Shut up!

I'm a talker.  Always have been.

All of the stories of me as a child are about me talking too much and not knowing when to shut up.

My elementary school report cards are littered with As and Bs and comments of "She talks too much".  Every detention I ever got was for talking.  Wait, that's a lie, there was the one for cussing...but that is a LONG story.

I was voted Most Talkative of my senior class, a class of about 600 students.

My best friend in college bought me a coffee mug that said "If I'm not talking, check my pulse."

I have the gift of gab.

Sometimes it's good because it helps me meet people and fit into a new situation more easily.  People who don't like awkward silences tend to love me.

But sometimes I put my foot in my mouth because I talk without thinking or just don't know when to shut the heck up!  Sometimes my brain is saying "Shut up woman" but my mouth is still moving.

It also means that I can be an awful shoulder to cry on/sympathetic listener, because I am too quick to give advice, or my opinion.  Sometimes I just need to learn to shut up and listen...  And remember that other people can solve their own problems (even if it is not how I would do it), and that if they want my advice, they'll ask for it.

It's hard.

But I am trying.  I do have little conversations in my head trying to censor myself.  Bare with me people. The first step is admitting you have a problem.

Dear Santa

After almost every trip home I fall into a mild depression (not the clinically diagnosed kind). Because during those few days back in my hometown, I get to spend short but valuable quality time with my best friends. These are woman who I have known for years. Before babies. Before husbands. Heck, most of them before I could drink, or vote, or drive! 17 years and more. I love them so much. And miss them every day.

Sure, thanks to cell phones, emails, and Facebook, I don’t miss them nearly as much as I would have a 100 years ago when we could have only sent written correspondence that would take a week or more to deliver. Keeping in touch now is much more convenient and economical. But still, Skyping doesn’t replace sitting next to them on the couch, sipping a glass of wine, and laughing together. Or crying together. And I can’t do that from 800 miles away.

And I miss that they know me. Really know me. Know that I’m sarcastic, opinionated, and bawdy. Now that I am passionate about important things and irrelevant things like which peanut butter is the best. That I have the best intentions despite having a propensity for putting my foot in my mouth. That I love gossip, but not in a mean spirited way. That I often need to bitch and complain, just to get things off my chest before I can get any clarity on the situation. That I’m a loyal friend, but I also believe in being honest even though I know it’d be easier to just tell you what you want to hear. They know that I can be unintentionally judgmental, and they help me work on changing that about myself.

With them, I don’t have to act smarter than I am. Or to censor myself. Act more pious. Or polite. Or wittier. Or more informed. I can be exactly who I am, and they love me and accept me just for that. I feel safe and unjudged.

As a married mother/adult living in a university town, I have found it very hard to make friends. Sure, I have some wonderful acquaintances, but that is all they are. Nice people that I exchange pleasantries with in social situations.

How are you?

I’m great. How are you?

Wonderful.

How is the family? Good?

That’s terrific! Man this weather is beautiful/terrible/crazy/unexpected.

Yes, isn’t it? But that is Indiana for you.

True. Well, it was good to see you.

Awesome, it was good to see you, too.

But for one reason or another it never seems to go past this very superficial level into any more meaningful relationships.

Part of the problem is that because this is a university town, most people I meet seem to see their time here as temporary. Just a bookmark in their life until they move on to their real jobs, their real homes, their real lives. They don’t seem interested in putting much effort into making good friends here, since they themselves are only here on loan until they finish their degrees or find permanent positions elsewhere. And I will admit, back when I lived here as a graduate student in the early 2000s, I was the same way.

The other problem is that when you were young, it didn’t take much to establish a connection. You thought they were fun and funny and they thought the same about you.  But now, you might like her but your husband doesn’t care for him. Or your husbands get along but you and she have nothing to talk about. Or you both like the couple, but you can’t stand their kid and don’t really want them around your kids. Or worse…they don’t have kids, so they just can’t understand your schedule and why you always turn down their invitations to go meet for drinks at 9:00 pm on a school night.

Superman doesn’t seem as phased about not having friends as I am. Honestly, between having me and his parents nearby…he seems quite content with all of his acquaintances. But I want, no, I NEED some girlfriends! And not the kind I can only reach out and touch through a keyboard, but the fleshy kind. The kind that will show up at my house unannounced on a Saturday and sit and drink a cup of hot chocolate with me while we watch the kids play in the snow in the backyard. The kind that we have a monthly game night with, when you bring the kids’ pajamas, because you know the fun will go way past their bedtime.

Oh, and not to be too picky, but I want one that mothers similar to me. Someone that doesn’t feed their kids McDonald’s at every meal, but doesn’t think Ronald McDonald is the devil either. Someone who doesn’t put coke in their one year old’s sippy cup, but doesn’t feed them only organic seaweed juice. Someone who believes in discipline, but also believes that children are children and that 4 year olds shouldn’t be expected to conform to adult standards of politeness and properness. Someone who doesn't chronically read parenting advice books. Someone who I can ask parenting advise from, but isn’t offended if I don’t take it. A mother who is realistic about their love for their child, and doesn’t insist that they are god’s gift to the world and they poop skittles and rainbows. A mother who likes spending time with her children, not one who always wants to do “just girls” things because she is desperate to get away from them at every opportunity.

I know my list is not unreasonable. I know this, because I know these women. And if this were a perfect world, I’d live next door to them in Virginia Beach and still have my amazing in-laws living just 45 minutes away.

But until then, I can just say:

Dear Santa Claus,

Please, please, please bring me a friend this year.  I’ve been very good all year and I think I deserve it.

Love,

Me

P.S. She must believe in Santa Claus.

A Mother's Intuition

I really need to learn to trust my mother's intuition.

Monday afternoon, right before lunch time, I got a call from the boys' school that Thing 2 was running a fever.  So, I left work to go pick him up and spend the rest of the day at home with him.  He was definitely feverish (hovering around 102 all night) and moaning and groaning and whimpering the most pitiful "nope" to just about every question I asked.  Around 11 pm, he started vomiting, and continued vomiting over the next few hours. Then, around 3 am, he finally fell into a deep, yet still fitful sleep.

Some things are going on at work right now that make me really anxious about taking too many days off and Superman doesn't have any sick days right now (long story), so I arranged for Grandma Train to come over on Tuesday and stay with him.  These boys tend to bounce back really quickly from sicknesses, so I didn't have too much guilt about abandoning him while he was ill.  I figured he'd be running around like normal in no time.  Besides, I was planning on going home to check on him around lunch time.

Well, Superman beat me to it.  He stopped by on his lunch break to help take Thing 2's temperature and help administer the next dose of pain killer (Grandma Train has a bad back, so while she can read to, play with, and comfort the boys, she can't lift our 36-lb sack of sick potatoes or have the strength to fight him to take his medicine or temperature.).  Around  11:30 or so, I get a phone call, Thing 2's temperature is 104.1.  At this point, I still wasn't positive I was taking him to the doctor's but I knew that a kid this sick needed his mom and Grandma Train needed some relief.

When I got home, it was 45 minutes after a cool bath and a dose of Ibuprofen, and he was still burning up.  I took his temp again (103.5) and called the doctor's office.  My mother's intuition said that my kid was really sick.  I'd never seen him so whiny and moany and miserable.  But, the nurse on the other end said based on his symptoms, and as long as the pain reliever was bringing the fever down some (even if just 1 degree), wait for 3 days and if his fever still didn't subside, to bring him in.

Later that afternoon, you could add diarrhea to the symptoms.

All that night he was feverish (pain killers only brought it down 1/.5 degree or so), lethargic, and all around not feeling good.  Superman slept in the guest room.  While I barely slept with Thing 2 in our bed.

The next day was more of the same.  More high temps.  More moody, whiny, needy boy who didn't know what he wanted, uncomfortable, and couldn't be satisfied.  Papaw Train did come buy with treats.  And he seemed to perk up enough to go downstairs and play trains.  But he fell asleep while playing, and Papaw left.  When he woke up, his temp was back up to 104 and he was as miserable as ever.

