Tell Me I'm Not The Only One

Please Dear Internet,

Please tell me I'm not the only one who looks back on her weekend and feels like she's totally missed the mark. As I approach weekends and eveings after work, I always look forward to one thing the most - spending quality time with the kids. In my head, it's a magical, wonderful time involving much laughter and many smiles.

In my mind, we make pancakes together or enjoy a nice bike ride around the neighborhood, or explore our local library. The kids say cute things and ask me inquisitive questions revealing their ever expanding and curious minds. We make up funny stories and share our own jokes. We nestle together on the couch and watch a movie. In my head, it's an amazing time that fills that void in my soul that needs love and attention after a long busy day (or days) at the office.

Except it's not like that at all. In walks reality. The fantasy world dissipates and I find myself in the middle of an apocalypse disaster zone. Often Ryan doesn't nap and erupts into tears at the slightest wrong touch or word. I put Jon down for a nap but the other two kids keep waking him up so he's a clinging, crabby baby for the rest of the day. The oldest two constantly fight. Ryan is forever rough housing with Jon and making him cry. Jacob disobeys the house rules over and over and over. It's not intentional, he's just too focused on what he wants to do that he doesn't see what's happening around him. Every five minutes someone is demanding something of me (food, snacks, drinks, binky, help going potty, bottle, reaching a toy, more snacks, potty again). They run around the house leaving all the lights on and doors open. And me? All I do is nag and yell and scream and put people in time out and cook and clean.

By the mid afternoon I'm COUNTING down the hours for everyone to go to bed. And when bedtime finally arrives, after supervising all the potty trips and pajama dressing and room cleaning, the damn kids won't even go to sleep. Ryan whines for me to lay in his bed. I oblige and then he's on and off his bed to grab books and toys and stuffed animals. So I threaten to leave and he still doesn't lay down. So then I actually leave and then he cries for twenty minutes. And then Jacob complains that he can't sleep. Then he needs a glass of water. Then he has to go to the bathroom. And I lose my shit about three times before I give up and lock myself in my bedroom door.

Even when I've folded and put away two loads of laundry, ran and emptied the dishwasher and made a meal (with leftovers) for the upcoming next two days, I still walk away from each weekend feeling like I've completely fallen short.

The other day I was exhausted and thought maybe we could at lease bond over a family movie night. Movie nights can't be disasters, right? WRONG. HORRIBLY WRONG. We sat down to watch a movie and there was a ten minute squabble about what to watch. And then they spilled their popcorn all over the living room (and Jon kept trying to eat the mysterious reappearing kernels), and then they didn't even watch the movie but kept throwing blocks at each other and playing pig pile and then crying when someone got hurt (duh, that's what happen when you smack each other with plastic). Then someone sat on Jon and everyone was either crying, whining, or screaming, so I gave up. I turned off the TV and forced them all to go to bed early. I was NOT very popular, as you can imagine.

By the time I lay in my own bed, I'm completely drained of everything. And all I can do is ruminate over my failures and short tempers and nagging and angry outbursts. Did I even enjoy the weekend like I had wanted to? No. But not for lack of trying. The kids are impossible to enjoy right now (at least all together, they are awesome individually). And even though I desperately want to spend quality time with them and make fun memories because I know I will never get this time back with them, the reality is that they destroy my very soul and I can't wait to head into the office on Monday morning where no one verbally abuses me, ignores me, shits on me, demands that I hand deliver all their meals, or comes running to me to break up a fight every three and a half minutes.

Please PLEASE dear internet. Please tell me that I am not alone, that this is normal, and that children cannot die from being over-nagged. Cause I may need an intervention soon.

I honestly don't remember any of this shit from my own childhood. We sat and ate snacks and enjoyed movie nights as a family. We went outside to play during the day and left our mom alone. We said our good night prayers and went to bed at bedtime after being tucked in once or twice. We didn't bludgeon each other with toys (at least not often). Am I mis-remembering my childhood or are my kids honest to goodness demons? Is there any hope for me? How soon is too soon to be thinking about boarding school?

