Christmas Traditions

I’m a sucker for tradition. I guess most people probably are, especially around the holidays. But I like to think that I’m even more so than most. Maybe it’s a bi-product of being such a passionate history buff. After all, traditions are our little way of participating in our own histories and keeping them alive for future generations.

This Saturday the kids and I kept some traditions alive, both old and new.

We started by setting up the Christmas tree. I love a real Christmas tree and that delicious pine smell that fills the house. One sniff of an evergreen tree will immediately send me back to Christmases with my big family in our little house, all sitting snuggly around the fireplace, listening to Bing Crosby sing “White Christmas,” and drinking hot chocolate with mini marshmallows on top. But for now and for our family, it’s more practical to have a small plastic tree. It took me no more than five minutes to pop up our little 4 foot pre-lit tree, just enough time for the kids to get really excited about hanging the ornaments. We opened our ornament box and unwrapped each one individually. It was fun to tell them the story about each one: “This was from Grandma for Josie’s first Christmas.” “This one was our family last year. Who’s missing? Right, Johnny!” "This is one of Daddy's football players. Yes, Daddy LOVES football."

This is a new tradition for us. For the last four years we have taken a trip to Hallmark and picked out ornaments together. When I look at our tree I see twinkling lights and beautiful family memories ….Funny that a lot of them are “Baby’s First Christmas.”

After the tree was decorated it was time to hang the stockings. I take special pride in our family stockings. Firstly because I made them. But also because I am the third generation of mother to make them for my family. My maternal grandmother made this same style stocking  for her children, then my mother made them for me and my siblings, and now I get to make them for my children and my sisters are also making them for their spouses and children.

They’re cut from felt and sewn together with a white cuff, then decorated with names at the top and three unique seasonal emblems. On Christmas morning the kids will come downstairs and find them filled with candies, a few small presents, and lots of tradition.

Now that we had the tree and the stockings, it was time to set up the train set. To me, the decorating isn’t done until my train is clickety-clacking around the base of the tree. My dad had a small toy train collection and when we were growing up my sisters and brother and I always loved to play with his sets. So much so that my parents began a tradition of buying each of us our own set when we turned a certain age (I can’t remember if it was 6 or 7 or maybe 10 years old). It eventually became a contest each year to decide whose train would have the honor of circling the tree. Seeing my rickety old train run still fills me with pride, even though today it’s the only train in the household. And the kids love it too! Josie asks to see the train even when it’s not Christmas time. And Jamie’s eyes lit up when it surged forward for the first time and continued to grow wider and wider with each loop it made.

Keeping their little hands from derailing the train is a constant struggle, but it’s one that I’m willing to make for the sake of this beloved tradition.

Christmas is a special time of year. There are so many reasons to celebrate and to be filled with joy. Having young kids in the house magnifies all those reasons. During the Christmas season parents have the chance to pass on timeless traditions- simple ones like hanging felt stockings and also the most important ones like celebrating the birth of Jesus Christ, our Lord and Savior. And without a doubt that’s the best history to keep alive!

(And here's a picture of Johnny from Sunday morning since he didn't get in any of the decorating pictures.)

The Blowout

We moms have an obsession with poop. If you have many facebook friends who are moms, like I do, then on any particular day you are likely to find on your homepage at least one status update regarding a child’s poopy diaper or potty disaster. I know for sure that I’ve posted countless poop related stories.  From the day we first became mothers, the doctors ingrained in us an innate need to monitor poop by requiring that we keep an hourly log of soiled diapers. At our babies’ first check-ups the pediatricians inquire as to the quantity and quality of our children’s poop. They insist that a healthy poop means a healthy baby.

