On raising bebes French style. Oh, and my son was kicked out of preschool yesterday.

Since both of my children turned four and two years old in August, I felt it was finally time for their check-ups, um, at the end of October.  My four-year-old daughter measured around the 12th percentile for height and weight while my two-year-old son is in about the 90th.  This equates to Mimi being only about an inch and a half taller than Mack and one pound heavier.  No wonder strangers ask if they are twins.  I really should start saying yes, but the girl is quite precocious.

During this exam Clint and I learned that Mimi is completely healthy.  We also learned that she is quite dominant.

No . . . you've gotta be kidding me . . .

Clint and I smiled with a little pride and a little embarrassment, and the exam continued with Mack.  While he is also quite healthy, we knew a certain question was coming.

"Is he putting together two or more words-- "

"No."  And I completely cut her off.  I then went on to justify my worth as a mother by explaining how Mimi was saying many words by her first birthday and could recite her ABC's by 16 months.  At Mack's age, we were easily having conversations with her.  I couldn't just stop there so I kept telling her how I've worked with small children and was once an English teacher.  I talk with him and read to him and narrate his every move.  Oh, and he has significant hearing loss in one ear.

The doctor didn't seem a bit concerned about my insecurities and told me that he has two things working against him -- since he does have normal hearing in one ear, this shouldn't hinder him much but it could.  We discussed following up with an ENT, but this wasn't her main concern.  She said that the main cause is his dominant older sister.

Oh.  Cue inadequate mommy guilt.  This girl who we've molded to be so entertaining and outgoing could possibly be keeping her brother from talking.

She asked if we'd heard about the book titled Bringing up Bebe, which we had not, and she gave a small explanation.  Basically an American who was trying to raise a child in Paris noticed that French children were calmer than American children in public yet were still bright and happy.  She pointed out how we were constantly giving Mimi attention during the check-ups -- both positive for being funny or negative when she was interrupting -- but when we finally ignored her, she stopped begging for our attention and found a toy to entertain herself.

I always do a little eye-rolling when someone recommends a parenting book to me.  How to potty train, how to sleep train, how to let them cry, how to breast feed, how to introduce solids, how to teach toddlers to read, how to teach toddlers calculus.  I mean, really, who has time to read all these books that each contain overwhelming yet vague strategies?  All of their information contradicts another expert and most of these authors had pretty crappy childhoods themselves from what I've read.  And now this pediatrician wants me to read about Parisian babies?  Really?

But there was something about her that seemed very warm and motherly, so after a week of procrastinating I ordered the stupid book on Amazon.  And it's not half bad.

Let me start by saying that I am only half-way finished, but I think I get the gist.  I'll summarize what I've gathered:
-Americans are too in our children's faces.  We overstimulate.  We feed too often.  We worry too much.  We're too attentive.  We stop our lives as women to transform into mothers.  We do not feel like worthy mothers unless we're exhausted, overweight, and have completely given up the idea of having a normal conversation with another adult until our children move out of the house.
-Parisian children are not picky eaters and eat only at family mealtimes.  They rarely interrupt their parents.  The moms are skinny AND babies are sleeping through the night by 3 months old.  They pause before attending to their children.  Moms do not make a big deal out of breast feeding, forcing the child to read early, or having to go back to work.  It's okay for the mothers to still be fabulous women while still being loving, nurturing mothers.

So far, so good, right?  As I read, I noticed that I once lived somewhat within this realm.  Both of my children slept through the night relatively early -- Mimi around 16 weeks and Mack around 8.  I owe much of this to forcing myself to listen to their cries, going to the bathroom, and then getting some water before actually picking them up.  I tried to calm them and check their diaper before feeding them and eventually they realized food wasn't necessary when the rest of the world was sleeping.  Two points for me.  Clint and I continued going out to dinner when Mimi was small (I didn't cook, so this was sometimes necessary), and attempted to go and do as we always had.  I had a job, which gave me other purpose than being a mom, and it forced me to have more balance.  Mimi was happy with us and happy at day care, and I felt that her life was balanced and wonderful.

Then I got pregnant and hormonal with Mack.  My job wasn't a happy place for me anymore, and I began feeling that maybe I would get more out of my only job being to raise Mimi.  Then I also realized that while she was bright some other children were involved in activities and learning things that she didn't know yet.  This combo turned me into the stereotypical American mom.  Overstimulating, overanxious, worried, obsessive, and insecure.

Sigh.  So I'm re-evaluating exactly what kind of parent I want to be for the umpteenth time.  I want my children to be happy and have fun but also have some healthy boundaries.  I want them to be able to play by themselves or with each other and not always need attention from me.  I want to make them feel important but not that they are the most important.  Because I am important, too.  As is every other human.  In order to do all of this, I must, of course, make a list.  I love a list.