Seven Years Ago Today, The World Fit Into My Hands

What's every kid's dream? To have their seventh birthday fall on the first day of first grade...at a brand new school! Except...not.

Today was Jacob's seventh birthday. I CANNOT understand how this kid is seven. I also cannot understand how I have a seven year old. I mean, I'm only 24 years old. What?! I'm 31. WTF. How did that happen?

Amidst the craziness of getting out the door for work and school and handing the two youngest off to my mom, we managed to wish Jacob a Happy Birthday and watch him unwrap his birthday present- a new box of Legos. In the madness, I nearly forgot to feed my children breakfast. I handed them pieces of toast covered in Ranch (a new breakfast favorite around here) and Girl Scout Cookie granola bars. (SO not winning any mom points today).

Then we snapped a couple first day pictures. Sadly, I forgot to make Jacob pose with his backpack- you can't have REAL first day pictures without a backpack. Now they just look like just regular day pictures (lame).

Jacob started today at his new school. But we haven't moved yet. So, I'm having to drive him the 30 minutes to school before driving another 20 minutes to my office. It's a little hectic but we're making it work. I met my husband at the new school where we had to park four blocks away due to insane traffic. Eventually we made it TO the school where we snapped MORE pictures.

Everything was fine until we walked into the classroom. Jacob started to rub his eyes crazily and wispered, "I don't want to go to school." Then he started to cry. And this made me cry. I helped him hang up his backpack and find his seat. I sat next to him and made small talk with his tablemates all the while he just sat in his seat, holding his head and sobbing quietly. My heart just kept crumbling into tiny little raw pieces. Then an announcement came over the speaker telling all the parents to leave. I kept looking back over my shoulder at my first baby, sitting and sobbing to himself.

Seven years ago exactly, we welcomed him into this world. We cradled him and snuggled him. He was our world. Everything revolved around him. And here I was. Leaving him to cry alone in a room filled with strangers. I wanted to die. That image of him was the only thing I saw the rest of the day. What a freaking crappy birthday.

When I picked him up at 5 pm (he goes to on-site childcare after class) he was quiet and tired but, thankfully, not crying. (Last year, he did completely fine when I dropped him off at Kindergarten but he was sobbing when I picked him up because he thought he went to the wrong childcare room and that I would never find him again. Basically, we're 0 for 2 when it comes to first days.)When I asked how his day was, he said it was "good" and that he had made four new friends. His favorite part of the day was lunch. His least favorite part of the day was a long school assembly where he had to sit "criss-cross-apple-sauce" which hurt his knees. When he got home, he bounded to the door and was so excited to finally tackle his new Lego set.

My husband had band practice tonight (yes, he's nerdy and cute and in a band) so it was just me and a house full of crazy people. I tried to order pizza delivery (more mom points) but the service was down. So we ate taquitos from the freezer. Except Ryan wanted a PB&J sandwich. And wouldn't eat it unless I put frosting on the top. I fought him for two minutes until Jon started vomiting violently all over the floor, himself, and my phone (which he had been holding). I stuck him in the bath, scrubbed him down and put him in new clothes. After that, I had no strength to fight any more battles. Frosting on PB&J didn't seem so horrible anymore. Ryan, it's your lucky day. As I was setting Ryan's plate down in front of him, Jon began to vomit again.

I picked Jon up and quickly became his next target. Bath #2 for Jon. Pajama outfit #2 for Jon. Yoga pants #2 for me. As I was putting away his puke clothes I noticed the horrible stench of urine coming from the boys' room. One of them had wet their bed. And it had been sitting and soaking into the mattress all day. I cleaned the urine-covered mattress while Jon followed me around the house, pulling on my legs and crying.

The rest of the evening is a blur but somehow I managed to put all the kids to bed. Right now, the two oldest are sleeping on the floor in sleeping bags because their bed sheets are in the process of becoming urine-free.