This afternoon we came home after a long morning of being out-and-about. I placed little Johnny boy in his exersaucer so that I could finish unloading the car. He played happily for awhile, grasping at the toys and chewing on anything he could draw close enough to his mouth. But before long he began to fuss. As soon as I lifted him up from the exersaucer seat my nose stung with that sweet pungent smell of fresh breastmilk poop. And after I smelt it, I felt it. The poop was seeping through his clothes- textbook definition of BLOWOUT.  An experienced mother knows that before you begin to change a blowout diaper you must first carefully inspect the damage. I turned him over a couple times and lifted up his clothes to formulate my plan of attack. The poop had seeped out the diaper at both legs and up the back; it was draining down one leg into his sock and had exploded out the top up to his neck. This was a bad one. I took a deep breath and charged into the fray. Each layer of clothing had to be gently and carefully removed so as not to spread the poop further than it had already traveled. (When I was a first-time mother I made the mistake of quickly yanking a dirty onesie over baby Josie’s head and the poop spread up her back, over her bald little head, and into her face.)  First the socks, then the pants, then the shirt, then the undershirt, and finally the diaper- each and every piece saturated with bright yellow gook. Sometimes this big of a blowout mandates an immediate trip to the bath, but knowing that he would be getting one later that evening I decided to stick to the traditional method. I had to use at least one wipe per roll of baby fat on Johnny’s adorably pudgy legs. There was no conservation of baby wipes on this job. By the end, I was left with a heap of dirty clothes, a diaper stuffed with soiled wipes, and a very happy baby.

A baby after his blowout is so very content. He’s giddy and care-free. He feels light as a feather. After I finished cleaning Johnny he lay on the floor, happy as could be. He kicked his chubby legs and flung his chunky arms. He was smiling and laughing and cute as could be. And that’s when it hit me- the doctors were right (go figure)! A healthy poop really does make a healthy baby.

Mountains out of Molehills

You’ve probably heard the expression, “Don’t make a mountain out of a molehill.” Our favorite family animated series, Phineas and Ferb, has an episode that plays on that idiom. The show’s villain, Dr. Doofenshmirtz, decides that he wants to take the slogan literally and prove to his critics that he really can make a mountain out of a molehill. He invents a device- which he names the “mountain-out-of-a-molehill-inator”- that will make all the molehills grow to the size of mountains. When he does so he also unexpectedly causes an inhabiting mole to grow into a monstrous creature and it wreaks havoc on the town, destroying everything in its path. Doofenshmirtz concludes, “So that is why they say you shouldn’t make molehills into mountains.”

It’s good for a laugh, but when it comes down to it, this is no joke. Mountains from molehills is my new reality, no “–inator” needed. With James gone, every daily task has become an endeavor. There’s no such thing as, “I’ll just run in and get some milk” or “I’ll just make a quick stop at the Post Office.” Everywhere I go I have to take all three kids with me. Needless to say, running errands is hell.

Today was an errand day.

I packed up the kids, loaded them into the minivan, and headed off to my 8 AM doctor appointment. As soon as we walked into the waiting room I knew we were going to have trouble. There was a brightly decorated Christmas tree standing in the corner and a cute snowman display on the knee-high coffee table- irresistible pleasures to little curious minds and tiny inquisitive hands. Jamie knocked ornament after ornament off the tree and Josie was more than happy to re-hang them. Luckily we didn’t have to wait long, but the exam rooms are more of a haven for misbehavior than the waiting room. So many shiny things to touch! At one point, Jamie got his finger smashed when he tried pulling the stirrup out of the patient bed and slammed it back too quickly. The doctor scolded him for pushing buttons. And Josie asked me again and again with the utmost concern if there was going to be shots.

The appointment was over quickly (thankfully!) but we were left with some extra time because the stores I needed to go to didn’t open until 10 o’clock. So I decided I’d take the kids to Dunkin Donuts while we waited. We enjoyed a few peaceful moments while the kids devoured their sprinkled frosted donuts. My hot chocolate was a little too hot to drink so I poured a bit of the kid’s cold milk into my cup. Before I even knew what was happening, Jamie had taken the milk chug and dumped the remainder of the milk into my cup, overflowing the contents onto the table, into my lap, and down to the floor. This was a good sign that it was time to leave.

We didn’t even make it to the car before Jamie began misbehaving again. He ran into the parking lot, where he saw a puddle, and began splashing. When I told him to come he ran the other way, into the drive-through lane. I grabbed his wrist with one hand while holding Johnny in the other and pulled him to the car, trying to avoid a scene. I should have strapped him into his car seat right away…but I didn’t. I allowed Josie and Jamie to remain unrestrained in the car while I nursed Johnny in the passenger seat. Jamie played with the steering wheel, turned the radio dials, adjusted the rearview mirror, activated the emergency flashing lights- all of which I could handle. But when he took my leftover pumpkin muffin and crumbled it into pieces and smooshed the crumbs into the upholstery I had had enough. Johnny’s meal got cut short and I forced everyone into their seats and drove off to our next destination.

