Tag: Lessons

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It finally came to me

Ever since we’ve had children, I’ve wanted to get a tattoo to symbolize them in some way. I thought maybe I’d find a cool way to intertwine their initials, or something like that, but nothing ever stuck with me or jumped out at me as exactly the right design. And that’s the thing with a tattoo, for me at least – it has to be absolutely beyond perfect, leaving no doubt in my mind whatsoever that I really, really want it on my body forever.

Two weeks ago, it finally came to me.

I don’t know why, but every time I thought of what represented the kids best, sea turtles came to mind. A while ago, I had envisioned tiny little sea turtles wrapping around the inside of my left wrist. But they would’ve had to be super duper tiny so as not to be massively obvious, then I wouldn’t be able to incorporate their initials very well, yadda yadda yadda.

So then I decided on my left side, right in the middle of my side, so they’re kind of swimming up toward my heart. Bingo. Plus, Ryan said he didn’t like wrist tattoos at all, so that helped solidify that positioning. I actually went to the tattoo shop a friend recommended a couple Saturdays ago to get it done, but they didn’t have time for me right then, so I went to another shop that also didn’t have time when I walked in but said they’d call me back later that afternoon. I got a much better vibe from the second place, plus I found a penny on the ground outside the door when I left, so I called back that night to make an appointment for the following Wednesday.

It ended up working out for the best that my original plan of attack to get the tattoo didn’t pan out, because that night I had time to draw exactly what I wanted instead of just going in with a rough idea; the girls got to pick the color they wanted for each of the flowers by their initials; the tattoo artist with whom I ended up getting the appointment did an amazing job putting my sketches together and bringing them to life; I found another penny at the shop right before I got the tattoo; and the artist made the final tattoo look better than I could even imagine.

I just love it. It makes me happy every time I look at it. These 3 kids are my absolute heart and soul, which makes this tattoo so meaningful.

I’ve been having a lot of status envy lately, which I know is stupid and an unnecessary waste of worry, but I can’t help it. Sometimes I just get stuck. We’re surrounded by so many incredible things and places, it’s kind of hard not to sometimes. Seeing my beautiful tattoo and realizing how truly happy I am helps me snap out of it.

We don’t have a lot of money, we don’t live in a big giant house, we don’t drive fancy cars (Tesla is apparently the new expensive car of choice around here, by the way), we don’t go on exotic vacations all over the world. But these kids and the family we’ve created and our wonderful web of family, friends, and neighbors and the unbelievable community in which we live bring happiness that can never be measured with a price tag. And although I’ve been without a salary for over 4 years now, we’re making it work, something we never thought was possible before it actually happened. Plus, now when I do work, I get to do it in my home while our children play and sleep. Also priceless.

So thank you, little sea turtles. Not only are you exactly what I wanted for my tattoo, you are also a permanent reminder of happiness.

 

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Thankful, always

Thankful for a beautiful 6 year old whose kind heart and amazing mind inspire me and make me prouder every day.

Thankful for the most incredible 4 year old I’ve ever known. Her fairy spirit knows no bounds, and the inner workings of her mind are some of the most indescribably magnificent places humankind has ever experienced.

Thankful for an adorable little almost-18 month old whose smile lights a room, whose laughter brightens the darkest hours, and whose hugs make everything better.

Thankful for the man whom those 3 miracles call Daddy, without whom none of this would be possible.

Thankful for the time to be everything to our children, day and night.

Thankful for the health and strength to be everything to our children.

Thankful for family near and far, here and beyond. No matter how frequent or infrequent the contact, all are forever a part of us.

Thankful for friends old and new. Those friends who are always there, who know your secrets, who will keep you laughing until your sides ache and your cheeks hurt, and who make it seem like no time has passed at all when you meet again.

Thankful for friends, neighbors, and good people who believe in and value the same things. The importance of knowing you are there for our children, too, cannot be put into words.

Thankful for this house that becomes more and more our home every day. Our children came home here, are growing up here, and are learning life here. It is ours and they are safe here.