Later that afternoon, he started complaining about his belly hurting, rubbing down in his lower abdomen.  All along he has been barely eating, so I figured it must be an empty tummy.  Superman came home and got worried it was appendicitis.  We were on the verge of calling the doctor again when out of nowhere Thing 2 started acting better.  So much better in fact, he was walking around saying his "sick is broken now" and ready to go back to school.  He even ate a fair amount of dinner.  I was thrilled.  It definitely seemed he was on the mend.  And I was telling myself that that nurse had been right...that I just had to wait out the symptoms and they'd disappear on their own.

Bed time came and Thing 2 was whiny and threw a fit that we weren't letting him sleep in our bed yet again.  I explained that sick boys get to sleep in mommy and daddy's bed and well boys sleep in their own bed.

After missing half a day on Monday, half a day on Tuesday, and a full day on Wednesday, I was preparing for a good night sleep to go back to work on Thursday.

Wrong.

At about 1:30 am, our bed was invaded yet again by my whiny feverish hot box.  103.8 and as moany and miserable as ever. I guess his sick wasn't broken after all.

When asking Thing 2 what was hurting, he kept rubbing his lower abdomen and saying his tummy.  Superman gave me the look.  He was really worried about appendicitis.  He had just had his taken out 3 years ago when the boys were babies, and hadn't experienced the typical textbook symptoms.  So he was very convinced it was possible Thing 2's symptoms didn't have to follow the book either.  I wasn't as convinced (or at all), but I was up losing sleep over how to make my baby feel better and why I'd waited so long to take him to the doctor.  Now it was 3:30 am and I was counting down the minutes until 8 am when I could take him to see his doctor.

I guess I finally fell asleep, because around 7 am I woke up.  The first thing I did was feel Thing 2's forehead.  No fever.  But this time, when he woke up, he was not acting fine.  He might not have had a fever, but he was still whiny and moany with sick eyes.  He was still the sick version of himself.  I went ahead and called and make the appointment.  Then we got his brother dressed and dropped him off at school.

Thing 2 at first was upset he couldn't stay at school (mostly because he wanted to do the morning activity), but then perked up when we went to the donut shop.  Here is where I start doubting myself again...in the car to and while at the donut shop he was acting fine again.  Chatty.  Sweet.  Inquisitive.  And he seemed to have an appetite.  He ate 3/4 of his "white donut" (powdered sugar) and 1/4 of his "brown milk".

I'm thinking: Great, I'm taking him in to the doctor's with no fever and acting fine.  A waste of money and time.

But we press on.  At the doctor's office, his temperature is 98.7.  Perfectly normal.  But, he is acting weird again.  Lots of "nope" answers.  When I tell the doctor about the abdomen, she asked him if his belly hurts and he says a pitiful "yea".  Then she asks if his hair hurts and he says a pitiful "yea".  Then she points out that it's hard to diagnose children this age because of their lack of ability to effectively communicate.

One look at his throat with her little doctor light though, and the need for communication went out the window.  "Looks pretty red back there.  Let's get a strep test done."

My big boy opened wide and said "ahh" and about 5 minutes later, it was official...he has his first case of strep throat.  Fifteen minutes later, he had his first dose of amoxicillin.

Five hours later, he is feeling much better.  But I feel awful.  How could I have made him suffer through 3 days of aches and fevers when he had a legitimate illness?  When I get strep, I am at the doctor's within hours and getting my antibiotics.  No way I would suffer through without my drugs.  But I didn't want to be that mom bringing her kid to the doctor for some virus that would pass and there was nothing they could give them anyway.  Yet, on Tuesday and Wednesday both I had the nagging doubt of "should I go ahead and just take him in?" and didn't.

I still don't want to be that parent who takes her kid into the doctor for every cough and sneeze, but next time I'll know that if I know my kid is feeling miserable and really not himself, that I'll follow my mother's intuition on when to take him to see the doctor.

Don't Sweat the Small Stuff

Rule number one is, don't sweat the small stuff. Rule number two is, it's all small stuff. ~Robert Eliot

Last Wednesday was like any other evening in our household.  Moments after I got home from work, Superman was out the door for a run, leaving me to deal with Thing 1 and Thing 2 running around rambunctiously and wreaking havoc around the house while I was trying to cook dinner.  They were alternating between trying to "help" me and just helping themselves to anything that would drive me crazy (using a pen to write on the couch, drawing on my table with crayons, spilling an entire tube of go-gurt on the rug).  Needless to say, by the time bedtime came, my last thought as I was shutting out their light was "THANK GOD!"  They were going to bed and I'd have some peace and quiet.

Superman brought some laundry up for us to fold, we turned on the tv to watch our shows, and I popped open my laptop to check my email one last time.   But what I found in my inbox was devastating.  A friend of mine, one of my best childhood friends, had sent me a message letting me know that her son had passed away that afternoon.  I must have re-read the email five times, because I kept thinking I was misunderstanding it.  It wasn't until Superman came and sat next to me did I realize I was crying and quietly saying "oh my god" over and over.  A beautiful, healthy, 16 month old child had suddenly and unexplainably aspirated in his sleep during his afternoon nap.  That poor child.  That poor mother.  That poor family.

Around that time, Thing 1 comes plodding down the hallway crying that his brother had hit him.  Usually my rule is that if you aren't bleeding and nothing is broken, you go back to your room.  But instead I grabbed my child and hugged him and held him while I cried.  Cursing myself for getting angry about spilled yogurt.  Cursing myself for thinking "Thank God" as I put them to bed that night.  Because really, all of the clean carpets and neatly folded laundry in the world isn't worth even one less second with my child.  Yet, in the hum-drum of everyday life, we often forget this.  Death of a child, especially a healthy one, is so unimaginable, unfathomable, that we often take our every days with them for granted.  At least I know I'm guilty of it.

Of all of the poignant and heartfelt things my friend has written about her son since his passing, the thing that made me cry the hardest was this line from a poem she wrote for him:

Next came a bath, where you soaked the whole entire floor,
What I would give right now to clean it up once more.

I don't really subscribe to the everything happens for a reason philosophy.  I can't think of any good reason to take this young child from his loving and doting family.  However, I do believe that good things can come out of even the most terrible of situations.  For my friend and her family, I can't imagine what good will come out of this event for them, however, I'm confident something will.  Eventually.

For me, I know that over the past week as I've dealt with some upsetting news at work and some other bad news (because when it rains it pours), I just keep reminding myself that none of those things really matter in the end.  It's all just small stuff.  Stained carpets and couches and broken lamps can be replaced.  ACs can be repaired.  New jobs can be found.  But you can never, ever, ever, replace your child.

As I sit beside Thing 2, laying in his pajamas in mommy and daddy's bed with sick eyes and a fever of 103<, moaning and groaning, and telling me his head hurts; my heart aches because I can't magically make him feel better.  But, I feel so unbelievably lucky and undeservedly blessed that my baby boy is only momentarily ill.  That overall he is a happy and healthy child.  They both are.  That I have been lucky enough to be their mother for almost 4 years.  And I pray with all of my might that I will be lucky and undeservedly blessed to be their mother for 40 more.

The Economics of Parenting Twins

I just read a funny and accurate blog on the economics of having twins: Freakonomics

I've been meaning for a while to write a blog on "What parents expecting twins really need".  For instance, two high chairs YES, two Jumperoos NO.  It's on my things to blog about list, but I just haven't gotten around to writing it.

This guy succinctly mentions issues of the costs of having twins.  (Hint: It's not two for the price of one!)  Here are my quick comments on his article.

