On Life and Death

Recently Judah's been asking me a lot about death and dying. I guess it was inevitable given all the killing that goes on between superheros and villains, his current obsession for the last 6 months.

He asks things like
Mommy, are you going to die?
Am I going to die?
Yes, Judah, everyone dies someday.
When are you going to die?
I don't know, nobody knows.

Apparently he's talked to the Spouse about it as well because he comforts himself (and me) by saying: Daddy says after we die, we will become alive again and then we will never get sick or die anymore. So it's okay if I die.

I told him that it is okay, but I hope he has a long life.
Why Mommy? What's a long life?
I hope you get to grow up and become a big boy like Evan (who is 8), and then a teenager, and then a grown up like daddy, and have your own kids, and then a grandpa.

And then Judah became distraught when I had to explain that he might not have a long life because no one is guaranteed that. He teared up as I explained in concrete terms that we could die any day. That Mommy could die tomorrow and I wouldn't see him again for a long time after that.
Mommy, my eyes are almost crying, he said.

The next day he asked how he could have a long life. I told him that was out of our control but we could pray about it, so he did.

And today, a week later he said
Mommy, I already have a long life.
You mean 3 years?
Yeah, 3 years is a long time.
When I told him his dad has already lived 37 years his eyes bulged in disbelief.

Judah, just 3 hours old, a "long" time ago.

But of course, he is right. Even 3 days is a long time if you count up every second of grace.

Heart of My Own Heart

Mommy, the sky was so beautiful, Judah recounted to me. It was blue and pink and purple!

Mommy, I love nature. Let's go on a nature walk. Nature is so beautiful.

Judah on a "nature walk" cira 1.5 years old.

I'm sure we all feel stirred by the glory of the skies, but very rarely do I hear people talk about it, and even more rarely do I hear little kids have self-originating, completely unprompted thoughts on it.

When I was in elementary school I first became aware of how my heart felt like breaking while staring at cumulus clouds slowly sailing across a piercing blue sky, or the rivers of gold in a vermillion sunset. I often exclaimed to friends, "Look at that sky! Gosh I love nature! Isn't it so beautiful?"

I've rarely if ever said that to Judah, maybe because I'm too distracted making sure he (or Noah) isn't eating dirt or about to get run over by a car. So to hear him echo back the unspoken beats of my own heart was pretty trippy.

I guess he really is mine.

Snippets

Noah

Noah is turning out to be a little comedian. I'm pretty sure he thinks he's hilarious when he does his little comedy routine called "blowing before nursing".

He's picked up on blowing his food to cool it down because he sees me do it all the time. He does it sometimes as I spoon-feed him mac n' cheese or steaming rice. So now he 'blows' on my boob before nursing as his little inside joke--ha ha Mom, see what I did there? I'm cooling it down before I eat it, ha ha ha. I'm hilarious!

How do I know that's what he's thinking? His tell-tale little smirk and the glint of his eye as he does it. Is 12 months too early for babies to "tell" jokes? Not this kid.

Judah

Sometimes I wonder if I infantalize Judah too much. I often help him do things that other kids much younger can do for themselves, like get up and down his step-stools and put on his jackets.

So today I asked him, "Judah, do I treat you like a baby?"
Without skipping a beat he replied, "No, you treat me like a slave."

Well, there you go. Someone feels like he's not being babied enough!

Actually, Judah has a good point. I've gotten in the habit of barking orders at him--Hurry up! Put your socks and shoes on! Get your jacket! We're late already! Drop that crayon WE HAVE TO GO!!!!

Sigh, it's because we can never make it on time to his preschool. And then his teacher gives me the stink-eye because we're late. Again. I need to start waking up earlier.

Sometimes He is Good

Can I brag a little?

Yesterday I experienced one of my parenting's proudest moments.

We were walking around and Judah found a dandelion and instead of wishing for his usual stuff ("t-rex gunner car" and "that I have a cooler toy than Noah") I heard his little voice say "I wish that no one would get sick or have nightmares." WHAT?!

Stop the presses. What did he say?! Did I hear that correctly?! Seriously, was that just in my head? Oh my heart, he actually said that! And it was completely unprompted and self-originating!

I'm realizing more and more that I can get my kids to obey me externally (by threatening all kinds of unpleasant consequences) but it's much harder to shape their inner moral life.

I don't just want them to share because they have to. I want them to want to share. Because they care about others' feelings. Because they are kind and gentle-hearted. Because they understand compassion.

I honestly don't care if my kids are "successful" or "accomplished" or wealthy. If they can just learn to wish for a better world for others, I will die a happy woman.

The Grown Up Baby

Noah is 90% walking now.

A week ago he took 4 tepid steps before crashing.  The next day he took 8.  The next day he walked half way across the room.  And now he's on 2 feet more than he crawls.

Knowing that Noah is 99.99% likely to be my last baby, watching him reach this milestone (to borrow another mommy blogger's expression) just hurts so good.

