Just a verse and a chorus, please.

This child- this bright eyed ginger child- may be the death of me one of these days.  The walking, the reaching new things, the rotten "I have something I shouldn't!" scrunched up shoulder run.  He may just be the death of me.  Even with all this new found mobility, though, he's still a mama's boy.  Several times a day, he comes to check in with me.  He toddles over and tries to climb up me, no matter where I am.  I scoop him up an he presses his face into my neck, and his soft squishy body into my arms, and I can almost hear him say "just a verse and a chorus, please."  So I sing to him, and then he's ready to tear up the world for another hour or two.  Then he comes to check in again, and we sing and snuggle for another verse and chorus more.  Someday, I know I'll be chasing him asking "oh Rotten, just a verse and a chorus, please?"  so I try to soak it all in while I can.  

Seeing More With Smaller Eyes

Being a mom changes how I see the world. I don't think any mother would say anything different, but the best times my worldview has been changed, it has been by seeing it through the boys eyes.

We discovered a bug on our storm door. It was huge, as bugs go, and had a hairy stomch. It wasn't at my eye level, I might have missed it. But for Stinky, this provided almost an hour of occupation. We took pictures, counted legs, watched with a magnifying glass, and finally identified it courtesy Google images- a long-haired june beetle. We had a similar experience with a bird last month- a northern flicker with bright red cheeks (meaning it's male). Just the other night, Rotten followed and ant all over the path in the backyard, until it disappeared into the grass. Seeing how eager they are to learn about the world makes me slow down, and I love it.

The Way to His Heart...

The old addage goes "the way to a man's heart is through his stomach." Stinky is starting to show me how true this is. At the library on a 'mom date,' he started handing me cookbook after cookbook as we browsed "because there's things to try."

The other day, he said "Remember when you made the macaroni and cheese with the real cheese, the tuna sandwiches with hot cheese and apple slices on the side? Yeah, that was really great of you."

I brought him dessert the other night (vanilla pound cake from a mix, strawberries and vanilla yogurt), and he sighed contentedly, saying "You are such. a good. mom."

May he always be this easy for me to win over. Food I can handle.

the trip I did not take- and why this one is so much better

You are the trip I did not take.

You are the pearls I cannot buy.

You are my blue Italian lake.

You are my piece of foreign sky.

-Anne Campbell

Recently, WBH and I found ourselves a little wistful for the times before kids, before giant dog, before mortgage, when we could say "Hey, we've got some spare cash and nothing to do this weekend. Let's go!" Not that we would trade them for the world, mind you, but it was nice when we could. I don't think we appreciated that time enough, and how many options we had. Choosing parenthood very abruptly limits your options, it's true, but it also throws open a door to so many new experiences.

Stinky has learned to climb a tree. Having seen older relatives doing so, he decided he wanted to try, and once he was in it without my support, he loudly declared "I did it! I climbed a tree" His feet were maybe two feet above ground, but he might as well have been flying, as proud as he was. Rotten is now crawling at full speed. He watches for the forbidden things (an open door to the back room, cords, dropped food) to appear, then takes off as fast as he can, looking over his shoulder to see if we're coming, giggling hysterically and picking up speed when he sees that we are. Oh, and he climbs, too, which is terrifying.

These experiences that might have seemed mundane before my children experienced them, are nothing short of miraculous now. It's like Dorothy opening the door of her Kansas home into Tecnicolor Munchkinland. Parenting my boys is, without a doubt, a trip to a new world. So, while I love Ms. Campbell's poem, I'd like to add a few new stanzas:

You are the nights we cannot sleep,

The showers we can't take alone.

You are the laundry piled so deep,

The noise that makes this home.

You are the trip we did not take

So we could take one better.

What good is some Italian lake

If we're not there together?

How Freddie Mercury Answered My Prayer

Yesterday I sat in the mother's lounge at church, half-listening as they piped in the speakers from the chapel. My mind wandered to the events of this last week- my grumpiness and frustrations with the boys and myself. I thought about what it was I needed to change this week, and prayed I'd get the answers, the opportunity, and the motivation I needed.

