Teachable Moments

This past summer, my wallet was stolen.  Not only was it stolen, but it was taken from my diaper bag, which was tucked under my baby's car seat, while Olivia and I were next to the shopping cart.  I think I even saw it happen!
Once I realized what had happened, and had to spend the whole day filing reports with the store, the police department and canceling my credit cards/checks/drivers license, I realized that I had to talk with Olivia about it.  She was really wondering what had happened.  She had been listening to me talk with everyone that day and when we left the police station she asked me "Why did that lady steal your wallet"
I didn't really know what to say.  I hadn't thought of this scenario before.
I decided to start with the basic information.  Yes, I think that the lady had stolen my wallet.  We talked about what "stealing" is.  We agreed that stealing means taking something that is not yours without asking and getting permission first.  I told her that I didn't know why it happened but that there are some reasons why people do steal.  I told her that some people don't understand that stealing is wrong and how some people do.  I told her that some people know that stealing is wrong and that it hurts people's feelings and they do it because they want to anyways.  I talked to her about people stealing because they don't have enough money for food or diapers.
  We talked about how angry and sad it made me that the lady had stolen my wallet.  We talked about what she probably did with my wallet after she took it from us (I was told by the police that when thieves take wallets they generally look for cash and throw the rest of the wallet into the nearest trash can.)
I talked with her about what I should have done differently, because, even though the lady shouldn't have taken my wallet, I should have zipped up the diaper bag, been more vigilant, etc.  Olivia, who is a big fan of Dora the Explorer, said that I should have said "Hey lady, stop swiping," and that she probably would have said "Oh, man!" and walked away.

Now we still occasionally talk about it and she seems to really understand the idea that it is not okay to take things from people without getting permission first.   In that respect, I am happy that it happened because it opened up an important dialog that we probably wouldn't have had otherwise.
On a side note-it does look like my wallet was just dumped in a trash can because no charges ever showed up on my credit cards and no checks were written from my bank account.  The funny thing is, that my wallet had NO cash in it that day, not even a penny.  "That lady" as Olivia calls her, chose the wrong person to steal from.

A Torturous Day of Mayhem

Yesterday was not a good day for the Smith ladies.  We had a day of fighting, not listening, crying and general chaos.  It was one of those days when, for the few minutes that everything goes well, you hug your children and tell them you love them and then one of them hits the other one and all bets are off.
Nap time came and went, along with a HUGE tantrum from Olivia and both girls took miniscule teeny tiny little naps.  I was at my wits end.  All I could think of was "I need BACKUP!"
Finally, Lincoln was on his way home from work.  Relief was in sight.  He pulled into the driveway and took over the care of the little monsters.  I was preparing dinner, put Maya in her high chair and she grabbed my glass of water from the table and poured it all over herself, the high chair and the floor.  I just lost all ability to pretend that this day wasn't bothering me.  I kept wondering what was wrong with me?  Why couldn't I just control the situation?  What had I been doing so wrong today that my children were completely out of control?
I was on the floor, sputtering about escaping by myself...maybe even to jail...for a few days of silence when Lincoln asked me, incredulously, "What is wrong with you?"  I gave him a dirty look and said "We've had a...very...very...difficult day."
We had dinner, went through the evening after dinner, and you know what?  It wasn't just me!  Lincoln had just as hard a time as I had been having all day.  My only thought was "Thank GOD!"  When we had a minute, I asked him, "Now, do you see what I was talking about earlier?"  And he said very quietly, "Yes."
I was so relieved that I was ready to cry.  I felt so bad that he was having a hard time with them, too, but at least I wasn't alone in experiencing this.
Now, we've all had a good night's sleep and we are all getting along again.  Olivia is listening, has told me that she loves us and Maya is not destroying the house in a single reach.  We made it through and no one even had to go to jail.

