Top 10 of 2010

Our favorite family moments and events of the year, in chronological order:

1. We hunted for Easter eggs in our own front yard for the first time. (April)

2. We welcomed Spring with a family fishing trip. (April)

3. We watched James “march, march, march” in several local parades. (May)

4. We helped James shop for a motorcycle for his birthday. (June)

5. We rooted for the home team at a Valley Cats baseball game. (July)

6. We welcomed Jonathan Ryan into the family. (July)

7. We spent a beautiful day at the Washington County Fair. (August)

8. We brought home another new family member, Beast the Boston Terrier puppy. (October)

9.We went apple picking and pumpkin patching. (September & October)

10. We treasured a joyful Christmas together. (December)

Have a HAPPY NEW YEAR!

December Birthday Blues

To calculate the number of times you’ve heard me complain about my birthday take the number of years you’ve known me and multiply it by the number of times that birthdays and/ or birthday parties have come up in conversation during each year. Now take that number and add one….Because you’re about to hear it again.

I was born on December 26^th, better known as the day after Christmas, and it’s the one thing about myself that causes me the most grief (yes, even more than my bushy, uncontrollable, wolf-woman eyebrows). If I had to guess why it bothers me so much I would say it stems from growing up in a family of seven. When you have four siblings there are very few things in life that are just for you. All five of us kids shared a bedroom and all seven of us shared one bathroom. We shared toys, we often shared clothes, and we even shared friends. We had no say in what we ate for dinner and what to watch on TV was decided by the group as a whole. But birthdays were the one exception. On our birthday we would get to pick whatever we wanted for dinner and could choose what type of cake to have. For that one day our new toys were ours alone. From this I came to believe that a person should always feel special on his/ her birthday.

But when your birthday is December 26^th you rarely get that honor. The entire Western world is completely preoccupied with Christmas from the end of November until the third week in December and amidst the holiday hustle and bustle it’s easy to forget a birthday that isn’t THE birthday. Therefore, during the one time of the year that should be my special time, I become a mere afterthought. Gifts tend to be skimpy or non-existent because everyone’s budget is consumed by Christmas expenditures. People wrap my presents in Christmas wrapping paper or, if I’m lucky, they’ll wrap them in inside-out wrapping paper and write “HAPPY BIRTHDAY” on the white backdrop. Often times people try to give me a “two-in-one” gift, claiming that the present is for Christmas and my birthday combined. (I see right through you, people. I know you just forgot or are too cheap to buy two!) It’s not that I’m preoccupied with getting things. What’s important here is not the gift, but it’s the lack of effort and thoughtfulness shown by such a poor display. If your birthday falls in any other month of the year then people go out and buy a roll of birthday paper specifically for you, but if you’re unlucky enough to have been born in December you have to settle for reindeer printed remnants.

 

Another negative aspect of having a December birthday is that throwing a party is almost impossible. I haven’t had a real birthday party since I was six years old. People are always busy during the Christmas season, spending time with their families and traveling out of town to see relatives. At any other time of the year people might be willing to make special arrangements to ensure their attendance at a friend’s party, but not in December. Christmas is the premier holiday and everything else pales in comparison. I’m not in any way trying to say that my birthday should come before the celebration of Christ’s birth. All I’m saying is that it really sucks to have to compare your own importance to that of the Alpha & Omega and realize, on a yearly basis, that you have no chance of ever coming close.

As you can tell, I am far from finding the key to overcoming the birthday blues. I think it might be a mix between having really low expectations and really great family and friends who are willing to go out of their way on my account. Even if it takes me until the year I turn 80, I am determined to tackle this beast. I might just have to take matters into my own hands and throw myself a huge birthday bash bonanza with balloons, streamers, confetti, banners, a seven layer chocolate cake, and presents all wrapped in brightly colored birthday paper. If I expect any friends to attend I know I’d better give enough advance notice for them to cancel their Christmas plans. So save the date for December 26^th, 2062!

Our Christmas BANG!

When I think of the phrase, “go out with a bang,” I picture the fireworks spectacular at Disneyland. Every night at dark thousands of guests, young and old, gather along Main Street USA in eager anticipation to see a show with the magic and grandeur that only Disney can produce. The fireworks light up the sky in coordination with orchestral music blasting out of the park’s loud speakers. The show starts out with a light and whimsical dance and the fireworks explode with a POP! here, a WHIZ! there, and then a CRACKLE! At first they are simple; the type you would find at any everyday show. But then the music tempo quickens and big, uniquely shaped bursts will explode above with a large BOOM! Everyone cheers. Eventually the show draws to a close and the grand finale is a pyrotechnic display beyond comparison. The music is intense and powerful and fireworks of all shapes, sizes, and colors burst in the dark sky with a jaw-dropping BANG, BANG, BANG!