This morning, I woke before Stinky- got dressed, put on music, had his breakfast on the table and ready to go. He woke and came downstairs. As is his nature, he couldn't hold still once he heard music. I scooped him up and we danced in the kitchen. The words stood out to me, and as many songs often do, took on a greater meaning when heard as a mother. In the Queen song, I found my job description as mother to my boys.

Whenever this world is cruel to me

I got you, to help me forgive

Oh, you're the first one

When things turn out bad

You know I'll never be lonely

I'm happy (happy at home)

You're my best friend

So we danced the song out. He sat to eat, and I kept moving with my morning tasks, but it stuck in my mind. It is my job to teach him, to discipline him, to prepare him - but it's also my job to protect him, to be a safe place he can come to. It's funny, the places the answers to our prayers come from, isn't it?

I hope your week is off to the same great start mine is. The sun is shining, and we're going to prepare eggs for mailing today. Happy Monday!

Dear Stinky

Dear Stinky,

Today you experienced death for the first time. As we knew would happen, one of your fish went belly-up. It was so tempting to wait until you were distracted and scoop him out before you noticed. We could have avoided the tears, the fishy funeral, the sadness in learning about this part of life.

But we can't do that. It's part of life, and part of why pets are important. So I told you that Mickey was dead, and you cried. You cried when I told you, and you cried as you said "Good-bye. Thanks for being a good fish. I'll miss you so much." Then you ran away and I gave him a burial at sea, because you didn't want to bury him in the flowers you and your dad planted together. Then we talked and you cried some more and I cried a little too, because some parts of life are ugly and hard and I can't keep thm away from you forever.

I can soften them, though, with a big glass of chocolate milk and snuggles, and I can teach you about what we believe about life after death. I can wipe away tears, yours and mine, and be there for you when you feel this sad. That has to be enough, even though it doesn't feel like it is, but I love you, and I'll always be there, with a hug and a big glass of chocolate milk.

Love,

Mom.

"and I'll get better and better."

after catching the garter at a wedding.

Stinky: "Mom, I made a butterfly. It's a baby butterfly who can't fly because he's so little. But he keeps trying, and trying, and he'll get better. And he has a mommy named what Daddy calls you: Rachael."

Me: "Are you my butterfly who can't fly yet, but keeps trying and trying?"

Stinky: "Yeah. And I'll get better and better."

I'll remember that.

I Don't Want to Live on the Moon

There's a sweet song from Sesame Street that Ernie sings, I Don't Want to Live on the Moon, where he dreams of travelling to the moon, under the sea, to the jungle and through time, but muses that while he'd love to see the sights, his heart really lies with his family and loved ones. Stinky and I love singing this song together. As I drove him home after preschool the other day, I thought about the lyrics in a deeper way than I usually do as we're singing in the car.

There are still moments when I miss the freedom of time that existed before motherhood. I think nostalgically about going shopping and the only person I had to say "no, not today" to was myself. I sometimes think about the projects I could be doing instead of pre-treating soiled laundry, or even writing a blog post with both of my hands.

But the truth is, while I sometimes miss that freedom, the projects, it wasn't really that great. I wanted these boys, and the life they make so exhaustingly awesome. So I'll join Ernie in singing today:

I'd like to visit the jungle, hear the lions roar,
go back in time and meet a dinosaur,
There's so many strange places that I'd like to be,
but none of them permanently.

So if I should visit the moon,
well, i'll dance on a moon beam and then,
I will make a wish on a star
and I'll wish I was home once again.

Though I'd like to look down
at the earth from above,
I would miss all the places
and people I love.

So although I may go, I'll be coming home soon.
No I don't want to live on the moon.

Edit: A friend of mine posted a link to an awesome performance of this song. Check it out here.

Jerk

(In case you were wondering,the couch is where my wild things are often found, taking brief breaks from their adventures .)

It was a rough night for everyone around these parts. It included way too much crying and way too little sleep. The only sleep I can say that I'm certain I got was sitting upright in a chair where I zonked out while feeding Rotten. As a result, the night and morning have pretty much blended together and somewhere in there, I became a huge jerk. A massive headache hit me. Stinky woke early, woke Rotten and me, got into everything in the bedroom he knows he isn't supposed to, and spoke as loudly as humanly possible. I haven't had a drink in my life, but I swear sleep deprivation has given me a hangover.