The Dog Poop Incident

"What's that?  Oh, uh oh...um...I stepped in dog poop."  I hear my husband say from the kitchen.  "And now it's on the floor.  I have to go to work, sorry!" he rushes through that sentence as he backs out of the door.
"Oh, great.  Thanks for giving me a reason to wash the floor today" I say sarcastically.
What did I want to say?  How about "Get your butt back in here and CLEAN UP THIS POOP!"
My friend suggested that I roll up the area rug that got the brunt of the poop, put it outside with a note on it that says "wash me!" (I might add "and don't come in until you do!")
But I didn't.  I cleaned up the offensive chunks, got a stiff bristled brush and some dish detergent and scrubbed the crap out of that rug. (Pun completely intended) I used a stiff bristled brush and some diluted Dawn Dish Detergent and it seemed to clean it pretty well. Then I washed the floor and got on with the rest of my day.
However, I did have that image of Cinderella flitting through my head.  You know the part I'm talking about.  After she has been told she can go to the ball if she just can get her chores done first.  The infamous "If..." from the stepmother.
So, the good news is that my kitchen and bathroom floors are clean and shiny and the rug in front of the door has been scrubbed and steam cleaned.  We also have a new rule that anyone who wears work boots has to check the bottom of their boots before they come into the house.  I am thinking of changing the "he who smelled it, dealt it" to "he who tracks it, scrubs it," but that's not very catchy.
There's not a whole lot more to the story, and I don't have much more to add, but I thought that other Cinderellas may appreciate the situation.

Mom Jeans

Mom Jeans!  I can barely think the words without serious pain coursing through my body.  Yet, here I sit, realizing that I now know the reason that Mom Jeans are so prevalent.

1.  After you have children, your body is forever changed.  That is the truth.  Especially if you have had a c-section and didn't have the luxury of getting a tummy tuck at the same time!  When you have a c-section, the doctor basically cuts through any remaining abdominal muscles you may have, rummages around inside your uterus and pulls out a baby.  Now you have your miracle but you also have a numb stomach for the rest of your life!  A little extra, by the way, is that if you are not super skinny you end up with a neat little flap of skin that never really fits right with any clothing.    If you don't have a c-section and you lose the baby weight you end up with loose, crepe-y skin over your stomach.  After I had my girls I lived in my post-op girdle because I felt like I had a waist line again!
2.  Jeans make you choose: show your crack or be comfortable.   I suppose that this could go with the section above but what the heck.  It looks better to have points of interest.  I have one pair of jeans that fit well (they are a boot cut, low rise jean that are so comfortable) but they are too big in the waist/hips so whenever I am on the floor i.e. most of the day between playing and cleaning up, my pants are down well below the  crack.  I have a few tricks such as long sweaters, long shirts, scooting back against the wall, etc. but eventually I end the fight.  I can't spend all day covering my "line" as Olivia says (as in, "Mommy, I see your line!")  Mom jeans would end this problem by covering that area and sitting snugly around my waist.  My other jeans are a slightly higher rise and fit better in the waist/hips but are really snug around the thighs.  That is not a comfortable situation but I tend to wear those if we're going for a play date or someone's coming over here so that not all of my assets are exposed.
3. Boobs + Low Rise Jeans +Belly Flab =  constant shirt adjustment.  Need I say more?  I think all the ladies with D cups or above understand what I'm talking about.  It's a bad scene.   Add a v-neck shirt to the equation and you are constantly pulling the bottom of your shirt down and the top up.  

So, will I switch to mom jeans?  Not on your life.  Until I find a pair of jeans that will stay put and still look good I will just continue to struggle with the issue of plumber's crack.  Hey, here's an idea.  It is said that if you name a problem you take power over it.  What say you we rename Plumber's Crack to "Mom's Crevasse," or something similar?   Name it and claim it!  

1st Time Mom Vs. 2nd Time Mom

I have two daughters. They were singletons and have had very different babyhoods so far. Olivia was my first, she was a planned surprise (planned and then discovered after we had decided to stop trying for a baby) and Maya was completely planned. They are three and a half years apart and so far seem to be best friends.

There are some surprising differences in my experiences being a mom the first time around.

The First Time:

Everything had to be PERFECT! This was my baby, and she would lack for nothing. Nothing could be more important than having the pack and play match the pattern on the stroller and car seat. Except, of course, that everything had to be new. I remember the horror I felt at the idea of putting used clothes on my princess.

Everything had to be by-the-book. There was no compromise when it came to developmental toys, foods, breast or bottle fed and if I attempted to deviate at all I terrorized myself with ridiculous guilt trips.

I was convinced that I was not going to be able to keep her alive. That poor child was poked and prodded so many times during naps and night sleeping to ease my mind.

I spent hours agonizing over her development, my role in any delays and how to "help" her. The fact that our pediatrician, my co-workers at early intervention, my husband, our parents and everyone else said that she was developing fine meant nothing to me. What did they know? They weren't her mother!

The second time around has been very different.

This time there is more pressure to be fair to both of them and ensure that I am giving them enough time. Maya (baby #2) shows signs of being even more easy going than Olivia was, and smiles and laughs at everything!