Thankful that our children are already realizing this is what’s important in life; that not everyone has what we do even when so many have so much more; and to be thankful and grateful, not greedy and selfish.

So very thankful, always.

Happy Thanksgiving!

 

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My year may have already been made

A few days ago, one of the guys with whom I work at the gym unknowingly handed me what may be the highest compliment a parent can ever receive. It came during a perfectly normal, mid-towel-folding conversation, but it really just made my heart so happy.

We were chatting while folding the never-ending mountains of towels, and he asked, “So what made you want to be a Mom?” (i write Mom with a capital M, because that’s just how the question looked in my head when he asked it) I kind of chuckled, thought a second, and then responded, “Well, actually I never really did.”

He looked pretty shocked to hear that answer until I further explained myself…

As most of you know, growing up I was never a girl who dreamed of the day she would become a mother. I was never really drawn to babies like some people are, I usually preferred to have other people’s kids stay with those people, and I was generally pretty selfish with my time and efforts, not really wanting to share my life with a tiny human. To me, kids were just a lot of work, they were loud and cranky, and they always got things dirty. None of which I really wanted a part.

That’s not to say I was ever against having children, I just never gave it much thought. I always assumed I’d have kids someday, but it was never a big gold star on my calendar.

When Ryan and I got married I knew he wanted children, and like I said I figured we’d have them eventually, but they were not on the near horizon. We had a blast in our 20s without the responsibilities of kids, and I enjoyed those years immensely.

As my 30th birthday approached, however, the notion that it may be time to start thinking a little more seriously about building the next generation began to creep into my brain. I knew getting older is generally not conducive to having babies, so that seemed like a good point in time to start planning our family.

Della was born when I was 31, and my view on children changed immediately and completely. It was the most amazingly wonderful feeling I had ever known, I thought my heart was going to burst with the new love and happiness we had created, and I instantly wanted more babies. That sentiment made us both laugh (me and the Ryan at the gym to whom i was talking, not my Ryan), because it sounds very weird to hear me say that almost the second I gave birth for the first time I was already looking forward to doing it all again. But I was. Maternal hormones are crazy things.

And I’ve loved being a Mom ever since. I even like other people’s kids now, too, *gasp!*.

Now here’s where the compliment came. When I finished relaying the tale of my journey to Motherhood, I asked him why he had asked. He said, “Well, you just always seem to have such a good handle on it all when I see you with your kids.”

I internally burst out laughing, thinking he must never notice me straggling through the doors of the gym with these 2 little girls dripping off me – my purse, the diaper bag, their insulated lunch bag, and Lana on my left arm and Della in my right hand, rushing to get everyone in the door before we all fall apart because I now always seem to be running late. Or maybe I really do look ok from the outside, when inside I’m trying to hold us all together with my brainwaves so we can JUST GET THERE ON TIME!

Either way, I was beyond flattered and actually speechless, so I just stuttered a very humble, “Really? Wow, thank you so much.”

I doubt he’ll ever know how much his saying those innocent enough words meant, but I will be forever grateful he did.

 

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An anniversary, of sorts

1 year ago today, this happened.

It’s very hard to describe what all has happened during this past year of me being out of full-time work, because I’ve experienced such a huge range of emotions. Something bigger than I think I’ve ever felt before.

I started off scared shitless.

We were losing our big salary; we were losing full, employer-paid benefits; we were losing my life insurance through work; we were pulling Della out of a daycare that both we and she loved, taking her away from her friends, teachers, social interaction, and overall daily structure; we were losing our well-oiled routine.

Was I going to be a good mom staying home with Della? Was I going to be able to give her everything she had at daycare? Was she going to miss everyone there more than she enjoyed being home with just me? How long was my severance going to carry us? How long was I going to be home? How much were we going to have to sacrifice? How in the hell was I going to do this?

And oh yeah, I was almost 7 months pregnant. Delectable timing.

But in a matter of days, I went from more uncertain than I’d ever been in my life to so very, very happy.