1.  I will be clear about rules without yelling or freaking out.  I will speak to them as if they are actual humans.  Mimi, you WILL stop at the alleys and corners to wait on me before crossing.  Mack, you will NOT throw your food in the floor.
2.  I will not interfere when they are playing quietly by themselves.  Do you do this, too, or am I the only attention-hungry mom?  Mack will be quiet and happy pushing a toy car back and forth on the floor, but I feel like a terrible mom if I'm not in his face asking him to repeat words.  "Wheels.  Those are wheels.  Mack, can you say wheels?  And they're round.  Like circles.  Can you say circle?"  Seriously, Mom, get out of my face and let me play with my car . . .
3.  I will encourage them to play with each other instead of me.  Mimi constantly wants me to watch her do her freakish ballet moves or to tell me a joke that always ends with the punchline, "Banana Pants!"  I just realized I never say to her, "Why don't you show your brother?  Why don't you teach him how to do it?  Wouldn't that be a fun game if Mack joined in?"
4.  I will sit on the couch with a good girlfriend and coffee without interruption from my children.  This one will take a while and may never happen, but I'm making it a goal.  We had a play date at the home of a wonderful friend this morning, and it was a bit crazy at times.  But most play dates that include my children are a bit crazy.  All of our children love each other and had so much fun, but looking back I realize one of the times that the friend and I were able to have a conversation was when we were cleaning up toys in her son's room and our children were running around like banshees in the den.  I kept calling for them to come help, but then I thought Why interfere?  They are finally having so much fun together and letting us be adults.  They can help clean in a few minutes.  Also included in this goal is having an uninterrupted meal and phone conversation.  I realize these might also never happen while my children are awake.
5.  I will hold my children more accountable.  Mack can totally climb up the stairs and walk down the street by himself.  Mimi can get her own snack and milk out of the refrigerator.  Mack can clean up the crackers he spilled on the floor.
6.  I will pause before responding to their every whim.  Mack has learned to throw a fantastic fit, and he continues to throw them because Clint and I always respond quickly to get him to shut up.  Yes, Mack, you can have ANYTHING you want, but for the love please stop freaking out!!!
7.  I will stand my ground and not let snobby North Side moms dictate how I raise my children.  My other Chicago friends know exactly what I'm talking about.  That mom who gasps when my children are too rowdy at the park or find out I haven't enrolled them in gymnastics, Spanish, Mandarin, theater, and the Latin School.  Those moms who love to point out that my child may have offended hers (yet failed to notice how her own child instigated it all because she was too busy talking with her designer on the phone).  That grandmother that yelled at Mimi, that mom who attacked my sweet friend at Little Beans while she was nursing her baby, that mom who accused my former nanny of ignoring a child because she wasn't in his face nonstop.  Those stupid women can shove it.

And on another note, Mack was kicked out of preschool yesterday.

I can say that I'm exaggerating, but I suppose it's true.  He has been attending a once a week, 2 1/2 hour class at the private school that is at our church.  This is the same school I discussed a few posts back, and I even toured it for Mimi.  I didn't feel it was the right fit for Mimi, and now I must face the reality that it's also not the right fit for Mack.  Honestly, it's not the right fit for me either.

I told my mom about this on the phone this morning, and she immediately said, "Wha??" to which I responded, "I know, right?"  When I tried to talk with Clint about it last night, he got all reasonable and devil's advocate on me, and then I shut down and said forget it.  So this is why a girl should just call her mom first.  We need reassurance that we're fabulous and perfect moms and how dare they?!

So anyway, the story goes like this.  The class is called "Time for Twos."  Not "Time for Almost Three-Year-Olds."  Yet almost every child in the room is at least 7 months older and acts more like a three-year-old while Mack acts exactly like a boy-with-a-dominant-older-sister-and-a-slightly-neurotic-mom who just turned two.  I was SO excited about this class because Mack dearly needed time away from me.  Let me get something straight -- I do NOT do attachment parenting.  You can co-sleep and nurse until your toddler is four and never have a babysitter and home school and what-not, but I do not.  Studies show and African tribes and yada yada yada, but I do what I know.  My mother was knocked out when she delivered me.  She barely nursed.  I was in Mother's Day Out (this is a 2 day a week, 9-2:30 type of preschool at many Southern churches) from as early as I can remember.  She dropped me off at the door without tears, and I couldn't wait to play with my friends.  I love my mother dearly and I never had attachment issues.  Stay at home moms in Chicago have no such option as Mother's Day Out (how much have I complained about this?) until the child can attend preschool at three, which I think is just waaay too late.  Other than babysitters, these kids are up their mom's butts until three and then they have to figure out how to deal with it.  So I wasn't shocked when Mack threw a fit each time I had to leave him in this class.

Anyway, the teacher immediately pointed out how Mack was not able to communicate or join the group like the others, and she was constantly trying to make sure he was safe while keeping the others engaged in group activities.  I'm sure I did some eye-rolling the first time we had this convo because, seriously, she expected me to believe she could keep a two-year-old engaged in a group activity?  Moms are required to volunteer once a session, and I did notice that he was more immature than the others in the class because, well, he is several months younger and not talking much.  All of the children played well and explored, and they appeared to act like normal two-year-olds.  The girls played quietly and wanted to be read to while the boys jumped from activity to toy to activity.  I expected Mack to be awful because I was there, but the only trouble he seemed to cause was trying to take pretzels from others and punching buttons on the radio.  I didn't quite see this safety issue that the teacher kept telling me about but whatever.  He didn't seem to be at the others' maturity level, but as a former teacher I know that younger children will eventually learn from the older ones.

She and I had this convo several times, and I continued putting my foot down.  He met the requirements of being a two-year-old, I was not going to show him that his crying will get him out of my leaving him, and he will eventually learn from the older ones.  Yesterday, he was especially clingy and fussy when I dropped him off, and I was having trouble getting Mimi out of the room, which made my stress level ridiculous.  When I returned, he was so focused on him painting that he didn't even notice I had arrived.  Mack was happy to see me and to show me his blobby painting.  He didn't cling to me and he didn't try to pull me out of the door.  He was happy and painting just like the others, so I thought this was encouraging.  I asked the mom who helped that day how things went, and she said he did cry for a few minutes after I left but then played well.  I was feeling we had finally reached a new milestone when his teacher came over to me with a kind smile but then said, "Mack is just not a good fit for this class right now.  Why don't we try in a few months in the spring session?"

On a different day I may have continued my fight, but yesterday was not the day.  "You know what -- you're right.  This is not a good fit."  She tried to justify and comfort and sugar-coat, but I stopped her because I didn't need an explanation.  She was completely right.  This was not a good fit for any of us.  She is a kind person and wonderful teacher who has devoted so much to this school, and while I may not agree with this two-year-old mold, I need to respect her opinion and vision for this class.

I will continue with Little Gym and the occasional YMCA swim class because we totally fit in these places, and I'm okay with that.

