Friends, playmates and other enemies

Joseph is having his first ever birthday party with friends this coming Saturday.  We're having it a month early so that he was able to pass out invitations before school ended.  This is the first year he as really expressed an interest in a friend party.  Like most things with Joseph, once he got interested in the idea he got REALLY interested in.  This party is his current fixation.

We allowed Joseph to invite 13 kids to the party.  So far six have RSVPed with five yeses and one no.  I don't know if people just don't RSVP anymore or if all the other kids are not coming and their parents just aren't going to call.  We've already tried to set the groundwork so that he wouldn't be too sad if most of the kids can't come.  "It's a busy time of year.  There are lots of graduation parties and weddings and family vacations that people have to go to." and "You can have a really great party with six people.  That's a perfect number!"

To myself though I'm pleading with the universe to please let more kids come to this party.  It means so much to Joseph.  He's been working so hard and planning so much.  He wants the people that come to his party to enjoy themselves.  He wants to enjoy himself.  A big part of that will is dependent upon the people he likes being there with him.  He's such a sweet kid.  I just want him to have a fun party and be happy with the outcome.

We're dealing with bigger issues right now too though.  Elle is the youngest kid in our neighborhood and she's been picked as The Kid To Leave Out Of All The Fun.  The main instigator in all of this is the neighborhood brat across the street.  Most of the other kids on their own are decent enough kids but when the brat is around they tend to bend to her will.  Elle asks if she can join in with them when they play and they say no.  She asks if they want to come over and they say no.  If the brat is around that is.  Again, on their own they're nicer.

The brat is mean and manipulative.  She bribes the other kids in the neighborhood into not playing with Elle.  I have heard her offer the kids candy and Popsicles to get them to come to her house and not play with Elle.  The other day Elle was playing with the another little girl across the street and the brat came outside and saw them playing together.  She went inside and had her parents set her sprinkler up in the yard.  Then she came over and invited the other little girl to come over for a "sprinkler party".  Elle eagerly asked if she could come too.  "Please?" she chirped.  "I can go get my swimsuit on now!"

"You're not invited.  It's just a sprinkler party for my friends and we're going to have Popsicles too."

Elle cried and came back home.  The brat's mom stood in her front yard and watched all this and never said a word.  She just turned on the sprinkler and went inside.  Elle and I played a board game but she occasionally cast a wistful glance out the front window when the sounds of screams and laughter drifted across the street.

I've promised Elle that we will have plenty of sprinkler parties of our own and that I will make her the homemade lemonade popsicles that she loves.  And when the brat comes over to ask if she can join in (and she will) I have given Elle permission to say no and to be as rude as she wants about it.  Please don't tell me to be the bigger person here.  My daughter is sweet and tender hearted and it's in her nature to be kind.  She reminds me of myself when I was young.  "What's that? You want to kick me in the teeth?  Ok, but I still want to be your friend ok?"  I want Elle to know she doesn't have to take crap from people and do it with a smile.

Right now I'm on a mission to get a playground set for Elle.  All the families around us have them and all the kids play on each other's playgrounds.  Our yard has a big garden and an apple tree and a dying grape vine.  Wonderful for us but not so great for attracting playmates.  Those playground sets are expensive so I'm trying to find a used one. We have neighbors with a nice one I've offered to buy but they're undecided.  They have no young kids but I think they want to hang on to it just in case their kids have kids soon.  So now I'm scouting craigslist for a playground to help make Elle more popular.

Oy.  This was not a part of parenting that I was prepared for.

 How could anyone say no to these little dolls?

One year ago today my kids cleaned the bathroom.
Three years ago I added a chapter to Joseph's adoption story.

Teeth suck

Remember when my dentist was all "You have the most amazing teeth and the longest roots every!"?  Yeah, that was awesome.  The problem is that in addition to fantastic roots I also have two baby teeth left in my mouth.  Two of the bottom molars are baby teeth that don't have any permanent teeth under them.

Turns out that baby teeth don't last forever.  After a while the roots start to disintegrate and sooner or later they have to go.  And when one of your baby teeth has a cavity and one has a crack in it they have to go sooner.  I could have the teeth fixed but my dentist thinks I'll probably lose the teeth in a couple of years any way so it doesn't make much sense to pay to fix them now. 

