The Holidays?

Ok, here's my dirty little secret... I don't really enjoy the holidays.

I've been living in California since 1991, and early on I used to go back to Connecticut for Christmas every year. I enjoyed the midnight services at our church (fabulous music, sightings of high school boyfriends) but in Connecticut the weather is usually cold and you end up stuck in the house, with the double whammy of no exercise but lots of cookies. And inevitably every year my sister and some of her kids would be sick. The last time I was there she cooked a fabulous dinner and as we were sitting down she said "I'll be right back" and went upstairs and vomited for 12 hours.

So I don't go back anymore. Plus, now that we have two kids there is absolutely nothing in the world that could tempt me to go through JFK on the holidays.

But now I'm finding that I don't really enjoy the holidays here either. Somehow I can't quite get into the spirit. Sure, we got a tree with the kids. And after I spend an hour sorting through all of our ornaments to pull out the unbreakable ones, we decorated it. And then I spent the rest of the next three weeks encouraging Mia to put the things that she'd removed back onto the tree. We also read Christmas books - Polar Express and the Grinch - and we watched the Grinch video about fifty times.

But the week before Christmas was rainy and both the kids were sniffly so we spent most of the week inside. Not only did we miss the two kid parties that we'd been invited too, as well as a showing of Peter and the Wolf at the symphony, but I still had to deal with a week of sick kids indoors.

And there's the incredible stress of getting holiday cards out (I tried for FOUR months but never could get a picture with both kids looking at the camera at the same time) as well as making sure we have presents for everyone in the family. (Last year I gave Mike such a hard time because I had only ONE thing to unwrap that I had to make sure he had some good stuff this year). And mailing gifts on time. Not to mention the teachers, babysitters, contractors, etc that all need gifts too. And getting ready for visiting relatives.

So by the time we get to Christmas itself I'm making last minute cookies so we have something to leave by the fireplace for Santa, and wrapping the last few things (I used to pride myself on wrapping beautiful presents, now I'm just happy if they are covered), and trying to pull together something nice for dinner. And the whole time my kids are acting like crazy people because they've had so much candy!

I'm not a religous person, but the thing I always enjoyed most about Christmas was the music. But I don't have anyone to make my annual trip to church with, and anyway after everything else i'm too tired anyway.

So now the holidays are over. I'm exhausted. But I'm unpacking toys and trying to fit things into the recycle bin. And I still need to do thank you notes! And take down the tree and get rid of it. And replace the goldfish that didn't survive "babysitting" by the neighbors.

But unless I sound like a complete Grinch myself, there were some wonderful moments of watching the kids when they saw Santa, or opened a gift that they enjoyed. Making sugar cookies with Miles and Mia. And of course when we took our 20 month old daughter Mia skiing (see gratuitous picture)....

DNC

And then the DNC. My doctor gave me the choice between waiting for the pregnancy that didn't happen to miscarry itself, or to have a DNC. Rather than wait around until some potentially inconvenient time, I decided to go ahead and have the DNC.

And can I tell you, it is nasty. Not fun at all. It really made me feel badly for the people who really, really want a child and then not only do they find out that they aren't having it, but they also have to go through this thing. And also for the people who get an abortion but maybe aren't a hundred percent sure of their decision (who ever is in life?) and then have this very unpleasant and kind of painful procedure to help them feel even worse. I was probably as ambivalent as anyone who lost a pregnancy ever is and still it was a bummer.

But then the silver lining. They gave me several valiums! Mike had taken the day off from work, so he and the kids picked me up at the doctor's office in the morning, dropped me off at home and went off to the science museum. I had about four Diet Cokes (a VERY nice combination with valium) and actually got to be alone in my house for four hours, for the first time in years. And in a weird way, cleaning and rearranging the house, it was one of the best mornings I'd had in a long time.

Our Brush With Three

Right before Thanksgiving we found out that we were pregnant with our third child. This was an accident in the first degree. In fact, it was so much of an accident that we couldn't even pinpoint how far along I was. That would mean that we were actually paying attention to when I'd gotten my last period, and as silly as this sounds, we've been a little too busy with school and stuff for me to be thinking about that....

We didn't find out under the best circumstances. It was the day after we found out that Miles' persistent fever and smoker's cough - that had prevented any of us from sleeping all week - was caused by pnemonia. Nevertheless, my first reaction was to laugh. With the number of people we know who've had accidental thirds (including our next door neighbors) you would think we would have learned. So I had to laugh at how incredibly stupid we could be.

And then my next reaction (which lasted for a week) was to cry. Miles had only recently turned three. And Mia was 18 months. If we had a baby next summer, we would have THREE under the age of FOUR. And Miles wouldn't even be going to kindergarten for another TWO YEARS!

