Gratitude

This time of year, as the days and weeks slip by, as The Day of Gratitude escapes with nary a blog post nor a tweet... I can't help but be grateful.  Grateful that my life is so full that I can't even carve out time to vocalize it!  I think, as a parent especially, that life sometimes touches on a sweet spot.  Despite the chaos and business of the day-to-day, there is a knowledge that we are Living the Dream, right here and now.  Watching my son learn to spell his name and learn to take deep breaths when he is frustrated and overwhelmed... Watching my daughter trying again and again to work out this walking thing and seeing her insatiable curiosity as she explores... Watching my husband embrace being a daddy and still impressing his colleagues at work... Watching my friends and family journey through life and loving them all more each year...  I have everything I've ever wanted.  The only nagging complaint I have these days is that I just don't have enough time to savor the days and the blessings.  That's a pretty lame complaint, if I do say so myself.  For this moment, I am ignoring the tasks and worries that crowd my mind so often and I'm just going to sit back and enjoy this Happy-Mess.

Tickly Legs

Roscoe has been waking extra early from the time change and coming into our room while Luka is still sleeping.  This morning went something like this:

Me: "Shhh, Luka is still sleeping"
Roscoe: "No, Mama, it's morning I said.  See? (as he opens the curtains)."

Another few moments of relative silent and I hear (from behind the curtains):

Roscoe: "Oh no, I see a spider.  He's trying to get me with his tickly legs."
Me (trying to appear calm as I panic at the thought of a spider's tickly legs): "He is trying to get you?"
Roscoe: "Yeah.  Because I said 'yikes'!"

Photo Bomb

I'm going Auntie Heather style, folks.  Grab a drink and a comfy chair...

That MIGHT be a froyo mustache Rocs is sporting...

Swinging with Ollie:

Cheeks, oh my:

It's a tough life:

Waiting for the train:

So excited he insisted on standing the whole ride:

Visiting my sweet friend Katrina and her Maxwell:

Cruising the hood:

Rocs' favorite park:

She wears her sunglasses at night:

Pedi:

Dueling pianos:

Duet:

Roscoe was here:

Got her mama's teeth...

Lazy Sunday picnics in the park:

I'm a cow!  Mooo!

I know this face well :)

Lu's first french braid:

After Ray asked me, "whose eyebrows do you think she has?":

Splish-splash (sorry, folks, I won't share the one of him running through the sprinkler naked after he stripped down in the front yard upon returning home to the sprinklers on...)

Yes, that is a pink-flower drum set in our house.  Yes, we are gluttons for punishment:

Roscoe's computer and coffee set up next to mine so he can work with me:

Loving his tracks:

Keep Calm and Muay Thai On:

One of his specialties: the spider drawing:

Soccer:

Ray asked for help because he got stuck.  And I helped, of course.  AFTER I got a photo:

Sweet LuLu:

Girl LOVES the moose rocker:

I *HATE* Soccer

Roscoe loves soccer.  He loves to run around and kick the ball.  He loves the parks and rec classes.  He loves having a teacher and helping clean up and playing the games the teacher makes up.  I would even go so far as to say that he is generally the teacher's pet because he so relishes helping.  It seemed an obvious choice when we signed him up for a 2 month long Daddy & me soccer adventure.  Big Mistake.  Huge.

First of all, we are not sleeping.  Roscoe jack-in-the-boxes out of bed for 2+ hours before he finally stays in his room.  (Trust me, we've tried it all with this boy.  Sleep is not his thing.)  Then, if we're lucky, he sleeps till morning.  If not, he wakes up terrified in the middle of the night from the nightmares he gets from his overactive imagination (like when I had to reassure him the ants and spiders and dragons and monsters would not hide in his closet and then crawl into his butt).  Luka goes to bed easily.  Then wakes up 45 minutes later.  And 45 minutes after that.  And then decides it's day and either i) wants to play for several hours or ii) cries inconsolably.  There is nothing obviously wrong with her and she is fine during the day.  Clearly we are the crabbiest versions of ourselves and it is a wonder we are all still alive.

So, we "wake up" this morning and have to wake up Roscoe since he didn't fall asleep until 10pm.  He is cranky.  He wants to be carried around the house.  Maaaaamaaaa hooooold meeeee.  Luka won't eat.  She just sits there silently, refusing to eat, refusing to sleep.  Her own silent protest to something we can't figure out.  Roscoe doesn't want to change out of his pajamas.  We insist.  He protests at loud decibels.  He ends up in a layered pajama/soccer clothes ensemble.  We finally, finally get to the soccer field.  He doesn't want to walk.  He doesn't want to pick a ball.  He doesn't want to pretend to be an animal and kick  the ball through the obstacle course.  He doesn't want me to play with him.  Or Ray.  We tell him to stop the tantrum or we'll leave.  He doesn't stop and we leave.  He immediately decides he wants to play and "try again."  We say no.  He screams.  We yell.  He cries.  He whines.  He gets a time out.  