Feedings.  Superman and I split midnight feedings.  We couldn't just take turns like other bottle feeding parents.  Two babies equals two constantly sleep deprived parents.  And actually, I'd like to point out that I had it worse than him, because as soon as the feeding was over, we changed their diapers and put them back in their crib, then he went back to sleep.  I got to stay up for another 30 minutes of pumping and 15 minutes of clean up from said pumping.

P.S. When you are sleep walking during pumping, and you accidentally spill that milk that you are working so darn hard to make...you bring new meaning to the phrase cry like a baby.  I think Superman thought I'd fatally wounded myself.  And in a way, I felt like I had.

Thing 1 and Thing 2 at 3 weeks old in
second-hand bouncy seats from my cousin 

Infancy Costs. Most people have one baby at a time.  Which means they have one crib that is used for multiple children at different times.  But we had to get two of almost everything, since there were no hand me downs to be passed on.  The worst was the cost of buying things that you knew they'd only use for a few months and then outgrow.  We loved thrift stores and took any hand-me downs people would give us.  I didn't care if their high chairs matched, as long as they were cheap and/or free!

We were so lucky that I had a cousin who had twin boys two years before us.  They passed on a ton of stuff and I couldn't have been happier!  We "paid it forward" by passing on a ton of stuff as well.

P.S. People who won't take hand me downs for gently used items that the baby will outgrow in two seconds are freaking stupid!

P.P.S. I want to smack people who already have a blue high chair for their son and then go get a pink one when they have a girl. Hint: that baby doesn't freaking care what color their high chair is!  Use the dang-on blue high chair and put that extra money into their college account!!  Sheesh!

Diapers.  We chose to do cloth diapers for several reasons.  1. It is better for the environment.  2.  They are healthier for the kids (have you ever seen the toxic crap that spills out of a diaper that explodes when it gets too saturated?!)  3.  They are supposed to make potty training easier, since the kids feel more uncomfortable than disposables that are super absorbent.  And 4. They are cheaper.  Except, again, most people buy their $300 worth of Fuzzy Bunz in a few different sizes and that lasts them through as many kids as they have.  We on the other hand, had to buy twice the amount of diapers.  So in the end, I'm not sure just how much money we really saved.  I'm sure we saved some, but not as much as we would have if we'd used $300 for two different babies at staggered times.

Child care costs.  Babies cost more than toddlers.  Diapered toddlers cost more than potty trained toddlers.  People say "wow, it was great you could afford for Superman to stay home with the boys for three years."  The truth is, two babies in child care would have eaten up almost all of Superman's teacher salary.  He would have basically been working to pay someone else to take care of our kids.  As it is, we pay $1200-1500 a month (depending on whether it is 4 weeks or 5 weeks) to have two potty trained kids in preschool now.  People gasp when they hear that and say "Wow, I pay half that."  Duh, you have half the kids in school as us.

The good news: once they start kindergarten in a year, we will feel rich!  In the end, we end up paying the same.  The difference is we have to do a more condensed version, where other people get to spread theirs out a bit.

Sleep.  Again, thanks to the awesomeness of having a cousin pave the way for us in the world of parenting twins, we knew from day one the importance of getting them on a schedule.  I really don't know why anyone would be against sleep training.  Rested parents are happy parents.  Happy parents equal happy babies.  It's common sense to me.  But I read so many negative opinions about methods like Ferber and Babywise (both of which we used with great success!).  My boys were sleep trained as babies and are STILL amazing sleepers.  I read peoples' Facebook posts about their kids getting up at 5 am, even on weekends, and I thank my stars that my boys would sleep in until 9 am everyday if we'd let them (and on weekends we do!).  My only problem with their sleep is getting them up early enough in the morning.  Sometimes I feel like I have teenagers already!

And not only do they sleep late, but they go to bed great.  We have followed the rules of following schedules and being consistent.  So they know that bedtime is 8 pm.  There is no fighting, crying, or having to do super nanny methods to keep them in their beds.  It's 8 pm, they go to bed.  Boom.  We read them a few books, turn off all but one reading light, and they read quietly in bed until they fall asleep.  99% of the time, this is our night time routine.  I can't imagine doing it those other ways... how exhausting.

Built in playmate.  This one is huge.  I can say that this is by far the #1 reason why I'm glad we had twins.  I can remember even when they were 9 months old, seeing how much easier it was with two for keeping them entertained.  I'd put one in the Jumperoo and one in the exersaucer and set them facing one another while I did dishes and made dinner.  They'd laugh and entertain one another the whole time.  Meanwhile my friends with just one baby would complain about how hard it was to get anything done, because their baby wanted their attention.

I also think this is why we were successful at keeping them away from tv for almost two years.  If we'd had just one baby, I'm sure we would have given in and used the digital babysitter much much sooner than we did.

College.  Honestly, this is like the child care issue.  Sure, it's gonna suck to have two kids going in to school at the same time.  However, once it is done, it will be done.  And unlike with the surprise of having twins, we have 18 years to get ready for that expense.  And honestly, if we end up not having enough to send them...there are always school loans.  Hey, if it was good enough for me...

I take that back.  I freaking despise my school loans.  We'd better have saved enough by then!

In Summary.  All of you people who say "Ah, I always wanted twins."  Bet you didn't think about all of this, did ya?  You just thought about the cute factor of having two itty bitty babies dressed in the same outfit.  The truth is, there are definitely draw backs.

But then again, I only had to be pregnant once.  Only had to go through one delivery.  Only had to go through breastfeeding once.  Bottles once.  Night feedings once.  Diapers once.  Potty training once.

And once the boys outgrow equipment, clothes, toys, etc, there is no need to store them in the basement or attic for the next one.  We have a garage sale, or donate them to a friend or organization.  It's Hasta La Vista Baby!

Kids say the darndest things

It's hard to believe that my 3 year old sons used to be considered delayed in their speech.  When they first entered pre-school last year, their teacher was concerned enough about it that she was recommending speech therapy.  We didn't put them in it, because we knew in our hearts they would catch up to their peers.  And we were right.

Sometimes as parents, you have to just follow your gut.  In our case, we knew that Thing 1 and Thing 2 were perfectly on par with the rest of their development (gross motor skill, cognitive, social, etc), so the speech thing was less troubling.  Plus, they were preemies, boys, first children, and twins, all four risk factors for delayed speech.  Add that to the fact they stayed at home with their dad for the first three years (no older kids around to model after) and we didn't let them watch tv for the first two years (kids really do learn a lot from Sesame Street) and we had two 3 year olds who were still speaking in two-word phrases and were barely understandable to anyone except for us.

But it's true what they say about watch what you wish for, because now they won't shut up.  Actually, that is just a phrase for effect.  They talk a lot, but I LOVE it!

Here are some awesome things they've said recently.

When I got home last night, I was telling Superman a story about Thing 1 and his friend from school.  He had declared his new little Korean classmate his best friend, which I, as a prior ESL teacher, loved.  (I'll tell this story in more detail later.)  The boys overheard Superman tell me that he hopes Thing 1 and Thing 2 are always one another's best friend.
Thing 1: No. J----- is my best friend.
Thing 2: Yeah.  B----- is my best friend.
Thing 1: Yeah, J---- is my best friend.  And B----- is your best friend.
Thing 2: Yeah, (Thing 1) is my brother.  B----- is my best friend, daddy!

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While I was making dinner, Thing 2 sat down at the table with a crayon and paper and seconds later said "(T) for (Thing 2)."  Sure enough, I walked over and there was a perfect (well, almost perfect) letter scrawled on the paper.  His first letter!  Without me prompting him!  Then he asked me to help him make the letters for the rest of his name.  Yes, my kid with the speech delay can spell his name already.

Thing 1, not wanting to be left out of the action when he heard mom cheering and encouraging, came running over and proceeded to draw, unassisted, the first letter of his name.  It was backward, but how adorable is that!?