Meaning?  The baby teeth are coming out.  And as long as the teeth are getting pulled I'm also having that stupid leftover fragment of wisdom tooth cut out.  You know, for funsies.

So tomorrow I have to go in and get two teeth pulled and a wisdom tooth removed.  It's gonna be so awesome!  And by awesome I mean terrible.  I'm going to be left with two empty spots in my mouth that have to heal before I can get implants or a bridge or whatever put in.  I'm not going to open my mouth at all for the next few months.  That should make some people in my life happy.  It makes me less happy as I rather enjoy running my mouth but what are you gonna do?

Wish me luck. I'm going to spend the rest of today drowning my extreme dental anxiety in chocolate cake.  And then probably a little wine.

One year ago today I had some news.
Two years ago today I liked Mike.
Four years ago today I got pregnant.  Awww!

Olive

Three of the most emotional moments of my life were when I gave birth to Elle and to Little A and to the twins.  The excitement, the fear, the happiness, the relief, the overwhelming love, they all combine into a ball of pure, raw feeling that nothing else can compare to for me.  For two of those births I have been lucky enough to have my best friend Jen there with me.  She was there reassuring me when I started to cry "I'm so scared!" when Little A started to crown.  She was there holding my hand when I was getting stitched up after my c-section with the twins.  She's been with me through two of the happiest/scariest/most wonderful moments of my life and a few weeks ago I was able to be with her when she gave birth to her second child.

Jen wrote her birth story and I am beyond honored that she has chosen to let me share it with you.  I hope you enjoy it and please, give her some love because my girl, she is a rock star.

Twilight descends, while the smell of wood fire drifts in through the open windows. I am contracting, more forcefully than the dwindling waves that teased me this morning. I am restless, moving about with a subdued but excited energy. My bath a few minutes earlier was relaxing, soothing, and seemed to make the contractions space out to the point of nearly disappearing. Upon stepping out of the tub, however, the waves returned and were stronger than before. I start timing, and am surprised that the rushes are coming every two to three minutes, and lasting a minute in length. Hopefulness blooms into knowledge that we will be meeting our daughter soon. The contractions quickly evolve from mild to uncomfortable, and I find a deep moan escaping me with each one. I sway my hips side to side, rocking the baby within my pelvis. Nathan and Amelia are outside, enjoying a spring evening bonfire. I choose to remain alone in this early hour of labor, enjoying being the only one to know what is about to happen tonight. But soon, I realize that I am working hard. I summon my family indoors to shower and finish packing, and to get ready for our hour-long drive to this babe’s place of birth. Amelia is both excited and anxious, a mix of bitter and sweet in this evening hour. She is worried about me, but excited about the birth. Her sweet words of “Mommy, are you ok? I’m sorry it hurts.” melt over me like a soothing balm to a burn. I finalize plans with my best friend Jen, who is serving as birth photographer and labor support. She will drive to us, and then follow us on the journey to the hospital. As we wait, my discomfort intensifies and thirty minutes feels like hours… finally she arrives, and we head out on our journey. I’m thankful that the change of scenery and being on the move means a shift in my body as well… contractions space out to ten minutes apart. I feel like I am running a long-distance race, setting mile markers for myself along the way : one-fourth, halfway, nearly there. Navigating while Nathan drives is a welcome distraction. Somehow the dark night and lack of traffic makes the drive seem so much faster than in the past, even with labor upon me. We arrive at the hospital, and are directed upstairs. Welcomed by a nurse, I change into a gown and am monitored for a short while to make sure baby is well. Lying on my back is so uncomfortable, and feels so unnatural. I am meant to be upright at least, but what my body really hungers for is the birth tub. Susanna, one of my midwives, walks in to greet me. Tears wet my cheeks instantly, I think mostly in relief that this really indeed is happening. Now we are done monitoring the baby, so I can get up to labor as I please. I ask that the birth tub be filled, while I continue with the hard work of birth. Nothing feels good… not the birth ball, not bending over the bed, not standing still. The closest I come to comfort is rocking rhythmically in the rocking chair, keeping time to the metronome within me. With each contraction, my legs involuntarily straighten and shake. At last, I am told that the tub is deep enough for me. I step in and drop my round, full body into the deep warm water.