I spent every day with Della. We went for walks; we went to the park; we went to the zoo; we played; we did little art projects in the basement; we actually met our neighbors and Della played with all the kids on our block. I became her everything, and it was glorious. She began talking more than she ever had, and it had to have been because she was the focus all day long instead of being one in a class where the teachers had to focus mainly on the kids as a whole. I’ll never forget – about 2 weeks after we’d been home the head of her daycare stopped by to drop off some last art projects and pictures of Della, and she was amazed by how much Della said to her when she came to the door. She said, “Oh my gosh, she never used to talk this much at daycare.” I was so proud.

It was the most lovely time. I was relaxed. I was having fun. I was increasing my stay-at-home motherhood ability level daily. I had not 1 iota of any stress from my job left whatsoever. I was loving our “new” routine, and I was so happy.

Then we hit October 21, 2012, and little Lana Marie entered our lives.

And I was doubly happy. Another little girl! I couldn’t believe it. All of my fears that I could never love another child as much as I loved Della instantly vanished. In their place was an exponentially increasing amount of love that I never fathomed could exist.

Our routine changed once again, but this time I didn’t have to worry about maternity leave and having to go back to work and sending them both off to daycare. I can’t even tell you how beautiful that was. Simply being able to focus on our new baby and being a mom to our 2 daughters was amazing.

I became everything to both Della and Lana now. (don’t worry, ryan is and always has been an enormous help and a wonderful father. i’m just referring to the fact that since i was home full-time, i was the one spending all day every day with these 2 little monkeys)

And then I went from being a blissfully happy new mama for the 2nd time to being not. I was lost.

I became overwhelmed by our days at home, all together, just us. I felt like all I ever did was nurse Lana, feed Della and wipe her butt, and clean the house. I began questioning my ability as a mother. I began questioning my worth as a wife. I began questioning me, and I hated it. I’m not good like that.

So our routine changed again. I got a part-time job, and it was a savior. I worked in a place I knew; the girls came with me but didn’t stay with me; their care was good and it was free; I liked my coworkers and they liked me. I was happy.

And that’s pretty much where we are now. I’ve been doing the part-time job gig at the gym for about 6 months, and it has worked out swimmingly. The girls love playing in the kids care room (for free!!); I enjoy doing something so easy and lighthearted as working a front desk; I love chatting with my coworkers and the gym members all throughout my time there; and although I no longer have a big employer-sponsored 401(k) and year-end bonus, there are actually a lot of perks – free gym memberships for me and the girls, discounts on classes and lessons (so della is now in her 2nd session of swim lessons and i’m thinking about enrolling her in dance next time. can you even imagine the cuteness?!), employer rewards for high-quality service (can you say free massage? thank you very much!), recognition by your peers (most contagious smile, that’s me), a non-existent stress level.

And oh yeah, I’m happy.

So I guess a lot has happened, actually. We’ve added to our family; I’ve gotten my first new job in almost a decade; Ryan got to spend a month at home with us for a mini-summer vacation; we’ve taken some awesome trips. My belief in myself as a mother is now rock-solid, my feeling of self-worth is unshakable, and I’ve even gotten in really good shape by running with these 2 beans in the jogging stroller. Can’t beat that, eh?

Sure the thoughts of when this routine will end have started creeping in, but there’s no definite answer yet. Ryan has thrown out October, since that will be Lana’s 1 year birthday, but I now want nothing more than to prolong my time home with the girls beyond any deadline. We have considered some scenarios that may do that, but like I said, nothing is for sure yet.

I’m just riding this wave and enjoying every day I have on it. I look back to those first days home with Della and how unsure I was and can’t help but laugh. Why was I so scared? This is exactly what I’ve always wanted since the day she was born. Just because I didn’t choose the circumstances surrounding how it came to be doesn’t mean it’s something bad. And now I fully realize that.

So happy 1 year of non-full-time working anniversary to me.

I am very happy.

 

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Friday Funk

Ok, 2 things today…

Last week I got a total “Mama Fails” award. The event I had been fearing and dreading finally happened. Lana fell off the changing dresser. Ugh!

