carrying around 40 extra pounds. Oh, I’m not talking about the weight I put on with my pregnancies (though that too is true). I am talking about my two children. Because there are times when both of my babies are crying, or not feeling so great, or needing mama hugs for some other reason. I can swoop up 14 pounds of baby boy in one arm and 25 pounds of 2 year old girl in my other arm, and do my best to provide them both with the care they need (and not drop them on their heads). I told my husband that we can’t have any more kids for the simple reason that I have run out of arms.

I am INCAPABLE of having limitless patience. I guess I thought I might be able to be the parent who (magically) never loses their cool, who always knows what to say to calm their child down and “keep the peace”, who never raises their voice… but alas, I too am human. I have on occasion overused “time out”s because it was easier than laboring to get my daughter to pay attention or follow rules. I HAVE raised my voice (and have subsequently felt horrible for yelling at Emmy). I am NOT a candidate for sainthood.

But the best thing I have discovered is that I am CAPABLE of loving more than I ever thought possible. Two years ago, I thought it was going to be challenging to divide my love between my husband and my daughter. It was not, because my love just doubled. In December, I worried about how I could ever love my son as much as I love my daughter. But again my love multiplied, and I am truly so in love with my husband and BOTH of my children.

So, it turns out I am NOT a world famous artist. And training for the Olympics would likely land me in the hospital. And though I know now that I am incapable of MANY MANY THINGS, it is wonderful to know I am capable of so much love.

Pillow Talk

2013-01-25T11:24:00.001-08:00

Getting Emmy to sleep has never been easy.

When Em was a tiny baby I co-slept with her mostly to make night time breastfeedings convenient and less disruptive. When we tried getting her to go to sleep in her own crib (at 3 months, and again at 4 months… and 6 months… and 8 months… you get the picture), it didn’t work. We tried everything BUT the cry-it-out method (I just COULDN’T do that), but Em REFUSED to go to sleep in her own bed.

Within the last year, we’ve had some success at getting Emmy to sleep in her toddler bed in her own room. Basically, we put her to sleep in her bed, and when she wakes up (anywhere between one to four hours later), she joins C and me in our bed. C, who once was quite opposed to the whole “family bed” scenario, has come around to liking the comfort of us all being together at night (though both of us agree that we very much look forward to having our bed to ourselves again… whenever that may happen… hopefully before we reach retirement).

But in the past few weeks, since the baby’s arrival, Em has again had difficulty with FALLING asleep. We DO have a bedtime schedule established, more or less, which consists of dinner, bathtime, brushing teeth, books, and lullabies. Despite the comfort of consistency, Em seems to have anxiety when she gets under her blankets at night, and it ends up taking up to two hours for her to fall asleep.

She’s mentioned a fear of the dark a few times. She’s also told me that she can’t close her eyes because if she does, she can’t see anything. She asks me to hug her about 94 times, and she begs me to hold her hand until she falls asleep. I would have no problem doing these things to ease her fears, except that I am also holding a fussy, hungry baby who needs to be rocked or fed or cuddled. I try to comfort both Em and the baby at the same time, but it is often impossible, and one child gets upset, which creates a strained environment rather than a relaxed environment. I think this is feeding Em’s anxieties about bedtime.

C has tried to help by watching Oren while I sing and comfort Em, but Oren hasn’t exactly cooperated with that plan. And it is hard to get Emmy to close her eyes and fall asleep while Oren is wailing somewhere in the background.

I would ask C to maybe switch roles with me, so he could read and sing and comfort Em, but frankly that is some of the only quality time Emmy and I have to be with one another, and I think we BOTH need that mommy/daughter time at the end of the day.

So I am trying to devise a Plan C, where maybe I read and sing lullabies to Emmy while C holds Oren, but then C comes in and holds her Em’s hand while she falls asleep. Maybe that will work? Maybe that will create a feeling of calm that will help lull our little insomniac to sleep?

It seems ironic, that snoozing should be such a source of stress in our family’s life. But I remind myself that we ARE parents of a toddler and a newborn, so sleep will likely be a moving target for the next several years… we might as well get used to this craziness.

If you have experience with this kind of thing, and have advice to offer, please don’t hold back. I’m open to your suggestions!

Wordless Wednesday - First Baby Smiles

2013-01-16T11:04:00.001-08:00

Sleeping Around

2013-01-15T13:14:00.000-08:00

Wait! It’s not what you think! I haven’t decided to suddenly turn this mama blog into Fifty One Shades of Gray.