Not only do I (semi) willingly subject our family to this every Saturday morning, I actually PAY them to put us through hell.  Only 2 more weeks.  I hate soccer.  Roscoe is obviously NOT a morning person.

Tuesdays with Roscoe

As adorable and wonderful and lovely Luka is, this post is all about Roscoe.

I find myself wishing I had a tape recorder embedded in my mind so that I could capture all of these normal, but ridiculously fun and sweet moments.  All stages of parenting so far have been precious in their own way, but there is something extra special about watching Roscoe develop the language to express himself and tell us what he thinks and feels and what he dreams about.

A sampling:

The wheel falls off Roscoe's garbage truck and he tries in vain to fix it with his "tools."  Realizing he can't fix it, he picks up the "phone" and calls Daddy.  "Hi Daddy.  What you doing?  Oh, ok.  Want to fix my truck?  Ok?  (laughs) Oh, thank you!"


Finding a towel and asking me to wrap it around him and tie it in the back, just so.  And then wrap a plastic thing around the knot.  "I am a chef.  Want a cookie?  I make you a cookie.  Oh, you want some water?  I make you some water.  Here." (holding out upside down Duplo; I take and sip; Luka tries to grab) "No, Luka!  You can't have water!" (laughing and shaking his head and waving his arms like Luka is ridiculous, yet hilarious)


One of his toys becomes hidden inside another toy and he is inspired.  (jumping up and waving his arms) "Abracadabra, allacazoo!  Watch very carefully!  I make a rabbit in a hat!"  (pretends to pull rabbit from hat and holds it out toward me) "Want to pet it?"

Ray wearing his "running tights" under his running shorts.  Roscoe: "what are those?"  Ray: "my superhero pants"  Roscoe: "psssht!"  (rolling eyes, again the ridiculous yet hilarious bit)

Love that boy.

Is It All Too Much?

Let me make one thing clear: I love my life.  I feel super-uber-incredibly blessed and would never trade places with anyone.

That said... I am freaking exhausted.  How do people do it?  In my head I know that people do this all over the world everyday and somehow manage to raise lovely kids and do their jobs well and maintain healthy marriages and take care of themselves.  If I had to describe my life right now, in this stage, in one world I would say it is RELENTLESS.  Always something to-do.  Generally something urgent.  Actually, usually more than one urgent thing to do at once.  Over and over.  All day.  All week.

I am up and out of the house before anyone wakes, rushing to the train.  I go and go all day at work, trying to keep up, trying to balance all of the responsibility.  I love my job, but it is demanding and the buck stops with me.  I respond to emails and read reports while I pump.  I leave work with an endless to-do list still to do.  I (literally) almost run to the train on the way home so I can get home in time to relieve Nani.

I want to fall over as soon as I walk in the door, but I see the kids' anxious faces, needing me to show them love and attention.  I chase Roscoe around the house telling him how much I missed him while he squeals with delight.  I cuddle Luka and nibble her neck and carry her, carry her because she does not want me to put her down.  And Roscoe wants to be held.  They need me.  But they also need to eat, so I try and distract them or play with them while I find something for dinner.  I look out the window every 30 seconds, hoping to see Ray's car pull up.  He gets home and it is perfect and lovely and chaotic.  And time is ticking because the kids need to be in bed in an hour.  Must eat.  Bathe.  Clean up.  Change.  Play.  Read.  Cuddle.  Sing.

Now for Me Time.  I pack my lunch and Roscoe's lunch for the next day.  I lay out my clothes so I don't wake anyone in the morning.  I pack my work bag and go through work emails and try and plan my priorities for the next day, so I don't drop any balls.  I do the dishes and half-heartedly pick up the mess of the day.  Ray tries to be home to play with the kids, but then often has to work after they go to bed.  We work next to each other in silence, no energy left.

I squint at my screen because I can't figure out when I will be able to go to the eye doctor to get new glasses.  I chew on one side of my mouth because I already had to reschedule two dentist appointments to get the cavity fixed.  I still haven't unpacked my desk stuff since we moved over a year ago.  There are piles all over the house needing my attention.  Weighing me down.  It is all weighing me down.