The night he started walking half way across the room, I dreamed of my once 2 week old burrito of love all fuzzy-headed and sweet-scented.  And I wanted THAT guy back again.  Which is completely insane because during the actual experience, I remember I was pretty miserable and wishing there was a button I could press to magically turn him into a 2 year old.

But parenting, as they say, is the ultimate disparity between the "experiencing self" and the "retrospective self." Things look diametrically different depending on where you stand in relation to the event. And looking back is always only chock-full of the mushy gushy good stuff.

But Noah could care less about my mush gushy nostalgia.  He is just trying to race ahead, even faster than Judah grew up it seems. Maybe that's what it means to have an older sibling--you just want to copy everything the bigger person does.

Noah doesn't smile or laugh a lot, but his biggest, brightest grins are always reserved for those occasions in which he knows he is copying his brother.

Noah only wants to drink from straws, like Judah.

He loves coloring, like Judah, and then whipping up his paper to show his handiwork, like Judah. He loves sitting in Judah's chairs and booster seats.

Coloring while sitting in Judah's favorite chair--the epitome of big-boy-dom for Noah!

And he absolutely loves wearing Judah's clothes. He is forever opening up Judah's drawers and pulling out a 3T shirt that he then tries to put over his head.

Noah is thrilled to be wearing Judah's everyday go-to jacket.

Noah raids Judah's closet like a fashionista looking for couture.

But I'm pretty sure, no matter what big boy skills he develops, I will forever think of him as my baby.  I wonder how that will play out through the years as he really does leave his babyhood far behind him. Will I be trying to hand him sippy cups of whole milk as he goes off to college?

Let's hope I get a grip on things before then.

Signs of Spring

We are not out of the woods yet.  But we're definitely getting closer.

One of the best parts of childhood--rubber rain boots.

Now that Noah is 13 months, I've had some time to feel like things are getting back in kelter. He's been sort of sleeping through the night for the last 3 months and he mostly just takes one nap a day now. That may not sound like much, but the accumulated effect is quite nice.  It boils down to me *usually* not being very sleep-deprived. And all of us *usually* able to plan and schedule outings with some degree of accuracy.

Rollin' with my Nomies.

And now that Judah is 3.5, he is definitely a lot easier to deal with. He mostly keeps his emotions in check and has cut way down on the oppositional behavior. About 6 months ago I was probably still giving him time outs at least once a day. Now we can go for week-long stretches without a single disciplinarian action.

And best of all, he plays by himself a lot. If you've been following Judah's development since birth, you know that's nothing short of a minor miracle. So take heart parents of clingy, attention-starved children! They do grow out of it! Of course, Judah being Judah, he's not that good at occupying himself. But compared to his younger self, he's like a freaking Olympic champ now.

The activities that hold his attention longest is building spaceships from bristle blocks and cutting construction paper. He says he's cutting out "badges" and likes to decorate them with hearts and write the occasional letter on them. "N" is for Noah. "M" is for Mommy. And "I [heart] U" is a little love badge just for his favorite person in the whole world--Mommy.

Super-heros and villians + bristle blocks = sanity for mommy

Judah likes to call himself a "cutter" and people who overhear give us weird looks.

Judah has always been a momma's boy and his crazy expressive affection has really exploded in the past few months. Now he can't go 10 minutes without exclaiming "I love you Mommy!" As flattered as I am, I'm pretty sure it's just kind of a tick at this point--kind of like love tourettes. He often exclaims love for all kinds of, uh, lesser-order-things, like string cheese and grapes.

But I'm sure a lot of it is genuine too. Judah's really into quantifying love these days. He says a lot of the following:
How much do you love me Mommy?
I love you as high as the moon, and then all the way up to heaven, plus a hundred, plus infinity.
I love you higher than Jesus' head. (That one made me pause for a sec...what?!)
I love you more than VIDEOS! (That actually melts my heart because the kid LOVES his videos.)
And the one that always stumps me--I love you more than you love me!
It turns out, it's really hard to explain to a 3 year old why that is kind of impossible.

I try to reason with him a little--No Judah, that's impossible because Mommy is a grown up and, and, and...I gave birth to you!  Yeah, not a convincing argument to him either.

And while Judah is very generous with his kisses, his brother is the miser-liest miser there ever was.  I beg Noah for kisses 50 times a day and although he clearly knows how to give them, he seems to take special joy in denying me each and every time.

And then Judah always chimes in to take away the sting of each rebuff--I'll kiss you Mommy!

Thank goodness for at least one kissy cuddly guy!

Just Call Me Mom-gyver

I'm not one to brag, but once in a while, you just have to let yourself do a little public victory dance. However small the victory.

So without further ado, I present to you, some accomplishments that I'm actually unequivocally proud of (and unfortunately for my family, parenting and homemaking does not make this list):

Or maybe I should just call this--"stuff I've fixed with duct tape."

Like this old BOB stroller.  The straps completely disintegrated under a Summer of sunshine.  And I couldn't reach corporate headquarters to request replacements because they are apparently never in the office.  Solution?  Duct tape.