At Best Buy I wanted to avoid chasing anyone through the aisles of extremely expensive merchandise so I unloaded the stroller and buckled the boys in. The sales associates were friendly, but slow. Or maybe they just seemed slow because Jamie was screaming the entire trip. He wanted to be let out of the stroller so he wrenched his back, tugged the seatbelt straps, and cried with all his might. He also took off his hat and his shoes and threw them as hard as he could. We were quite a spectacle. I received some looks of scorn, some looks of pity, and a few of admiration….oh, if they only knew the half of it!

Our next stop was the mall. This time I had Josie and Jamie riding in the stroller with Johnny riding in the sling. We made a trip to the family restroom so that I could empty my bladder. Josie insisted that she did not have to go. Next, I thought it would be nice for the kids to run around and release some energy so we went to the play area. Everyone played happily for a few minutes but, of course, just when I started to nurse Johnny everything turned sour. Jamie attempted to escape so I had to chase after him and drag him back by his diaper with Johnny still suckling on my boob. In an angry fit, he pushed a little boy off one of the toys so I sternly sat him beside me and yelled at him for his unacceptable behavior. Just then, while I held a nursing Johnny on my left and a screaming Jamie on my right, Josie came up and told me that she had to go potty. Ugh…..are you feeling my pain yet?

So once again I had to deny Johnny his full meal and rush the kids off to the bathroom. By this point I just wanted to get out of there but there was no turning back now.

Just then, Josie spotted Santa Claus. I could see the excitement in the kid’s eyes so I gave in and wheeled them down the ramp to see him. For the first time ever Josie walked right up to Santa and sat on his lap. (For the past four years she’s been scared to death of him and wouldn’t get within feet of the man with the white beard.) It was adorable; a picture perfect moment! But the stupid photographer had left her camera and was selling merchandise to the previous customers. I waited a couple minutes but I could see that she wasn’t coming back any time soon. So I took out my phone and snapped a few quick pics. And you won’t believe what happened next….Santa got angry! He scolded me for taking my own picture, even though the woman who should have been capturing my child’s precious holiday moment was peddling cheap plastic frames to a gullible mom. Okay, okay. I know they’re trying to run a business. So it’s okay that he was upset with me. But what he shouldn’t have done- but did- is rudely tell Josie to get off his lap and leave. My poor baby girl was almost in tears!  We stormed away.

Gymboree is usually my happy place so if anything could remedy the situation it would be redeeming my Gymboree Rewards dollars. Not today though. The store was packed. I can usually park my kids in front of the television near the back and manage to grab the items I want in the correct sizes without too much hassle. But today there were four strollers blocking the TV. Even more annoying though, was the grandmother of two twin boys who was barking out commands. Except instead of using the common declarative form (“sit”, “stop”, “listen”) she added an –ing. She said to the boys while they were attempting to push the children’s chairs around the room, “Stopping, stopping. Sitting, sitting! We’re stopping and sitting.” Then she proceeded to verbally assault the store manager because there weren’t two of the vests she wanted in the same size and because two of the same shirts were both labeled as 18-24 months but if you set them up against each other you could see that the sleeves were longer on one. OMG! Seriously lady? GET A LIFE!

Okay, I’d like to say that this was the end to my nightmare. But once we left the mall and as I was stowing the stroller in the trunk I remembered that I’d left a DVD in the portable player that we just exchanged at Best Buy. I might have considered it lost and headed home without it, but this was one of the kid’s favorite discs, a collection of classic Mickey Mouse cartoons that isn’t available for sale anymore. So I had to drive back, wait in line, and ask the associate to retrieve my disc.

These nine paragraphs full of drama occurred in less than four hours. And this is my daily adventure- one disaster after another, a few mishaps followed by some misfortune. I love my kids, I love my life, but I really hate days like today.

...And believe it or not, I left some things out.

The Ugly Truth about Playgroup

There is a secret society of the world of mothering. It is called the playgroup. These groups are exclusive- usually open by invitation only- and guarded- what happens at playgroup, stays at playgroup.  Those on the outside hear mention of the enigmatic playgroup and immediately their heads begin to spin with questions.  Well, friends, question no longer!