I'm glad my children are so forgiving. I hope they won't remember days like this. The plan for the day is to get Rotten down for a nap, then to clean the jerk-i-ness right out of me. Then it's all Dr. Pepper, movies, knitting and baking. The plan for the weekend is to stay warm and do as little as possible. What about you?

My Shadow

I walked up the stairs to change out of pajamas and it wasn't long until I heard another pair of feet tromping up to find me. Stinky walks with the lightness of a rhino, but we always have a warning that he's coming. "Whatcha doin', mommy?" he asked. I told him I was getting dressed so I can tackle the day. He started posing, flexing, and stretching. "I'm going to tackle this day, too," he said as he did a double-bicep flex. "And I will choose my coolest clothes." A red striped polo shirt and blue plaid pajama pants were what he had in mind.

Once I'd settled Rotten into a nap, Stinky became my shadow. He helped me wrap potatoes in foil to bake in the crock pot. He helped pick up laundry and wiped down the table. The last was a surprise to me, as I sprayed it and left to swap the laundry. I came back and found him "tackling the day" on top of the dining table, wiping it down becoming a whole-body workout. What a helper.

I think a kid's favorite toy will always be his mother- even when she's just doing chores. My sweet Stinky shadow reminds me of that- asking to help with the 'gredients when I'm cooking, changing to tackle the day with me. He reminds me that even the daily drudgery of things like wiping tables and doing laundry are a joyful thing, if I can just look at it the right way.

A Letter to my Sons

Boys, there is something I want to make sure you know beyond doubt, and that's how much I love you. I love you more than I love Mountain Dew and Diet Dr. Pepper. I love you more than I love sleep. I love you more than I love those frozen chunks of Strawberry in Dreyer's Ice Cream. You will soon know that I love those three things almost more than life itself. I hope that if you know I love you even more than those three things put together, then maybe you'll have an inkling of how much I love you.

You were prayed for in a way that sometimes makes me wonder if God sent us spirited children because we annoyed him. We went through hard and sometimes scary pregnancies and c-sections to get you here, and those round the top things I've ever done with my life, joining marrying your dad. I am so grateful to be the mother, the person you've made me.

Someday you'll understand the beautiful gift wrapped up in guilt that is parenthood. See, I'm still waiting for my magical cloak of knowledge to fall on my shoulders, but until then... guys, I'm winging it. Unfortunately, sometimes in all this trial and error, I really blow it. I lose my cool or interfere when I should step back. I sleep too late, then let you watch too much TV or forget that your diaper needs changing until you've blown out the sides. I forget that it's lunchtime until halfway through church and you're acting up and I don't know why.

For all my flaws, my screw ups, the ways that I can really drop the ball, I hope I get more things right than wrong. I see glimmers of hope for that in Stinky's creativity and affection for his little brother. I see it in the way Rotten screams/cries/laughs with relief when he sees me after being watched by someone else, or collapses into sleep in my arms the minute someone hands him back when he's screaming. I hope that I have something to do with those things. Then again, maybe I just got lucky.

Maybe someday you two will commiserate that it's a miracle you made it out alive, but I'm crossing my fingers that stays my little secret.

"I learned it from watching you!"

When I was small, my mother tells me, I was coloring in a high chair, and dropped my crayon. She says I dropped a phrase that rhymes with "cram it" and cheerfully continued coloring. When asked where I learned that word, I told her "Daddy!"

Playing Wii with Uncle Bubba this weekend, Stinky dropped a few choice words. After regaining my composure (I confess that find swearing children SO amusing, because you know for most swearing children, there are two mortified parents. Yes, I was simultaneously mortified and amused), we had a talk, and he's only slipped up once since. Unfortunately, I know that the blame is as likely to fall on me as it is on anyone else. So, I find myself much more aware of the language I use around him*.

Now, my conversations with other adults have definitely changed, and it's probably for the better, even if they do sound a little silly. Here are a few examples from the weekend, when a dear friend told me about some hurt she'd experienced:

"Seriously? That makes me so mad, I want to put a curled up hand through the front of his cranium."