This time I have them sharing a room so having Maya wake up in the night is more than just an inconvenience-it is a catastrophe! Once one was up, the other is, too and it is all I was able to do to get through that stage.

With Olivia, I agonized over the decision to supplement her with formula while primarily feeding her breast milk. With Maya, I made that decision with little to no hesitation. I actually was easier able to nurse Maya but I didn't have the patience for it. She was nursing non stop and I didn't have the ability to pump extra for bottle feedings.

This time, I am actually able to enjoy her milestones rather than always waiting for the next one to come up. I have more faith in our parenting and our knowledge of child development and I am confident that we are on the right path.

I keep thinking that having one was great, and it really was, but two are even better!

An Unidentified Flying Object

We were driving home from Wal-Mart, having survived a traumatic headband incident where I did not buy Olivia a headband. I was concentrating on the road, it was dark out and my eldest daughter was wailing in the back seat.

I was on the phone with Lincoln, my husband, when a projectile seemed to fly by my arm and down to the floor in front of my seat. As I had just moved my arm, I thought that I had probably knocked something out of the cup holder that is just at elbow height.

The ride continued uneventfully and Olivia was talking about the banana that she had been eating in the back in between mournful cries about the headband that was never to be. We reached our drive way and I opened the door.

When I looked down there was a peeled banana rolling around in front of my seat. I thought to myself: "She couldn't possibly have such good aim that she could chuck a banana through the two front seats, over my shoulder and have it land before the dash board! Much less in a moving vehicle on a dark night...could the banana have been there before our ride?" No. I knew it wasn't.

I turned around. She looked at me, defiantly, and I knew the horrible answer. She was the banana thrower. She was the one who had maliciously tossed the fruit at me. I asked her: "Why?"

And she said, perfectly innocently, "Mommy, I didn't like it! It was too spicy!"

Now what to do? This is not a scenario the books prepare you for. I don't remember anything about wild, fruit throwing, headband wanting children in the What to Expect books.

I looked at her and, trying so hard not to laugh while giving her my best, scary mom look said "You are not to ever throw anything in the car, it is dangerous, and I could have been hurt." In my head I'm thinking, really? I have to discipline you over a banana throwing incident? And I almost started to laugh again. I had to think along the lines of a more dangerous scenario. What if it had been a set of numchucks, or a sword or a frying pan instead of a banana? That would have been easier to dole out the serious discussion for. In the end, she agreed to never throw food again in the car and if she thought a banana was too spicy, she would ask me to take it.

I still am not sure why they have to test us in such ridiculous ways. It makes me wonder, is she testing more to see how I will react or how much she can get away with?

I feel Gram Moving in the Box...Discussing Death with my Daughter

This post is dedicated to Marie Hoover, a wonderful lady and my Husband's grandmother.

It was the summer, and my husband's grandmother was dying. She had been slowly declining for a few years, first her vision, then her physical abilities, and then she was declining mentally. She had in-home supports and then she fell.

When a neighbor came over to see what had happened, it is reported that Marie, in good spirits, looked up and jokingly said "I've fallen and I can't get up!" We found out shortly that she had broken her hip and the prognosis was grim at best.

We had discussed Gram's health issues with Olivia before, but not at great length because she is 4 and we didn't want to scare her. This was different. Gram had pulled out her IV at the hospital and was being transferred to a nursing home to pass on. She had decided that it was her time. How on earth were we going to explain this to Olivia?

I had been a social worker in my past life and had learned that there were a few things that we didn't want to do. We didn't want to tell her that Gram was going to "go to sleep" and we wouldn't see her any more because then she could be afraid to go to sleep. We didn't want to tell her anything that would cause her to be scared but weren't sure how to approach the subject.

I decided to tell her that Gram's body didn't work so well any more because she was very old and she was almost done with it. I told her what we believe about people having a spirit and when you are done with your body your spirit moves out and leaves the body behind. Once that happens, the body stops breathing, the heart stops and then the body dies. She accepted that and we talked a little bit about where the spirit might go. We decided that maybe it hangs around to check in on us but it probably has other places to be and we'll find that out some day.

So, we have the death settled and Olivia didn't seem too upset by that, she was just sad that she wouldn't see Gram any more. We went and said good bye to Gram at the Nursing home and waited for the news.

The funeral was a few days later. As we were driving to the cemetary I gave Olivia a quick run-down of what she was going to see. I had no idea what I was going to say. It went something like this:

Me: So, you know how we talked about Gram being done with her body and how her body died?