What?  You slammed the buckle of your Ergo baby carrier in the car door and cracked the "male" part of the buckle for which there are no replacement options?  No worries, buy an extender and duct tape that baby up.  And yes, I find it kinda gross that buckles have "male" and "female" counterparts.

Can't get the baby foot rest pedal to stay on the push-trike?  Duct tape it!  Credit where it's due, the Spouse did this one.

There's just nothing like fixing old baby gear that gives me such unqualified pleasure.  Maybe it's the cheap Asian in me.  That's like, $600 in baby gear replacements I saved myself with just a few scraps of tape!

Love Was In the Air

Technically, this post is still relevant because today is still part of "Valentine's Day weekend", yes?

Judah wishes you all a very happy Valentine's Day and drew this picture in honor of the impending marriage of our two dear friends.  And yes, the guy-friend really does have spiky hair.

There are lots of things I like about this picture, especially:
--the fact that each person is just a head with legs coming out of it
--everyone's arms look like bird wings
--the girl-friend has a ring at the end of one of her bird wing arms
--the girl-friend has a smile no matter if you're looking at the picture right-side up or up-side down

Hope your v-day was just as picture perfect!

Birthday Party Angst

Judah will not have another birthday until August but I'm already starting to feel anxious about it.

I feel like this will be the first birthday that actually matters to him.

He talks about it occasionally, but today, driving home from preschool, he really laid it on thick--like, talked-about-it-non-stop-in-vivid-detail-for-10-minutes thick:

Mommy, I'm going to have a Justice League Party.  I want the colors to be blue and green.  And red and blue.  

Judah wants you to have fun at his party...or else.

I don't want to invite anyone from preschool [he hasn't made any friends there yet since he's only been attending this new school for 3 weeks.]  But you're invited, and daddy and Noah.  

Noah will be the only baby.  Only big kids are invited.  [He then proceeded to rule out lots of younger siblings who are actually the same age as him and insist that only their older siblings are invited. Apparently Judah thinks of himself as a 5 years old.]

And it will have a volcano with hot lava coming out.  Two volcanoes.

Mommy, is it going to be the coolest party ever?

And there's going to be a pool, a giant pool.  It will be warm so we can swim.

And there will be lots of pretend animals.  Like at the zoo. But these animals will be just pretend.

And a train ride, like at the zoo.

And a car ride, like at the zoo.

Mommy, it's going to be the coolest party, right?

Um...right...I'm glad his birthday is far away so I can take my time playing the game "Managing Expectations: Preschooler Edition."

Also, don't you love how he speaks in the future indicative, leaving absolutely no room for doubt that this will all definitely happen?  And it's so gracious of him to invite me.

I was hoping to do some low-key thing--you know, bring some fun party cups and napkins to his preschool and give everyone a brownie and some goldfish. But now I'm realizing that's not gonna fly with Judah. Guess this might actually be the first year Judah gets a real, bonafide, at-some-designated-venue party.

Ugh. I hate, HATE party planning. I didn't even want to plan my own wedding. I was so not into planning my own wedding that I hired my close friend to do it all for me, and she ended up doing an AMAZING job while I gave her very little direction or opinions.

I guess I'll start looking at Pinterest pages for "how to plan a birthday party for people who hate planning parties."  There is a page like that, right?

The Bedtime Bomb

Every night I put Judah to bed in an elaborate ritual that must be followed precisely if we are to avoid a horrible meltdown:

--Prayers (in which Judah dictates what order we pray in, the positioning of our hands during the prayer, what we should pray about, etc.)

--A "combersation" (in which Judah asks me what I like about various body parts.  Mommy, let's have a combersation.  Mommy, what do you like about your forehead?)

--A funny lullaby (in which Judah repeats each phrase I sing in a silly voice and gets ticked off if I don't find it funny and chuckle even though we've done this exact thing 47 times already)

--Sleeping together (in which I lie next to him and we sleep for a few minutes.  He usually asks to hold my hand and tells me he likes to sleep with his eyes open.  And then interrogates me about my facial expression.  Mommy, why you not happy?  Why you not smiling?  Judah demands I smile 24/7.  I usually reply something about mommy being tired but inside I'm thinking--because I freaking live with the 3 year old version of Kim Jong-Il.

--Hugs and kisses (in which we hug and kiss multiple times like what I imagine Kazakhstani relatives would do in greeting)

If any of these steps are messed up or not done in exact accordance to Judah's whims of the day, a huge meltdown ensues which makes me feel awful because (a) it takes forever to get him back to a happy place and (b) the alternative is to just leave him to sleep miserable and alone.

So every night I feel like I'm carefully defusing a bomb as I try to guide Judah through his elaborate routine as quickly as possible.  During the whole dance I'm pretty stressed out and all I can think about is how much I'd like to escape to freedom and finally finally have some "me" time!

And then as I chant a victory song in my head as I slip downstairs to brew some nice cozy sleepy-time tea, I feel it.  The emptiness.  The loss.  The regret.