SO. That's how we spent Jacob's birthday and first day of school around here. It sure didn't take long for the craziness of school schedules and routines to consume us once again. I just texted my husband to bring me home some chocolate. And Powerade Zero. Cause, you know, when I go crazy. I go ALL OUT INSANE!

Seven years ago today....life seemed so much simpler. And calmer. And smaller. Little did I realize, that we had set in motion a tornado of craziness. Three tornadoes to be exact. But I love every one of them.

Seven years ago today, my entire world fit into my hands.

When You Squeeze An Orange

Friday night, after the kids were all snoring in their beds, I pulled out a bottle of wine from the back of the fridge and slowly but steadily drank almost the entire thing during my TV date with my husband.

I fell asleep and, for the first time all week, I didn't wake up until it was actually morning. When I did wake up (when the kids woke me up at 6:45) to make the kids some cereal (like I was going to make an omelette and french toast) and saw the bottle just staring at me from inside of the fridge, I wanted to feel bad. But I didn't. My week had been insane and I had earned every single drop.

The past week involved so many stressful tasks, all unfolding at the same exact time. This resulted in three work-until-midnight evenings (but I was still able to come home and eat dinner and put the kids to bed).

All week long I looked like a walking zombie. Not only was I going to bed late, but Jon caught a cold on Monday and woke up multiple times every night. One night he just wouldn't go back to sleep no matter what I did and I was so tired and desperate (he shares our room) that I put his travel crib in the living room and let him cry it out for a while. I don't know when he stopped crying because I fell asleep almost instantly (I kinda hate to admit that very bad mommy low on the internet, but hey, I'm just keeping it real). Can't wait until he has his own room!

But this week wasn't ALL about work.

On Wednesday, I spent three hours with my kids at the county fair. Jacob wanted to go on ALL the scary rides. These are rides that even I would never go on- like, the ones that go completely UPSIDE DOWN. Thankfully, he didn't meet the height requirement so I had an excuse to tell him "no." Hey, sorry bud. I don't make the rules! What am I going to do in two years when he actually does meet the height requirements, ugh!

Sorry Jacob, no Twister Of Doom ride but how about this Happy Birthday Llama?

Cool beans, huh?

On Thursday night, Jacob had a meet and greet for his new school. The event was from 4-5. I cleared my afternoon calendar to make sure I could leave work early to pick him up at the babysitter's and take him to meet his new teacher and find his classroom. Then noon rolled around, and with it, a giant sh*t storm. At 3:30 I was just about to head out the door when my phone blew up with another emergency that I just couldn't ignore.

At 4:00, I ran frantically out the door to get the kids and we pulled into the school parking lot at 4:56. I scrambled to get all the kids out of their car seats and sprinted to the front door of the school just as they were announcing for people to leave the building. I'm pretty sure I yelled "EFF THAT!" as I blurred past the office secretaries carrying a 23 pound infant while herding two overwhelmed kids through the maze of hallways and crowds of people traveling in the opposite direction. We finally got to Jacob's new classroom, said a frantic "hi" to the teacher, and found Jacob's desk before they kicked everyone out to lock up the building.

When I pictured introducing Jacob to his new school to ease his nerves and calm his worries, I didn't exactly picture THAT.

When I finally caught my breath, I took the kids out to play on the playground. I glanced around at all the parents chatting happily, drinking the refreshments that had been served earlier in the event, and gossiping about the teachers while their kids played. Stepping from my crazy afternoon to this relaxed scene, I just had to laugh. Only in my world would a "meet and greet" be that stressful. Things are that crazy for ALL working moms, right? Because I swear I feel like I live on a separate planet from everyone else sometimes.

Playing at the new school

This would be a great picture definition of the word "brothers."

This sign was posted at the gate to the playground...

Ok, who's the pig that ruined it for everyone else?