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After my walk/jog last night, I picked the boys up at the driveway on their trikes and they did my walk the block cool down with me.  Thing 1 was trailing behind with Superman, but Thing 2 was right up with me the whole time.  We got to a T in the road, one way was up hill but back towards our house, the other way was down hill but away from our house.  Thing 2 said "Let's go that way" pointing down the hill (they like to ride fast down the hills).  And I said, "No, honey, we have to go this way, back towards our house for dinner."  And he said "No mom.  That way is too steep."

Seriously?  What 3 year old says "that way is too steep."

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My last story happened while I was in Madison.  Okay, another bad parent confession is that my kids know all of the words to the entire Bowling for Soup Hangover You Don't Deserve album.  Their hands down favorite song is 1985 (which they call Woo-hoo-hoo), however most recently they've discovered hidden track 18 (which they call Hello).  It's basically a reprise of another song, Ohio (Come Back to Texas), where the band members really drunkenly sing "(Insert decidedly Texas item) wants you back" over and over, laughing and burping a lot.  After Superman got them out of the car one afternoon, they kept singing the song long after the radio was turned off, and the were making up their own phrases.  "Thing 1 wants you back"  "Thing 2 wants you back"  "Kitty wants you back"  "Doggies wants you back" (even though we don't have a dog!).  Then, they told Superman that they wanted to call me and sing me the song.  They proceeded to sing me about 10 verses.  It was the sweetest thing!

I hate mornings

I hate mornings.  But not for the same reason most people probably hate mornings.

I've always considered myself a morning person.  I'm like my dad in that way.  And it turns out that Thing 1 and Thing 2 follow in our footsteps, because those little guys wake up in amazing moods 99% of the time.  Most mornings, they don't even wake up groggy.  They just seem to pop up excited and ready to play.

But that is the problem.  They want to play.  They are happy, sweet, and playful...  and mommy is all business, trying to get ready for work and school.

It breaks my heart, because mornings are the most one-on-two time I get with them.  Superman leaves for work at about 7:15, which means it's just me and my boys until it's time to take them to school.  I want to just lay in bed and cuddle with them while they tell me about their dreams (which they always seem so excited to tell you about), or get down on the ground and play trains, or play endless scenarios of "doggy", but I can't because I'm racing the clock.

Over and over again, my meanest mommy moments (which are also the most disappointed in myself parenting moments) always happen in the morning, while trying to get them ready for school.  At the time that my kids are perhaps at their sweetest and best, I turn into Momzilla.

They don't want to get dressed (because they want to stay in their pajamas and play) so I find myself physically restraining them to put their clothes on.  They want to play, but I get angry when I walk in the living room and find that they've pushed the coffee table over to the front closet and are standing on it to get their Candy Land game off of the top shelf, spilling dozens of other games in the process.  No matter how many times I promise myself I won't lose my tempter, I invariably end up yelling at some-Thing in the morning for something.  And I hate myself for it.

Some mornings I give in to the desire to just be mommy with them and enjoy their morning mood.  Like this morning.  I had just gotten out of the shower, when I heard Thing 2's soft whispering.  He was sitting in mommy and daddy's bed, next to Thing 1 (who was still sleeping) and saying "Time to get up brother."  Within minutes, both were giggling and laughing under my covers.  So, I abandoned the urge to use the time to blow dry my hair and put on my makeup, and I hopped in bed next to them.  We played tickle monster.  Thing 2 played puppy.  Thing 1 and I took turns giving puppy commands.  We gave lots of sweet kisses.  It was heaven.

But then at some point, I thought "Ugh, we are going to be so late."  So I got up and got back to getting ready.  The rest of the morning included a Thing 2 not wanting to get dressed fit.  A Thing 1 not wanting the breakfast Superman had set out for them.  And me walking into the coffee table incident described above after I finished blow drying my hair.

Our utopic morning in bed was long forgotten as my frustration and irritation grew.

I don't know what the solution is.  Some people say "wake them up earlier so you don't feel so rushed"  However... 1. when you wake them up, they wake up grumpy, 2. we'd have to put them to bed earlier, and I already feel like I barely get any time with them in the evening.

I need a different job.  I need to be a free-lance something or other, working from home.  Or a professor, where I could set my teaching time for afternoons.  Something where I didn't have to push my happy children out of bed and into the arms of others at 8:30 am every morning.

Sometimes I really miss Superman being a stay at home dad.  The boys could stay in their pajamas as long as they wanted!  Often, I'd come home for lunch and the three of them would still be in their pajamas with disheveled hair and in the happiest of moods.

From Slacktivist to Activist

I think most people are aware of the demonstrations that went on in Madison, WI during the beginning of the year.  For weeks and weeks, throngs of protesters swarmed the state capitol to protest what they perceived to be anti-union legislation, many sleeping in the building for days on end.  Those protesters were a constant reminder to the state representatives of the large numbers of citizens who did not support the anti-union legislation they were trying to pass through.  But they passed it anyway.

Madison, WI Capitol Building - April 9, 2011

What I don't think a lot of people realize (at least I know I didn't), is that even after the legislation was pushed through and the Democrats returned to the capitol that the peaceful protests continue.

Because both Superman and I are in the fields of education, we are particularly interested in political issues that affect teachers.  Not to mention, as parents, we are interested in issues about education, since they will affect our children in a year when they start kindergarten.  So, we've definitely been following this issue from Indiana.

When preparing for the trip to Madison, I actually thought to myself that I wished the protests were still going on, because I'd never seen a real life protest before.  So, imagine my surprise to find upon our arrival, that there were indeed still protesters actively protesting at the capitol each day.

Saturday, during my hour lunch break, I decided to head to State Street to do some souvenir shopping for Thing 1 and Thing 2.  (I thought a set of foam cheese heads from the University of Wisconsin bookstore was in order.) But, while walking over, I got side tracked when I heard some live rock music playing, and I slowly went towards the source.  I found on the steps of the capitol building: The Gomers and a growing crowd of protestors with homemade signs.  A few minutes later, I heard some different music behind me.  A hodge podge marching band was making it's way directly up State Street and then circled the capitol, before heading up the steps.

I was officially in the middle of my first ever political protest.  I decided to skip my shopping trip (I did venture out later that evening to pick up the souvenirs for the boys) and skip my lunch, so that I could document and experience history in the making.  I talked with a lot of union workers, Democrats and Republicans, and heard their real voices, their real concerns...not just what the media decides to report on.  And I let them know that this educator, this parent, this citizen, was behind them.

I even got Superman a souvenir from a street vender:

Click here for more pictures of the protest.

Greetings from Madison, WI

Madison, WI.

What comes to mind when you think of Madison, WI?  For most people who've never been here, I'm sure it would be cheese curds, cheese heads, giant foam cheese hats, Green Bay Packers.  The college football nuts out there might think Badgers. Or most recently, probably protests and teachers unions.

I think State Street.  Ethnic restaurants for miles and miles (at least it seems like miles and miles).  Napalese.  Tibetan.  Ethiopian.  Turkish.  Afghani.  Indian.  Thai.  Yum.  Yum.  Yum.

My first trip to Madison WI was last April (2010), for a conference for work.  The conference itself was kind of a bust for me.  I seemed to regularly pick the most uninteresting and uninspiring sessions to attend.  But the food.  Oh man, the food!

This year, I've so far been a lot luckier in my session choices (knock on wood) and am overall feeling like I'm getting more out of the conference because of it.  But still, it's the food.  Oh man, the food!

The day we arrived, we went to a Tibetan restaurant and I had Gingered Yak Meatballs (yes, that is meatballs made out of yak meat) along with steamed bread.  Yesterday night we went to an Indian restaurant where we feasted on Murgh Saag, Fish Tikka Masala, Lamb Curry, and a Tandoori feast that included chicken, lamb, and shrimp.  Plus garlic naan, onion naan, and basmatti rice.  After dinner, we walked around campus, enjoying the views and sliding down a few banisters.  Then, found ourselves at the University of Wisconsin-Madison student union where we had some delicious Babcock Dairy ice cream.