Disneyland’s fireworks show is a lot like our last 10 days together. We shared many common, ordinary moments together, with some special ones mixed in between, and the week eventually culminated into a spectacular Christmas day.

We spent a lot of our last week and a half together going about business as usual- I did the extra cooking, dishes, and laundry that went along with having an extra adult in the house, James fixed some odds and ends that were demanding his attention. But we also made sure to spend some time making memories together- We spent some quality one-on-one time with each of the kids, James and I spent some quality time with each other when went to dinner one night. One of my favorite times was when we all (including Johnny!) got outside and played in the snow.

We spent most of Christmas Eve preparing a large feast. James and I worked together in the kitchen all day and made turkey, stuffing, mashed potatoes, gravy, cranberry sauce, candied yams, corn, dinner rolls, and of course, pie.

Then, after our bellies were full, we retreated to the living room and enjoyed a Christmas movie with the kids. After we’d dressed them in their matching snowman pjs and sent them to bed we began playing Santa. I was in charge of filling the stockings and James worked hard to build the train table set for the kids.

Johnny must have sensed the excitement in the house because he refused to fall asleep. He kept James and me company for the two hours that we spent preparing for Christmas.

By 10:30 we were all nestled snugly in our beds with visions of sugarplums dancing in our heads.

Christmas Day was a thrill from beginning to end. The kids had a great time opening presents and James and I loved watching them get excited about the toys we’d chosen for them. There wasn’t any fighting (and whenever Jamie is involved in an activity, that‘s saying a lot!). They took turns ripping open their gifts, waited patiently when it was Mommy and Daddy’s turn, and helped Johnny open his packages.

 

 

Opening our presents only took an hour and we spent most of the rest of the day playing with all the new goodies.

 

 

 In the afternoon we all watched the Phineas and Ferb Christmas Special: A Very Perry Christmas. After eating a dinner of left-overs and stocking candy, everyone played some Wii games together. Soon thereafter it was off to bed.

In retrospect, Christmas was the perfect ending to our time together. Ordinarily a week like this would sputter out and close with a dark and dismal end. But instead our entire week was spent in eager anticipation of this special day and when the day finally came it was full of laughter and joy. We made memories to sustain us through the next seven months, and then some. Saying good-bye to James the next morning was tearful but all-in-all I was so happy that he was able to go out with a big Christmas BANG!, in true Disney fashion.

"Take me to the DMV"

It feels like only yesterday that we were bringing baby Johnny home from the hospital. And now, here we are, five months later. He has grown immensely in size, now tipping the scales at over 19 lbs. His 6-12 month size clothes are getting snug and I think I’ll have to dig out some of Jamie’s old 12-18 month clothes from the basement before the month is over. In the last two weeks he has made great bounds in development. A few days ago he started to roll over, slowly at first but now he can roll from his back to his tummy in the blink of an eye. He can also scoot himself backwards by pushing with his forearms. I put him beside me in the bathroom while I was washing his brother & sister’ s hair on Tuesday night and he scooted himself out the door and into the hallway before the big kids were out of the tub. Johnny’s stationary days are over! He’s also had his first tastes of solid food this month. Taking the pediatrician’s recommendation, we started feeding him an occasional meal of rice cereal mixed with breast milk. So far, he’s not a big fan. He mostly pushes the cereal out with his tongue, makes a funny face, and gags. But before long I know that he’ll be eating like a champ and demanding entire jars of sweet potatoes and applesauce. Heck, before I know it he’s going to be asking me to take him to the DMV to get his driver’s license!

Often times, motherhood can feel very un-rewarding. The fruits of our labor are non-tangible. Our job takes delayed gratification to the extreme. That is why we cling to little milestones like starting solid foods and rolling over. We can point to each new stage and say, “See, I did that!” Johnny is healthy and growing because of the nourishment I have given him. He is happy and smiling because of the nurturing we are giving him. He may not be able to express his gratitude but with each little roll I get a feeling of pride and accomplishment that makes my unceasing dedication to this job worthwhile. These small feats are surely a thrill and provide a mother enough encouragement to keep her pushing onward, through the sleepless nights and monotonous days. Fifteen and a half years from now I plan to come back and read this post so that when my teenage Johnny gives me a snide comment and rolls his eyes after I remind him to put his hands at 10 and 2, I will secretly know he means, “I love you, Mom. You're doing a great job!”

