Mommy-hood Badges

I'm so happy to shut the door on today.

I deserve a badge for every day like today. If that were the case, I would be in possession of (at least) four girl scout sashes compleley covered with badges.

I would have a creative diaper change badge for that time I executed a one-handed poop change in the trunk of a crowded hatchback.  And then there would be a badge for not running away when 16 ounces of chunky vegetable soup flew out of my kid's mouth and nose at the dinner table. Then a badge for pumping in a nasty public restroom on the ferry while the the lady in the stall next to me bid adeiu to her mexican food dinner from the night prior. 

Nobody said motherhood was glamorous. If they did, they were probably smoking crack wrapped in thousand dollar bills (get it, cause then they would have enough money to pay for a live-in nanny...ha ha ha.....oh, nevermind).

In this mommy-fantasy of mine, when you got to four hundred badges you would have the option of trading them all in for a purple heart, handed to you ceremoniously by the President. You know, cause motherhood has so much in common with war: uncooperative dictators (toddlers), physical danger (have I ever told you about the time Jacob whacked a kid on the playground with his arm because he was waving it around, trying to shoot spider webs out of his wrist?), and blood and gore is almost on-par with chunky spit-up and liquid poop.

If badges WERE awarded, I would proudly show my sashes off in matching display cases on our living room wall. Or maybe I would wear the shashes around my neck as a reminder to buy more booze at the grocery store. "Oh, you are asking about these miss america sashes across my chest? Funny story, I earned this badge yesterday when....oh, that reminds me, I need to pick up a STRONG wine for after naptime."

Hmmm. Scratch that. Bad idea. If I wore the sashes around my neck, it would be WAY too easy to tie them together into a make-shift escape rope. Then I might be tempted to fling one end out of Jacob's window and run away to the ice cream store. And geez, that would be horrible. Cause then the apple pie in my fridge would have competition.

Enough babble, back to today. FIRST OFF.

My back is broken. Literally. This is what I get for choosing the YMCA class filled with buff looking men over the Zumba class filled with soft, white-haired women. Free standing weights are NOT my friend. I wish I could say that the most shameful part of the class was when everyone was doing these fancy sit-ups where you karate punch across your chest as you sit-up and I was just staying in the up position pretending to do all the work and dreaming of ice cream sandwiches. I even grunted for effect. I was so believeable! But no, the most shameful part was when I woke up the next morning, yesterday.

Somehow, faking sit-ups caused me to throw my back out. I got out of bed and found that my body would not bend forward without excruciating pain. Same for standing straight up. And lifting either of my legs. And turning my neck downward. I walked around all day like a zombie, limping, doubled over, and with one shoulder considerably higher than the other.

But yesterday, my husband was home to help me out. And just my luck, my back was still out when I woke up today.  That's when I knew it would be a rough one.

I discovered that it is almost impossible to carry a 12 pound infant without using back muscles. When I first tried, it was a pathetic sight. Me, hunched over and wincing in agony with as much of Ryan's body as I could fit between the crook of my arm and my body. His arms and legs flailing around in the air like a mosh pit surfer.

Then I got smart. I placed Ryan on a blanket and dragged the blanket around the house. It worked quite well. I'm so CLEVER! I should have taken a picture and posted it on Pinterest under the "DIY" category- a DIY baby carrier! The momentum of my movement only rolled him off the blanket twice, thankfully onto a carpeted surface. No harm done, he just got extra tummy time!

What I couldn't figure out was how to get him in his baby swing. When he got cranky, I held him in my arm, rocking pathetically back and forth on my knees until he dozed off. After rocking him for an excruciating 10 minutes, I tried to plop him into the swing. I thrust him forward hoping that his head would land in the right spot. Unfortunatelty, babies do not like to be tossed like fresh fish at Pike Place Market. He woke up every time and looked at me with indignation. Sorry Ryan, sometimes you do smell like a one week old halibut filet.

To top it off, Jacob decided that, today, he was an alien immigrant from a far-off world known as "Planet of Opposites." On that planet, "Jacob, eat your breakfast," roughly translates into, "Please run down the hall hissing like a feral cat." And "Brush your teeth," is "Unroll all the toilet paper and pretend to fling booger bombs at bad guys." When I told Jacob to pick up all the tonka trucks in the living room, he thought I told him to overturn the toy baskets.

"Hello time-out chair, meet Jacob. Jacob, this is time-out chair. You two will be well acquainted today."

But I quickly learned how to deal with these language translation issues.....and THAT'S how I earned my badge for "Saying the exact opposite of what you want your kid to do."

So yes, I am happy to say goodbye to today. Hopefully tomorrow will be less badge-worthy.