To quench your curiosity, here’s an inside glimpse….

My playgroup (which has lovingly been nicknamed ‘The Real Housewives of Ballston Spa’) consists of four youthful moms, all with children ages 4 and under.  We are all college educated women who have abandoned or postponed professional careers in order to raise our children. We are all members of the same church, which you could consider the glue that holds us together. Other than that, we’re all very different people with a wide variety of interests and talents.

Now allow me to illustrate the perfect picture of what happens at playgroup.

Everyone arrives precisely on time. And by that I mean that everyone shows up late, which is precisely when it is expected that they will arrive. Our physical appearance is a dichotomy as sometimes we’ve dressed to impress and others we’ve thrown on sweatpants and the nearest t-shirt. We’re all exhausted because we’re all sleep-deprived. Each mom usually has to take three trips to her car to bring inside her kids and bags filled with diapers, changes of clothes, snacks, and wayward items that were left behind by other moms at the previous gathering. The kids set straight to work, turning the house up-side-down in a matter of minutes, upending every toy bin until the rooms look like a virtual war zone. The moms begin to converse, usually starting with a quick catch up on what has been happening since the last meeting. But the conversations inevitably turn to childrearing. Popular subjects are changes in our children’s nap habits, appetites, and yes, even bowel movement frequency. We swap stories of our most frustrating challenges and of our most endearing moments. Every once in a while we’ll tackle the really controversial matters like bottle v. breast or discipline techniques. But regardless of the subject, there has never been a conversation in playgroup history in which one or more moms hasn’t had to leave mid-sentence to deal with an unruly child. Intervening in a lack-of -sharing or failure-to-take-turns struggle is most common. Then there’s also the occasional stray hit, kick, tackle, or shouting match that must stopped. At yesterday's playgroup it was Jamie who threw a metal aiplane at his sister's face and he had to be removed from the room. Then, just when we think that we’ve resolved the conflicts, someone has to leave the room to remedy a poopy diaper or scurry a potty dancing/ groin clutching child off for a bathroom break. If we’re feeling particularly ambitious we might attempt to lead a craft project. The older kids usually follow along well but, more often than not, we moms end up sitting around a table lacing Fruit Loops onto strings of yarn while the kids run off to play in another room. Lunch time is a flurry of preparation- cutting everything into tiny tot sized bites, distributing portions and filling sippy cups. If we’re lucky, this will afford us a few precious moments of silence while the kids eat and for a moment we can pretend that we’re just four friends sitting around having a peaceful lunch together. But reality inevitably strikes. I'll never forget the time when we moms got so lost in conversation that we didn't notice one of the little boys smearing his spaghetti noodles all over the wall while the girls encouraged him with their laughs and giggles. In the end someone’s child shows the first signs of meltdown. We all begin to pack up, praying that all the excitement will lead to our children taking three hour long power naps when we get home (which very rarely comes to fruition). And whoever had the displeasure of hosting playgroup at their house is left with the tumultuous aftermath clean-up.

Now you’re probably thinking that you’d rather stand in line at the DMV than attend playgroup. Sometimes I think so too. When I get home I’m thoroughly exhausted. Getting together is much more like work than it is leisure. And yet, I love it. I keep going back for more because, at the end of the day, it’s nice to feel understood. It’s comforting to know that I’m not the only one whose life revolves around chaos and mayhem.

Mary Poppins and Me

Those of you who know me well know that I am a huge fan of Julie Andrews. It might be because of her beautiful voice or British accent, or because she wears short hair better than I could only ever dream of doing, or maybe I’m just a sucker for a good singing nanny movie. The Sound of Music (which I am proud to gloat I got on Blu-ray this week) is my favorite movie of all time, but today it was Mary Poppins that was on my mind. There is a scene in the movie in which a newly arrived nanny, Mary Poppins, begins to instruct Jane and Michael Banks in the art of tidying up the nursery. Their working song starts like this:

In ev'ry job that must be done,
There is an element of fun.
You find the fun and snap!
The job's a game.
And ev'ry task you undertake,
Becomes a piece of cake,
A lark! A spree! It's very clear to see that,
A spoonful of sugar helps the medicine go down….

(Are you humming the chorus to yourself yet?)