Instantly I feel my face soften, my muscles release, and my breath deepen. I manage a smile, a joke with my friend and even a bit of laughter. Amelia has, in the meanwhile, fallen asleep. Nathan and Jen take turns keeping me company, and I seem to be able to relax fairly well between contractions. During contractions, I don’t want them to talk to me or touch me… but rather to simply be near me. Soon, however, the relief I feel from the water is challenged by the intensity of my labor.

 I find it nearly impossible to give in to the discomfort which washes over me, my legs tensing up once again. It seems that I relax the best in between by floating on my back, but seem to be able to work better with the pain if I flip to my knees in a supported semi-squat. Soon, however, I realize that this position magnifies the ever growing pressure in my pelvis. I find that I am starting to make guttural sounds with the rushes, and am even pushing slightly against my own efforts to fight it. It has only been an hour and a half or so since Susanna told me that my cervix was 3 centimeters open, so I can’t imagine that I am even close to being dilated enough to push. My nurse checks me, and amazingly I am already 6-7 centimeters. From this point on, every bit of my effort during contractions is focused on NOT pushing. I manage a few contractions with breathing and am able to keep from pushing, but it takes every ounce of my strength. It is unpleasant to fight this urge but I know the reasons why it is important for me to do so. Renee, one of the other midwives, has finally arrived to support Susanna at the water delivery. I look to her with pleading eyes, and call out to both women with the mantra “Help me…. Help me…” each time a rush comes. They are truly, in this moment, fulfilling the meaning of their vocation – midwife means “with woman”. They are with me. I say over and over than I can’t do it, I can’t go on, but I see Susanna nodding her head “yes” to me with a sweet and silent strength. Renee confirms and encourages with words. Once again, I start to push against my own will. This time, I cannot fight this freight train that is barreling through me. I am checked again, and can push. It feels so good to work with my body. I feel the baby within me rocking herself out of me with each push. Amelia is quietly ushered into the room and sits with Nathan in the corner, watching intently.

 The contractions pick up, and I don’t feel like I am getting any rest periods. It feels best to keep pushing, and I nearly forget to breathe as this stage reaches its peak. I hear the words “Jen, you’re going to have this baby in the next two contractions”. Disbelief is my only reaction. Already? So soon? We’ve only been here three hours! Indeed, Susanna is right and I feel the intense burn of crowning. Suddenly the energy in the room shifts, for the baby is presenting with a nuchal hand. Not a dangerous presentation, but certainly a challenging one to be facing in a birth tub. With some twisting, pushing and pulling – a primal scream escapes me and my baby is lifted to the surface of the water and placed on my chest.

 Little eyes look up at me and I am astounded by this new yet familiar creature that is clutching to my breast. My daughter. Sweet little Olive… newest love of my life and holder of my heart.

No longer are we one being… no more will I feel her stretches inside of me and the tapping of her hiccoughs. Amelia cuts the cord, sobs of joy escaping her. Nathan and I are crying, too, so overwhelmed with happiness and gratitude. We are a family redefined, the final bookend in place. We are not quite what we were before, yet not something entirely new. All I know is that we are, in every sense of the word, complete.

Thank you Jen.  Thank you for letting me be there with you and for sharing this and for bringing Olive into this world because she is lovely.

We've got spirit?

It's Spirit Week at the kid's school this week.  The idea behind Spirit Week is that every day the kids wear different thing to school to match that day's theme.  Hat day, school color day, beach day, crazy hair day, career day, stuff like that.  That's how it's supposed to work.

Here's how Spirit Week works for us: Monday morning I send Joseph off to school.  That afternoon I go to pick him up.  As I walk into the school I notice that all around me are kids dressed as doctors or mermaids or chefs.  "Oh shit!" I think to myself.  "We missed Spirit Week AGAIN!"  When I walk into the office Joseph is sitting there surrounded by tiny trial lawyers and pop singers.  He looks a little ticked off.  "I'm so sorry buddy!" I gush. "We'll do all the other Spirit Days, I promise!"