Today, my husband tackled the long list of home improvement items needed to make our home rental friendly and so I had the three kids to myself. I took ALL three of them to the mall to run an errand, then to Target for school shopping, then to the grocery store. The entire excursion took three hours but it felt like ten. At one point, there was a call to poison control. At another point, there was human poop on my shoe. At a third point, I was standing in a sea of spilled pencils.

"Hello, poison control? My son chewed on an electronic toy and swallowed orange gunk. Yes, "orange gunk" IS the technical term"

Jon likes orange gunk and teriyaki equally.

At Target, I had a napless baby in the cart, a three year old who kept jumping on and off the front end of the cart while it was still in motion and who was so excited about all the shopping that he kept pulling everything off every shelf to bring to me for purchase (sorry, we don't need six packets of Batman washcloths), and a six year old who kept running off and nearly caused thirty separate cart collisions. At the grocery store, Jacob and Ryan were opening the closing all the doors in the freezer section, picking frost off the shelves, and eating it ("look, we're eating SNOW!"). I loudly responded with, "Why are you kids following me? You should go find your mommy," before I marched away down the aisle. They didn't think that was amusing at all.

And then, after a trip like that, I see people on Facebook complaining about the store not having diapers in their favorite print and I'm all like, "Do I honestly live in the same world as people who consider diaper print to be a big source of stress?"

So yeah...all that just to provide the context for this:

You know what though? Even when things are at their craziest, I think I secretly love it. I think there's a masochist deep down inside me waiting to come out. And that masochist probably wants me to adopt like three more diaper-wearing children.

Because while kids do bring an insane amount of unnecessary stress, there are also many moments like these:

Big pile hug Mommy!

Hello, there is a panda in my garden

I read a great post on Facebook tonight. I'm not nearly eloquent enough to give it justice but it goes something like this: when you squeeze an orange, what comes out? Well, orange juice duh. Why? Because that's what's inside. When we get squeezed under the stress of life, what comes out? Anger, pain, fear? Because that's what's inside us?

The point is a great one. It's easy to pretend to be a great person. You find out who you really are when things get tough. So, when things get tough, we control what comes out. I absolutely love that.

Unfortunately, all that came out of me this week was some yelling, a bottle of wine, and a great big buzz.

***

 In other news, our home will officially be a rental in TWO short-long WEEKS!

The Real Reason We All Have Kids

If you're making a pro and con list for having children, I'll be honest. There's a whole lot of stuff to put in the "con" column. For example....

Thirty dirty little fingers in your bag of Doritos
Doing enough laundry to stock a Goodwill
Being happy about sleeping in...all the way until 7am!
Calls from the school nurse informing you that your child ran into a pole
The phrase: "Because I said so."
Baby puke down your shirt
Every car ride you take will sound like a football stadium on Superbowl Sunday
The "is this chocolate...or poop?" game
Realizing you sound like your mom
Attempting to brush tiny teeth that are trying to chomp you
Poop in the tub
Poop on the floor
Poop in your bed
Poop on poop

I could go on....but we might be here a while.

The sources of my frustrations:

All these "cons," however, are balanced nicely by one gigantic pro. For 18 years, you have unlimited excuses to do all the kid stuff you want! Basically, you have an excuse to act like a child all over again. So, when I volunteer to take my kids on an outing so my husband can get work done around the house, I'm basically volunteering to play like a child while my husband does chores. I think I have the better end of this deal. He hasn't quite caught on yet.

What does this mean exactly?

It means going to the playground...and actually PLAYING (hey, you can do this without kids if you aren't squeamish about giving off the impression that you're a pedophile). Sidenote: they should really make adult-sized playgrounds...for adults!

It means throwing back your head and screeching excitedly while flying up and down on the teeter-totter.

It means the uninhibited love of siblings (often displayed through pig piles and punching fits).

It means walking UP all the slides.

(you guys, that is REALLY, really fun)

It means "testing" a package (or two) of Ninja Turtle fruit snacks before giving them to the kids.

It means hundreds and hundreds of underdogs.