Why I Take Photos

I take a lot of photos. I can't help it. It's my desperate and pathetic attempt to make time stop. Photographs are my only weapon against a failing memory and the passing of time.

No one is more aware of the passage of time and the shortness of life than a mother.

Everyone tells you that your life changes when you have a baby. I expected the long nights, short tempers (for both me and the kids), and constant messes. But the real changes are invisible. The second you hold your child in your arms, a thousand pounds of reality drops on you. Before that moment, and in comparison to it, you had never really done anything amazing. Before your baby's first breath, you were hardly living yourself, unaware of the greatest gifts of life. Those things that had once been important and meaningful (your half-marathon goals, travel plans, and law school grades) shrink into trivial distractions when you are handed a small person who immediately latches onto your heart with the fiercest hooks.

It makes you queasy, to have your whole world shaken up like that.

Something about experiencing the birth of your baby also brings you face to face with death. As you welcome a new generation into the world, you realize, perhaps truly for the first time, that you are mortal. For the first time, you see your life, not as a continuing arrow, but as a line between two harsh, black points. There was a beginning (as you just witnessed) and there will be an end. And all we have on this earth is what's in the middle. Time, especially time with your child, transforms from an abstract into a precious, finite resource.

And, I've discovered, it only gets worse. As your kids gets older, you look in the mirror and suddenly recognize your parents in yourself. You can remember who your parents were at your age. And man, wasn't THAT old. At the same time, it was just yesterday. You can recall the color of your parents' matching t-shirts, acquired from a vacation long ago. You remember the meals your mom cooked. The smell of your dad's cigars. The feel of slipping your feet into your dad's oversized house slippers and stomping across the livingroom floor to conjure some laughs. Then you look at your own children and it hits you. They are gaining similar memories, memories of you, at this very moment.

And to think, I was once so eager to grow up.

In light of the limited number of baby kisses and toddler-isms, I grasp for my camera and snap away. I may not be able to freeze Ryan's smiles, preserve Jacob's enthusiasm, or bottle the sweetness of their childhood years, but at least I'll have some remnants of these things in the photos I take. Photos that will carry both the fondness and the sting of nostalgia.

I have the unfortunate enlightenment to know that I am living some of the best years of my life right now, while the kids are young. As I take in all the sights and marvel at the fact that it can't get any more amazing than this, it's hard to not be a little bit sad at the realization that it will end.

But for now:

I snap away.

Father's Day For Everyone?

This morning, as we were sitting on the couch, Jacob unexpectedly asked me, "Mommy, can you give me Flynn the Fire Enging (a Thomas the Train character) for Father's Day?"

"Jacob, on Father's Day we are supposed to do something special for Daddy." I explained.

"Why not me?"

"Because Father's Day is for people who have babies."

"But I DO have a baby!" He pointed at Ryan.

"Ok. You're right. But I meant that Father's Day is for fathers. A father is a daddy. When you're a dad, you can have a Father's Day for you." I answered, a little strained.

"Hmmmm....But Mommy?"

"Yes?"

"After we have Father's Day for daddy, THEN will it be MY Father's Day?"

"Sorry Jacob. This year, Father's Day is just for daddy."

"But then why is it Father's Day for Grandpa and Lolo?"

"Because Grandpa is MY father. And Lolo is daddy's father."

"Oh." He replied, looking a little skeptical.

With that, our discussion was over. Or so I thought. Then, because the sun was out and the weather was AWESOME. I packed up both kids and we headed out to the Zoo. I love the Point Defiance Zoo and because we are members, we have every excuse to go as often as possible.

Ryan is sporting his new sun hat from the zoo gift shop!

It just so happened that we had picked the perfect day for the zoo. Apparently, E.T. the walrus turned 30 today and they were celebrating with extra activities and crafts for kids.

First, Jacob put on these flippers and got to try to walk like a walrus.

Then we rode the carousel. Out of all the animals to chose from, he went straight for the mermaid horse.

To my dismay, Jacob was not interested in seeing any actual animals. I couldn't even conjole him into singing happy birthday to one special walrus. Although we were just yards away from spotted leopard cubs, giant elephants, creepy snakes, and funky primates, all Jacob wanted to do was play in the sand. Typical kid.

He took off his shoes and used them as shovels. Somehow, he lost his shorts in the process. Maybe if I would stop eating all the ice cream in the house, he could fatten up a little?

Ryan enjoyed the visit too. Mostly from the comfort of his favorite Baby Bjorn.

Towards the end of our visit, Jacob ventured off to an art table while I sat with Ryan on a park bench. After a couple minutes, Jacob came running towards me, beaming from ear to ear. He tilted his head coyly and held his hands behind his back. I could see the edges of a crisp peice of paper peeking out from behind him.