In the meantime, I'll just ignore my children, smoke cigarettes, and eat pain du chocolat.  Hey, it works for the French.    

        

Things My Momma Did NOT Teach Me

It's Monday morning, which around the Darby home is "ballet day."

Mimi loves all things ballet, but I always dread these mornings just a bit.  The first few classes she was amazing, but now she would prefer to dance to her own drummer.  I love that about her.  I promise I do . . .

BUT I still feel the need to shake my head and repeat phrases such as, "Oh my word, Mimi.  What the heck are you doing?" as I see her running around the studio like a wild banshee.  She has been known to strip down and lick the mirror and totally cut in line to get her stamp at the end of class.  Very rarely do I hear Miss Taylor get onto another child as much as she does Mimi, but she's very patient and has never asked her to leave the class or anything.

The other moms giggle at her and tell me they're happy to see a child with her spirit, but something in me makes me say things like, "I have no idea where she gets that crazy energy."  And then I feel bad about myself . . .

Pride.  I have such pride in myself as a mom that I need to let the other moms know that I DID NOT teach her to act that way!  I don't like this about myself because I am not at all ashamed of my daughter.  I love her spunk and independence, and I vow today to stop this way of thinking.  So what that she acts a fool in ballet?  At least she's not standing in the corner with a finger up her nose or gripping my leg crying for dear life.  Good for her for being exactly who she is.


Whenever I say things like "can you believe she does that?," Mom always giggles and responds with, "but all four of you did the same thing to me."  It's true.  We were just as nutso as my two monkeys, but she NEVER acted like we didn't belong to her.  She was patient and loving, and I feel that I owe an early Mother's Day gift to her -- an apology.

Mom, I'm very sorry if I ever acted a fool in public.  I know you don't care and that you're giggling at me right now, but I still feel I need to tell everyone that . . . 

THESE ARE THE THINGS I'VE DONE THAT MY MOMMA DID NOT TEACH ME:

To drink too much beer.
To cuss.
To dance on elevated surfaces.
To smoke cigarettes in college.
To lie on the couch and watch reality TV.
To buy designer jeans and Lululemon that is NOT on sale.
To leave the house without full make-up and hairspray.
To be a snob and go a whole day without learning the entire life history of a complete stranger.
To wear pants to church.
To wear ragged jeans.
To stay up past 10PM.
To sleep past 7AM.
To sometimes be a mean girl in middle school.
To write papers for my friends in college.
To procrastinate.
To take my father's side occasionally.
To leave dirty dishes in the sink over night.
To ride in cars with high school friends who drove waaaay too fast.
To not clean out the tub or shower every. single. day.
To not iron absolutely everything I wear.
To not wear lipstick.

Sigh.  She's probably rolling her eyes about now.  I have learned my lesson about some of these things (smoking is really, really gross.  I promise I didn't do it too much.), and I'm sorry I didn't listen the first time. Since I'm stubborn, my mom let me learn some of these things on my own, and I guess I'll have to let Mimi do the same.

I'm proud to say that these are the things my momma DID teach me:

To see the cup as half full.
To always trust my gut over a book with my newborns.
To not be disappointed but to giggle when my toddlers act like toddlers.
To take care of my husband.
To let my husband also take care of me.
To cook meals AND dessert for my family.
To be silly.
To help my neighbors.
To teach my children by example.
To have live plants in the house.
To go to the doctor when I'm sick.
To not worry that my children might get their clothes dirty.
To be creative.
To not argue about politics or religion.
To not be afraid to strike up conversations with complete strangers.
To not give up the chance to hold a newborn.
To wake up early to have time for myself.
To not be afraid to ask for help.
To stay active.
To laugh at myself.
To hug often.
To eat when I'm hungry and sleep when I'm tired.
To be interested in others' conversations.
To love unconditionally.

Most importantly, she taught me that I want my daughter to have a list almost exactly like this when she's 32-years-old.

Well, except for the smoking.  Mimi, please never smoke.  Gross.

Make a Joyful Noise

In a house full of 7 young children, I have finally found a nice, quiet spot for just a few moments . . .

. . . but I don't know how to sit still and rest and be quiet, so why not catch up the blog . . .

My two little wild monkeys have FINALLY crashed after spending a couple of days with their 5 middle school-aged cousins. They tried so hard to hang, but their little bodies just can't do it yet. After a serious Mimi meltdown, she is sound asleep in Coco's bed. Whew.

In case I haven't told you, I flew to Nashville this past Monday. With my two toddlers. BY. MYSELF.

And no drugs were involved. Just snacks and cartoons and prayer.

But we made it, and I will TOTALLY be doing that again. Not half as bad as I thought it would be. Clint was able to go to the gate with us, so I basically only had them by myself for about an hour and a half. The flight attendants and captain were ridiculously sweet as were most of the surrounding passengers on the plane. But OF COURSE there was this one lady who sat right behind us who was ill and grumpy and whined, whined, whined. My children were much better behaved than she was, so maybe I'm not such a bad parent after all.

The only moment of the trip where my palms got sweaty was the few minutes before we boarded the plane. Mimi saw people ahead of us in line going toward the plane and was so worried that they were leaving us. She hasn't grasped the idea of lines yet and how there was room for everyone. So she began freaking out, and all of the sweet folks around us assured her that they wouldn't let the airplane take off without her -- she was the star guest. And then several other passengers told me how they have small children or have had small children (or have friends with small children, or whatever they could think of to make my hands stop shaking) . . . and then all my worry melted away. My crazy kids couldn't possibly be the worst children to ever fly.

Do the rest of you get nervous about times like this? We recently invited friends to dinner with us, and the mom commented that she didn't want to be that person who brings a baby to an innappropriate place. I assured her it would be fine, and it totally would have, but I knew what she was thinking at that time. She wanted to avoid the stares and rolled eyes and flared nostrils from others who don't love the noise of children so much.