Superman and I both love ethnic food.  And we used to love to go out to eat.  But since Thing 1 and Thing 2 came along, we don't go out to eat even a fraction of what we used to.  First and foremost because it is not financially prudent.  (We have to be all grown up with the way we spend money now that we are parents.)  Second, because it is harder to go out with the boys now more than ever.  They can't be confined to high chairs anymore, yet they don't really have the patience for staying seated for more than about 10 minutes either.  And finally, because we can just cook healthier at home.  Since we started cooking only Weight Watcher meals about 2.5 years ago, Superman has lost 30 lbs, runs half marathons, and is now a crazy health nut.  I, on the other hand, am yo-yo-ing the same 20 lbs and still can barely force myself to do my 30 min workout 3-5 times a week.  But right now I'm on a down swing, so I'm trying to keep the momentum going!  I really want to get back to my pre-pregnancy weight some day before I die.

Before my trip, I went to the grocery store and bought a bunch of fresh fruit and veggies to bring to the hotel, so that I'd have something to eat for breakfast and snack other than muffins and cookies.  And I packed my workout clothes and tennis shoes so that I could hit the workout center in the mornings before my conference sessions.  So far, I've eaten the fruit.  In addition to the baked goods (they just look and smell so good, and they are FREE!).  And I haven't gone to the workout center even once.  I don't even know what floor it is on.  But, I have strolled up and down State Street.  And thanks to the generosity of my paycheck place, I get to enjoy (read: over indulge in) the food.  Oh man, the food!

Update:  For lunch today, I had a gyro.  Then, for a late afternoon snack I enjoyed some more ice cream!  Shhh!  Don't tell Superman!


P.S. I loved the sign at the ice cream shop:

Happy Birthday to me!

Na-na-na-na-na-na...You say it's your birthday
Na-na-na-na-na-na...It's my birthday too--yeah

Today is my 32nd birthday.  I am one of those people who loves their birthday.  I usually start counting down in my head about a month out.  My mom and brother both have birthdays in early March, so as soon as theirs pass, I start thinking of mine.  But this year, my birthday really crept up on me.  It wasn't until this past Friday, April Fool's Day, that I thought oh yeah, my birthday is in a few days.  (That is also the first day my husband seemed to remember I had a looming birthday as well.)

Don't worry, I'm not turning into one of those "my birthday doesn't mean anything people," because I still love my birthday!  I love receiving cards.  Unwrapping presents.  Blowing out birthday candles.  Eating cake!  And all of the other it's-your-day specialness that comes with turning one year older.  The 21st century has brought even more virtual birthday goodness in the form of birthday text messages and Facebook messages.  So far this morning, I've been wished Happy Birthday by at least 35 people!  It's a nice surprise to open your email and find the inbox overflowing with wishes for you to have the best day ever.  Especially when you didn't get one at home.

I'm not saying Superman forgot my birthday, but I am saying that in the rush to get ready this morning, he did not wish me a Happy Birthday.  Nor did he make me breakfast, leave me a card, or in any other way indicate that he remembered or cared.  It brought back memories of my 10th birthday, the year that my parents forgot.  Okay, they didn't Sixteen Candles me and forget completely, but they did forget to wish me a Happy Birthday in the morning.  It wasn't until they were both at work did they realize and call one another... "Did you?"  "No.  Did you?"  "No."  Uh-oh!  I ended up getting my first  delivery of flowers that day.  I remember because my dad had always said flowers were a waste of money, and they both agreed I was too young to appreciate them anyway.  But guilt trumps practicality!

Meanwhile, I'm not one to sit and mope about not getting what I want.  Instead, I decided to make my own birthday treat.  There is a cute locally owned donut shop in town that I haven't been to since we moved back almost two years ago.  After getting Thing 1 and Thing 2 ready for school, I asked them if they wanted to go get a birthday treat with Mommy, and we headed to Crescent Donuts.  I let each of the boys pick out one donut.  Thing 1 got a cherry filled donut with cream cheese icing.  Thing 2 got a powdered sugar donut.  And I got my favorite: Boston Cream.  We completed our order with two cold milks and sat down at a table.

The boys were especially cute this morning.  They were dressed in jeans and coordinating personalized baseball t-shirts (Thing 1's was blue of course, and Thing 2's was red), and they were so well behaved as they sat and ate their doughnuts.  The feisty old men at the counter sipping coffee were enamored with my little guys.  They asked them their names, ages, and if they had girlfriends.  They got a big kick out of Thing 2 saying his girlfriend was "R---" and then Thing 1 saying "two R---s", with Thing 2 nodding and saying "yea, two R----s" (because he has two little girl friends with the same name).  "That's right son, start early!" they chuckled.

I should point out that when Thing 1 was about about halfway through eating his jelly filled donut, he decided he didn't like it and that we should trade.  So, he ended up eating my Boston Cream.  My-oh-my how motherhood changes things.  Even my day is really still their day.

We'll see what Superman does this evening to make up for his birthday faux-pas this morning.  Let me give you a hint: it'd better include chocolate!

**Update: No phone call, email, text, NOTHING from Superman during the workday.  I came home from work a little early and caught him with Thing 1 and Thing 2 in the kitchen, covered with chocolate cake batter.  The boys were screaming "Happy Birthday Mommy!  We made you a cake!"  Then Superman gave me two cards, one from him and one from the boys, and a dozen roses.  Then he took me out for dinner at the restaurant of my choice (yes, I CHOSE Steak n' Shake!).  Then it was to Lowe's to buy my birthday present...a few Closetmaid pieces for additional storage in my craft room.  But the real present is that he never once bitched about my craft room being the most expensive room in the house.  And, he even helped me turn the screws a few times putting it together.


Later that night, I asked him point blank if he realized he had never wished me Happy Birthday that morning.  And he said yes.  But he said by the time he realized it when he got to work, he decided not to call or text me, but to make it seem like he'd totally forgotten and surprise me with the cake and flowers when I got home.


In the end, I had a pretty rocking birthday, so I won't complain.


P.S.  A shout out to my parents who bought me an awesome new craft table for my craft room!  In my mom's words "because we know you wouldn't spend the money on yourself."  Ah, she knows me too well.

40 B4 40: Update

Right after the new year, I wrote my list of 40 Things I Want to Accomplish Before I Turn 40. Seeing as I will be turning 32 in two days, I thought maybe this would be a good time to update my progress.

3. Sell something on etsy.com - So, I've started making these capes. Originally I just made them for Thing 1 and Thing 2, but some friends saw pictures of them online and the requests started coming in. I've done preliminary research on starting a shop, and right now I'm at the stage of deciding what my shop name will be. Superman came up with "Mama Kay Designs," which I thought was really catchy, but apparently somebody else did too, because "Momma Kay" and "Mama Kay" were both already taken. Once I decide on the name, I will open my shop and start listing the capes and maybe add on t-shirt quilts in the future.

4. Present at a national conference - In January, I submitted a proposal to ACTFL and am waiting to hear whether or not it's been accepted. I should find out some time this month.

5. Have a job I love - I applied for two new jobs in the last month. One application resulted in an interview. It's been about 3 weeks since the interview, and I still haven't heard anything. However, I also haven't received my portfolio back yet, so I'm trying to stay positive that means I'm still in the running for the second round of interviews. Also, I've checked online, and the position has not been filled through HR yet. I'm also focusing on trying to appreciate the job I do have, which has made things better.

7. Jog a 5K - About two weeks ago, I started the Couch to 5K running program. I'm currently on my second week of the first week work out. My brother and I started at the same time, so we are encouraging one another and have picked out a 5K to jog together in September.

10. Achieve a normal weight BMI (18.5–24.9) - I rejoined Weight Watchers. I was pretty successful with it once back B.C., so I'm hoping the second time's the charm. So far, I've lost 18 pounds since January 3. It's coming off slowly, but slow and steady wins the race. Hey, I have until 40 after all!