"Don't worry about it. I've accepted that it wasn't my problem that he's a word that sounds like mustard."

I'm starting to sound like I'm playing a game of Taboo when I'm frustrated. Of course, I should be better at censoring myself than even that, but I'll get there. Hopefully, it will be before kindergarten.

*WBH also takes his share of the blame after playing many hours of Epic Mickey while he was sick. It's a 50/50 thing.

in a rather undignified position.

The boys enjoying movie night with their cousin. I'm completely in love with this picture.

This summer we went to the zoo in the morning as soon as they opened. This, by the way is the very best time to go to the zoo. You eat breakfast in the car, there are no crowds for all of the good exhibits, you can see the zoo keepers at work, and you can be done by lunchtime. One of the things we saw was a muskox being traquilized so an injury could be examined. We watched her, the little pink tail of the dart sticking out of her rump, fight to maintain her composure and carry on as normal, then stagger to a rock structure and lean for a while. A few moments later, one of the staff said "...and she's going down." Then, down she went, collapsing to the ground in a rather undignified position.

I've felt some empathy for the muskox in the last few weeks. Don't get me wrong, the holidays were wonderful. Last weekend was one of the most successful weekends with the boys that we've had in a long time. There's just been so much going on that today, I find myself leaning on the nearest structure, waiting to collapse to the ground in a rather undignified position.

When WBH goes back to work after vacation, there's always a pout day, and today is the one. I sort of putter around the house, wishing he was home and we could do something fun. I'm not out of my pajamas, neither are the boys and it's past lunch time. I'm tired and I just want to get back into my warm, fluffy bed.

Fortunately, my boys snap me out of it. Stinky stacks his red blocks over his eyes and yells "laser eyes! laser eyes!" I give a performance normally reserved for LARP-ers, and Rotten laughs at me hysterically. We do this over and over again. Laying on the ground, I realize that I've done it. I've collapsed to the ground in a rather undignified position- and I'm totally recharged. As it turns out, dignity is totally overrated.

Will You Play Date With Me?

When I imagined myself as a mother, somehow I assumed that there would be a magical cloak of knowledge that suddenly fell on me at the moment of my firstborn's conception. I'm still waiting for my magical cloak, three conceptions later.

Stinky's been having a rough go of it at preschool. Somedays are great, and then, bam! Abysmal failure. I've been trying to work with him, trying to figure out how to help him, and I've decided that playdates might be a good place to start learning to be a friend without the pressure of the whole preschool class there.

One of the things I think I was missing from the magical cloak was knowing that when your kid is having a hard time, asking another mom for a playdate is a million times harder than asking the hottest guy in school on a date. She could reject you, and not only you, but your kid, too. Double shame. Then returns the scared 15 year old, and you can't be that girl as a mom.

But if there's double shame in a possible rejection, there's definitely double joy when you hear that mom say yes, and that what's more, they like your kid, even knowing the troubles they've been having.

So much better than than the hottest guy in school.

This Face

There have been a lot of tears at my house this week. Mostly mine, some from Rotten. It turns out that the "Purple Crying" video that I rolled my eyes at when the nurse at the hospital was so insistent that I watched applies to me, too. That tiny angel in the see-through bassinet in the hospital can transform into a a bright red screaming demon at the drop of a hat. Mornings go well enough, but in the evening life can get pretty hard. Usually, I'm the only one who can console him, which is also hard. So, there have been a lot of tears at our house and I sometimes fall into bed at night, exhausted and wondering why I thought I had a clue about motherhood.

Then, he wakes up next to me in the morning, and first smiles, then sticks his tiny little tongue out at me. I stick my tongue back at him, and we go back and forth like that until he lets loose a soft giggle and I kiss-eat his cheeks like a starving woman. They refuel my batteries, those first few minutes of the morning.

The Purple Crying will go away. This evening, he stuck his tongue out at me again, and we went back and forth until I got the giggle I was needing. I realized that I've forgotten what life was like without him, just two months ago. It feels like he's always been with us now.