Then we go home and look at the list describing the themes for the rest of the week and Joseph decides he doesn't want to do anything other than Hat Day anyway because the rest of them are "too weird".

And that's Spirit Week.

In other news totally unrelated to anything yesterday Elle had a tick behind her ear.  I didn't think it was really attached so I tried to pull it off of her.  It's body came off but it's head did not.  So then I had to dig the head out.  Elle is over-dramatic and kind of doesn't handle pain well so the whole affair involved a lot of crying and whimpering.  I'm sort of over-dramatic and I don't handle my children's pain well so the whole affair also involved a lot of gagging and trying not to cry.  I had to shut the windows so the neighbors wouldn't hear all the drama and think BAD THINGS were happening in the house.

Oh, that reminds me!  Sad news!  Our second favorite neighbors just put their house up for sale.  Our favorite neighbors are the people who have us over for beers on the deck during the summer but our second favorite neighbors are the ones who's children think my children are going to hell.  How sad is that?  Those are the nicest people in our neighborhood.  But really, they are good neighbors and their kids are super sweet and we will all be sad to see them go.

But back to the tick.  After much drama we got the stupid tick head out and then we ate some chocolate to make ourselves feel better.  All that's left is a red sore spot from where I was digging around.  This morning Elle asked me to comb her hair to cover the spot up.  I did and then she put on a witch hat because today is Crazy Hat day.

One year ago today I shared a terrible picture of myself.
Four years ago today Joseph was sick.
Five years ago today Elle ate a lemon.

Facebook is like the rapture

I suppose I had better blog something.  If the rapture come I don't want the last post on this blog to be one with a bunch of terrible pictures of me.

The fact is, social media is killing this blog.  And by "social media" I mean "facebook".  I made a conscious decision a couple of years ago to unplug from Twitter and stop trying to "build" my "brand" but I'm sort of addicted to facebook.  And not just because of FarmVille!  I like the instant feedback and connection that if offers.

Everyone knows commenting is down.  I used to get 10-20 comments on a post.  Now I get two or three.  And I'm not complaining because I know that's just how it is.  I'm guilty of not commenting.  Like, ever.  Even with my very favorite bloggers I just read, smile and mark as read.

But on facebook I comment and "like" and share and interact.  If I have something I want to share with the world these days it just seems so much easier to do it there.  I have over 500 facebook friends.  If I feel like everyone who wants to know anything about me is probably friends with me on facebook so they can just read about my life there.  Except my mother in law.  She reads my blog but she's not on facebook.  And that's ok.  We need the distance.  Otherwise daughter-in-law Jen and social media Jen would collide and I just can't handle that.

So facebook is taking over.  I can deal with that.  But I love this blog and I'm not willing to let it die so easily.  I have to make more of an effort to update it.  (Assuming that tomorrow I don't find myself spending all eternity in the fiery pits of hell...) I started this blog mainly as a record of my children's lives (hence the stupid url name) and if they ever read it someday I want them to think "Wow, our mom sure was delighted with us!" and not "Wow, our mom sure was easily distracted!  And why did she talk about her boobs so much?"

So, my darling children, if you ever read this, here is what you've been up to lately:

On Wednesday when I picked Elle up from school she had a missing tooth.  It had been loose and she pulled it out all by herself while she was supposed to be doing a math worksheet.  I'm a little sad I didn't get to be with her when she lost her first tooth but only a little sad since seeing loose teeth makes me feel a little gaggy.  I'm also a little sad that my baby is old enough to be losing teeth.  How did that happen so fast?

Joseph's class is going to be seeing a sex ed video on Monday.  His teacher sent home a slip this week for us to sign, giving him permission to see the video.  This is what was written at the top of the note:

It's like he's trying to tell me something ... When I told him that I wanted him to watch the video he said "I'm honestly shocked Mommy.  I never thought you would want me to see something like that."  I reassured him that the video would be appropriate for fourth graders but he's still pretty sure it's going to be terrible.  We reached a compromise where he will be in the room when the video is on but he doesn't have to look at the screen if he doesn't want to.  Nothing is simple with this child.  He sure is cute though.