12. Grow an herb garden - Last week I planted some cilantro, basil, and oregano. Growing it in the window until after the first frost, when I will transplant the seedlings to a porch container.

13. Grow a vegetable garden - Last week I planted some heirloom tomatoes, brussels sprouts, and rainbow peppers. Growing it in the window until after the first frost, when I will transplant the seedlings to the garden. I bought a soil test kit to test the garden plot in the meanwhile. And I've researched renting a mini-tiller for clearing out the plot once the ground softens.

26. Finish Thing1 & Thing2's scrapbooks - I finished Year 1! Year 2, 3, & 4 still to go.

27. Scrapbook my wedding - Started.

31. Learn to use my serger - Got it down, dusted it off, threaded the machine, and practiced on scrap pieces. I need to find a project to make with it next...

I think I've got a pretty good start going....

What has become of us?

So, I mentioned before that I've decided to curtail my Facebook usage during Lent in order to replace that wasted time with more meaningful interactions with family and friends.  I decided that logging on to Facebook one time a day for approximately five minutes to upload some pics, check a few status updates, etc. was a reasonable amount of time spent on the great time waster.  Before going "off-line" I changed my notification settings so that I would still receive emails with FB messages, comments posted directly to my page, and comments on my pictures and/or status updates.  However, I would no longer receive updates in my inbox for things like comments on things I'd commented on.  My reasoning was that messages to my FB inbox, comments on my wall, comments on my status updates were akin to someone sending me an email.  They are people directly contacting me.  So, I can read them in my email like I would any other email, but to respond, I have to either a.) email them (if I know their address), b.) call and/or text them (if I have their number), or c.) wait a day to respond.

What I'm finding, now three weeks into my Lenten sacrifice, is that I'm not missing interaction with my friends so much.  I'm still seeing their pics when I log in for my five minutes.  I'm still corresponding with them by email.  In fact, I talking to them on the phone and texting more now.  As far as that goes, it's been fairly easy to adjust to in my first 21 days.

What is interesting, is what is harder to adjust to: Not being able to tell everyone what I'm doing and/or what I'm feeling and/or thinking all of the time.  It's amazing how my mind works in status updates these days.  Last night was my final night volunteering at the winter homeless shelter and as I'm driving to the church I'm thinking of my status update "Last night of the IWS emergency shelter.  It's been a long cold winter, and I'm proud to know I helped make some people's lives easier."  When the drunk pregnant teenage girl came in my thought was "The smoking pregnant women here don't bother me nearly as much as the obviously drunk ones."  Leaving the shelter I was so tired, so when I got home, I popped an ambien and thought: "Just took an ambien.  Hope to be in dreamland very soon.  Tomorrow comes bright and early"  I feel COMPELLED to share these tidbits of my life.  Why?  The first one, maybe to brag a little.  Give myself a virtual slap on the back, knowing that others will probably give me an atta-girl also for my "good deed."  The second, to judge?  To passive aggressively show that I'm a much better person because I would never have drunk or smoke during my pregnancy.  The third, just to complain about my mundane routine.

I've have impulses now and again to update something I just have to share via my Ping account, which updates my FB and twitter at the same time (I have also given up twitter as a by-product).  It's not technically logging onto FB, so that isn't cheating, right?  Wrong!  I have to fight the urge by instead emailing or calling a friend who I think might be interested in what I have to say.  Or better yet, just keep the thought to myself!  (What a concept!)  And then, if it is still so important to share, I can share it during the next morning's log in (all but once, I've forgotten by the next morning).

My point is, I think that we compulsive FB users are addicted to over-sharing.  We:

• list the mundane details of our life "Just finished grocery shopping.  Now waiting in line at the post office.  Ugh, gotta make it home in time for American Idol."
• share TMI "Wish this stomach bug would go away.  I threw up twice already this morning.  I don't think I can ever eat spaghetti again."  (Thanks for that, now neither can I.)  
• air our dirty laundry "My lying cheating ex is now saying he wants a paternity test, because he doesn't think the baby is his.  How dare he!  Considering all the sluts he was sleeping with while he was supposedly with me."
• brag on ourselves "Finished day 75 of my P90X, now off to drink a protein shake."
• make grandiose emotional declarations for no reason "My husband is the best husband ever.  I love him sooooo much."

The list goes on and on.  And really, does anyone care?  I mean, I'm glad that I have reconnected with that guy I used to sit next to in Chemistry class in 10th grade.  He was nice.  But I'm not really interested that he got a 120 on bowling last night.  He's alive, he's happy, he has a job, a pretty wife, and cute kids.  That's really where my interest wains off...see you at the next reunion. And somethings I just don't WANT to know about people! I liked you just fine acquaintance of mine until I read you spouting off your militant conspiracy ideas.

Don't get me wrong, I LOVE reading and sharing this information with my good friends.  But out of 341 (all of whom I do know in real life in some manner), there are only about 20, maybe 25 that I really care about whether or not their child just poo-pooed on the potty for the first time.

Why have that many friends then?  Well, first of all, I don't really.  I have taken to "hiding" friends in mass, so I'm only actually seeing a small number of my "friends."  (So, if you are someone who posts a lot of TMI or Farmville updates, I'm sorry if your goldfish died and I didn't express my condolences, but I hid you from my Feed a long time ago.)  But the other thing, I feel guilty when someone I know/knew in real life friends me.  I feel like I have to accept them.  Then I give them about 10 status updates or so before I decide to let them stay on my NewsFeed or disappear into the hidden friend zone.  What are the most sure fire ways to be exiled from my newsfeed...prothlesizing, radical political rants, being a Debbie-downer, Farmville/Mafia/Vampire, discussing bodily functions (although I do give passes for children's potty training stories and or milestones) and much much more.

Then there is knowing when someone has hidden you.  You know that person who you know in real life who comments on all of your mutual friends pictures and status updates, but never on yours, yea...you got the ax.  If they ask how you got so tan when you just came back from a vacation to Florida, which you've had countdowns on your FB page for 2 weeks leading up to the trip, updates on your page during the trip, and even photos already up of your trip, yea...they took a vacation from your profile a long time ago.

The weird thing is, it actually kind of hurts your feelings, okay maybe not yours, but it does mine.  Rationally, I know that I hide a lot of people, but when I realize that someone I haven't been hiding, someone I've obviously deemed interesting enough and worthy for me to read about their mundane life, is hiding me.  It does smart to know that you did something on their list of offenses to not make the cut.  Or maybe you are just not interesting enough for them?  It all goes back to our desire to share.  We want our voices to be heard, and we want to make sure someone is listening to us.  To somehow validate it.

What do I do when I realize someone has most likely hidden me?  I hide them.  Yea, it's probably pretty childish.  Immature.  But hey, no one is perfect, and I never claimed to be.  I feel like if they don't care to keep up with what is going on in my life, then why on god's good earth should I spend part of my five minutes a day reading over theirs.  I just keep whittling my news feed down, and whittling it down,  and eventually, I'll have few enough actual friends that getting on FB just once a day for a few minutes might be a reality that lasts way past April 24.

To read some really funny examples of oversharing, visit Lamebook.com

FML!

So, this has been my morning so far...

1st Thing 2 did not want to wake up this morning, so I dressed him in his sleep (actually, this was probably the best/easiest part of my morning).

2nd I spent about 20 min trying to find the rotten milk smell in the house.  Didn't find it.  But I think I've narrowed it down to two rooms.  I know what I'm doing tonight.  Ugh!