I knew this was going to happen since she is now so squirmy and rolly when you put her up there, so I can’t believe I actually thought I was going to get away with what I did. I put her on there after she woke up that morning (i think it was tuesday last week. or maybe wednesday) to take her out of her sleep sack and change her diaper. And with “don’t walk away and leave her there alone” ringing in my head, I turned and walked over to the window to open the shades. I slid one side opened, checked to make sure she was still staying put, turned back to open the other side, and that’s when it happened.

Rustle, rustle, THUD!!

Oh my god, I about died. I turned around when I heard the rustling and saw her mid-fall, then landing smack on the hardwood floor. The poor thing sounded like a melon dropping onto the ground, and I almost threw up when it happened. Seeing her little body, still zipped up in her jammie sack heading face-first toward the floor was mortifying. I tried to reach out to stop her, but I was too far away.

I seriously wanted to cry. She rolled off the changing mat from her back, so that’s why she was falling face-first, but she must have been continuing the roll during the fall, because when I got to her she was on her back. But holy shit, that sound when she landed… I think it’s going to haunt me forever. It was this solid thud that reverberated to my core. And hers, obviously.

She started screaming instantly, and unfortunately so did Della, because she was standing right there with us. D said she was so upset because one of her Fruit Loops had gone under the dresser from which Lana had just fallen, which it had, but I know Lana’s fall scared the crap out of her too. These girls love each other to no end, and they get upset when the other does too.

I scooped her right up, not even considering the fact that that may not have been the smartest thing to do, and just held her as close as I could to try and calm her. She bawled for a good 5 minutes, but eventually I got both of them calmed down so we could get on with our morning.

I was terrified that I had given her a concussion or brain damage or something, so of course I looked up signs of a concussion in infants immediately. Thankfully her instant screaming was a good sign – she never lost consciousness, not even for a split second. Also, she had no bleeding out of any orifice, and she had only the tiniest bump on one side of her head that disappeared within the hour. I did speak with a nurse at her pediatrician’s office, and she confirmed that the fact that she cried immediately, had no bleeding or vomiting, had eaten fine since the fall, and was up and playing as usual were all great signs that nothing was wrong. She even said Lana was fine to take her morning nap, since she was getting sleepy by that point.

The nurse said the first 2 hours after an accident are the most critical time to watch out for any signs of trauma, and fortunately Lana exhibited none. I cannot even express how relieved I was. I still felt like the worst mother on Earth for allowing the fall to happen in the first place, but knowing that I hadn’t permanently and severely damaged my baby did help me breathe a little easier for the rest of that day.

So a word of advice – as soon as your baby starts moving, do NOT leave him/her on top of high places. I know that is the most obvious advice ever, but I just kept pushing and pushing my toe over that line figuring I’d never actually let it go so far that she would fall, but obviously I pushed it too far. If you’re worried that they’re going to fall, they probably will. So just keep them safe. I don’t want anyone else to ever have to hear that noise of their child crashing onto the floor from 3 feet up.

But on a happier note, I’m going out for a girls night tonight! Yippee!! I can’t wait. It’s Downtown Dining Week right now here in Milwaukee, so we’re trying out one of the restaurants on that list. It will be so much fun catching up with my girlfriends and having a few delicious cocktails on a nice spring night.

Have a great weekend, everyone! See you next week.

 

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A small miracle occurred last night

I have a feeling it is very early in the process to start talking about this, but yesterday was day 1 of weaning Lana from the pacifier. Cold turkey. Go big or go home, kids.

I didn’t think we’d have to do this until much later, but she had gotten so dependent on it to fall asleep recently that I’d finally had enough. Multiple nights in a row of being up for almost 2 hours with her in the dead of morning, getting in and out of bed, replacing that stupid plug in her mouth to calm her cries, whipping the sheets off my legs harder and harder each time in frustration, were the straws that broke this camel’s back.

I didn’t mind the thing for awhile, since it really did settle her instantly in her fits of wailing. Like magic. I soon realized why so many people use them. We never did with Della, but this kid’s just different. And she only needed it when trying to fall asleep, never if it fell out once she was sleeping or randomly during the day.