But when my children and I were settled in our seats eating crackers and cookies and pretzels and watching a Winnie the Pooh movie, the last passenger chose the middle seat behind us, which was the last on the plane. Well, it wasn't quite the last because there actually was an empty seat next to me . . . but it only took a couple of seconds to understand why she didn't choose that one. After she knocked out everyone around us with her bulky bags and then gave them a half-hearted apology, she turned to the cute guy by the window and began attempting to flirt. She asked where he was from, commented on the football team on his hat, and then bragged about something expensive she owned. Then she began griping about how she was a terrible flier, and was mad at a lady at the front of the plane who was sitting next to the window with "her dumb kid" and wouldn't budge. Out of the corner of my eye (I just wrote that like I casually glanced, but you know I was totally spying) I saw the guy roll his eyes and look out the window.

And then I realized something. Every time Mimi and Mack made a peep on that plane some sweet soul turned around to give them (or me) a smile or a wink. Not everyone loves the sounds of children, but NO ONE loves the sounds of a complaining adult. Especially when that adult is complaining about an innocent little toddler.

I am going to carry this lesson with me this week . . . no matter how many children are crammed in the house with me. I will encourage my noisy children and nieces and nephews to keep making noise and make it joyfully. That noise means they're healthy and happy and how can I not love that?

I can't wait to catch you up on the rest of our time in the south, but for now I must watch the rest of the Toddlers and Tiaras marathon with my nieces, who will no doubt have the best commentary ever.

And Mimi wanted me to introduce the family boxer, Lucy.
Love, love, love her.

Merry Christmas and Happy Hanukah to you all! More to come later . . .

What Are You Going to Do about It?

I'm going to warn you in advance. There is going to be a lot that I am going to say that will make you want to stick your fingers in your ears and scream LA LA LA LA LA at any time. I am NOT going to tell you how to vote. I am NOT going to tell you how I would vote or point you to an unbiased website (because honestly there isn't one that exists. Trust me -- I've searched). And I'm not going to point out my opinion on all the "what ifs" of abortion, morning-after pill, IVF, IUD's, and possible lawsuits. Not even going there. But I am going to challenge you . . . just keep reading and you'll see what I mean.

In case you've been living under a rock or you don't care to keep up with the news of my home state of Mississippi (really? You don't?), this is what is being voted on soon:

INITIATIVE MEASURE NO. 26

SUBJECT MATTER: Definition of “person"

BALLOT TITLE: Should the term “person” be defined to include every human being from the moment of fertilization, cloning, or the equivalent thereof?

BALLOT SUMMARY: Initiative #26 would amend the Mississippi Constitution to define the word “person” or “persons”, as those terms are used in Article III of the state constitution, to include every human being from the moment of fertilization, cloning, or the functional equivalent thereof.

Sigh. And the madness this question has started. What is a "person"?

Honestly, I don't care how you vote. Just do your research and listen to your heart. I no longer live there, so I'm sure you don't care to hear about how I would vote so I'll spare you. BUT I do still have something to say on the matter, and it is this . . .

STOP BEING SUCH ASSHOLES.

Whew.

There, I said it. Now I feel much better.

Part of my problem is me. I don't have a lot of free time to lie on the couch and space out, so my only time to remove myself from this world is to browse Facebook. Please, don't judge. I normally do it to see photos of my friends' adorable babies and puppies, but lately more and more people have been posting their opinions about this proposed amendment. It starts out very simple . . . "Hey, check out this link if you're still unsure about how to vote" . . . and then I read that the link says something like "The Lies of PRO-ABORTION Advocates" or "Why Mississippi is about to Make a HUGE Mistake," so I feel I MUST see the 104 comments that people have posted under this status . . . and then I stupidly get all hot and bothered by the mean, mean, mean and hateful comments people have made.

They usually go something like this:

"I can't believe people are afraid that if this passes a doctor can't help them if they have a tubal pregnancy. That's so SILLY AND RIDICULOUS."

"If you vote "yes," you obviously CAN'T THINK FOR YOURSELF and haven't done ANY research."

"It's never a woman's choice -- it's God's choice and the CHRISTIAN THING TO DO is vote 'yes'."

And the list goes on and on and on, so I won't bore you. Whether this thing passes or not there will still be HUGE problems to deal with. So this is where I need to open my big, fat mouth and challenge all of you big talkers who have been so finger-pointy and judgemental . . . what are you going to do about it?

If it doesn't pass, then things will stay the same. There will still be teen pregnancies and unwanted pregnancies and rape and incest and abortions.

If it does pass, things will stay, well, almost the same. There will still be teen pregnancies and unwanted pregnancies and rape and incest and abortions that are performed in surrounding states.

Let's be honest, changing a law will not change a person's heart. Changing the law will not make a selfish, career-oriented woman want to stop her "accidental" pregnancy. It will not make a 16-year-old who's scared out of her mind suddenly be excited about going shopping at Motherhood Maternity. It can't make the single mom of 4 whose boyfriend abuses her not want to bring another child into her situation. It will not make the confusion of a mentally challenged fourteen-year-old who was raped by her uncle go away.

Those who have the resources and money will just go to another state. Those who don't will have to deal with it, but more than likely those are the ones who are already dealing with it anyway.

You see, while you're sitting in your church pew feeling all holy and godly since you decided to cast a "yes," or feeling all intellectual debating at your water cooler about voting "no" these problems will still be going on around you. So, what are you going to do?

First of all, let's stop with all the judging. When I was in high school and when I taught high school, there were always SEVERAL pregnant girls. Some poor, some rich, some popular, and some with bad reputations. And these young girls marched in that school every day knowing that they would be stared at and talked about. But we all knew that at least half of the other students had done just exactly what these girls had, but still lots and lots of gossip and judging ensued. There were also "rumors" of girls who had abortions, and whether they had or had not there was still lots gossip and whispers of "baby killer" -- some behind their backs and some to their faces. Many more were ready to judge and gossip than to offer them kind words or a hug. If you know you're going to be judged, are you willing to open up and talk about your feelings? Uh, no. And neither are these girls and women who are struggling with a life-changing decision.