Looks so sweet--I'm *almost* tempted to wake him up again for more hugs and kisses.

I realize the best part of my life is upstairs, drifting off to sleep.  And I missed it.  I was so focused on getting it all over with that I missed it all.  I wasn't "present" during the sweetest 'combersations', the jokey songs, the snuggly hand-holding, the oh so precious--how many more of these will I get in my lifetime?--hugs and kisses.

I just missed out on the best part of my day.  Again.

I did NOT sign up for this

Recently a friend posted this on FB: http://mrsgoresdiary.com/2014/01/09/i-signed-up-for-this/

It's a beautiful post by a wonderful writer who basically reminded herself that she "signed up" for motherhood and therefore should stop complaining about all the endless laundry and general lack of personal freedom she now must endure from now until...what feels like eternity.

I love that post, but one thought kept ringing in my ear: I did NOT sign up for this.

Maybe she knew what she was getting herself into, but I had no freaking idea.

I mean, yes I "signed up" in terms of willfully getting myself pregnant.  But in no way, shape, or form did I really know what I was getting myself into.  In contracts law, this is definite grounds for rescinding, yes?  Law school was a long time ago, but I think I remember something about there having to be some kind of "meeting of the minds."  Some knowledge, some transparency, some sense that you know what you're agreeing to.

Prior to having my own baby, the longest I ever held a baby was probably 23 seconds.  The most I ever babysat was twice.  The number of times I changed a baby or child, played with a baby or child, read to a baby or child, sang to a baby or child, clothed a baby or child, or put a baby or child to sleep was...zero.  You get the idea.

I did not know I would be unable to sleep well for 3+ years.

I did not know I would endure constant screaming in the car almost every time I drive.

I did not know I would be tripping over a crying, clingy small human every time I try to wash dishes or cook.

I did not know I would need to do laundry literally every day.

I did not know I would prepare food for people with no teeth, present it to them, only to have them throw it around or spit it out, and call that a meal.

And that I would go around and eat the regurgitated and flung scraps as if my mouth was some giant waste disposal system, and call that my meal.

I did not know my friendships would go down the toilet because it's (a) impossible to have a meaningful conversation with my kids around and (b) it's really expensive to hire a babysitter just so you can go and have a meaningful conversation.

I did not know my relationship with my spouse would be sorely tried.  At the end of the day, when the kids are asleep and we can finally have a conversation, we look at each other with dead cow eyes and mumble something about being tired.  How are two exhausted people with nothing left to give supposed to extend each other kindness and charity and patience?

And speaking of patience...I did not know I actually have very little patience.  I once, another lifetime ago, actually thought I was a patient person.  Hahahahahahahahaha.

I did not know that I would be feeling guilty when I work a full-time job.

I did not know that I would feel guilty staying at home with my kids all day and not engaging them in enriching activities but instead dragging them around town with me to do chores.

I did not know it cost an arm and a leg to find quality child care.

I did not know that guilt and a feeling of incompetence would be my left and right shadows.

I did not know that my mind would be so frazzled from sleep deprivation, feeding schedules, nursing schedules, nap schedules, bedtime schedules, trying to remember if I brought enough snacks or tissue or wipes or diapers with me, trying to remember to give baths, put on creams,  fill out prescriptions, wash hands, telling stories about superheros, managing meltdowns, etc. that I would lose my car keys and/or forget my wallet at Trader Joe's/Safeway/a restaurant at least once a week.

I did not know I would clean my house and put things away every day only to have it look like I never lifted a finger a mere 3 hours later.

Wow, this post is getting kind of long and I'm not even half way through!

Let's just say, basically I had no idea what I was getting into.  No one warned me.  Everyone who talks about parenting usually talks about puppies, sunshine and lollipops.  In that order!  Just kidding.

Of course the puppies, sunshine and lollipops are true too.  I do love my kids, yadda, yadda, yadda.  I just kinda wished I knew the other parts as well...

My Child, My Self?

Needy, clingy, attention-whore, leaky-holed love bucket...

These are not words I would use to describe myself, but I would very readily attribute them to Judah.

I could spend (and have spent) 2-3 hours of pure, unadulterated, one-on-one time with him and it's still not enough.  As soon as I break off and do something else or pay attention to Noah, Judah melts down and whines "You never play with me Mommy!  You never love me!  I'm soooooo saadddd"

He's been like this all his short life.  Yep, even as a baby he would make darn sure you know he HAS to be the center of attention or there were consequences.  Very unpleasant scream-filled consequences.  So it's definitely not a "phase."  It's just Judah.

Photocredit: NanDPhotography.net

But I had a jarring realization these past few weeks.  Now that Judah can express himself pretty articulately, I'm shocked that he sounds like...me!  Except that I've never said these words out loud.  I'm a pretty quiet, passive person (Judah's loud verbosity is definitely not from me), but every thing he says I've thought.  A lot.  Especially as a child.