Lately, however, it was taking longer and longer for her to get to sleep with the damn thing, since every time it would fall out she’d immediately get frantic searching for it. She would take super long naps with it in her mouth, but I was willing to sacrifice that “free time” for me in order to quash her growing addiction. I had also noticed that she just liked having it in her mouth during the day to be quiet and look around. Nope, not happening, my dear.

Plus it had become a wicked game at night. Bedtime was stretching to a good hour or more until she would go in her crib without waking up, which of course meant I was always up later than I should have been. Then the nightly feeding was all but torture. I would have to play the dreaded find-and-replace game way more than I was willing to in order to get her back to sleep, by which time it was usually almost time to get up for the day anyway. And she had begun throwing in a bonus wake up sometime in the midnight hour, just in search of that obnoxious pink pacifier.

I was quickly reverting back to the walking zombie state. Our new Keurig definitely helped remedy that situation with a horribly convenient caffeine stream, but that’s not the healthiest solution either.

So yesterday I just said f— it. Sorry, baby girl, but I’m done playing this game. You’re losing your suck privileges on that little piece of rubber. And so it began…

Her usually solid 2-3 hour morning nap was diminished to a 5 minute attempt and then a half hour sleep spell a little while later, but both were done with no pacifier. She got another half hour nap in the boppy mid-afternoon, a 45-50 minute nap on her giraffe playmat around 5, then a quick 20ish minute snooze in my arms at 8 before getting ready for bedtime. Overall much less nap time than normal and each sleep except the one on her playmat was induced by being bounced/rocked in my arms, but the pacifier was not used once.

Then came bedtime. And I was fully prepared for an all-out battle and a night of severely abbreviated sleep.

Bedtime actually went much better than I had expected. I changed her, swaddled her, fed her, and started the arm bounce between 8:30-9, and there was very little fuss. Her eyes got heavy sooner than I’d imagined, and it only took a handful of repeat bouncing rounds before she was totally asleep. So I put her in bed between 9:30-10, which is definitely in the scope of a regular bedtime for her. I also left 1 arm out of the swaddle for the first time, in case she needed to get that little hand in her mouth for some suckling.

I then went to bed at 10, heard a couple rustling spells during the night but no all-out cries so paid little attention, then finally sensed her waking and getting ready to squirm and cry. Ok, what time is it going to be – midnight, 1, 1:30?

Dudes – it was 4:30! She had just slept for 7 straight hours, and since I actually took advantage of that I slept for 6.5!! That probably sounds like nothing for a 3 month old, something that occurs regularly, but I cannot tell you the last time she pulled that one off. I’m not kidding when I say I felt as if I’d had a week’s worth of sleep when I got up to feed her at 4:30.

It was our own little Monday night miracle, my friends.

A baby sleeping the best she has in weeks on the first day of not being allowed to have her beloved pacifier? I’m calling it a miracle.

Maybe it was because she was worn out after not napping as much during the day. Maybe it was because she was more sated after having eaten more often during the day due to said lack of long naps. Maybe she just didn’t really need the pacifier anymore anyway, and we had simply become slaves to it on our own.

Who knows. And I don’t really care why. I just hope it continues! I actually feel rested this morning and have some energy to tackle things around the house. I feel like I won’t just drag through today like I have for the past couple.

Oh, but I still visited my friend Keurig first thing…

 

 

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The first time of many, I’m sure

Yesterday we went to an annual family Christmas party, and it’s always a great time. Ryan has a really big family, so fun always ensues when everyone gets together. And this year was no different. Except for one thing…

There were 2 little girls there, one of whom was 6 and the other must have been the same age. They were running around together the whole time, having a blast. One of the girls literally wheeled in a suitcase full of toys when she and her family arrived, which she immediately proceeded to dump out on one of the couches.

Well of course Della saw that and made a bee-line for that mountain of dolls, cars, blankets, and other crap. I could tell the little girl was less than pleased that little D came creeping over to play, so I just made sure Della knew that those were not her toys and that she was sharing. All was well.