"Guess what Mommy! I have a SURPRISE for you!" He said with great enthusiasm. Before I could respond, he thrusted the piece of paper at me proudly. "I made you a card of a WALRUS!"

Thank goodness he told me what it was because this card looks nothing like a walrus. Are those his eyes at the bottom of the page?

"Wow, Jacob, I LOVE IT!" I exclaimed, in expected mommy-fashion.

"Guess what? It's your very special card for your Father's Day!" He said, beaming even brighter.

Man, I love that kid.

And of course this kid!

Super Jake

Jake is my tough guy, super hero.

He'll come home from the park with a bleeding gash on his knee and proudly exclaim, "I don't need a band-aid. I'm TOUGH!"

If Jacob had super powers, they would have to be his alluring charm, incredible memory, and super head strength. He was born with a whopping sized head (my dad affectionately nicknamed him Charlie Brown because he was all noggin as a baby). I can't tell you how many times he's fallen and landed square on to his round dome of a head (a little top-heavy, I guess). But he always gets right back up and brushes it off like it never happened.

Watch out villans, we got some killer head here!

His favorite super hero task is to bring in my mail every afternoon. Because, you know, sometimes this chore requires a cape. When I ask him if he needs a sweatshirt, Jacob puffs out his chest indignantly and exclaims, "I'm not cold. I'm just tough!"

Plus it would clash with his cape. And who am I to argue with a super hero?

Apparently being tough is a prerequisite to being able to push your own buttons on the microwave. At least that's what Super Jake tells me.

But even Super Jake has his kryptonite. Despite his tough-boy qualities, Jacob Palmer is terrified of.......insects. But not just any insects; mostly just the tiny ones.

Jacob was chasing his cousin around at the condo in Lake Chelan last week when he stopped dead in his tracks, turned pale, pointed frantically to the ceiling, and screamed, "LOOK! ANT! THERE'S AN ANT ON THE CEILING!!! DADDY KILL IT!"

His daddy looked up at the microscopic ant about 5 feet above Jacob's head, then looked back at his son. Jacob was prancing around the room hysterically, like a tweenie in the autograph line at a Justin Beiber concert. Daddy just said, "I can't reach it. Don't worry about the ant. He's so tiny. He won't hurt you."

Jacob replied to this logic calmly, "HE'S MOVING! HELP. AHHHHHH. GET HIM. KILL HIM NOW!" There was no reasoning with him. It was Jacob versus microscopic ant. Microscopic ant had to be crushed before the planet could resume spinning.

Then today, I sent Jacob outside to play in his sand box. After not too long, I heard a shriek. My first thought was that a child stealer had snuck into our yard and was thrusting Jacob into a creepy, unmarked van. But then Jacob flew through the front door crying hysterically.

"What?! What's wrong? Tell me what happened!"

Through his sobs, Jacob recounted the horrible, tragic turn of events. "I CAN'T EVEN PLAY IN MY SANDBOX!" Sob. "IT'S IN THERE! I CAN NEVER PLAY IN THE SAND AGAIN!"

"Jacob, what are you talking about?!" I followed him out the front door to his sand box.

With a trembling finger, Jacob pointed under a toy car. "THERE!" He sobbed and erupted into more tears.

I pulled back the toy car and saw a teeny tiny, squirming earwig burrowing into the sand.

"This?! You're crying over this little bug?"

"Mommy, get him!"

I guess no matter how tough or super you are, sometimes you still need to call on the powers of Super Mommy. I scooped the bug up into a little cup and tossed him over the railing. ... And now, there is an earwig vacationing somewhere in Jacob's red wagon (a story for tomorrow, perhaps?)

The Leaking Canoe (I Wish This Was A Reference To Some Rustic Winery)

Having more than one child is like being in a leaking canoe. You reach over to plug one hole and water starts gushing out of another (you will soon see why the liquid metaphor is so appropriate). Soon, you're full of water and sinking by the minute. Until naptime. Then sanity comes to visit again...for about an hour.

The morning started out with a bang, or should I say trickle? Jacob woke up at 7am covered in pee. He wet his bed...AGAIN. He ONLY wets his bed when we are home. At Lake Chelan, he woke up dry every single morning. Then we came home and -voila!- he wets his bed. But he sleeps over at my parents' house and he is dry again. WTF? Ok Universe, this cruel joke can stop now. I stopped putting sheets on his bed and I am currently researching the best place to buy a toddler-sized catheter.

Since his two month shots on Monday, Ryan has been sleeping all day, only waking to eat, coo, and kick his legs before he's back to dreamland. This kid is not a napper. I'm almost worried. But maybe this is some kind of wonderful gift. Like God is throwing me a little bone: "Sorry for all those hours you had to spend washing pee sheets and scrubbing liquid poop out of baby clothes. Here, I'll let your baby sleep for two days so that you can kick yourself later and say, 'DANG, I should have done something productive instead of staring at Facebook all day waiting for my baby to wake up'."