One year ago today Jesse didn't read.
Two years ago today I had underwear in my fruit basket.
Three years ago today Joseph raised his eyebrows.

Precious memories?

I've been going through my old pictures and pitching a bunch of them.  Anything where the subject is too blurry or far away to recognize gets tossed.  Anything where I look like a goober gets tossed.  (I look like a goober a LOT.)  Any pictures of animals I don't know, place I don't recognize or people I don't like goes as well.  I think back in the days of film if you took a picture you damned well kept it forever because film was expensive and just because you had no idea who or what that gray blob you took a picture of was no reason not to keep it and treasure it forever.

This is my old dog Sophie.  Yes, she really was this blurry.  And demon eyed.  If you look closely you can see my wall covered with New Kids On The Block pictures.  In my defense I have a really good excuse for this.  It's because I liked NKOTB long after everyone else on the planet realized that they sucked.  That's ok, MORE POSTERS FOR ME!!!

Here's my brother and I swimming at Typhoon Lagoon in Disney World.  We were able to obtain this image by purchasing a high tech water  proof disposable camera.  I think we can agree it was worth it.  Interesting side note - this is the last time I let anyone take a picture of me in a swimsuit.

Here's another one of my brother and me.  This was an interesting period for us fashion-wise. That is to say, even though he was a boy and I was a girl two and a half years older than him, we matched.  It's hard to tell here but we have the same haircut.  We're both wearing bright tank tops and brightly colored, geometric patterned shorts.  The only things setting us apart are my Sally Jesse glasses and the fact that I got use of the shared ribcage that day.

Here's a great picture that was really worth hanging onto.  It was taken at the US Air Force Academy and one of those tiny blurs in the back is a boy I was madly in love with at the time.  This was before I figured out what the "zoom" button on my camera was for.  Precious memories.

This must have been in third grade.  I'm wearing a teddy bear pin because my teacher liked teddy bears.  I think this was taken right after I walked through a wind tunnel and mussed my Little House hairdo.

This is a picture I took of Jesse right after we got married.  Jeez, he looks like he's 12.  And in the act of going to catch the bus.  Holy crap.

Now this isn't a terrible picture but there's a funny story behind it.  We were invited to a Halloween party and Jesse and I went as Jerry Springer guests and our friend came with us and went as a security guy from the show. (I made his shirt.)  We were the first people at the party.  The next person to show up was a woman dressed as an M&M and when she got there she took one look at us and whined "Why am I the only one dressed up?"  Meaning, of course, that she thought we really looked like that.  We couldn't stop laughing at her.

Look at my baby!  Oh, he was so tiny.  That's a newborn outfit he's wearing and swimming in.  I think he's about two months old here.

Aw, look at the little cutie pie! Who's the most adorable little pumpkin in the whole wide world? Who's the sweetest little ...

Augh!  Kill it!  Kill it with fire!!!  Ok, I think we can all agree that I didn't age well.  I mean, look at me.  I'm rocking a pants suit.  And we won't even talk about glasses that are so huge I'm amazed I was able to hold my head up.

This is a trading card my dad made for me back when I was on a kid's track and field team.  The stats on the back say I weigh 90 pounds.  I bet 20 of that was my mullet perm and glasses.

This is a phase in my life I call The Kick-Ass Earring Years.  I had a lot of really cool earrings.  And a poodle perm.  And I really liked the jumper I'm wearing in the picture.  Man, I was awesome.

Here's a picture of my family at Christmas.  There's my brother and my dad and my dogs and my mom.  And my mom's hair.  Sorry Mom.  If I end up dead we all know who did it right?

Since turnaround is fair play I want to share one final picture with you.  When I was 14 my mom took me to this woman who did makeovers and gave fashion advice.  She did my hair and makeup.  I seem to remember liking how it turned out.

Sigh.

Two years ago today I flashed people.
Four years ago today Joseph explained digestion.
Six years ago I had gas.

And I used to look so stylish

I have a grey crewneck tee but I don't like to wear it anymore because I don't want people to think I got it for free by ordering a pair of pajama jeans.