Instead of just being concerned about removing a morning-after pill or abortion, find a way to get involved with a place that offers guidance and counseling. Many towns and counties have women's resource centers already, and even if you can't volunteer I'm sure they always need money. If there isn't one in your area, find a way to get one started. Go to the mayor. Go to your local schools and churches. Figure out where the need is and if other women are willing to help. Make it SAFE and CONFIDENTIAL and OPEN-MINDED. Right now I'm sure Planned Parenthood and the abortion clinics offer better counseling than some of these meanies who are being all finger-pointy at "baby killers."

Here's a link to an organization called Ramah International, which lists many of the women's resource centers in Mississippi that offer pregnancy tests, pregnancy counseling, adoption options, post-abortion counseling, and other resources. http://www.ramahinternational.org/mississippi.html

Talk to kids about sex. They may stick their fingers in their ears and say LA LA LA LA LA (and then you may do the same) but actually start the conversation in an appropriate manner just as soon as you think they're mature enough (okay, this is going to be a huge challenge for me!). Don't just say that it's bad and God says you're not supposed to do it until you get married, but actually be open-minded and encourage them to join in the conversation. This was totally lacking when I lived in Mississippi. Parents and teachers were so scared to say anything but that it was bad and wrong and God said no, but the parents who were actually open had children who were smarter and made better decisions.

No matter how you look at this, the proposed amendment and the problems surrounding it are in no way simple or clear-cut. There will always be those extremists who will never vote against a woman's choice and those who will always vote against abortion even if the amendment forces teenagers to wear chastity belts. Save your breath -- those folks aren't budging.

Do I believe that those who are pouring their hearts and souls into passing this amendment and saving unborn babies are doing the right thing? I do.

Do I believe that people should be concerned about the lack of details concerning certain situations such as health risks and exceptions for mentally challenged? Sure do.

Sorry I can give no insight on how you should vote -- just call me if you really care to know, which I'm sure you don't. In the meantime, I'll try to stop reading all the garbage on FB and will figure out what I can do to help.

And I promise photos of Halloween costumes and a pumpkin patch next time and no more of this crap . . .

I'm Putting Myself in Time-Out

I am going to blame it on my laryngitis. It's something I'm stricken with once every couple of years either in the early fall or spring, and my number must be up once again. I can't talk, so all I can do is be quiet and listen and think. Gosh, how boring.

Over the past few weeks I've felt like I've had way more discussions with friends who are thinking about having babies, thinking about having a second baby, or thinking about pulling their hair out from all of their babies they already have. While doing all this being quiet and thinking, I have been going over those conversations in my head and looking at baby pictures and reminiscing a lot about my time as a mommy . . . and I've been wondering if I could go back in time what I would have told myself about all this baby business a few years ago . . .

. . . and I think I would have jerked myself up by the ponytail and said this:

#1) Stop thinking about yourself so dang much. Get in the routine of doing for others. Take care of others first. Volunteer. Take dinner to a sick friend. Call your Mom more often.

#2) Stop complaining that I'm SOOO busy. Limit my TV time and start cooking dinner and working out. If I don't do it now, why do I think I'll do it when I have a baby?

#3) Laugh at myself. Don't take life so seriously. Stop gossiping. And quit worrying about not having enough money for those fabulous boots in both black and brown.

#4) Stop taking forever to get ready for work or a dinner. Limit washing my hair to every other day. Clean out my closet so I only have pieces that I feel fabulous in. Put my keys, sunglasses, and wallet in the same place every. single. day. Don't pack for a month when I'll only be gone for a weekend.

#5) Join an awesome Sunday School Class at a church that is focused on what's important. And make sure that Sunday School class has plenty of young couples who have started their own families.

#6) Make awesome friends who I can trust and rely on and who don't complain too much. I'll need these people to help me not go insane when I'm ready to call it quits. And learn to tune out the haters. If friends or family members are being critical now, just wait until they can unleash all their judging on me as a mother.

#7) Learn to REALLY communicate with my husband. What makes him tick? What does he need to feel loved? What do I need from him? What's really going on when he gets so dang mad about not being able to find his belt?

#8) Talk to God. A LOT. Ask him for absolutely everything and learn that I fail miserably when I stubbornly try to make decisions on my own. Don't get so overwhelmed. Have FAITH.

#9) Don't be disgusted at poots. They really are funny :).

But I couldn't write this list to myself before we had Mimi, so Clint and I just jumped in head-first like everyone else has to do who doesn't have a time machine. And we've worked hard and succeeded and failed and bickered and been exhausted and have had a heck of a lot of fun. But I still need to make sure I'm learning and trying and failing so that I can learn some more. We've recently reached a new milestone with Mimi being a preschooler and Mack being a toddler. Things have changed and I have to roll with it and constantly keep myself in check, but I haven't been exactly sure how to do what's best for my little stinkers.

Stinker #1

Stinker #2

A good friend recommended a book to me called Loving the Little Years: Motherhood in the Trenches by Rachel Jankovic, and it has completely changed my perspective. Stop rolling your eyes because I have probably already recommended you read this and I have talked about it, like, nonstop for the past few weeks. It was JUST what I needed. This chick is a mother of 5 small children all under the age of 6. Four of them are girls (imagine that house full of drama and hormones), and one is a set of twins. Just knowing that she has all of that going on and is still surviving enough to write a book should make most of us stop whining and complaining. She is a Christian, but I feel like really anyone who was raised with similar morals can take something away from this.