3rd Got into a fight with Thing 1 because he asked for o.j. with his waffles, but while I was dressing Thing 2 he went in the fridge and got out the orange kool-aid.  But instead of letting him play with the two liquids (they like to pour them back and forth in cups, usually ending when something is spilled), I poured his glass of untouched o.j. back into the container (don't judge!) and poured him a cup of orange kool-aid instead.  At which point he started screaming, crying, throwing himself on the ground as if I'd beat him and screaming that he wanted orange juice.  I felt terrible and frustrated because I was just trying to give him what he wanted.  I hugged him, got him to calm down and explained that the only reason I took away his o.j. in the first place was because he said he wanted koolaid.  He was sniffling and mumbling "yea" with tear stained cheeks.  I put both in front of him and asked "which one do you want?"  "Orange-choose," pointing to the o.j.  UGH!!

4th Boys didn't want to put on coats (fast forward to when they were outside, complaining about how cold their ears and hands were).

5th At 8:15 am, I was at the door.  On time, unbelievably despite the morning, and had my hands full with a package to mail, my purse, my lunch box, two coats (see 4 above), and my Green Monster smoothie I have every morning (think bright green shake consistency drink).  And I spilled my smoothie!!  All over me!  (jacket! pants! shoes!) The living room floor!  The couch!  My purse!  My package!  My lunch box!  The only thing spared was the boys' coats.  I stood there yelling every cuss word I'd ever heard.  Then I calmly said "Boys, would you please get mommy a towel?"  They stood still watching me with wide eyes.  "Please, someone go get me a towel."  No movement.  "Thing 1.  Thing 2.  Go get mommy a towel, please."  Finally, Thing 1 went and got me a kitchen towel.  I spent the next 30 minutes cleaning up the shake.  The floor was still slightly sticky after two mops.  So much for being on time this morning.  UGH!!!

6th I get to work and get on the elevator crammed with people.  I say the customary "Hit 7 please".  I see the young college student in her pajamas holding her expensive coffee hit a button, so I assume she knows her numbers and stick my nose in the paper.  I look up when we stop on 6.  I tuck my newspaper underneath my arm, preparing for my floor next.  But wait, then we go all the way up to 10!  SHE DIDN'T PRESS MY BUTTON.  Ugh.  So I have to ride all the way up to 15.  Stopping I swear on every floor on the way up.  As the elevator clears, I make my way to the side with the panel.  I PRESS 7.  Re-open my newspaper and settle in for the ride up and back down.  When I feel we are starting to go down again, I close my newspaper and look up, just in time to see 8, 7, 6.  WTF????  Apparently if you hit 7 on the way up, it clears once you get to the top??!?!  So I had to ride it all the way down to the ground level.  Then all the way back up to the top.  At 9:15 am, height of use, which means it was stopping just about every other floor.

7th I check my email.  The public library sends me an email that I owe $24.99 for a DVD we rented 3 weeks ago.  For some reason it didn't recognize my renewal last week (though it did the other DVDs I renewed at the same time).  On top of that, it was due back on Saturday, and we returned the case...without the DVD inside.  $24.99 for a crappy movie about fish that they boys watched exactly one time.  I sent back an email saying I thought this was incorrect.  Then I forwarded it all to Superman and asked him to figure it out...I just can't deal with it this morning.

Yes, we have our health, a warm roof over our head, blah-blah-yada-yada-yada...but some mornings just make you wonder why the hell you got out of bed.

I just sent my boss an email that I will be taking Thursday off as a personal day.  I need some quiet time with a glass of no-no-juice and a hot bath.

Who am I kidding?  I'll spend the day searching for the freaking source of the rotten milk smell!

Confessions of a Facebook Addict

Lent is the period of the liturgical year from Ash Wednesday to Easter. The traditional purpose of Lent is the preparation of the believer — through prayer, repentance, almsgiving and self-denial — for the annual commemoration during Holy Week of the Death and Resurrection of Jesus, which recalls the events linked to the Passion of Christ and culminates in Easter, the celebration of the Resurrection of Jesus Christ.

Wikipedia: Lent

I did not grow up in a religious household.  My father is a lapsed Catholic and my mother is a staunch atheist.  I did go to church occasionally, with friends or with my grandma, but it was not something expected or encouraged by my parents.  Growing up in the south, I was certainly exposed to a lot of religion.  Pat Robertson's Christian Broadcasting Network's headquarters is in my hometown, just about 15 miles from the house I grew up in.  I've even been in the studio audience of a filming of the 700 Club (with my grandma) and an episode of Big Brother Jake (a school field trip).

When I was younger, I liked going to church.  Mostly because I liked the feeling of belonging to something.  Being a Navy brat, we never lived near extended family. It was just my parents, my brother, and me.  But on Sundays, when you went to church, it felt like a big family reunion.  There were dozens upon dozens of wrinkled women who smelled like butterscotch hugging you and their gray-haired male companions flashing their big dentured smiles and calling you affectionate names.  To someone who lost three out of four grandparents before she was 10 years old, I gladly welcomed these friendly seniors as my surrogate grandparents.  Similarly, the Sunday School classes were teeming with the cousins I never knew.

But as I grew up, and began to think more about the real reasons why people go to church, I found myself coming to the realization that I was just not a "Christian."  I didn't believe all of the things I was told a Christian had to believe, and furthermore, I found myself not liking most of the self-proclaimed Christians that I met.  I found most of them to be judgmental of others (Christians and non-Christians), hypocritical, and lacking compassion.  Of course I still had Christian friends, but much like the bumper sticker says to "Love the sinner, hate the sin," I had chosen to "Love the person, hate the faith-group."  Okay, so hate is a strong word, more like dislike and seriously mistrust.

So, how did this person come to be the woman who brings her kids to church every Sunday, attends a Sunday school class, and is even practicing a sacrifice for Lent this season?  The answer is...I found a church that truly accepts me for who I am.  First United Church of Bloomington is unlike any other church I've ever attended.  It welcomes everyone.  Everyone.  All brand of Christianity...Catholics, Lutherans, Methodists, Pentecostals, Quakers.  Muslims.  Jews.  Atheist.  Anyone and everyone interested in a spiritual discussion about faith, serving God, and caring for our fellow man.

Since we've been attending FUCB, I have learned a lot about pure compassion.  And about selflessly helping and giving to others.  And while I'm still not ready to be baptized or change my Facebook status to "Christian," I am truly enjoying being a part of this faith community and learning more about how to be a better person and more fully serve God and my fellow mankind.

Which brings me to Lent.  In our church, they don't mandate that you "give something up for Lent."  In fact, the message I got was more about the importance of using this time to think about your spirituality and meditate on God, whether you give something up in order to focus more on it or not is your own decision.  Superman, a Christian from way back, poked me in Sunday's service and whispered "I'm giving up self-denial," as he does every year.  But, I decided to take it a bit more seriously.

To me, who still sees herself as more of a deist than a Christian, God is the creator.  Someone or something that created the whole universe, and we are all God's children.  And I feel the best way I can honor and serve that creator is to focus on fostering positive relationships with the people in my life.  And while chocolate might not be good for my waist line, I don't feel like it hinders my relationship with others.  But because I still feel the need to "give something up," I chose to give up Facebook.  Okay, not completely give it up, but give up my addiction to it.

Facebook gets a bad rep.  There are an ever rising number of articles and blogs out there about the dangerous and negative effects of our current Facebook culture: 10 Ways Facebook Can Ruin Your Life

But Facebook itself is not a bad thing.  For someone like me who has moved a lot and lives hundreds of miles away from most of my friends and family, Facebook is a savior for helping me stay connected with people.  When planning my high school class's 10 year reunion, Facebook and Myspace (may it rest in peace) were instrumental in locating old classmates, and we had a great turnout because of that.  When a close friend of mine from high school passed away unexpectedly this past summer, the news spread quickly and many who might not have otherwise even heard of his passing were able to attend the funeral and pay their respects.  (In contrast, a few years earlier, when a friend of mine from college passed, it was nearly 4 months later before most of his college buddies even heard.)