It isn't that I wouldn't love another baby. But the timing would never be right for us. If we waited until Miles and Mia were old enough that they actually listen to us (if indeed that would ever happen) we'd be too old. I'll be forty in a few months and I just don't want to be doing diapers when I'm forty five. (I don't even want to be doing them now!). And I don't want to be retired before my kids graduate from high school. Not to mention the fact that I'm not sure our marriage could handle it. After all, Mike didn't take both kids to the playground by himself until Mia was over a year old.

So I went to bed and cried for a week. I tried very, very hard to talk myself into doing something about it. The stress was getting to us Mike and I were arguing a lot and I tried to convince myself that this would be a bad environment to bring a baby into. If he'd only hit me, maybe I could have convinced myself but in the end I just couldn't bring myself to do anything.

And then we started to get used to the idea. We realized we'd need a new car (that would be big enough to hold an infant car seat between the other kids), we'd have to sell our house and leave the city. We'd have to figure out how to politely ask to have back some of the baby things that we'd given away. We'd have to get used to the idea that we wouldn't be able to go on vacation for YEARS ( or at least not one that requires a plane ride).

So I had my initial doctor's appointment and all of the blood tests and then yesterday I went in for the CVS test. I sat through an hour of genetic counseling (is this really necessary for a third time?) and then went in for the ultrasound and procedure.

And there was nothing there. The technician (the same one that I had for both Miles and Mia) showed me where there had been something, but somewhere along the line it had just stopped developing. She said this happens frequently in women of "my age". And then waited for my reaction.

It was weird. I wasn't surprised. We have so many friends who've had trouble having kids that it just seemed fair that it was our turn to have something happen. And I was very relieved, I'll admit. Ninety percent of the way. But I was also sort of sad. But when I drove home I found myself looking back repeatedly at the space where the infant car seat would have been.

Gratuitous Picture of My Kids

Sweet Potatoes

This post isn't about the food sweet potatoes, although I'm proud to report that my kids are faithful to their southern heritage and love their sweet potatoes and fried chicken. It is about being a good mom.

Most of the time I think I am, and then I have moments when I slip much too easily into mommy rage. You know those days, when you didn't get quite enough sleep the night before, when your three year old keeps doing something even after you've told him, say, fifty times to stop. When you allow it to bother you that he never, ever listens to you. And you just want to shake him and scream "goddamit, you listen to me!"

Last Wednesday was "picture day" at our preschool. And wouldn't you know it, but EVERY single kid in our class went happily into the room that was set up as the "studio," posed nicely in front of the backdrop and smiled incredibly sweetly for the photographer. Every single kid. Except mine.

He liked to watch the other kids, but when it was his turn he absolutely refused to sit down on the bench that the photographer had set up. To be fair to Miles, the photographer wasn't too good with young ones- he basically said "Next!" instead of trying to be friendly and coaxing. And of course being the wonderful mother I am, I did everything I could to make Miles feel comfortable and relaxed. If you count grabbing his arm tightly, dragging him across the room and hissing in his ear, "You better sit still for this picture or you'll never have dessert again."

I'm not sure how much the other mothers at the co-op heard but I'm sure they are all busily trying to transfer their kids out of Mondays (when I teach). Of course Miles ended up crying but luckily the Assistant Director stepped in and coerced him into it.

It is times like these when I feel really, really badly about myself and my parenting skills.

If I think about all of the families that I've known and admired, the one that springs to mind is my old boyfriend Michael's Marin county family. It was pretty non-traditional: he has a full sister and then on one side a step sister, half brother and half sister, and on the other side a half brother and two step brothers. Not to mention a number of aunts, uncles and cousins. There would be big holiday dinnerwith eighteen people around a big table, all eating and talking. One of the things that was most amazing about this family was that anything that anyone had to say was important. I remember watching my boyfriend's mother talk to a preschooler and nodding and really listening to his thoughts and opinions.

Once I visited my family in Mississippi and returned with a genuine sweet potatoe pie baked by a family friend. I brought it over to Michael's parents' house and they cut it into tiny slices and shared it out around the table. Michael's stepfather chewed it slowly and deliberately, asking about the recipe, treasuring it on his palate, as if he was sampling a Silver Oak Cabernet.

So this is one thing that I know I can do. I may not always be the most patient person around. But I can promise this to my kids. When they bring me their thoughts and ideas and sweet potatoes, I can listen.

You Know You're Behind on Shopping When...

The only toothpaste in the house is your 18 month old daughter's "toddler training" toothpaste. Unfortunately I had a tuna sandwich for lunch, so I had no other choice. It wasn't bad, really, just a bit fruity for my taste.

I realize I haven't blogged in a long, long time. Things have been crazy here. I feel like I ran a marathon just to get through Halloween.

But there's lots to tell and I'll be back next week.

Now, off to the pediatrician. For the second time today.....