So... last night, at two in the morning, poor C stormed out of our bedroom.

You see, Emmy had kicked him (in her sleep) for like the 84^th time. He couldn’t take any more beatings.

I felt horrible for him, of course. It’s no fun to be kicked in the stomach and back repeatedly, when all you want to do is rest and maybe dream a little.

After he left the room to go seek refuge in our tiny guest room, I started thinking about beds (it was two a.m. and my head was sleepy, so I wasn’t going to start thinking about nuclear physics).

I started thinking about all the beds I’ve slept in (again, not in THAT way). Then I started counting the number of places I’ve called home since I was born.

There were some real winners among the bunch. Like the studio basement apartment I lived in when I got my first job after graduating from college. The place was the size of my thumbnail, reeked of auto exhaust fumes (the one tiny window in the apartment was in direct line with the complex’s driveway), and was directly across the hall from the laundry room, which meant that the “thunka thunka” of the dryer was the theme song of my existence.

There was the apartment out in LA that I shared with a spider enthusiast who enjoyed scaring me with his black widows and tarantulas. He also loved playing with fire (literally). And also dressed in women’s lingerie ~~constantly~~ when he was stupid drunk. I never slept very peacefully in that apartment.

And there was the haunted house in Providence, Rhode Island. I’m not a believer in ghosts, or a watcher of Crossing Over with John Edwards, but I can say with reluctant certainty that the home had “visitors”. Want an example? One night I was sitting upstairs in my bedroom, when all of a sudden I smelled smoke. I ran downstairs to the kitchen and discovered all of the gas oven burners on FULL BLAST. I was THE ONLY person in the house, mind you. Also, my bedroom looked like it was straight out of a David Lynch movie. It was totally spooky.

Anyways, when I was all done recalling my former abodes, I realized I have called at least 18 different places “home”.

That SEEMED like a lot to me. I mean, for someone whose parent wasn’t in military service, anyway.

But IS it a lot? Or, nowadays, with our nomadic, on-the-move culture, is that considered an average number of homes?

I looked it up this afternoon, and it seems that according to three year old data from the U.S. Census Bureau , the average American moves 11.7 times in their lifetime.

So, yay, I’m above average. I’ve slept around more than the average American bear.

I know it’s going to sound sappy, but I kind of hope that this is it. That THIS house will be THE house, for me and for my family, for many many years to come. Because even though it is a small house, I love the walls we are decorating with Emmy’s artwork, and the basement that is being filled with boxes of past holiday memories. I love sleeping in THIS bed, in THIS bedroom, with my son who sounds like a pterodactyl , my David Beckham-like daughter, and my poor sleep-deprived husband. This is my home. I love calling this home.

In Your Dreams!

2013-01-10T13:12:00.000-08:00

Last night, between the many baby wakings and feedings, I managed to have a dream.

A REAL dream, you know? One that took me out of my bed, out of my house, out of my mommy-head…

I dreamt that it was New Years Eve, and I was a young twenty-something whose biggest worry was whether I was going to wear pants or a skirt when I went out club-hopping with my friends after midnight (after midnight! When was the last time I was actually OUT after midnight??? Just the thought of clubbing makes me slightly exhausted). I was acting reckless and silly and… well, younger.

Waking up from the dream was strange. I mean, one minute I'm dancing like a crazy lady among crowds of friends and strobe lights, and the next minute I am lying in bed in my pajamas, with a toddler snuggled into the deep of my neck and an infant clinging to my chest, making helicopter-like grunting noises.

My first thought was how much I missed those days, when I could hang out and get crazy with my other (young) friends for endless hours. I missed wearing short skirts and taking 20 minutes to do my makeup and drinking Bailey's like it was water.

But then I listened to my babies breathing deeply, and felt the warmth of their tiny bodies next to mine. And I realized I would gladly trade my dream life, even my really fun, really young-feeling dream life, for my beautiful mamahood reality.

Growing Pains

2013-01-09T09:57:00.004-08:00

I can’t say I am surprised, or that I wasn’t warned.

When we took Oren to the pediatrician for his first doctor’s visit, his kind doctor asked us how Em was dealing with the baby’s arrival. C and I answered that she seemed to be doing surprisingly well, with just a few signs of anxiety here and there.

The pediatrician looked at us with sympathy and told us that it was going to get worse, and probably quite a bit worse, in the coming weeks.