It brought back flashes of memory that I hitherto had completely forgotten about.  How much I craved attention.  How much I craved praise.  How much I wanted everyone in the room to look at me.  Look at me!  Look at me!  Tell me I'm special!

Once in preschool I remember learning about bloody noses.  A classmate got one and all of sudden there was a flurry of excitement surrounding her like some warm angelic penumbra of love and care.  Oh how I wanted that too.  So...of course I punched myself in the nose repeatedly to try to make it bleed.

Turns out that just gives you a sore nose without a single drop of blood.

Realizing that Judah gets his attention-neediness from me has made me so much more compassionate toward him.  My poor kid.  Inherited some tough traits.

And it's given me so much more compassion for the Spouse.  So often we have recurring arguments wherein I accuse him of not spending enough time with me and he is completely baffled how I could come up with that conclusion.  He's always insisted I was a leaky love bucket and now I know exactly what it feels like to be on the other end of that bucket.

Filling it, filling it, and filling it again.  Only to turn around 3 seconds later to find that it's completely empty!

It's always hard to know what part of you is really you and what part of you was shaped by your environment and upbringing.  I'm realizing that having kids is kinda like an amazing internal mirror--helpful and revealing...but not very flattering.

Batboy and Chubs

This post is just a shameless vehicle for me to do what I really want to do--post these hilarious/cute pics of my kids.

Ever since Judah got this Batman costume for Christmas he's been loving it.  He very, truly, believes he morphs into a superhero when he dons it.  I mean, just check out the serious air with which he looks himself over in the mirror.  He obviously thinks he's a badass with that costume on--nevermind the cutesy penguin pajama bottoms.

At age 3.5 he has fully transitioned from a toddler who loved a variety of boy things--cars, policemen, trains--to a preschooler who loves one singular thing only--superheros.

As for Noah, he's getting more freaking adorable by the day.  Man I'm going to miss his baby days when he starts really thinning out.

Don't you think his facial expression here deserves an internet meme of his own?

Like: Seriously, you did what?
Or: Amiright?
Or: Really mom? Mac 'n' cheese again?

Okay, I'm tired, I can't think of any good memes.  Gold star for anyone who comes up with something better.

Whose Birthday Is It Anyway?

Dear Noah,

I'm sorry your brother is such an attention hog.

I'm sorry he talks literally non-stop and demands that I de facto ignore you as I listen and respond to him every 0.25 seconds.  Mommy, mommy, MOMMY!  Are you listening?!  Mommy!  I have to tell you something!  Mommy!

But if it weren't for him, you wouldn't even have this little party, such as it was.

Alice, the patron saint of brotherly love and half-assed birthday parties.

You see, I wasn't going to do anything because I'm just now recovering from wrecking our one and only car and almost breaking my hand.  But Judah pestered me about it all day.  When are we going to have Noah's birthday party?  Mommy?  Mommy, mommy, MOMMY!  You're not listening to me!

So I finally dug out our old party bag and found some party stuff and voila.  It was mostly to appease Judah.  But it was also to show him that you matter, that you get birthday fanfare as much as the next guy.

Judah sang the Happy Birthday song to you, but added his own name in that crucial third line--Happy birthday dear Noah and Judah!  Happy birthday to you!

And Judah was sorely disappointed that you didn't have a chocolate cake (like he did) and like he had been anticipating for months now.  Mommy, where's Noah's cake?  Mommy, mommy, MOMMY!  Why doesn't Noah have a cake?!

Um, because mommy crashed the family car last week and did not have the wherewithal to produce a cake!--is what I was thinking.

But I appeased him with some much hyped "Birthday chocolate."  You each got a Hershey kiss.  Stingy mommy wins!

And I spent the rest of the day marveling how this little peanut...

...has turned into this bigger little peanut.  In the blink of an eye.  (That sometimes felt like an eternity).

You've been such a wonderful addition to our family and the best little brother Judah could ever ask for--mild-natured, patient, independent, and pretty hard to provoke.  You don't mind your jealous brother hogging the limelight, but secretly I think you know you're the star in your own little way.

Mommy could not love you more sweet Noah.  (But shhhh, don't tell your brother that).

Bursting My Shriveled Little Raisinette Heart

This is Noah's first time going down the slide and Judah is very proud to be the one to show him how it's done.

I *itch and moan a lot about parenting.  But looking at this picture, my heart is so full.  Oh my loves.

Good-bye My Sweetheart, Good-bye My Dear Old

So this happened last weekend:

I was driving the kids to the library and hit a parked car.  Because I was getting them a stupid mum-mum cracker.  And the cracker was broken into 3 pieces.  And I was taking just a split second too long staring at the pieces and trying to decide how to dole them out to the kids.

And then I looked up just in time to see the un-moving car right in front of us.  I slammed on the brakes in disbelief but it was too late.  CRASH!  I think my hands were still gripping that damned rice cracker.

Thankfully the kids were fine.  I thought I had a broken hand bone but the x-ray revealed only a bad sprain.  But still the aftermath was/is not at all fun.