Perfectionists Need Not Apply

If there was an application to file for parenthood (and sometimes I think there ought to be) then at the top, in big bold letters, it would state: PERFECTIONISTS NEED NOT APPLY. Because perfectionism has no business in the parenting work place.

It has taken me three children and over four years to come to terms with my inability to do everything to the best of my ability. My personal motto is famed to be “It’s not worth doing unless it’s worth over-doing.” I pride myself on going above and beyond. Giving anything less just feels wrong. But since I’ve become a mother I have slowly exchanged my perfectionism for practicality. Things that used to be a priority, like my appearance, having a clean house, and getting to places on time, have all taken a back seat. I am learning to make peace with the fact that things can be done imperfectly and still be acceptable.

Decorating Christmas cookies is a favorite holiday pastime of mine. On Saturday I got to enjoy this pastime with the kids. In the morning Jamie and I cut out and baked gingerbread cookies and in the afternoon Josie and I decorated them. Jamie loved playing with the flower that I laid down while rolling out the cookie dough. The flour ended up on the floor, on his clothes, even on the dogs (and I’m sure it would have been smeared on Johnny if he hadn‘t been tucked safely in his crib for a nap). Then Jamie got to choose which cookie cutter shapes to use and slapped them down, sometime up-side-down and sometimes half off the side of the dough. He tried picking up the cut out cookie shapes and throwing them onto the cookie sheets. A few of them actually made it into the oven intact.

After the cookies had come out of the oven and cooled on their wire racks, Josie sat down at the table to help me decorate. I spread a layer of icing onto the cookies and handed them to Josie, who would applied the candies. At first she just dumped piles of sprinkles on top. After the first few cookies she started getting a little more detailed. She squished the red-hot dots into the icing in a few places and used chocolate chips here and there. She combined all colors of sprinkles and sugar. The table top was a rainbow mess!

If a pre-motherhood me from five years ago had witnessed this activity she would have cringed. The finished cookies were a far cry from the decorative masterpieces that they would have been had I done them myself. But then, the process wouldn’t have been half as much fun. Doing things with my kids is messier, more complicated, more stressful, and much more time consuming. But by abandoning all expectations of achieving perfection I have been able to enjoy days like this for what they are- the chance to make priceless memories with my kids- instead of obsessing over the quality of the outcome.

I don’t want you to get me wrong. This is not to say that I don’t still expect great things from myself or that I don’t plan to encourage my kids to strive for excellence. Perfectionism has its place but that place is not in a home with preschoolers, toddlers, and infants. You can bet that when my kids are older I will be pressing them to do their best at everything they undertake. So to Josie, Jamie, and Johnny: Consider this fair warning. In a few more years I will expect your cookies to be winning blue ribbons in the county fair!



Two in Tow

People always told me that I would take less pictures of my second child than of my first and even fewer pictures of my third than of my second. For the most part, I hadn’t found this to be true. I have far more baby pictures of Jamie than I do of Josie and much more of Johnny than I do of the other two. I attribute this to me being an experienced mother and being able to recognize how quickly they grow. With each child I tried to take more pictures so I could capture those moments which were all too fleeting. And besides that, I’m honestly just obsessed with capturing my kids’ cuteness for the world to see.

But last night I came to realize why people warned me that I wouldn’t be taking as many pictures after I had more kids. It’s because when you have two in tow, you don’t have a free hand to hold the camera!

The kids were all decked out in their coordinating Christmas outfits for Josie’s preschool Christmas program on Friday night. We dropped Josie off in the upstairs classroom to start warming up and then the boys and I went to the church sanctuary to find good seats to watch her sing. James was playing camera man and found himself a perch in the balcony so that he could get the best shot. This left me with a wiggly infant and a rambunctious toddler. They’re a handful just by themselves and my determination to take pictures in addition to supervising them and watching the program simply complicated the matter.

So I snapped a shot, then told Jamie not to throw his daddy’s jacket on the floor, then snapped another shot, then pried Johnny’s fingers open to release my hair he was pulling, then snapped another shot, then scolded Jamie for standing on a hymnal, then snapped another shot, then wiped the baby spit-up off Johnny’s lip and shirt with James’ new scarf, then snapped another shot, then asked Jamie if he was okay after he bumped his head on the pew, then snapped another shot, then played tug-of-war with Johnny to get the camera out of his grasp, then snapped another shot. Thankfully, mid way through the madness a nice woman in the nearby pew saw my struggle and offered to hold the baby so that I could take some pictures. And before I knew it, Josie’s 9 minute long concert was over.