Where did the day go?  Where are the months going?  I feel like I barely saw my kids most days, like I haven't actually had a conversation with Ray in months.  But I can't feel sorry for myself because this is just life.  Many families need both parents to work.  Many family have two small children.  I don't know if our situation is any different or if I just have less energy than the average person because to me it really seems like too much.  Too much running.  Too much stress.  Too much achiness as I drag my body through the days.  Too much missing the man I married and the kids we adore.

Something has to change.  I don't know what it is yet.  But I will find a way.  I don't want this to be how my kids grow up and what I model for them to emulate.  If this is normal, I refuse to settle for status quo.  It is time to get creative...

Mama Trauma

Be still my beating-out-of-my-chest heart...

Background:  I switched around my schedule a bit so I have Tuesday mornings home with the kids.

Scene: Kitchen Table.  We were having a great time playing and eating breakfast (no tantrums yet, no stern voices, all fun).  Roscoe jumps up from breakfast and runs to the bathroom announcing he has to go potty (his clothes are already off because earlier he claimed he had an owie on his butt-butt and needed a band-aid...yes, I really will do anything for my kids.)

Now The Fun Begins: He gets to the bathroom and slams the door (unusual).  I grab Luka and check it out.  He not only slammed the door; he locked it, too.  I have picked the lock to his bedroom door many times and I wasn't particularly concerned about the bathroom because a) he never shuts the door and b) it is one of those push locks that are pretty easy to pick (except for this one).

I have actually had this scenario play out in my head many times, but it was always him in his bedroom and me trying to figure out how to break into his bedroom window.  First I tried to coach him through turning the knob to open the door.  He knows how to open doors, so I thought he could do it but "it was really stuck" according to Roscoe.  I go outside and check if the window is open.  No.  Shoot.

Then I tried a bobby pin.  No luck.  I try again to have him try and turn the knob "harder!"  "you can do it!"  Roscoe started whimpering a bit and telling me he was scared and come get him.  I teetered on panic and called Ray at work to ask how to pick the lock.  I tried a hanger.  And a paper clip.  No luck.  The thing is this original-to-the-house door had clearly had its lock picked a time or twenty and I just could not get the darn thing to pop.  I Google lock picking and watch a YouTube video, but nothing new there.  Crap.  Roscoe still scared.  Mama starting to really wonder what can be done.  All the while keeping a running conversation with Roscoe through the door and reassuring him that there is nothing to be scared of and I am coming to get him.  Roscoe keeps telling me, in a brave voice, that he is scared.  And panicking if I don't keep talking to him "where are you, Mama?!"

Mama Bear kicks in.  I will get in there.  NOW.  I strap Luka into her bouncy seat which she hates and never uses, but with the crawling now she gets into everything and I figured she can cry and be mad for a few minutes.  I go outside, clear the path to the window (praying I don't see any spiders), get out the ladder and a screwdriver and get the window open.  Hooray!  Roscoe is so happy to see me and I am so relieved to see his little naked body.  But, wait.  The window is high.  Above the tub.  I spent a good amount of time trying to contort my body through the window and figure out where I could go from there without hurting myself.  I am still coaching Roscoe to open the door - not this way, both hands, harder, you can do it.  And he does!!!  The door opens!!  OMG sweet relief.

For a split second... until I hear Luka scream.  I run down the ladder and into the house to see the bouncy seat upside down.  She had managed to flip it over with her in it.  Ugh.  I check for injuries and comfort her.  And Roscoe.  Life happens for a few minutes and then it is time to put Luka to sleep.  She will not sit still, though, and refuses to nurse.  She ALWAYS wants to nurse. I think maybe she is not tired and just needs to crawl around a bit more, so we play for 10 minutes and then I try again.  She still won't nurse and she coughs a little, which is odd.  On a whim, I put my pinkie in her mouth just to make sure she didn't have a bit of breakfast banana still in there and pull out A CHUNK OF... SOMETHING.  I have no idea what it is, but it is the size of a dime and very soggy.  OMG.  I almost put her down for a nap with that in her mouth.  She has had it in her mouth for who knows how long (I am assuming she got it during the pick-lock debacle).  I am so relieved, but shaken.

And then I realize.  It is 9:30am.  I have been up for hours.  I have not eaten any breakfast or had a sip of water.  Or coffee.  I am exhausted.  Apparently so was Luka because she went down for her nap pretty quickly.  I've said it before and I will say it again: this parenting thing is NO JOKE.