Anywho, get the book. The author is cute and funny and amazingly positive, and you'll want to highlight almost every single sentence. It's only about 100 pages and each chapter is only a few pages. I read it during a naptime and right before I went to sleep (which means I've been able to leave Mimi in bed by herself most nights! Woo hoo!). She's not preachy and condemning but is real and honest and doesn't claim to have all the answers. I promise you'll come out of it ready for a fresh start with a new perspective on what exactly it is we're supposed to be doing as parents.

So from this book and from talking to other moms and from trial and error, I have put myself in time-out to stop and reflect on this new list I created for myself:

#1) Quit complaining about not having "me time." I just had a convo with a new dad at Trader Joe's who has a 7-week-old. He was in total survival mode, and I could tell he was struggling from the way he was constantly rubbing his eyes to stay awake. He said he's a competitive cycler, and he hasn't even pulled out his bike since the baby has arrived. I wanted to say, "Dude, focus on the big picture. Just think about the first time he can ride on the back of the bike with you along the lakefront . . . and when you get to remove the training wheels from his Elmo bike and let him go by himself . . . and when he gets to race next to you one day." But all he needed to hear from me today was, "Don't worry. You will be able to do it again. You're in survival mode right now, and you'll be proud of yourself when you make it out of this stage alive." I've so been there. I've been so concerned about MY free time. When do I get to do things by myself again? Instead I need to find things I enjoy doing with my children. Taking them on a jog in the stroller . . . teaching them how to splash in the ocean waves . . . painting Mimi's fingernails while doing my own . . . and before I know it spending time with them becomes a lot more fun than spending time by myself.

#2) Speaking of survival mode -- it's okay to do this occasionally. We're rushing from a doctor's appointment to ballet to the grocery store, and somewhere along the way I need to fit in some lunch and naps. I will not beat myself up if I have to hit the drive-thru at McDonald's and Mack's nap is later that day. If guests are coming over and nothing is keeping the kids occupied so I can cook and clean, then I can't feel guilty about pulling out a Costco frozen pasta and pre-made salad and quickly Swiffering around the edges. I mean, who needs a friend who will look under the couch for dust-bunnies anyway?

#3) I can't stay in "survival mode." Although that is basically what everyone does during the beginning and certain transitional times, I have to realize that being a SAHM is my life now, and I must give it my all. The house does need a good scrubbing every now and then. I need to shower and put on make-up and matching clothes. I should cook healthy meals. I must put all that folded laundry away. And most of all, I need to make time to sit in the floor with the children and let them throw all the pillows off the bed and dump everything out of the toy bins and sing and dance and giggle.

#4) Remember that this is supposed to be fun. There was a mom at soccer last week who was begging and pleading and bribing and coaxing and guilt-tripping and all-out demanding that her child get out on that soccer field RIGHT NOW and HAVE FUN. Meanwhile, the little girl was in her own world twirling her hair and trying to find absolutely anything she could do other than getting on that soccer field. I'm not judging the mom because who knows what kind of day the two of them had had or what other issues have arisen at soccer each week, but I hated to see that it all ended with the mom whisper-yelling how she'd had enough and they could just go home. Then she stomped out of the building while the completely unaffected little girl skipped behind her. And all I could think was, Oh my goodness, so that's what I look like when I do that. Well, I haven't exactly done that, but I sure have let Mimi know how disappointed I have been in her when she hasn't willingly done the things I've wanted her to do. And guess what. Totally doesn't phase her. And I'm glad it doesn't. She shouldn't be doing these things to please me. There is a huge difference in doing what is "right" and just doing something that I think is right. So I can encourage and expose them to what I think is fun . . . but I need to make dang sure I'm paying attention to what she and Mack want to do for fun.

#5) Respect versus etiquette. Last night we had a new babysitter who responded to a question I asked her with, "Yes, ma'am." Oh my goodness. I can't recall the last time someone has said that to me, and I found her response with her sweet Texas accent to be so lovely. But I could tell she used this phrase genuinely and honestly with respect. When I taught high school English a million years ago in a small town in Mississippi, I noticed that some parents completely freaked out if their children didn't respond with, "Yes, ma'am" or "No, sir" or "please and thank you" to the point of being ridiculous. I had a couple of mischievous ninth grade boys who were very good at using these magic words when they were in trouble, and finally one day I'd had enough. They were selfishly disrupting the class the day before exams, and as soon as I called them outside they both started with their "yes, ma'am" crap. I asked them to NEVER use those mocking and disrespectful words to me again, and I explained that it doesn't mean anything if it isn't said with respect. They obviously didn't respect me or their classmates, and I wish that they had learned how to do that rather than recite that meaningless word. While I do occasionally ask Mimi to use "ma'am" or "sir," I haven't cared too much about hen-pecking my children to always say this, but I care a heck of a lot about my children being grateful and unselfish and loving.

#6) Be ready for change. What worked a few months ago for keeping them occupied while I do laundry might not work anymore. While Mimi may have always been a fantastic eater, she is suddenly eating sporadically -- very little at one meal and an extreme amount at another. Time outs worked well last week but not so much this week. Mack has discovered how to climb on beds and up stairs. My methods must change and I have to be okay with Plan B. Or C. Or D.

#7) Save the yelling (this doesn't really work anyway with laryngitis!). A few months ago my house could fall to crap at any given second. Mack had begun teething, Mimi was being a really terrible two-year-old, and Ruthie barked her head off at everything that moved. I was still trying to figure out how to function being at home all day, and I lost it waaaay too much. And guess what? Little ones become immune to that. And they even learn to yell back and yell at each other. Uh oh. I knew that if I didn't stop soon yelling would become a way of life, and I'd make a complete A-double-S out of myself in public over Mimi kicking off a shoe. So now I'm forbidding myself from yelling unless Mimi is running out into the street or she's choking her brother until his face turns blue or Mack is about to grab scissors or a hot stove. If I freak out, so will my children. They need to learn how to calmly deal with problems by watching my example.