Miles On His Own

Miles has finally settled into preschool.

It has taken longer than I expected -- he's the youngest boy there, many of the other kids are "siblings" so they know other people or are familiar with the school, and let's face it - he has a "listening" problem. Our program has the philosophy that you don't leave the kids crying but wait until they say it is OK for you to leave. So what do you think he's going to say? Of course he wouldn't let me go. I heard of one poor Mom that was there for three months. Lets just say that after spending four full days with him at preschool, I was more than a little anxious.

Then today Mia and I took him to school. And of course we were running late. The weekly yoga class is at 9am, so I kind of rushed him in after we got there. And then I felt a little guilty. We hadn't said goodbye. So we waited for half and hour, and I tried to keep Mia from getting into too many things. I didn't want him to freak out if he came out of class and we hadn't said goodbye.

But when he came out, he looked at us and said "You're still here?"

All through high school, when I was a real terror my Mom said (about a thousand times) "I can't wait until you go to college." And then when she dropped me off, she cried the whole way home.

I felt the same way today. I was sad that he doesn't need me anymore. I was so stressed about

him not gaining his independence. And now that he has it, I see that it is just the start of a lifetime of leaving me.

Imelda...

Last week I got some new Stride Rite Mary Janes for Mia. And now she SCREAMS every time we try to take them off.

Here is a picture of my little fashionista playing with a shell necklace in Hawaii last month. Already she understands the importance of accessories.

Chip off the old block...

I was holding Miles today, putting his shoes on and he let out one of the biggest, loudest farts I've ever heard. And then he laughed and yelled, "Mia!!" So I guess his Dad would say he raised him well....

Lookin' Good!

When I was getting ready to go out tonight, Miles gave me the once over and then said "You look cute!" What can I say? I raised him well.

First Day of School

Today was Miles' first day of school. Any delusions that I might have had about my son's maturity were dashed - he didn't let me leave, and he got sent out of circle time TWICE for making a disturbance. But the good news is that he had fun. And maybe he'll make some friends and learn something too....

Vacation or Trip?

My neighbor Kendall says that a vacation with kids is not a vacation, it is a trip. And for a long time I thought she was right. I spent so much time packing, the airport was stressful, watching kids was a nightmare....

But then something amazing happened this month. We were at Ke'e beach in Kaui, playing with the kids in the surf. And I realized I was having fun. I was actually having fun. Not only that, ALL FOUR of us were having fun at the SAME TIME.

I'm not sure what it was. Our condo was big and baby proof, with a kitchen and washer and dryer. My Mom and step father were right down the street, and actually willing to go to the beach with us. Even to watch the kids one day so we could go for a day hike on the Nepali Coast. Or maybe it is just that the kids are getting older. (My friend Stephanie has boys in kindergarten and second grade and swears that she had fun on a ski trip last spring).

But whatever it was, the kids felt it too. Two days after our return, as we drove down foggy San Francisco streets, Miles said, "I want to go back to Hawaii." Join the club, buddy. Join the club.

Big Easy

Nothing to say this week. Everything that is going on in New Orleans is making my little problems seem, well, very, very little.

Roller

So of course we went back to the roller yesterday and it was BROKEN! Miles was a good sport about it, though, and he climbed around on it.

Threats

My friend Jean was visiting this week and offered (in the nicest possible way) some parenting advice. She is a former kindergarten teacher and long time educator so I figured I should probably take it. And anyone who's read more than a sentence of this blog probably understands that I need all of the help I can get.

I tend to give my son a lot of threats. I try not to give him crazy off target ones (like "wash your hands or you'll never see Elmo again") but things that are fairly relevant and related (such as "if you don't hold still and get your pajamas on now, we won't have time to read books").

Last night I threatened to take my son's popsicle away if he stepped off of the rug in our doorway (he's a pretty messy eater sometimes). Each time he started to step off, I'd remind him and he'd get back on. Jean's point was that if he stepped off at all, I should have taken it away. So he'd learn to listen to what I say, to stop constantly pushing the envelope.

So today I decided to try her advice. We went to the grocery store. Outside, there was a little coin operated construction paver that kids could ride in. Miles realllllllllly wanted to go in it. So I told him that if he was good in the store and didn't touch anything, he could do it.

He was pretty good to start. A few times as we went up and down the aisles I'd have to remind him - as his little fingers brushed the cookies or cereal - that he couldn't go on the paver if he touched things. And finally, when we were at our last stop - produce - he touched the tomatos. So I told him no paver today.

The lines were long and it was almost naptime and he cried for half an hour straight. Everyone was looking and I found myself explaining myself to the other people in line. But here's the worst part. I felt TERRIBLE. It was all I could do to stop myself from crying too. And first thing tomorrow, I'm sure we'll be back at the store, going for a ride on the paver.