Mentally, emotionally, of course I berated myself endlessly, playing the 10 second clip of the accident in my head on loop.  If only.  If only.  If only.  If only I wasn't so dumb.  Forget alcohol, mum-mums and driving don't mix.  Friends don't let friends pass out snacks in the car while driving down a winding steep hill.  Argh.

Physically, I was handicapped for the next 3-4 days.  I couldn't use my left hand at all.  No dishes, no diaper changes, no cooking--I wasn't even able to floss myself!

And of course the biggest hit was financial.  Now we have to dole out a pretty penny for a new used car.

But strangely, there is another kind of sadness.  I realized I just really loved our old car.  Our good ol' tiny compact car that we bought from 2 Ukrainian mafiosos in Sacramento with no legit business papers and despite the salvaged title.  We got such a ridiculously good deal on it (hello giant assumed risks) and it had served us so well for the last 5 years.

I never knew I could get so attached to an inanimate object.  I think I need to name it and say a proper good-bye.  So here goes.

Good-bye Ol' Blue (cuz it was blue).  We hardly knew ya'.  Our time was cut too short.  With only 87,000 miles on you, we thought for sure you'd be Judah's first car one day.  You saw us through the happiest moments of our lives--driving home our newborn babes.  (I can't believe I actually feel on the verge of crying as I type this).  You were dependable and reliable.  Isn't that what we call a friend?

Say hello to all our old previous 4-wheeled carriages who are now resting in a better mechanical universe:
Gray (the gray Buick)
Forest (the forest green LeSabre)
and Tori (the gray Taurus)

Love, Your last owners.

The Humble Dandelion

Eventually I'll find the time to do some kind of end of year/new year post.  But for now, I just want to do something quick and dirty.

The other day we played in an open field full of dandelions.  Those downy seedlings will always be magical to me.  And to Judah.  Since his earliest days he's loved them.

There are few things as transcendent as watching your child blow those puffy balls into the air and speaking his wishes, like a perfect physical representation of what it means for his soul to dream and hope.

Photo credit: NanDPhotography.net

Although the wonder of it all is a little dampened when you realize the childish mundanity of their requests.  With each exhale, Judah wished for a "T-Rex gunner car."  (That's some kind of ungodly creation consisting of a t-rex and a car with a gun on it, like a tank).

Oh well, I guess world peace and the fulfillment of our cosmic longing for meaning and love is still a bit too lofty for a three year old.  But that's my wish for us all for 2014.  Happy new year!

(Addendum: A few days later Judah found more dandelions and repeatedly wished for "that I get a cooler toy than Noah."  Yeah, this guy is definitely not the Dalai Lama.)

Holidays Schmolidays

The only way to be happy in life, in my opinion, is to have low expectations.  The lower the better.  In that light, Christmas is always going to lose.

I mean, how can one day possibly live up to the mantle "It's the most wonderful time of the year!"?

In all fairness, we had a really great Christmas.

Twas the night before Christmas when all the gifts finally got wrapped!

Our friends and family overwhelmed us with love and cheer in the form of piles of awesome presents for the kids and these--my new favorite ornaments:

One of the sweetest, most thoughtful and most treasured presents we've ever gotten.

Everything about this picture says we are blessed beyond measure.

Got to love Judah's perfunctory smile--let's get this over with so I can open gifts!

And yet...

And yet, Christmas was a let down.  It just couldn't, once again, live up to its own hype.  I don't really know what I was expecting...unicorns pooping out rainbows (or maybe more appropriately, flying reindeer pooping out candy canes)?

It's just that Christmas promises so much...so much warmth, so much cheer, so much...magic.  But in the end, it was really just a regular day.  Actually, worse than a regular day--no stores or restaurants were open to offer us some easy diversion.

As for the kids, Judah had fun opening about 3 gifts before his eyes glazed over from over-stimulation.  We actually had to save the rest for another day since it was clear he was way too overwhelmed to appreciate any more.

Judah, before his eyes glazed over from too much awesome.

Noah, on the other hand, decided to continue his napping-strike.  The whole day was soured by his grumpiness and the 45+ minutes of soul-shattering wailing he emitted while being nap-trained.  The dude is just too alert now to be surreptitiously put down in his crib.  Argh.

Hey Santa Baby, why don't you give yourself the gift of sleep, huh?

All I can say is thank the newborn baby Jesus that we live in sunny California where we can always go outside, even in the dead of winter.  And that is just what we did.

Christmas in July?  Nope, just Christmas in paradise, i.e., California.

On our hike we met quite a few other people who must have been just as desperate to get out of the house, but man were they cranky.  I said hello to a few passersby and every single one of them gave me a frown.  So much for that Christmas cheer.

And the whole day I couldn't for the life of me find my ipod charger to play some Christmas music.

A day without music, without kindness from strangers, and without naps.  Bah humbug!