I found myself wanting to burst into this song while I was scrubbing a layer of ketchup off the underside of a kitchen chair earlier today. And, as much as I love Julie Andrews, spontaneously bursting into her songs is not a common habit of mine.

But today was not an ordinary day. This morning we said good-bye to James. As he drove off towards his new duty station in Virginia and I wiped the tears from my eyes I knew that I had to keep busy in order to prevent myself from lapsing into a grief induced coma. Conveniently (or in-conveniently, depending on how you look at it) we have a house showing scheduled for tomorrow, so there was an overabundance of chores to do that would keep my mind from turning idle.  I usually wait until all the kids are tucked into bed and sleeping soundly before bringing out the mop & bucket but since there was so much to do I began cleaning early in the day, while the kids were wide awake. And boy, am I glad that I did!

Josie and Jamie jumped right into action and started helping me clean. Jamie has always been fascinated with the vacuum cleaner so I let him push it around a little. Once it was off he started playing with all the tubes and nozzles. He was so proud when he got two of them to fit together and he excitedly ran over to me to show me what he had done. Next I started mopping the kitchen floor. Josie helped squirt the hardwood cleaner onto the floor and then Jamie scrubbed with the mop. They were both sad when I told them we’d used enough cleaner. I also spent some time showing Jamie how to use the trigger on a bottle of Windex spray so that he could help me with some scrubbing. Of course, I had to stay close to supervise and point out spots that needed extra attention, but it was amazing how quickly the jobs got done.

Even more important than how thoroughly the housework was accomplished though was how much more enjoyable it was to do with the kids. Instead of bending over on my hands and knees, grunting and grumbling under my breath and thinking very negative thoughts about whomever made the mess n the first place, I was laughing at how cute the kids looked with the large cleaning supplies in their hands and enjoying their giggles as they got to mimic Mommy. I probably have many friends who make their children do housework with them, but I know of one in particular who regularly requires her 4 ½ year old daughter to clean. She insists that her daughter enjoys it. I always thought it either sounded too good to be true or too much work to be worth it. I mean, housework is frustrating enough by itself so when you add the prospect of Josie spilling Comet on her clothes or Jamie drinking bleach it strikes me as a recipe for disaster.

But after giving it a try I’m beginning to think that Mary Poppins had the right idea.

Reasons to Marry a Football Fanatic

Sometimes I think that people pity me for having such a fanatical football fan for a husband. And I guess they may have a point. I mean, working our weekend activities around the Colts’ game schedule, listening to lectures about how Dallas Clark is more like a wide receiver than a tight end at the dinner table, washing midnight loads of laundry to be sure that his lucky jersey, socks, jeans, and boxers are clean in time for the game, and having to shoot down the idea of redecorating the kitchen into a Colts theme so that we can buy the toaster that burns the horse shoe logo into your toast can get old. But being married to a die-hard Colts fan isn’t all bad.

For one thing, watching football with James has forced me to step out of my comfort zone. Ten years ago I didn’t know the first thing about football. I’m far from proficient now but I can hold an intelligent conversation with almost anyone about game rules, team standings, popular players, etc. This is a skill that I’m proud to have and it’s come in handy on more than one occasion. After all, they say that football is the “new American pastime.” Football can be the beginning of some beautiful friendships.

Also, I appreciate football for giving me an opportunity for family dress-alike time. On any other day and for any other reason James hates it when I try to dress the kids in matching outfits. We will never be that family you see at the amusement park wearing matching bright yellow t-shirts that have “Smith Family Vacation 2010” screen printed on the back. My husband would never allow it. Just to dress the boys in coordinating “big brother” & “little brother” shirts I have to be willing to withstand at least a dozen rolls of his eyes.  But when it comes to wearing matching blue & white Colts apparel, he’s fine with that. No, he encourages it! So when we gear up, we go all out. We’ve got shirts, jerseys, socks, underwear, hats, jackets, bows, watches, jewelry…..heck, if they made Colts diapers, Johnny would be wearing them right now! (Actually, he would be wearing Patriots diapers because James would love to teach him to poo on them.)

Of course, there is no overlooking the food.  Cooking for a football fanatic is a good excuse to eat badly. We love our hamburgers, French fries, chili dogs, nachos, pizza, popcorn, and IBC root beer.  In fact, Josie has come to term all sodas as “football drinks,” because they’re what we drink on football days.