So I think Jean is probably right. You need to draw a hard line on your threats. But here's my other learning today. Don't give a threat that will hurt you more than it hurts him.

Let Them Eat Cake

Miles has started another vegtable strike. Over the past week he's had one carrot and three slices of cucumber.... So I'm back to threatening, cajoling, and trying to sneak them in. I've always taken the philosphy that "every bite counts" but I sometimes wonder whether that's true. Or if two green beans or a few shreds of zucchini tucked under the cheese on his pizza are nothing more than a rounding error in his total nutritional intake.

There's an article in today's New York Times about the efforts of food scientists to add more nutritional value to otherwise unhealthy foods -- eg, potato chips may someday be a good source of dietary fiber. Part of me applauds this concept. It would certainly be easier for all of us if my kids could meet all of their nutritional needs with mac & cheese and veggie booty. But another part of me finds this very scary. Kind of like mini malls. Just one more effort to take all of the character, individuality and taste out of American life.

Ups

I was talking to my friend Robert yesterday and he said (in a nicer way than this) that after reading my blog he was glad that he didn't have kids. I guess I've been writing too much about the downs and not enough about the ups. So I started thinking about why I'm so glad I have my kids.

First is watching them develop as people. Miles will ask the same question say, maybe, fifty times while you are driving in the car (Daddy's in the airplane? Daddy flying to Connecticut? Daddy's in the plane? Where's Daddy?) as he tries to process the world. And Mia is learning to take care of people -- even the one who just hipchecked her away from the train table. She follows Miles around the house, constantly brininging him his lovey or binkie or sippy cup.

I also love seeing the world through their eyes. For most of my life I actually walked right by construction equipment or tow trucks and didn't spend twenty minutes marveling at the mysteries of heavy machinery. The kids also introduce a lot of laughter into my life, although I don't always understand the things that they find funny. They can crack each other up simply by passing a book or a binkie under a door. They were hysterical when he covered her in band aids. Or when he plays diaper man.

There's also the physical closeness of these two small bodies. If Mia isn't being held her favorite game is to walk toward me and then suddenly (and sometimes painfully!) dive on top of me. Miles needs to cuddle in my lap for half an hour every time he wakes up. So as much as they were driving me crazy when we were on vacation a couple of weeks ago because they were touching me constantly, I wouldn't know what to do with my personal space if I had it back.

And of course there's what children teach you about yourself. Admittedly I'm still working very, very hard on learning patience (more on this later!). But before I had Miles my friend Sam told me that one of the best things about motherhood is that you find that your capacity to love is more than you ever thought possible. And she's right.

Now back to picking tonight's mac and cheese off the floor....

Murphy's Law of Carwashes

We finally went to the carwash today. The nice one, where they vacuum and windex the inside of your car. And not thirty seconds after we pulled out, Miles accidentally dumped a bag of cheerios....

Free Time

Right now I have about five hours a week of free time to myself. It sounds like a lot, but it isn't really. It's the equivalent of the lunch breaks that a regular working person takes during their week. But the problem is that I don't usually spend it relaxing and taking a rest from my job.

Partially it is guilt. Although I don't know why I should feel guilty about taking a break. I used to work at a high-paced, high-stress software company (that shall remain nameless) and I can tell you that even the most high pressure job in Silicon Valley doesn't hold a candle to motherhood. I deserve a break, I really do.

Partially it is that sometimes it is a pain in the ass to take my kids on errands. Unless I can get the parking spot right out in front of the dry cleaner's, I have to take both kids out, carry Mia and drag Miles by the hand and somehow schlep Mike's mountain of dirty clothes in through the door. Even going to the grocery store can be a pain when your two year old insists on unloading the cart and paying.

I spent most of my time in high school obsessing about my weight and I don't want to go there again. However, I do have a milestone birthday coming up next year and I was thinking that it might be good be fit when I greet my new decade. Somehow I'm going have to find a way to work in working out.

Today I decided to free up my free time. Instead of going to the grocery store, I went for a run. I paid in the afternoon when I had to take both kids shopping so we'd have something for dinner. We almost got thrown out whenMiles opened the change machine and started pulling out quarters. But maybe, just maybe, I was a little more relaxed. And someday I might be a little more fit too.

Mooch

For breakfast this morning my daughter ate a bowl of cheerios, a cheese stick and 1/3 of a pear. Then I dropped the kids off at daycare for a few hours. Before I left, I took my son into the bathroom to pee. When I came out, Mia was in the high chair having yogurt and strawberries.

It doesn't matter where we are -- swim class, playground, daycare, zoo - if my kids see someone else with food, they stand there with mouths open, whining. You would think that I never fed them. I'm sure the other mothers slip them apple slices and goldfish on the sly because they think I'm starving them.