Although he's been sleepy, Ryan does not lack in the messy department.

Exhibit A:

Spit up on the floor.

Exhibit B:

Spit up on me. 

Impeccable aim.

While I was cleaning up these messes, I heard Jacob thumping around. I turn my head to see him on all flours, barking like an angry lesbian (no offense, I love lesbians). "Oh, what a cute puppy you are." I say as I reach down to pet him

Fast forward two minutes and I find him in the kitchen lapping water out of the cat's bowl. I scolded him for drinking dirty cat water ('cause now I have to REFILL the bowl!) and enlightened him on the dangers of cat-breath flu. Well, my mistake for not telling him that cat FOOD was equally off-limits because not one minute later I caught him chewing a small handful of the stuff (at least it's organic?).

Oh, by the way, have you ever wondered what a wood floor looks like after a night of heavy drinking and playing kissy-face with an amateur artist? It wakes up to discover three new tattoos of disembodied super heroes:

I can't fully blame Jacob for this one. The tattoo wrapper fell off and the tattoos somehow ended up face down on the floor.

Later, as I sat down to do some sewing crafts, Jacob joined me at the table with his ham and cheese sandwich.

"Mommy?" He says. "How come when I smile, my shadow doesn't smile?"

"Um...." Think quick. "Your shadows DOES smile, you just can't see it."

"Mommy? How come my shadow doesn't have a shadow?"

With that, it was time to let the TV take over. I let Jacob watch Mr. Popper's Penguins (or as he calls it, Pimper Pomper's Penguins).

I was about to sit down and finish my crafts when Ryan began to stir. Then came THE SMELL. Nursing moms know what I'm talking about: THE smell. The smell of sweet and tangy, buttery popcorn radiating from your baby's soggy diaper.

Liquid. Poop. So liquid that it oozed all over me and the floor, like runny, orange mustard (I'll spare you a photo). And just when I got a new diaper back on, spit-up rushed out of Ryan's mouth like a volcano. Like I said: leaking canoe, plug the holes!

After I contained the mess, I changed Ryan's outfit and per Jacob's request, placed him in Jacob's lap. Jacob pet his head and began to talk to him. "Hi Ry. I'm watching Pimper Pomper's Penguins." He bathed him in kisses and nose honks. Ryan cooed back at his big brother. Then Jacob hugged Ryan's head and whispered, "I'll always be with you, little bro."

More liquid...but this time, just my tears.

Beach Sand...Sans Beach

I haven't been tempted to venture outside since our week of rain and clouds at Lake Chelan. But keeping an energetic 3 year old occupied in a 900 square foot house is no easy task. Last night, I ran across a fun activity on Pinterest and, once I discovered I had all the ingredients, did not hesitate to try it out!

We mixed some flour and baby oil together and ta-da! Moldable sand! If you have ever been to a children's museums or indoor play center, you may have encountered it before. This stuff feels awesome, it's like crack for your fingers. Oh yeah, Jacob liked it too.

First it was a home for his dinosaurs.

Then it became a construction site.

Then we went a little crazy, filled a storage bin full of the stuff and took it outside (things were getting a little messy!).

Jacob played with this stuff for 2 hours straight! Then right after his nap, he requested to go outside and play with it some more.

This stuff feels so awesome. Admittedly, during Jake's naptime, I went outside to play with it myself..... But look, it's both crumbly AND moldable!

 Not so awesome: the mess it leaves behind. Definitely an outside toy!

Don't worry daddy, we cleaned it up (mostly) before you got home.

How to make it:

1) Measure 12 cups of flour into a large bin (or bowl)
2) Add 1.5 cups of baby oil (I found a use for all the baby oil I got at my baby shower!!)
3) Stir it all up with your hands and crumble the mixture until well combined.

If it's too crumbly to form into a ball, you may want to add more baby oil. Oh yeah, and the baby oil smells AMAZING! It's crack for your nose (um, you know what I mean).

Lake Chelan In Pictures

I'm exhausted. Cannot post in full sentences. But here is the low-down for our past week.

Road trip to lake. Stayed for a week. Weather was crummy but company was good.

Enjoyed indoor heated pool. Everyday.

Rented speed boat (awesome! I grew up with a speedboat so it's like taking a dip back into my childhood).

First Mate

Learned to make fire. Where's my girlscout badge?

Ate some s'mores. Then ate some more.

Created a scavanger hunt for the kids. Drawing of deer and squirrel = epic!

Fed some goats. Goats are cute. Want!

Played a little golf.

Youngest turned two months old.

Pooped all over.

Then drank himself to sleep.

But for reals. He's the cutest!