Since that appointment, Emmy has done her job proving that our pediatrician is indeed a wise woman. During our second week home from the hospital, Em developed an urgent need to be held and hugged by whomever happened to be holding (or nursing) her baby brother. During our third week home from the hospital, Em rather suddenly decided she hates school and wants to stay home with us all the time (which has made the mornings around here just DELIGHTFUL). And this past week she became afraid of the dark and pitched a huge fit when we tried to turn the lights off in her bedroom at night-night time (something we have done without any resistance for the past twenty six months).

Yesterday, when I picked Em up from daycare, she asked where her baby brother was. I told her that baby brother was at Baba and Grampy’s, and that we would be going to pick him up before heading home. Em then asked if it might be possible to instead LEAVE baby brother at Baba and Grampy’s… like, FOREVER.

I told Em that we couldn’t leave Oren at their grandparents’ house, and asked why she didn’t want to pick him up. Em told me she was scared of the baby. I asked what was scary about the baby, and Em said the baby made a lot of noise. She’s not wrong. The baby doesn’t cry ALL that often, but he does grunt and groan and make his presence known in lots of other semi-noisy ways. And when he DOES cry, he doesn’t hold back.

Poor Em. My heart really goes out to her. Her whole world has changed. She used to be able to command 100% of our attention with her cute little songs and dances. Now she has to compete with a brother who cries often, nurses even more often, and poops pretty much constantly.

To be honest, I had little hope that I would be able to make Em feel better about the situation, or that I would be able to offer any words that would comfort her two year old brain and heart. But I told her that right now, baby brother is a baby, and he isn’t much fun for her because he can’t walk and he can’t talk and he can’t play with toys. BUT if we are patient, and we wait for baby Oren to get to be bigger, he will be lots of fun, and he WILL be able to walk and talk and play games with us.

You know what? Emmy GOT it. She started asking questions that followed this line of logic, like “when baby brother is big, we can take him to the waterfalls?” and “when baby brother is big, he can eat pizza too?” and “we can take baby brother on a choo choo train when he is big?”

Yes, Emmy. YES. If we are patient, and if we can get through these first kind of crazy chapter together, we will be able to do all of those things together, and it will be so wonderful.

A Pregnant Pause

2013-01-08T11:46:00.001-08:00

So, it’s been a while. Trying to sum up all that has happened over the past month, since Oren’s birth, is totally daunting – like trying to run a marathon after being on bed rest for weeks on end. But I swear I’ll try my best.

I should start by saying that Oren’s birth was quite wonderful, despite the fact that I was unable to birth naturally, and had to have a second c-section due to low fluids in my uterus. My amazing doctor really took her time, and was incredibly careful and mindful in performing the surgery. My anesthesiologist was a godsend, and calmed my nerves with his incredible bedside manner. And my husband held my hand and talked me through the whole thing, making me feel loved and comforted and amazing. And then – best part of all, of course - Oren arrived - a big, beautiful, bouncing boy who weighed in over 8 pounds.

My biggest worry, pre-birth, was that Em might be slightly traumatized by the situation – it was only the second time I had spent a night away from Emmy since HER birth, and I thought she might be thrown for an emotional loop when here mama and dada had to spend several nights at the hospital. All my worrying was really for naught. Em did so well – having “sleep overs” with her Baba and Grampy, and spending time bonding with my parents, her Sabi and Savtah. I was so proud of my girl, and how resilient she was to change, even when it came without much preparation or notice.

And now our lives are forever changed. It’s funny. After Emmy was born, I often tried to think back to what life was like for C and I in our pre-Emmy days, and it was REALLY hard to remember what it felt like and what we did with all our time! Now, just weeks after Oren’s birth, I try to remember what life was like when it was just the three of us, and I feel like I have amnesia. What were our evenings like when we weren’t running around the house in a constant state of semi-chaos, trying to meet the needs of TWO kids? Why in the world did we think THAT life was exhausting?

I’ve got to be honest. The biggest, most overwhelming feeling I’ve experienced since becoming a mom of two (besides that sense of enormous, ridiculous love) is GUILT. When I spend time alone with Emmy, I feel so guilty about NOT spending time with Oren. I feel guilty that I am unable to give Oren the kind of attention I was able to give Emmy when she was a newborn and was our only child. When I spend time nursing and holding Oren, I feel like I am being a neglectful mom to Emmy, and miss the days when I could focus on her in a complete and total way. Guilt. Guilt. Guilt.