It means that your primary method of transportation is giggling foot races with humans half your size.

It means the wonderful smells of newly sharpened-pencils, freshly opened backpacks, and never-before-worn clothes from an afternoon of back to school shopping.

It means jumping in ball pits. And running down hills. And rainbow sherbet ice cream cones with gummy bear toppings.

It means spontaneous bike rides to 7-11 for Redbox movies and Sour Patch Sour Slurpees at 8:00pm. (Which is exactly what we did tonight after our trip to the park!)

But riding in the stroller when you get tired...three blocks in.

And riding through sprinklers on the way home!

But, then you get to tuck all your kids into bed and stay up for an adult bedtime while you enjoy adult beverages and close your eyes to 33% of the scenes in Game of Thrones.

Hmmm, I guess they're kinda worth it.

This Post Contains: Biceps & Dogfood

I got up this morning full of ambition. I checked the YMCA class schedule, picked a class to attend after work, and threw my workout gear in a bag. Included with my workout gear were my very bright, new pair of running shoes: Nike Pegasus.

These are the best running shoes ever. I've been wearing them since I ran on the track and cross country team in college. But two years ago, I couldn't find them at the store and had to substitute for a different pair. They did the job. But they just weren't the same as my trusty old Nike Pegaus. One day recently, I was determined to find a pair of Nike Pegasus. So I piled all kids in the car, bribed them with bags of chips, and dragged them to all the sport stores. I squealed in delight when I finally saw these on a shelf (I was so excited to find my shoes that I was willing to overlook the hideous color although I do get complimented on the color ALL the time...um, ok then...).

I've been cross training a lot in an effort to build more muscle and ease up on my poor runner's knees. I love trying out new classes. My personal favorites are cycling (spin), TRX suspension, and HIIT. The result of cross training has been awesome. Guys, I have biceps! My diastasis recti is almost gone! (After my second baby, I took everyone's advise about diastasis recti too much to heart and didn't do any ab work for fear my abs would tear farther. But it turns out, in my case, that was keeping my abs from heeling! So: scissor kicks and planks and sit-ups!Yay!).

Biceps- PROOF!

Today, I was determined to make it to the HIIT class after work....and even as I walked out the office door at 5pm, I was mentally preparing for a trip to the gym. But somewhere in the three minute walk to my car, I convinced myself that working out was over-rated and I should go home and hang out with the kids and cook dinner.

My husband took the big kids to the park and Jon and I danced in the kitchen, skewering chicken and making some amazing thai peanut sauce in the process. Jon wasn't as up to the task as I was. He got grumpy somewhere about halfway through skewering the sixth chicken breasts (hey, little boys have HUGE appetites). I wrinkled my nose in frustration at all the work I still had left to do. So, to buy some more time, I threw handfuls of baby treats all over the floor, as if I were feeding a dozen smelly indoor pigeons.

It worked like a charm.

This is probably against the rules in every baby book known to man.

But so is letting your baby eat cat food. And Jon seems to do OK with that. It's not like I encourage it or anything. He's just too fast and sneaky sometimes. <cough> third child </end cough>.

Speaking of babies eating animal food. I was in Target two days ago and nearly bought these for my kids:

And then I realized it was dog food.

Seriously. Moms are tired. WHY would someone package dog food to look like baby food? WHY?! I've got a bone to pick with someone.

Baby food, for comparison:

They are even all the SAME COLORS! And SAME FONTS. WHAT TO THE HELL?!

Let's move beyond the fact that this dog product looks exactly like a baby product. Now let's focus on the fact that this particular item is a "Meal Enhancement" for a dog. What? Huh? Why? Do dogs work out in gyms now?

And now the REAL problem.....it's in a pouch. With a twist-off, replaceable cap. WHY IS IT IN A POUCH? Oh DUH. Because you can't fit a dog bowl in a doggy purse. And because dogs can't just sit down and start lapping out of a bowl in between grocery shopping and yoga class. That would be so inappropriate.