Two years ago today I went to the gym.
Three years ago today I was creeped out by E.T.

Raising atheists

Yesterday Elle told me that the little girls next door told her how the earth was made.  "There's a man who lives in the sky who made the earth and the water and even the animals.  I think his name is Odd."

I always struggle with moments like this.  The fact is I think I want to raise open minded kids but how open minded do I really want them to be?  If one of the kids came to me and said "Johnny said thunder is caused by a man in the sky with a big hammer" I wouldn't hesitate to correct them. I would want them to know the facts and to believe the facts and not a made up story.  I would have no problem saying "That's not true."

Joseph is kind of fascinated with the concept of religion and until fairly recently when we've talked about it I've always tried to be somewhat vague about what I believe.  I've used general terms like "some people think this" and "some people believe that".  Lately though Joseph has wanted specific answers.  He'll present me with something a friend of his has said and he wants to know what I think about it.  It's made me examine how I talk to my kids about religion and matters of faith.

For example, after the little girls next door told Joseph he would go to Hell if he didn't believe in God he wondered what I thought.  I didn't think that would be a good time to say "Gee son, some people believe that's true and gosh darn it, maybe they're right.  Who really knows?" so I told him straight out what I think.  I told him I don't believe that.  I told him that I don't believe in Hell and I don't believe in God and I don't believe anyone who lives a good life and tries to be kind to people will ever be punished after they die.  Once I came right out and said it he was really relieved.  "Good" he said "because I don't believe in all that stuff either."

Joseph deals in logic and concrete ideas.  He needed to know what I thought and once I told him he felt more comfortable exploring what he did and did not believe.  And the more we've discussed it the more it's caused me to examine how I express my beliefs to my children and to the people around me in general.

I have some weird issues about admitting I am an atheist.  I feel ... guilty about it.  No, that's not right.  But I don't know how else to describe it.  It's in my nature to try to look at everyone else's point of view.  I always try to think of how the other guy might see things.  I don't want to be so single minded that I start to think only my opinion is right and only my way of thinking is right and only my way of doing things is right.  Yes, of course I have my own opinions and ways of doing things but I try to be open minded and accepting.

There is a tiny part of me that feels like if I am honest with people about being an atheist it's like saying "You're ideas about religion are wrong and everything you believe in is wrong."  So when I discuss religion with my children my first instinct is to temper what I say.  "Some people believe..."  "Some people think..." I hesitate to say that oh, by the way, I think those things are false.

It occurred to me to me though today that the people next door have no problem telling their children "God created the world and and if you don't believe it you're going to Hell."  So why do I have a hard time telling my kids "There is a logic and a reason behind how the world came to be and science can explain how we got here and there is no man in the sky looking down on us and waiting to punish us for breaking the rules."?

After all, I have no problem trying to instill other beliefs in my children.  I want them to believe that it is important to be kind to others.  I want them to believe that it's not ok to hit or to be hit.  I want them to believe that vegetables are delicious but that chocolate is ok once in while too.  I want them to believe that you should stand up for what you believe in.  I want them to believe that reading is fun is and education is important and that you should never stop learning.  I want them to believe that two plus two equals four.  I want them to be thoughtful and logical.

So when Elle told me that a man named Odd created the world I shut off that little part of me that felt guilty for admitting what I believe.  I looked her right in the eye and I told her "I don't believe that's true sweetie.  I think it's ok that they think it's true but that just doesn't make sense to me."  I used her interest in dinosaurs and fossils to help explain how scientists were able to prove that the earth had been around a long time.  She's a very smart little girl and she even threw in some of her own ideas.  "And we know some dinosaurs evolved from other dinosaurs and that's how animals evolved too?"

I realize that at this point I'm still the most influential person in my children's lives.  I struggle with that responsibility at times.  But I have to face up to it.  I want my children to be logical, open minded, free-thinkers.  I have to set the ground work for that.  We live in an area that is fairly religious and conservative.  If I don't take the responsibility to let them know it's ok to question things and to think differently from the people around you then who will?

Odd knows it's not going to be the neighbors.

Two years ago today I was random.
Four years ago today Elle was beautiful.
Six years ago today I had eye jelly issues.