I’ve told C that this is definitely going to be the biggest challenge for me. I mean, I can manage the balancing act of feeding a two year old while changing a baby’s diaper and preparing dinner (kind of). But figuring out the emotional balancing act – how to be “ok” with mothering to the best of my abilities, and not beating myself up for not being 100% mom to each of my kids ALL OF THE TIME – THAT is going to be the real task.

There is much more to write of course. Many more details of how each of us is adjusting to life as a family of four. But I have to save some material for tomorrow’s blog post.

Any words of wisdom to offer? I would love to hear any advice, thoughts, etc.

T Minus 2.. or 3... or 9...

2012-12-03T12:26:00.000-08:00

So, these last days leading up to the baby’s estimated due date have been quite the emotional whirlwind for me.

Of course, like every other mama on the brink of giving birth, I have been totally anxious to feel the beginnings of labor, or receive SOME sign that the baby has decided to make his way into this world. And like every other wishful VBAC mama, I have been especially anxious, hoping that this baby’s birth might be different from my first baby’s. In search of giving my son the gift of a natural labor, I have eaten lots of pineapple, bounced up and down on a bouncy ball, taken several long walks… I have talked to the full moon, prayed, and given myself many a pep-talk about how I CAN in fact give birth.

I have also told myself that if push comes to shove (or perhaps, more well-stated, if push DOESN’T come to SHOVE), and I need to have a second c-section in order to birth this baby, so be it. It will still be miraculous, and amazing, and will still bring us a son (god willing) that we can kiss and hug and surround with love. We have a c-section scheduled for 8 days post due date. While doing this doesn’t give us the full 14 days post due date that my midwives would normally allow, it might (again, hopefully) prevent us from running into an emergency c-section scenario similar to the one I went through with Emmy.

So this kid is “on the clock,” so to speak. He’s got 9 days to get down and get busy, and help me bring him into this world. And I’ve got the same 9 days to stay positive and keep my mind and body strong.

I do know that if I make it all the way to next Wednesday night without having gone into labor, I am going to ask my husband for a few minutes (or maybe a few more than a few minutes) to myself so that I can have what I imagine will be a well-needed sob session, allowing me to get the sadness and disappointment at not being able to birth naturally out of my system. As much as I have tried to prepare myself for the possibility of needing a second c-section, I know that if it becomes an actuality, I am going to have some real, deep sadness about it, and I want to just give myself the time and space to feel it without hesitation. Then I will wash my face, and ask my husband to take me out for a nice romantic dinner so I can clear my head, relax, and try not to stress too much about the operation that will take place the next morning.

But maybe it won’t come to that. Maybe (again, hopefully) I can go into natural birth. Nine days is a long time. Anything can happen between now and next Thursday, really.

In an effort to not put too much stress on myself, and to help myself NOT focus on the ticking clock, or every little movement in my uterus, or the possibility of what may or may not be, I am trying to focus on the right now. I am trying to concentrate on appreciating the relative simplicity of being a parent to one child. I am trying to make sure I breathe in these last few days of being able to focus my mama love on Emmy. And I am acknowledging that as much as I cannot WAIT for this baby’s arrival, part of me will totally miss THESE days, where it is just me, my husband, and my beautiful little mooshkatoo.

Ugh, there I go, crying again. T-2, or 3, or 9… it’s just such an emotional time.

You Know You Are a Mama When...

2012-11-07T09:34:00.003-08:00

You wake up in the morning and discover a glittery foamy sticker on your belly button.

Sitting at your desk, you discover yourself softly humming the opening number from the Mickey Mouse Clubhouse tv show.

The word “stiletto” is no longer in your vocabulary.

Your idea of a fancy dinner is one where you actually get to chew your food.

You start thinking “I gotta go potty” instead of “I have to use the ladies’ room.”

Your current hairstyle is “3 day old ponytail.”

You start wondering if there really ARE monsters hiding in the closet.

Your breakfast consists of the half-bitten pieces of muffin your child would not consume.

Your co-workers have sweetly nicknamed you “germfest.”

You spend much of your time daydreaming about creative ways to stain-guard your entire wardrobe.

Your grocery list is written in sky blue crayon, on yellow construction paper.

You current style icon is Fluttershy from My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic.

You have justified the marker lines on your living room walls as “post-modern art.”

You have more “toy food” in your house than real food.

You use the word “nirvana” and “naptime” interchangeably.