At the very least, I thought the spouse and I would have some meaningful conversations after we put the kids to bed.  Talking about Christmas, about the paradox of an incarnate deity, about family traditions...  But nope, we were both so completely wiped out, we just popped in a DVD about the corrupt underhanded politics of Washington (House of Cards).

Maybe I should just tell myself to lower my expectations for next year.  But I know I can't and I won't.  I've told myself to do just that every year for at least a decade.  And here's proof.  But come the first of December my hopes can't help but rise.  And then come the twenty-fifth of December, they can't help but be dashed.

At least next year I'm going to find that darn ipod charger ahead of time and watch my hopes go up in smoke with awesome Christmas music in the background!

Take that, Scrooge!

Tweet My Blog

Oh the holidays.  Fun, fast and furious.  No time to write much so here's some slices of life in 140 characters or so...

Judah loves "helping" me bake.  This kid is a dentist's dream--addicted to sugar and prone to cavities thanks to his dad's horrible teeth-genes.

We continue to be sleep-deprived.  Sure things aren't as bad as when Noah was 3 weeks old.  But sleep is still the hottest commodity in this house.

We got Judah "Where's Waldo" in the hopes that he would entertain himself for hours on end searching for him.  Worked for about 5 minutes.  Put that on the fail list.

This is how Noah reads a book.  We feel guilty because Judah could sit through multiple readings of this same book when he was Noah's age.  Oh well, at least one of our kids will go to college.

Brother Wars

Yesterday Judah asked me again, point blank, "Mommy, who do you love more--me or Noah?"

I was sorely tempted to say, "You Judah!" because (a) Noah is too young to know what we're talking about and (b) if I don't say "Judah," he has a total meltdown.

Mommy loves you both the same--but sometimes she fudges it for the sake of peace.
(Photo credit: nandphotography.net)

Almost an entire year after Noah intruded on the scene, Judah is still very not okay with sharing his mommy (or anything else for that matter).  In fact, instead of being more accepting, Judah seems to be getting more jealous and begrudging.

Now that Noah is more than just an immobile blob that stays in his bouncey seat, conflict between the boys has peaked to new levels.

"Noah's messing up my spaceship!"
"No Noah!  Go away!"
"You can't play with that Noah!"

These are the constant refrains ringing in my ears when I leave the two kids to "play" together.  Noah also apparently has the Midas touch.  Any object he touches--no matter how old or ratty or previously ignored by Judah--immediately skyrockets in value and must be snatched away by Judah.

Noah is by and large unfazed by his brother's obnoxious behavior.  He doesn't cry when toys are ripped out of his chubby hand.  He doesn't flinch when Judah gets right in front of his face and yells at him.  He doesn't even cry when he's pushed down or dragged away (unless he's seriously hurt which happens on occasion).

But I am not unfazed.  I am very much fazed.  I do worry we are embarking on a new chapter, of which seasoned parents of siblings know all too well--the constant fighting, bickering, arguing, and not sharing phase of our lives.

The one in which at some point, someone will be complaining often that "He's breathing near me!" and masking tape will divide everything from the playroom to the inside of the car.

It's Just the Wind

I don't have a lot of time to write, but I have to record this for posterity.

Judah is now literally afraid of the wind.  Yes, the wind.

I mean, seriously?!  Can phobias get more ridiculous than this?!

Admittedly a couple weeks ago it was pretty gusty, but it's not like any tree branches fell.  But ever since then, the slightest breeze stirring a leaf sends him panting in fear.  I'm trying to be patient but seriously, CAN YOU GET A GRIP AND JUST CHILL OUT?  It's a BREEZE for Pete's sake!

My All

Often people ask me what it's like being a mom (stay-at-home or otherwise).

I usually have about 0.56 seconds to respond before a little person starts whining or fussing so I quickly sum it up as "Exhausting!" with a sardonic smile.

But now I'm realizing that it's "exhausting" because of my own fault as much as it's because tiny people have so many incessant needs.  (That's a clunky sentence but hopefully it made sense.)  I'm realizing I'm a bit of a mommy martyr...okay, maybe more than just a bit.

It's just so hard not to give your all to your kids.  It just feels like such a natural impulse, probably cuz Nature starts you out on that path from womb day 1.

For the first 3 months of pregnancy, the little alien has invaded and is already calling all the shots.  No you may not eat, you must feel nauseous and dry heave now.  No you can't enjoy caffeine and alcohol like a normal person.  And don't even think about taking Sudafed if you have a cold.

Towards the end of pregnancy you can barely walk, barely roll over in bed, barely sit up or get up, and your internal organs are squished beyond imagination.  And that's all the easy part.

Next is labor.  Because I am a mommy martyr I tried my darndest to have a natural birth.  I can't just be a normal, reasonable mom and get a shot of that good ol' epidural.  No, I had to go and be a martyr, screaming and writhing in pain like Joan of Arc on the pyre.