#8) Make sure I'm disciplining my children when they are sinning and not when they are just getting on my nerves. Are they being selfish and jealous and mean? Or are they just squealing too loudly while I'm trying to watch Friday Night Lights? Am I pointing out why we should share the blocks with our friends or am I just yelling and humiliating them? I remember being silly with a couple of other little girls in the ice cream line during snack time when a teacher smacked us all on the bottom and called us "disobedient little girls." We were all completely humiliated, and I found myself being very withdrawn and frightened around this teacher after that incident. I wasn't a bad kid, so I went over and over this moment in my mind trying to figure out exactly what we did that was so wrong. There wasn't a rule about not talking in line, so was it wrong to giggle? I know you think I'm crazy for remembering this, but kids do remember times like this. Children need to be children. Silly and loud and wild . . . but also kind and gracious and loving. Also, I need to realize when the real problem is all my fault. Did I forget snacks for my irritable, starving children? Did I really think I could buy groceries for the week during naptime?

#9) I need to let my children know my expectations. There have been total meltdowns in Target and at the park and in restaurants . . . and I kept going back with the kids and doing the same thing but expecting better results. Eventually I started telling Mimi, "We're going to the park, but we can't get any ice cream this afternoon because we will soon eat dinner with Daddy. Also, I need you to climb in the stroller when it's time to go because Daddy will be excited to see us." I asked her to agree with me and repeat this so I knew she heard me, and then I reminded her once again when we got to the park. And guess what? It usually worked. Also, I've learned to practice good behaviors with my children before expecting them to actually "be good." One sort of scary thing about living in the city is all the traffic, but I knew Mimi had to learn to walk next to me on the sidewalk and stop at all alleys and streets. I've seen some of her friends doing it, so we slowly let her walk short distances with us. And each time she did well she was allowed just a tiny bit more freedom to stop and pick up stick and rocks and point out dog poop and tell me how yucky that was.

#10) Let my children help. There was a family I babysat for some who had two small children and a girl who was about 8 or 9. When it was time for me to feed them dinner or get them ready for bed, I always asked the oldest one to help out by giving her simple tasks like clearing the table, brushing their hair, or drying them after their bath, and she was happy to do so. Whenever I let the parents know that she was always a great help, they seemed so surprised. The mom told me that she never even asked the daughter to help because she thought the girl would do it wrong and it was easier to just do it herself. I have to constantly remind myself now that Mimi can do more than I think she can -- I just have to guide her a little. And be patient with her while she's learning. I give her hand towels to fold when I'm putting away laundry. I give her plastic dishes to dry when I'm unloading the dishwasher. I ask her to take off her shoes and put them by the door when we get home. I let her stir and pour in some ingredients when we cook together. And there is usually a mess and Mack gets in the middle of it and I have to do it over. And each time I ask her she will get better.

So I'm jerking myself up by the ponytail and vowing to be a better mommy. I will fail daily and it won't be easy, but here it goes. I'll let you know how I do. :)

Quitter

Mimi has really begun to pretend. She loves to hand-pick her favorite rocks when we are outside, and I've noticed lately that she names them -- Mommy, Daddy, Mimi, Mack, Ruthie, and Lacy. And, of course they have conversations with each other.

"Hi. My name is Mimi. What's your name?"

"My name is Mommy. So glad to meet you. Oh, you're so cute. I luuuub you!"

She also does this with her blocks, her crackers, and Splenda packets at restaurants. She's into dressing up as a princess and pretending to be a ballerina in her tutu. At a few of the parks we visit, there are window-type areas built in under the slides and bridges, and she loves to pretend she is a waitress taking my order. Of course we always order hamburgers and French fries and choc-o-wit ice cream.

I love to stand outside her little make-believe world and watch her carry on conversations with her stuffed animals and dolls. It's hilarious and can be really touching when I hear her being sympathetic to her Curious George after he has fallen down (even if Mimi was the one who threw him off the bed). So I thought I would do a little pretending of my own a few weekends ago just for my own personal entertainment.

Every year Clint goes to Augusta for a few days in the spring just to twiddle his thumbs and watch the azaleas bloom, but this is the first year that he has gone while I have been the mother of a 2 1/2-year-old and a 7 month old. He has traveled a little since we've been in Chicago but only for a night at a time. He did go to San Diego for several days, BUT my parents came to help while he was gone. Since I already knew this might possibly be a challenging weekend for me, I thought it might be fun to "pretend" that my life was a little different just to make the time pass easier.

First I decided to pretend I am a single mom -- tough and independent. A man would just get in the way. It is true that I accuse Clint of being in the way sometimes because he doesn't know my schedule and routine . . . and he leaves his coats and ties and shoes and basically everything else all over the house, but after working all week and then having to do everything for the kiddos all by myself, I never, ever, ever, ever want to be a single mom. Uh uh. No way. For those of you who are divorced or have hubbies who are doing crazy night residency crap or work late shift, I was feeling your pain. Although Clint may make a mess, I missed the heck out of him and realized how much he actually does contribute.

And then I just decided to pretend that it wasn't the weekend at all -- it was the week, and I was a SAHM whose husband just happened to be out of town. This thought excited me just a little more than the single mom gig. The schedule revolved around taking care of the babies and my home, and luckily it was a beautiful weekend for going on walks to get frozen custard and playing at the park. And before I knew it my heart began aching for this way of life once again.

In all honesty, my heart's been aching a whole lot since December when I started back to work. I didn't struggle with my decision to return -- I was very excited about all the possibilities that could come with working in a new area. Working in Memphis and sending Mimi to Roulhac's was perfect for my family, and I thought it would be the same this time. My company had always allowed me some flexibility with handling my weekly schedule, and I was very proud of the work I had done. Because of this I looked forward to returning . . . and I really, really thought I was a terrible SAHM. Mimi was into everything and acting sassy all the time. She didn't obey me and tried to run away from me in public as often as possible. I was pulling my hair out from not being able to take a shower every day or get enough adult conversation. And I resented my husband for being able to get out of the house by himself every day.