Olivia: Yeah. Gram's dead. I miss her.

Me: Well, today we're going to a funeral. That is where they take the body that isn't needed any more and it will be in a box. Then the men are going to put the box in the ground and bury it. Gram is not in there any more, though, she is probably flying around like an angel, we just can't see her any more.

Olivia: Oh, will she be moving in the box?

Me: No, Gram's body doesn't move any more.

Olivia: Oh.

Me: Most of the people will be sad because it is sad to say goodbye to someone you love, and a lot of people loved her very much.

Olivia: Yeah.

Once we reached the cemetary Olivia saw the coffin.

Olivia: Oh, there is Gram in the box!

Me: Yeah, there it is (I didn't know what to expect at this point).

Olivia: So, when are they going to put the box in the ground?

Olivia went up to the casket with her dad to say goodbye to Gram. She kneeled down next to the coffin, put her hands on top and looked up at my husband. In a very serious whisper she said "Daddy, Gram's in this box and I feel her moving around."

She did very well at the funeral and I guess that we didn't scare her with the death talk because she is able to talk about Gram, death and funerals and not be upset.

As an aside, as I wrote Gram's name the last time, one of our daughter's toys randomly started playing "Jimmy Crack Corn." Did I mention that Marie had a great sense of humor?

Mom Vs. Mom

For the past 4 1/2 years, I have been a part of a sisterhood that spans generations and transcends borders. I am a mother. I have two daughters who simultaneously melt my heart and exasperate me. I have friends who have children and who don't , who are married and who are single. Motherhood carries many challenges and rewards and for me it was a choice. However, it is the hardest thing I have ever had to do.

I have found that the most difficult part of motherhood so far is the guilt. This guilt comes from other mothers, from myself and from my expectations and it all feels horrible!

Let's talk first about the pressure and expectations we put on ourselves. I know that I have been a full-time working mom, a stay at home mom and a mostly stay at home mom with a little bit of work on the side. All three have advantages and disadvantages. Working outside of the home in a job that you enjoy is great. I think I was more patient when I was home with my oldest daughter and was able to put behavior in context. However, I missed her terribly and I felt terribly guilty that I was not with her. I never thought that I was doing a good job at the position of mom or worker and ended up leaving and going to part-time work.

I currently work part-time outside of the home. For me, that has been the best of both worlds. Even though my position is not a terribly prestigious one, I am able to get out of the house for two days a week, be "me" and not "mommy," and eat my dinner break in relative silence. Sometimes I even have time to eat and then read part of a book. I know. It's amazing.

Staying home and not working at all has been a possibility for me on rare occasions due to income limitations, but that was more challenging because I did feel very isolated. I also felt that I was morphing into another being-not Kristen the capable professional and mom but simply Mommy. I found that I wasn't able to discuss anything but diapers, my children and how dirty my house was. That was terrifying! I made a point of talking with my friend about everything besides our children for a whole morning when we were together for a play date...and we both realized how much we had missed ourselves!

Here's the real problem, though. I think we all feel these things sometimes. I think that there are so few people, though, that we can discuss these issues with because of the fear of being judged.

I know that I did not talk about these issues with my husband for a long time because I could just hear him saying "Well, this was your choice! Aren't you happy? Why don't you like being home with the girls?" And my answer would ramble on something like "Well, I am happy but I have a hard time sometimes because this job doesn't end, I work from 7 in the morning until 11 at night and usually my bosses are yelling at me, peeing or pooping somewhere, throwing up or refusing the meals I have prepared for them. Then you come home and say something like we really need to vacuum in here, eat dinner, fall asleep on the couch and then pout because we didn't have sex." Then I would probably say, "oh, forget it," and be mad at him for not understanding for the rest of the night. I had a few occasions when my daughter asked me for juice or a cookie and I wanted to melodramatically scream while pulling out my hair "WHAT ABOUT MY NEEDS? WHAT ABOUT WHAT MOMMY WANTS?" I didn't want to talk to my friends who were home with their children because I thought that I would seem selfish and ungrateful for this opportunity, and the same reason applied to my working friends. Once I did speak up, though, and tried to find some solutions I found that more people were feeling the same way than I had previously thought.

So moms, let's support each other more. Let's support ourselves, too! We are not going to be functional parents, wives or people if our entire life is about our child. We need to make ourselves a priority and find a way to keep our identity while working/staying home/whatever! So what are your thoughts? Do you agree or disagree? Have you figured out how to do this?