And then the nursing.  A normal, reasonable mom would be fine with giving the baby a bottle after a couple days--that way mom can take a break and other people can help feed the baby every 2-3 hours, especially at night.  But nope, not martyr mom.  She has to follow the extreme advice of nursing nazis and not allow any bottle to touch her baby's lips for at least 4 weeks lest the baby experience nipple confusion and mess up the entire nursing relationship.  That's 4 weeks of sleeping in 30-45 min increments.  Yes, like what they did to detainees at Gitmo.

I don't particularly like nursing.  I find it inconvenient for many reasons--you sometimes get clogged ducts, you still can't enjoy lots of caffeine, alcohol and good cold meds, you still have to be the one waking up at night usually, you can't be away from your baby for too long, etc.  But I nursed Judah as long as possible and I'll probably nurse Noah long after his 1st birthday rolls around.  Why?  Yep, because I'm a martyr mom.  Because I read crunchy granola websites that tout the benefits of antibodies, micronutrients, pro- and prebiotics and other clinically unverified aspects of breastfeeding that supposedly continue until the child is well into toddlerhood.

And then there's the real endless crazy, the stuff that you can do indefinitely without end from age 0 to adulthood--stimulation and interaction.  When Judah was a baby, I allowed myself zero downtime when Judah was awake.  I had to stimulate my baby!  I had to read to him, label things, massage him, converse with him, interact with him, in short, develop him!  I spent hours each day 'developing' my baby.  Do you know how excruciatingly, mind-numbingly boring it is to 'talk' to a baby all day?  But of course I did it, I'm martyr mom.

How can I resist killing myself just a little more for these cute little faces?

Of course, as Judah grows up, there is no end to feeling like I could be doing more and better at developing him and helping him 'reach his full potential'.  There are hundreds of preschool classes, sports, arts, music, educational programs, as well as just good ol' reading books to the kid.

Phew, I'm feeling tired just writing about all this.  So I'll just wrap up by saying--there is never going to be a time when I feel like I've done enough.  There's always something.  Something to help your kid in some small way--to increase the chances or decrease the risks.  And that is at least half the reason why I'm exhausted.

My every instinct is to do as much as I can, endure as much as possible, find out I went past the breaking point when it's already too late and try to dial it down back to a saner level.  But unfortunately it often takes a very long time and a lot of personal wreckage to realize I've again gone too far.

It's hard to stop being a martyr mom.  And I've got the perpetual dark eyebags and flaccid muscle tone to prove it.

Battling the Blues

I need a gratitude dump right now.  Stat.

I've been feeling really blah and down lately.  I don't know if it's the cold weather or recent dip in sleep (insomnia mixed with a bedtime that creeps ever later) but I'm just one big puddle of blech.

So, here we go...grateful, grateful, grateful...

--So grateful for some ladies at my church who come and babysit for us on weekends.  Last week we had a blast with this lovely lady.  Thanks to her help, I was finally able to take the kids on a fun outing (there's no way I would brave handling 2 crazy/fussy kids by myself) which we haven't done in over 3 months!

Any place with kiddie trains is tops in Judah's book!

Yay for baby-sized carousel animals!

Judah, the other white meat.

--I'm grateful we found comic books for preschoolers.  And there are at least 10 of them.  Judah loves to pore over them so it buys us a few hours of peace per book.

What, you don't act out books as you "read" them?

--I'm grateful that kids grow up.  I'm really looking forward to the time when Judah's 5 and Noah's 2.  Babies are hard.  Nursing is annoying.  Naps are really inconvenient.  But in the meantime, I try to squeeze as much consolation as I can get from Noah's intoxicating chubby cuteness.

My cuteness lets me get away with anything--even waking mommy up at 5am everyday!

Poor Little Big Boy

A gracious commentor (commentator?) mentioned that the happiness experiment followup showed that doing gratitude journaling once a week was sufficient for the exercise to 'work' so now I don't feel bad about not doing it every day.  And for that, I am truly grateful!

It's actually really hard to find time to blog and there's so many other things I'd rather share about than rack my brain for publicly appropriate content to be grateful for.

For example, today Judah had a really 'mature' conversation with me about how hard it is to be a big brother.

Judah (in a quiet, contemplative voice): Mommy, you know, it's really hard to be a big boy.
Me: Really?  Tell me something hard about being a big boy.
Judah: I have to be quiet all the time because Noah's napping.
Me: Yeah, that's hard.  What else?
Judah: I always have to watch him, make sure he doesn't get hurt.
Me: Yeah, that's hard.

This went on for a while as Judah listed typical big brother woes--having to share his toys, not getting mommy all to himself, enduring Noah messing up his spaceship creations, etc.

Being a little brother is no cakewalk either, apparently.

And then, because you can't just throw away such a perfect teachable moment when it falls right in your lap, I of course had to ask Judah what was great about being a big boy.

Judah's replies were pretty much 100% all about eating some form of chocolate--cake, candy, ice cream.

His gluttony issues aside, I so treasure these moments.  It's so rare when I feel like I'm actually interacting with Judah as a thoughtful human being (and not just a destructive, willful force of nature).  Kinda makes me wish I could just press a button and start the parenting process at age 4!