It wasn’t until the car ride home that I realized how much I’d missed. James was commenting about Josie being the tallest in her class, and saying how funny it was when Josie gave a big yawn in the middle of the first song, and how much he liked it that she kept waving to him during the program. I missed all these things. The things that stood out to me the most were that Johnny’s shirt wouldn’t stay tucked, his overall snaps wouldn’t stay shut, and that I’d barely escaped an embarrassing tantrum when I had to drag Jamie off the stage during the intermission. I was lucky that I got a few poorly lit, un-focused, un-centered photos of Josie at all.

The lesson I learned from the night was that a lot of details slip through the cracks when you have two little boys in tow. Oh well. That’s what camcorder happy husbands are for.

Snow Day

I grew up in California’s Mojave Desert, where Joshua Trees are plenty but snow is scarce. I could count the number of times it snowed during my childhood on my fingers. In the thirteen years that I attended school there I never once got to experience a Snow Day.

So now I’m making up for lost time. I take a Snow Day every chance I get!

This week we had our first real snowfall of the season. When I woke up on Tuesday morning there was a beautiful layer of fluffy white snow covering the ground. The desert rat in me still gets jittery inside and tingly all over whenever I see snowflakes. My excitement must have rubbed off on my kids too because once Josie saw the snow she didn’t stop asking to play in it.

We had already made plans to spend the morning with some friends of ours so I stuffed all the kids’ snow gear into some tote bags to take with us. After a community Christmas party we went back to our friends’ house, geared up, and headed out. Is it just me, or are kids even more adorable than usual when they’re puffed up in three layers of winter wear?

 

Josie spent her time in the snow making snow angels, building a snow tower, and playing kitty. Jamie spent his time marching around and admiring his footprints, eating handfuls of snow, and playing with branches. Our friend Robby sat on his Kawasaki ride-on toy and admired the beautiful scenery. When Josie asked him if he wanted to come make a snow angel with her he shouted, “No, I want to go see God!” Josie replied, “God lives really far away, Robby. You better drive there.” He made it as far as the front yard and went inside to his mommy. I guess the road to God is a tedious one....

The kids and I went back into the snow later in the afternoon, after naptime. Josie enjoyed shoveling and running around with the dogs (but she started to cry when Cinder, the cat, snatched her glove right off her hand and dashed away with it). Jamie only got to sled down the hill a couple times before we ran out of daylight but he was having a great time. Johnny, on the other hand, was not a fan. Maybe he needs to spend some time in the desert so that he can come to appreciate the beauty and fun of a Snow Day.



Confessions of a Chubby Girl

Doesn't it seem like the women who talk the most about losing weight are the women who have the least amount of weight to lose? That's not to say that they think about it more. In fact, I'd bet that those of us who are overweight actually think about our weight more than the average size woman does.We're just too embarrassed to talk about our bodies, our diets, and our routines and habits. Well this is me attempting to break my silence of shame. I'm going to be brutally honest about my problems with weight in hopes of conquering them....

In the past five years I have gone from skinny to pregnant to chubby to pregnant to fat to thin to pregnant to chubby. My body has been on one hell of a roller coaster ride. I have successfully gained weight three times and successfully lost it only once. Now, at almost five months post-partum, I am feeling more and more self-invoked pressure to lose my baby weight again (I'd like to say "once and for all" here but that may not be the case.) So far I just haven't been able to muster up the emotional strength and willpower to make it happen.

Here's why:
-I'm tired. Throughout the day I feel my energy dwindling so I reach for a quick sugar boost to help me along. At the end of the day I just want to put my feet up and veg on facebook with a bowl full of Oreos before I have to spend the night nursing. The last thing I feel like doing is exercising.
-I'm busy. Many of my days are spent on the run- preschool, playgroup, grocery shopping, church events. Sometimes there just isn't time to cook a wholesome, well balanced meal and more often than not the quick and easy meals are filled with fat. Being busy also means that I'm never at liberty to go for a jog or hit the gym.
-I'm bored. There's only so much cross-legged play time I can handle. I love to watch my kids play and to play with them but after a while it becomes mind-dumbingly boring.And my default activity is baking.
-I'm happy. I love a good celebration just like the rest of the world. And no celebration is complete without cake, cookies, candy, sodas, etc. It seems that every week there's something to celebrate.
-I'm sad. The past few months have been killer on my emotional sanity. With my husband gone I have little to look to for comfort during dark times. So I look to the fridge.

Those probably sound like excuses, and I guess they are. So to counteract them, here are some motivations.