Another great advantage to having a husband who’s passionate about football is the one-stop shopping. I don’t even have to think about James’ birthday present because it’s the same thing each year: NFL Sunday Ticket so that he can watch every single Colts game from the comfort of our couch. For Christmas I simply have to browse the ProShop at colts.com for something he doesn’t have yet. To this day he will tell you that his favorite present ever was the autographed picture of Johnny Unitas (a famous Colts quarterback from the 1950s and 60s) that I got him one year.

But overall, the number one reason why I love being married to a football fanatic is because it keeps our family close. From September through January we are guaranteed to spend Sunday afternoons at home, in the living room, together. I guess you could call it “mandated leisure.” It’s a great reason to do nothing. We have fun teaching the kids to cheer, “Go Colts!” and to make the touchdown signal with their arms raised up high in the air. Sometimes we’ll toss a football around or tackle each other on the floor. But usually we just lounge around and enjoy the pleasure of each other’s company while a football game roars in the background.

So don’t feel like you need to pity me for having such a fanatical football husband. It has its advantages. But if you are thinking of me, please, do pray for us when the Colts lose…..because a bad week for a football fan is a bad week for his wife.

Puddle Splashing

It’s been cold and rainy here for the last few days but after watching Toy Story 3 for the fourth or fifth time since Tuesday I decided that there was no use sitting inside and sulking any longer. So I rounded up all the coats, hats, and gloves and brought the kids outside for some good ol’ fashioned fun- puddle splashing.

The fresh air did us all good. It also gave me an opportunity to use my new camera (an early Christmas present from James). Josie and Jamie love to splash in the neighborhood puddles, and I love to see them having so much fun.

This is the first time that the kids have been able to puddle splash since Johnny was born. Johnny didn’t want to get his feet wet, at least not this time. He just looked on from the sidelines (a.k.a. the sling).

Cute Dinosaurs

Amidst great emotional struggles and family strife, I am thankful for adorable dinosaur hats, socks, and mittens.

Insights into the Life of a Navy Wife, Part I*

You know that feeling you get on the last day of a really great vacation?  You might know it well if you’ve ever gone to stay with family or friends who live far away. You try your hardest to enjoy the time you have left together, to make it count, but at the same time you feel gloomy because you know the fun has to end soon.  It’s almost like trying to soak up the sun when you can see storm clouds on the horizon.

Well, that’s the atmosphere that has been looming around our house lately. Next week James will be traveling to Norfolk, Virginia to report to his new ship, the U.S.S. Enterprise. The kids and I will be staying in New York to “hold down the fort.” We don’t know for sure when the next time is that we’ll be able to see him but we do know that his ship will deploy in the near future. We have known that this day was coming for quite some time. But no matter how prepared your head may be, your heart is never fully equipped.

It’s almost like trying to answer the question, “If you only had one day left to live, how would you spend it?” (Only not quite so drastic.)  It’s impossible to give enough ‘I love you’s to last your spouse a year or to get enough hugs & kisses to sustain you for months. When we’re sitting around the living room watching TV I feel like we should be making a lasting family memory. When I’m cooking a casserole for dinner I feel like I should have roasted a turkey with all the fixings. When I put on my flannel pajamas I feel like I should have chosen the sexy red lingerie. No matter what I’m doing, I feel like it’s not enough.

And then there’s the fear- fear for each other’s safety, fear of the distance, fear of the inevitable unexpected circumstance, fear of the all-too-common miscommunication, fear of the loneliness, and even the fear of showing fear.

The days leading up to a prolonged separation are, in a word, agonizing. Imagine asking someone to help you remove a band-aid from your arm and as they slowly pull it back you feel every hair get yanked from its pore. It makes you want to shout, “just do it, already!” In many ways the separation itself is easier to accept than the days preceding it. When they’re still at home you know the worst is yet to come….

But every strong Navy wife has a coping mechanism. Most commonly, it is a positive distraction- an activity into which she can pour all her emotions and energy during her husbands’ absence. I am blessed. My husband will leave me with the sweetest, cutest, most loveable positive distractions in the whole world….

* I have named this 'Part I' because I'm sure that I will feel compelled to share more about Navy Life in the coming months.