Sneaky Jealousy

Stinky has been great about Rotten. He adores him. He wants to love on him all the time. Somedays it makes me crazy, especially the weekend we all had a nasty virus and Rotten wanted to be held by me and only me, all day long. I'd hear things like "Mommy, please put down Rotten and come see this," frequently, and I realized that jealousy has started to set in.

It tears my heart right in two. He's good about being patient with it, most of the time. He's become such a big boy- the potty training is done, he can dress himself, and entertain himself for longer periods than before. On one hand, that's great. On the other, it's easy to slip into the habit of letting the him play all day and at the end, realize that he hasn't gotten the quality or quantity of attention he wants, and that I want to give him. The other day, after WBH returned from work, and Rotten was asleep, I put my 'stop, drop, and roll' policy into play, and found Stinky in the playroom. We read, played 'Aliens versus Pirates,' and created a puppet show about Stinky saving his family from a dinosaur. He soaked up the individual attention, and was glowing. And the guilt hit me hard.

Since then, I've planned a list of projects for us to do through the end of the month, so that he always gets one-on-one time with me while we work on an art project or cook together. We've implemented a daily routine with planned story times and Stinky-Mama time, and it's helped with the acting out that I believe is coming from jealousy.

My friend at the Unlikely Rebel Mama wrote a great post about making the adjustment from one child to two, and balancing the attention. She's a few months ahead of me on this one, and her advice is so great and sound- I know I needed it.

Mind: Numb

We are still in jim-jams at noon, our teeth are unbrushed, and the mind-numbing sounds of Nick Jr. are playing in my living room right now, which can really only mean one thing: I'm not 100%. I wouldn't even say I'm 75%. A flu shot yesterday and a two boy lack-of-sleepover on the couch last night will do that to a girl.

To be clear, I'm not judging anyone who is cool with Nick Jr, and there's no judgement coming for letting kids watch TV- we do much more of that than we should here, especially lately. I just hate most of the programming, and I tire VERY quickly of the "I WANT THAT!" that comes with commercials that play during children's programming. For these reasons, I usually stick to PBS with some Disney Channel for good measure.

I'm curious today- What concessions do you make when you don't feel on top of your game? And what children's program makes you want to throw your shoes at the TV?

"Stop, Drop, and Roll."

Rotten is a snuggler. This is a nice way of saying "Rotten wants to be held all the time and freaks out a little if put down." It's made a dent in my productivity and housekeeping. I've had to establish a "Stop, Drop, and Roll" policy. As soon as he's out, I stop rocking/bouncing, drop him off in his swing, car seat, or bassinet, and roll on with cleaning, cooking, or time with Stinky. Without this rule, I would not get a single thing done all day.

But sometimes, nothing is okay, too.

Isn't it About Time?

our latest family photo, taken at an a-town game. we crushed them, by the way.

In the first few weeks of Rotten's life, it felt like time was holding still for us. It was a wonderful time, having WBH at home, Stinky loving and adoring his new little brother, enjoying allf the changes and challenges together. Like all good things, it came to an end- WBH had to return to work, Stinky will be returning to his preschool routine this week, and life's unavoidably hectic pace has resumed.

It's the little responsibilities, the frequent interruptions, the things that make life what it is. I know we can't expect to maintain the family time we get during the summers or the freedom that comes with it. Eventually, real life comes knocking again and we have to rejoin the rest of the human race.

I'm trying to find ways to reclaim our family time, and considering what robs us of it. Where do you draw the line between what is necessary and what isn't?

I wish

This pretty friend found her way into the kitchen earlier this week.

I wish that every morning could begin like Monday did, with cuddles and a cheery boy saying "get over here, snugglebug!"

I wish I was more patient.

I wish I could breathe.

I wish I could sing rodents and birds into a hypnotic state so they'd clean my house.

I wish that I knew that Stinky's little life won't be totally rocked or ruined by the addition of a little brother.

I wish we could fast forward to the baby's arrival, but still savor the summer.

I wish that I was more confident in who I will be as a mother of two. For that matter, I wish I was more confident in who I am as a mother of one.

I wish that my root beer float hadn't disappeared so quickly today.