Here's why I want/ need to lose weight:
-For God. I want to treat His creation- my mind and body- with the respect that all His creations deserve.
-For myself. I want to feel confident and proud. I want to feel beautiful and sexy. I don't want to feel like "the fat one" when I'm in a room with my friends.I want to enjoy shopping for clothes for myself and to smile when I see the size label on the tag.
-For my kids. I want to be a good example of healthy eating habits. I want to have the energy, strength, and stamina to play rough and go wild with them.
-For my husband. I want him to find me as attractive as he did the day we were married. I want him to be proud of me when he shows my picture to new people he meets.
-For the ones to come? If we decide to have another baby, I want my body to be in good shape and prepared to handle another pregnancy.

So there it is, all layed out. This is the inward battle that I fight every day. I hope that by posting this I will at least be making a start towards winning the batte.
　
　
　

The Innocence of Age

(Me at age 2)

Now that I am an adult, I find myself remembering back to my childhood and thinking, “Gosh, things were simpler then.” Life was fun filled and stress free. At no time in the year is this more apparent to me than at Christmas time. One of the Christmases that I remember best is the year that Santa gave me a Godzilla (I was a bit of a tomboy, to say the least). I woke up around 3 o’clock in the morning, while everyone else was fast asleep, and- instead of waking my brother and sisters like I had promised I would if I was the first to wake up- I rushed to the living room to see what Santa had left me. There, beside my stocking, stood a huge, scaly, black & green Godzilla in a fearsomely menacing pose. Since the house was still quiet and dark I decided to go back to bed. I took my Godzilla with me and cuddled with him under my warm bed sheets waiting for the rest of the household to stir. And, let me tell you, cuddling a foot tall lizard monster with pointy spikes on his back is no simple feat. Physical discomfort aside, I can remember the excitement that filled my little body from head to toe because I’d gotten precisely what I asked for from Santa. But what I don’t remember thinking, because it never even crossed my mind, was how much work my parents had gone to and how much they’d given up to get me that Godzilla toy.

We call this the innocence of youth. If we were being brutally honest we would call this naivety or, flat out, ignorance. The complicated problems of the chaotic world are nothing to a child. Children are either guarded from or are completely incapable of seeing the ugly side of life.

The kids and I spent the better half of today in Argyle, New York. After reading my recent post about our terrible experience with Santa, a friend of ours invited us to visit Santa and his reindeer at the firehouse in Argle, where we could take as many pictures as we wanted completely free of charge.

(Waiting in line to see Santa)

We arrived at a little past noon and took our place in line, which wrapped three-quarters of the way around the room. The kids were excited! Jamie was enjoying the glittering garland that hung above the windows and kept scampering back to play with it whenever I took my eyes off him. Josie was patiently waiting her turn and you could practically see her rehearsing in her mind what she would say to Santa. Johnny was happy and bouncy, kicking his little legs and smiling at whomever would glance his way. Meanwhile, I was begrudging that we had gotten there a little late and had to wait in such a long line. I was complaining to myself about how much my back hurt from holding a 35 lbs Jamie on my hip and I was wondering if anyone else noticed that my chest was drenched with milk because of the horrifying combination of a misaligned nursing pad and an unexpected letdown an hour earlier.

But before too long we reached the end of the line and Santa was within sight. The first thing I noticed was that Santa was sitting mere feet away from the men’s bathroom door. I also wondered to myself, “Whoose bright idea was it to stack three gigantic cardboard boxes, with ‘Oriental Trading Company’ stamped on the side in great big black letters, directly behind Santa’s chair, in full view and camera angle?” I laughed at the thin paper fireplace backdrop that was hung on the wall because I could still see the creases from where it was folded during storage. But the kids didn’t notice any of these things.

Josie walked right up to Santa with a cute little girlish smile. Sitting in his lap, she had an adorable conversation with him about how she wanted a guinea pig for Christmas and that she was going to take good care of him and feed him and clean his cage and everything. (Several times during this conversation Santa glanced in my direction as if to ask if I intended to actually buy her a guinea pig so that he could give her an honest answer as to whether or not she would be getting one on Christmas morning. I just smiled and kept snapping pictures).

Jamie didn’t care to visit Santa but he did find great pleasure in the large plastic decorative candy cane that he found taped to the line stanchion, probably because he thought it was real candy. Johnny was a good sport as well and posed for some pictures of his first visit with Santa Claus.

The whole encounter lasted only a few minutes and in those minutes all the ugliness in the room melted away and I felt only joy; the joy that my kids were feeling.

Parenthood is such a blessing for thousands of reasons. But the reason that I am most thankful for tonight is that it can make a weary mom forget about her milk saturated shirt and rediscover the magic of Christmas.