The problem I've found is that #1 I spend too much time ON Facebook: browsing, reading, commenting, uploading...just wasting time.  And #2 It has become my main mode of communication. When I used to pick up the phone and talk to my friend, now I'll just leave her a short message on her Wall.  In one way Facebook helps us keep better connected with people, but in another way, it keeps us from having meaningful communication with them....

So for the next 39 days, I will be taking all the extra time I would normally spend browsing, reading, commenting, etc and put it towards being more productive and have more meaningful interactions with my family.  And when I need to contact someone, I will either type out an actual email (not an abbreviated wall posting) or pick up the phone and actually talk to them.

And for those who are wondering, I opted not to give it up completely, because there are people that I communicate with only through Facebook (I don't even have their phone number or email address), so I will allow myself 5 minutes every morning to check my account.

One day in, I would say that while it has been hard not to log in (I thought about asking Superman to change my password so I couldn't, but then I decided I had to use my own will power for it to really count), I have already seen a difference in my quality of communication.  Yes, I've had to use some investigative work to find some emails and phone numbers, but I was able to do it, and successfully communicate with people without my Facecrack!

I can do that

"I can do that".  This is something I hear myself saying often.  Variations include: "That'd be easy to do myself." or "I could make that," usually followed by a modifier of "for much cheaper" or "better".

The problem is, where I am quick to say that I can make that cool thing, I often don't.  Time, motivation, the real world...something tends to intervene between inertia and kinetic energy.

Recently, my "I can do that" moment came in the boys' preschool class.  Their teacher had recently purchased some capes from an etsy website and all of the kids were going ga-ga over them, including Thing1 and Thing2.  The teacher quickly put the capes on her Christmas list asking for more, and I was aghast at the $24 price tag.  So, I said "I can do that!  I can MAKE those capes much cheaper."

Like most of my well intentioned projects, Christmas came and went, and I did not in fact make the capes.

However, I did not abandon my idea.  I merely shelved it for a while.

A week or so ago, I was at Hobby Lobby, aka Heaven on Earth, and discovered that the material used to make the capes is only $2.99 a yard.  So, I grabbed a few yards in a variety of colors and added them to my cart.  (I always go in for "just one thing.")

And this past weekend, I did it!  I made two capes for Thing1 and Thing2!  And, they look pretty rad if I do say so myself!  In fact, I've already had multiple people ask me to make capes for their kids too!

So far, I've already made two more, to donate to a fundraiser auction this weekend.  Which by the way, is a great cause...

Child Worship

In the early 21st century, the late comedian George Carlin defined "Child Worship" as an "excessive devotion to children by professional parents."  Of course, he is a comedian, so he also described these parents as "obsessive diaper sniffers," who are "over-managing their children and robbing them of their childhood."  He refers to those who fill their child's day planners with structured play dates and tutors and teams, etc. instead of allowing them good ol' fashioned play time (playing in the dirt with a stick).

Carlin's main objection to Child Worship seems to be it's contribution to the "self-esteem movement," which he said causes children to experience an artificially indoctrinated notion that they're "special" and "perfect" as if everything they do is wonderful and they have no flaws.  Not to say Carlin implied that all children are terrible, rather he asserts that they are merely "incomplete works."  You know, still learning things.  Making plenty of mistakes in the process.  The biggest fault Carlin finds with this "specialness training" is that we are breeding a generation of narcissist. 

What's so great about having high self-esteem he quips?  "All sociopaths have high self-esteem."

He goes on to say "A lot of kids never get to hear the truth about themselves until they're in their twenties when their boss fires them."

I will admit that as a parent, I can be guilty of Child Worship.  I adore my children.  Beyond adore.  I talk about them all the time.  It's hard for me to have a conversation with someone and not bring up a reference to them (or Superman).  What's funny is that I'm aware I do it, self-conscious of it really.  I can sometimes sense people's disinterest or even annoyance.  But I can't seem to stop.  The more I try to suppress it, the more it seems to pour out like word-vomit. Because they are my world.  My life revolves around those three guys, and I feel like most things I experience are somehow entwined with at least one of them.  

My office is filled, and I mean FILLED, with pictures of my family.  Baby pictures.  School pictures.  Old Christmas cards.  A wall calendar with collages of their pictures.  A digital picture frame on constant rotate of their faces.

Even on Valentine's Day, a day meant for lovers, Superman and I gave one another cards*, but made bags filled with candy and treats attached to heart shaped balloons for the loves of our lives...our boys.

*Although, I must brag on Superman for sneaking a cute balloon into my car while I was at work.  It was a sweet surprise to come out to at 5 pm.

Hello, I even started a blog about them!

But as much as I allow my life and love to be consumed by these 3.5 foot creatures, I do try to keep it in perspective.  I admit my kids aren't perfect.  Far from.  I know they are super rambunctious, loud, obstinate, stubborn, and independent to a point of being frustrating.  And we are working on that.  They are behind in speech development.  We are working on that.  They took almost 15 months to completely potty train.  Luckily, I think we are done (knock on wood) working on that.

And I know Superman and I aren't perfect parents.  I won't dare to speak for him on his parenting-weaknesses, but I will admit that I have plenty.  I'm impatient, get frustrated and lose my temper.  I yell too much.  I complain about being gone from them all day, but once I get home I will use just about any excuse to try and keep from playing trains on the ground with them.  And I can be lazy, letting things I know they should do slide because I'm too tired to force them to do it (flossing!).

But I don't beat myself up too much.  Sure, somedays I feel like the world's worst mother.  But then my son says an unprompted "I love you mommy" or I get a hand drawn Valentine's Day card with a train on it that says "I choo-choo-choose you Valentine" and all of that melts away.  I don't need my sons to become doctors that cure cancer, go to Harvard, or even get all As to feel like I succeeded as a parent.  I just want them to be happy, healthy, and normal.

Sure, I sign them up for music class, swim class, and tee-ball, but that's not because I think they need it to get ahead in this world, but because I have fond memories of being involved with these kinds of things when I was a kid.  The majority of my best childhood friendships formed not on a playground, but as part of an extracurricular activity.

And much more than wanting my boys to  be accomplished or to "feel special", I just want to teach them to be kind, loving, good people who are thoughtful and considerate of others and their feelings. I want them to be the kids in the class that are nice to everyone...from the little ESL boy who doesn't speak any English to the chubby kid everyone else teases to yes, even the bully who is mean to them.

It broke my heart yesterday to hear certain kids in their preschool class say "I'm not giving Valentine's to Thing1 and Thing2".  And I wondered, what in the world would make a child at 3, 4, or 5 years old already be so mean?  Do their parents know their child would say something like this?  Would their parents care or chalk it up to "Oh, you know kids..."?  To me, this is unacceptable behavior.  If Thing1 or Thing2 ever said such a thing about one of their classmates, I would tell them they gave out cards to everyone or no one.  Because I feel strongly that we are teaching our children right now how to treat others.  Are the kids who are exclusionary of their peers in preschool the ones who start hate-campaigns on Facebook as teenagers?  The ones that are cliquy and backstabbing as adults?  Or is it merely a stage all kids go through and will simply outgrow?  I don't know, but I'm not taking that chance with my kids.  "Do unto others as you would have done unto you" is something I strongly believe in and am determined to teach my children to observe.  And that means that not everyone has to be your friend, but you still have to be nice to them.

I'm just glad that right now Thing1 and Thing2 are too young to truly understood the whole Valentine's Day thing.  They didn't seem to hear the offending statements, or at least understand or care, nor notice in the mass confusion of card giving if they were missing a few from certain classmates.  They were perfectly happy handing out their cards with treats to ALL of their classmates.  Which made me happy and proud of them.

And if being concerned about my 3 year olds' feelings over something as trivial as Valentine's Day cards makes George Carlin categorize me as a "Child Worshipping" parent, than bring on the religious car emblem, because I'll display it proudly.  Right next to my "My child is nice to your Honor Roll student" bumper sticker.