Later in the afternoon the girl who brought all the toys was running around with a blanket draped over her like a cape, which Della thought was fantastic. D was having the time of her life chasing after the caped girl and the other one; she probably ran a million laps around the place where the party was. I thought oh great, they’re having fun, that’ll keep D entertained for hours.

Well shortly after the blanket adventures began, I glanced over to where D and this girl were, and the girl was chiding D and wagging her finger in D’s face while wearing a very stern expression. Della was sitting on the floor in front of the girl, and the look on her face just made my heart break. It was a mixture of sadness, confusion, and disappointment that this girl with whom she’d been having so much fun was telling her she couldn’t play anymore.

I was so mad. I completely understand that 6 year olds rarely want to play with 2 year olds, but Della was completely harmless. These girls were running around like banshees anyway, so what did they care that D was following them? She couldn’t even keep up with the circles they were all running anyway. Della’s little head would come bobbing around the corner a good half lap behind the other two each time. I just kept thinking how dare she point her finger in my daughter’s face like she’s the boss? As ludicrous as it sounds, I was royally pissed.

After I saw that I couldn’t keep my eyes off the trio. I became obsessed with making sure Della didn’t get her beautiful little spirit crushed again. I kept seeing the pair of older girls go up to Della, then run away, teasing her into chasing them like they wanted her to play. But then they’d go into the bathroom and hide from her.

At one point they happened to walk up next to where I was standing holding Lana, and I heard them saying something about “oh no, there she is” and having to get away from the little girl. I told them to just leave Della alone because she’s only 2 and just wanted to play with them.

Then one time when I went into the bathroom to wash out a water bottle, Della was in there crawling on the floor trying to get under one of the stall doors because the girls were hiding in it. I about barfed seeing her crawl on the bathroom floor, so while washing her hands I made some comment to D like, “oh, are the girls in there?” She said yes and I could hear them giggling, and I said I thought they were hiding from her. She of course didn’t understand what that meant, so I asked them why they were hiding. They said they were hiding from the boys and Della, and I said well Della just wants to play with you guys because she likes you. They said “I know” in unison and just kind of laughed.

I don’t know if my prodding helped, or if they just decided to give up trying to “get away from that little girl”, but from that point on it seemed like they actually didn’t mind having D run around with them as much. At one point the 3 of them were actually sitting on the hearth of the fireplace together, looking at some toy. And of course D wanted to run around the rest of the time with one of her new blankets tied around herself like the other girl had been. Ok fine, if it makes my baby girl happy.

Now before you yell at me for being a crazy, overprotective parent, yes, I know Della had no idea that the girls weren’t playing with her but were trying to get away from her most of the time. She was just thrilled to be seeing other kids and running around. And she probably had no idea what the one girl was even talking about when she had her finger in D’s face. But I did. And I just couldn’t help feeling crushed.

Della and Lana are little pieces of my heart and soul running around outside my body now, and I will always try to protect them. Especially when they’re this young. So knowing that someone was purposely trying to quash Della’s innocent little sparkle and make her have a bad time just killed me. I seriously wanted to cry when I saw D sitting there on the floor, just wanting to play, and having that poor little look on her face while getting pointed at and scolded by a 6 year old little brat. I wanted to simultaneously scoop her up and smother her in hugs and slap the other girl for not including my daughter. (of course not for real slap, geez)

This little episode got me thinking, though. If I feel this bad when my girls get little hurts like this (i should say nonexistent really, since between me and d i was the only one who knew what was going on), what am I going to do when they go through the inevitable big hurts? I won’t always be there monitoring the situations and making sure everyone lets them play.

My greatest wish as a parent is that Ryan and I instill in our children the senses of confidence and compassion and knowing right from wrong. And more than simply knowing right from wrong, having the strength and self-confidence to act right instead of wrong, especially when wrong is the far easier choice. So hopefully when the big hurts come, as I know they unfortunately will, our girls will be able to navigate through them and come out on the other sides relatively unscathed and stronger.

This protecting my heart and soul when it now has its own legs and runs circles around me… Does it ever get any easier?

D

how could you not want to play with this one?