Mommy Catch-22

Sometime last week my mom offered to have all three boys stay with her today and spend the night. Let me tell you, all week long I was looking forward to a quiet, calm house, and being able to watch big kid shows before 9 pm with a bag of kettle corn all to myself (my husband doesn't like kettle corn, which is exactly why I keep buying it!).

After work, I went to a spin class, lifted some weights, took an extra long shower, and stopped for a yummy salad on my way home. Then I entered the nice, quiet house I had so long anticipated . . . and I walked past the boys' shared room. It was too quiet. There was no Jon to follow me happily around the house, crawling from room to room on all fours. There was no Ryan to be insanely sweet and tell me for absolutely no reason, "I wuv you mom," approximately one minute before slamming his big brother roughly with a fist. There was no Jacob to talk my ear off about the really strong Pokemon cards his friend has.

Yeah. It was weird. I kinda missed them. I'm pretty sure it's the doomed Mommy Catch-22. You can't wait for a child-free evening. And when it finally rolls around, you miss your freaking kids! They are both a blessing and a curse. But a curse that I would never wish away and one that I feel oddly lucky to have.

Obligatory family holiday photo

My baby

For the Fourth of July, we attended an annual bocce ball tournament at a friend's house. Every year all the friends get older. And yet, somehow, every year we are still pretty much the only ones with kids. As my husband competed in the all-freaking-day tournament, I chased after Jon, pulling pieces of cardboard, leaves, and rocks out of his mouth, chastised Jacob for continually running across the bocce ball courts, and broke up fights between the older two.

This guy is fast!

A rare moment of siblings being nice. 

"Oh, you're just sitting down? Ha! Come catch me!"

Fourth of July requires patriotic props. 

And patriotic props require funny baby poses.

Our friends sat in nice lawn chairs in the shade, throwing back fun drink after fun drink and chatting happily. I popped in and out of conversations before having to run off to save a kid from something truly horrible (like a pickle in a cheese burger or a sprinkler that won't squirt high enough). I had to admit, I wondered what it's like. Being solely responsible for yourself. To do whatever you want, whenever you want. To drink as much as you want. To only interrupt your conversations with friends to use the bathroom or grab another drink.

My wistful thinking didn't last long. Soon, I was walking three children to the beach, my arm full of floaties (face blue from blowing them all up), buckets, shovels, and one squirming, half-clothed 8 month old. And as our friends sat under the shade of the trees, sipping beers, I watched an 8 month old baby discover salt water for the first time, laughing delightedly at the sound and feel of his own splash.

I played king-of-the-dock with a beaming six year old before we counted to three and jumped into the cool water together, in between the slimy patches of seaweed that floated by and tickled our skin. I dug holes with a three year old intent on building a sandcastle all by himself.

A game of catch with Dad

My favorite picture of the day. Look, the beast naps!

As the evening rolled in, our friends had moved their beers and their conversations to the deck. But my husband and I supervised a very safe (and very lame) firework show for three mostly excited kids. Our fountains shot an entire foot into the air before spilling brightly onto the sand. A humorously tiny show compared to the loud booming explosions overhead. We lit smoke bombs and ran through their many colors. We yelled, scolded, and wrung our hands as Jacob kept trying to light all the fireworks himself.

Ryan is not a firework fan. He kept his hands firmly planted against his ears, even when no one was shooting off fireworks. 

"I think I see some sand to eat"

The amazing fountains

And of course, smoke bombs!

It was a hectic, crazy, busy, exhausting day. I didn't get to sit in lawn chairs and drink beers. But I'm pretty confident that I'm etched into the memories of three (ok, maybe two), happy and loved little boys. And I'm pretty sure I gained some memories of my own. Memories that will make me smile from a nursing home bed someday. And THAT is priceless.

The consolation of wrangling children- someday, when you are old and wrinkled and on your death bed, the thought of chasing tiresome children will make you smile fondly.