A Laundry Lament

Oh Laundry, why do you take such pleasure in tormenting me so? No matter how hard I try, I just can’t get rid of you. If I were a poet I would write you a sonnet or if I was a musician I would write you a song to express my disdain. There in the dark corners and closets you loom, growing larger and larger by the day, glaring at me with an evil sneer.

You think that the world revolves around you. Can’t you understand that I have better things to do than attend to your needs? I do three loads of adult laundry one day, then three loads of kid laundry the next, followed by two loads of kitchen & bathroom towels and then I do it all over again. The cycle never ends. And, heaven forbid, if I should miss a day then you torture me twice as much the next.

You hurt me at the core, just when I think we’ve begun to make amends. Like that time in the Spring when you came out of the washing machine with rust spots and forced me to search high and low for rust removal remedies. Then when I had given up hope of ever taking you out of the washer cleaner than when I put you in, the spots stopped appearing and you left me in complete puzzlement.

You love to play games with my heart. You hide one sock of a pair and you twist my bra straps into impossible weaves. You hide grease stains until after I’ve dried you, at which point it’s too late to reverse.

You pitch fits like a little baby if you don’t get what you want. You turn funky colors if you’re not sorted in precisely the right way. And you take twice as long to dry if the lint trap isn’t emptied often enough. You begin to emmit an awful musty smell if I leave you in the hamper too long, as if to say, "ha ha!"

You refuse to heed my warnings. How many times must I tell you? If you conceal ball point pens and chap stick in your pockets then you will only end up getting hurt in the end.

You take and you take and give so little in return. I appreciate the occasional quarter or dollar that you surprise me with, but for how much time you demand I think I deserve an occasional fifty, at least.

Oh Laundry, my life would be so much easier without you and your evil ways. But the truth of the matter is that I need you. So as much as it pains me to admit it, I think we're stuck with each other.

Top Ten Things I Miss About Pre-Baby Life

Tonight James and I dropped the kids off at a friend’s house and headed down to Albany for our first Date Night in over a year.  We laughed at ourselves because of the anti-romantic atmosphere that our mini van provided. It was littered with some toy tugboats, a Happy Meal box, a plastic firefighter hat, candy wrappers, and a discarded banana costume. We commented on the unfamiliar silence coming from the back of the car. Our lives are so dominated by childrearing that we’ve almost forgotten what it feels like to have no one to worry about but ourselves.

(James and Jenny, 2003)

So, in honor of Date Night, here are the Top 10 Things I Miss About Pre-Baby Life:

1.)    SLEEP- Before I had kids there were days when I would sleep in past 10 o’clock. Heck, nowadays I’d rejoice for 7! I honestly cannot remember the last time I was able to get an uninterrupted night of sleep.

2.)    MOVIES- There were times in my pre-baby days that I’d seen every single movie showing at the theatres, even if it was bad. Now I have Netflix and watch everything at home, and if a movie doesn’t entice me after ten minutes I say ‘to hell with it’ and go to bed.

3.)    BODY- There was a time that I had a cute butt and a skinny waste. Now I have stretch marks from my knees to my boobs, big flabby arms, and a jiggly belly.

(Jenny, 2003)

4.)    FRIENDS- I had some awesome relationships with a lot of great people who I hardly talk to now. After I became a mother my perspectives and priorities changed and I had less and less in common with some of my friends.

5.)    HOUSE- Believe it or not, I used to maintain a clean and orderly house- never a crumb on the floor or a book out of place. But that was before my little monsters came along. Now I feel happy as long as the clothes are clean and the dishes are washed.

6.)    SHOPPING- I remember those three hour long shopping trips with my sister when we strolled leisurely through the mall, stopping in all the stores, trying on a few outfits, and rarely buying a thing. Now it’s in and out as quickly as possible before someone throws a tantrum and hope to God I bought something that fits.

7.)    DISNEYLAND- Yes, the geographical distance has something to do with this one. But even if I still lived close to Disneyland it would be impossible for me to go and have fun since my kids are too small to ride and too young to understand the concept of waiting in line.

8.)    BOOKS- Oh, how I miss reading a good book! I’m lucky if I can find the time to read the newsletters that come home from Josie’s preschool.