Well, what did I expect? Of course, Mimi was sassy. She's a two-year-old who's smart and full of energy. Mack was a sweet little newborn at the time -- of course I wasn't going to get a shower every day. And Clint kind of has to get out of the house every day to go to work. Somebody has to pay the bills. But none of this made sense to me at the time because everything in my world had been turned upside down . . . and going back to work for the same company I had been with for five years seemed very familiar and normal to me.

I began regretting my decision the very first day I returned to work. It was actually early that morning while I was getting ready -- very, very early. Even earlier than little Mack woke up, so I realized I would have to make him eat in his sleep. Mimi was still asleep when I left. Clint and I hadn't even had time for a conversation that morning. And then I hit the traffic . . . and even more on the way home. The next night I was in tears on the way home, but I truly believed it would get better. This never happened before and it would pass.

But it hasn't. I can't make an hour-and-a-half commute any shorter than an hour-and-a-half. I can't rush through my days when I have to drive 3 hours away and still hit every office I need to visit. Every day that I tell my nanny I will try to be back earlier than the day before I make a liar of myself. And the more business I gain the more work I create for myself at night. In the meantime Mimi is learning to be even funnier and Mack is getting stronger and bigger. And I'm sitting in traffic staring at the cars ahead of me.

I have plenty of friends who are mommies and work, and they do it beautifully. They are organized and seem to be able to do it all, and I was once this. But now is a different time and place and situation, and I have had to re-evaluate what is best for my family. And working ain't it.

So I'm a quitter, and I couldn't be happier about it. My last day is next Wednesday, and the countdown is on. My plan is do to things a little differently this time -- shower early, have a place to go or a reason to get out of the house every day, and get involved in more community activities. I will only put one household chore on my list each day and will not beat myself up that the floors are dirty on laundry day. I will have more patience with my children because after all they are just little children.

I will not care if I don't have time to sew, and I WILL NOT sew for anyone else no matter how badly I am dying to make a sweet little girl bubble (unless I have a babysitter or the kids take crazy long naps one day). I will not get frustrated with my husband when he doesn't know what time the kids eat lunch because I never ever have any idea how the rent gets paid. And I will not be upset when a day doesn't go exactly like I just described.

I am totally open to suggestions about how to do this because I really want to get it right this time. My attitude is better and my expectations are greater than the last time, so I'm hoping that's a good start.

And of course I plan on keeping up with the blog a little better :). A few people have told me I need to quit my job if I don't have time to blog, and I completely agree. Must get those priorities straight.

Revenge of the Nerds

I heart nerds. It's true. And I'm not ashamed.

When I was a little girl, I dreamed about Kirk Cameron and Fred Savage and Tom Cruise. Then in high school I preferred cute jocks, and in college the semi-hippie seemed cool to me. But something in me always had a soft spot for the nerds.

My sister is trying to teach her daughter, who's in eighth grade, that the bad, popular boys will be the ones at the 25 year class reunion who will still have mullets and drive Camaros and work on an assembly line. Ok, well maybe not mullets and Camaros but whatever the cool thing is for them. It's the little nerd who hasn't hit his growth spurt yet, the one with the retainer and thick glasses and pimples, who will be in charge one day. HE will be the one with the cool loft apartment in New York because he will be an architect. He will have the latest and greatest computers and phones and surround sound because he will be the engineer who invents it. He will be the famous musician playing on your IPOD and Pandora because he stuck with his piano lessons. And this is the true revenge of the nerds.

So what plays on my IPOD occassionally? Nerd rock. Otherwise known as Ben Folds. I love his quirky sarcastic songs about suburbia, being dumped, and growing up. He has a song named "There's Always Someone Cooler Than You" that plays in my mind whenever I see someone trying a little too hard. But he also has some super-sweet songs about his children. The one for his daughter always brings me to tears, but has a little comic relief with him saying, "you'll be a lady soon but until then you gotta do what I say."

Clint and I made it a point to buy tickets to see Ben Folds last weekend -- our first concert in a very, very long time. We also saw him a few weeks after Mimi was born, which is a neat little coincidence. Anyway, we bought the tickets, booked the sitter, and bundled up for our night out on the town.

One thing that is fantastic about Chicago is public transportation. It's nice to not have to deal with parking and to not have to worry about who's not going to have a beer because we need to drive back home. It was fah-reezing that night, but I didn't want to overdress because I knew this little theater, which is small and standing room only like the New Daisy, would get steamy hot as soon as everyone piled near the front. Wrong. There was NO HEAT. So basically I was cold from the second we left the house until we finally stopped for a burger after the concert. We wore our gloves just so we could hold our drinks. So standing outside waiting for the train made me absolutely frigid and hopefully got me a little ready for what's to come this winter.

The concert was great. I got a kick out of seeing all the kids who were either high school seniors or college freshman going nuts over all the songs. They were indeed the nerds. Probably not the coolest kids but definitely not losers. You know, the Seths and Evans of Superbad. The ones you love to sit near during class because they have a really clever sense of humor AND know all the answers. They had so much fun dancing together and yelling the lyrics.

But then there has to be something for me to complain about. And she was standing next to me. A short little woman who thought I owed her my fantastic spot that I had glued myself to as soon as I got there. She kept leaning in front of me and shaking her head while she danced very Seinfeld Elaine-like. And then another couple tried to weasel their way in front of me, and this is when I lost it. "Seriously?!! I have been standing here since 6:30 and paying a babysitter $15 an hour, so I would really like my spot back!!" And this is how I was finally able to see and enjoy the show.

Because, after all, this nerd needed a little revenge herself.