(Jenny, 2005)

9.)    SEX- I’ll spare you the details but, as you can imagine, having three kids takes a toll on a once very active and exciting sex life.

10.) HOBBIES- My time used to be filled with re-enacting, scrapbooking, and painting. Now I change diapers and breastfeed.

Yes, having children definitely closes some doors.

But having kids also opens a lot of big & beautiful windows. I wouldn’t trade any amount of sleep, a supermodel’s body, endless rides on Space Mountain, and all the best-sellers combined for my precious babies.

Family Portraits

Our family portraits session was a huge success! We got some awesome family pictures and some adorable shots of each of the kids. The boys got a bit teary eyed for the pictures with just the kids but they're still cute as can be.

 

Show off (and proud of it)

If you had sat in my living room this time last year you would have been surrounded by family portraits of all shapes and sizes. Big 10x13s of the whole family, 8x10s of the kids, 5x7s of our parents, and 3x5s of everyone from years ago stared out from behind their shiny glass frames. (We had to take most of these down to prepare our house for showings when we put it on the market- a sad day for me, in that sense.) People have asked me why I am so in love with taking professional portraits and displaying them so prominently. I thought long and hard about this question and came up with a very simple answer: Because I’m a show off. And can you blame me? I mean, look at them! My family is the most absolutely adorable thing ever!

Judge me if you will, but I relish the attention that I get when I parade my three kids, all dressed up in their fancy dress clothes, and my husband, handsomely clad in his sailor uniform, through the mall on our way to the portrait studio. And the comments I get after sending our pictures to family & friends in our yearly Christmas cards make me glow with pride.  My friends joke about how quick I am to post pictures on facebook but I think it goes without saying that I’m only eager to share my family’s cuteness with the cyber world.

You can scoff at how vain this all sounds, but at least I’m being truthful. Besides, would you criticize an artist for displaying his painting, or a baker for sharing her delicacies, or a seamstress for flaunting her fashions? And how much more work did I do to create this family than all those? Okay, okay, so I didn’t exactly “create” James but I do take some credit for making him the man he’s become in the eight- almost nine- years that we’ve been married. All I’m saying is that there’s nothing wrong with appreciating the gifts that God has given you and wanting to share them with all.

Exersaucer Time Machine

Johnny reached a momentous milestone today. He got to experience his first play time in the exersaucer.  Having decided that Johnny’s muscle control has advanced enough for the next stage of play, I trudged out to our storage shed, moved some other old toys, shifted a few boxes, and dug out the exersaucer. I lugged it up to the house and scrubbed it down with some Lysol. Josie and Jamie were both excited to see a “new” toy. In fact, Jamie loved it so much that I had to drag him out of the seat kicking and screaming.  It was finally Johnny’s turn so I slid him down into the seat and propped him up with a fluffy blanket. He was a bit skeptical at first but soon his big blue eyes grew wide as he gazed at all the brightly colored toys in front of him.

As I sat beside him cross-legged on the floor, watching his little arms wave wildly and his tiny dangling feet kick back at forth, my mind was flooded with memories…

(Baby Josie)

James and I bought this exersaucer for a five-month-old Josie in 2006. I remember browsing the isle in Babies ‘R Us and strongly considering the pink & purple colored one that was decorated with butterflies and flowers. I settled on this one instead because I figured we’d keep it for the second child, who could possibly be a boy. Good thinking on my part!  After we brought it home and I saw how much she loved playing in it I thought that it was the smartest investment I’d ever made. She practically lived in it for five months of her life.But then she began to crawl, then creep, then cruise and the exersaucer was exiled to the basement until Jamie came along.

(Baby Jamie and Little Josie)

I can remember the first time Jamie played in this exersaucer like it was yesterday. It was the first time that Josie took much interest in her new baby brother. Josie almost completely ignored Jamie and went about life like he didn’t even exist until the time I first put him in the exersaucer. I guess she decided he was okay as long as he’d share his toys. Jamie didn’t play with this nearly as long as Josie because he was an early mover and hated being confined. But before he reached that point, he and I spend many early, early mornings together playing with the exersaucer toys.

(Baby Johnny)

And now, four years later, they’re all playing with the exersaucer again- one toy, three kids, countless memories. I hate saying this because it’s said so often that it’s almost a cliché, but THEY GROW UP TOO FAST!