Making Mountains Out of Stepping Stones

Where have I been for TWO WEEKS?!

Mountain climbing.  And every time I get to the top of a peak...I find a new, bigger mountain beyond the one I just conquered.

I turned in my application for our Conditional Use Permit for the Town - check!  I almost had to sell my first-born child to some traveling gypsies to pay for it, but we decided we would miss her if we did.  (At least until the next time she sasses me...then that plan is fair game again.)  Now we just waaaiiiit for the public hearing on June 12th to find out if it will be approved or not.  That's a long time to hold your breath...

The business plan is written - check!  I learned four things from sitting at my computer for 12 hours and writing that blasted thing:

1. You shouldn't skip eye doctor appointments, because I'm pretty sure staring at the computer screen for that long melted my last pair of contacts to my eyeballs.

2. Being a "writer" is of no benefit when constructing a business plan because you're supposed to use the KISS method (Keep It Simple Stupid!). That meant I had to constantly go back and remove my beloved adjectives, adverbs, and personal flamboyance.

3. Retraining your brain to write about yourself in third-person is ridiculously hard. I don't like it, and the whole thing sounds, to me, like Elmo wrote it.

4. I am not a fan of writing business plans.

I worked with the Director of the Small Business Development Center through e-mail and it has been edited, revised, and polished.  Now I'm just waaaaiiiiiiiting to meet with the SBDC's Certified Public Account to complete the Financial section.  Shockingly, it turns out that some people have things in their life going on besides getting my business started (ummm what?!), and the CPA is unavailable until next week. 

I did meet with the Loan Portfolio Manager from the bank to discuss loan options.  I was pretty indignant when I found out that my children do NOT count as collateral.  ("But THAT'S where all my money is?!")  I was also informed by the LPM that my financial statement was the funniest one he had ever received.  (Baby Steps for Stepping Stone)  Not because of my financials (which would've been MY guess), but because of all the notes I had stuck on it.  His favorite: the note in the middle of our monthly budget that said, "Don't judge me."

I certainly haven't sat idle while waiting for the inconsiderate CPA to return from her vacation, however.  (Seriously...how COULD she leave at a time like this?!) 

I have turned my attentions to Social Services (a.k.a. The People That Own Me Once I'm Licensed and Forevermore) instead.

First of all, I was an idiot for thinking that reading their 99-page Standards for Licensed Child Day Centers guide three times (with a highlighter...and I took notes!) was an accomplishment.  I was informed by the woman I spoke with at the Central Licensing Office that I also needed to make friends with the following documents:

Code of Virginia (56 pages)
Background Checks for Child Welfare Agencies (42 pages)
General Procedures and Information for Licensure (37 pages)

No problem.  I like to read.  I mean, usually it's like, a murder mystery or historical fiction....but, I can be a good sport and highlight stuff and take notes in all these manuals, too.  I'll have to do it in my "spare time" though, because she dropped another pile of "to-do" in my lap, as well.

Also, it turns out that having a degree in education, and 7 years of teaching experience, isn't enough to qualify me as the Director of my own facility.  If you're thinking, "No way!" don't worry, I'm right there with you.  Ok, so a 20-hour online course to get "management training" and a Director's Certificate, it is.  No biggie, I've been through worse.

Now let's talk employees...

I was patting myself on the back for having most of the "who" parts worked out.  THAT is always my first mistake - feeling accomplished.  Finding the perfect employees is a drop in the bucket.  I also need to make sure that they have/receive the following:

1. 24 hours of staff development (before we open)
2. CPR certifications
3. First Aid training
4. MAT training (for giving out meds)
5. Training in identifying and reporting child abuse
6. Training in performing Daily Health Observations
7. Tuberculosis screenings
8. Background checks (including sworn statements, criminal history, and registry checks)
9. Staff orientation

Well, that's cool...I'm just going to have to talk everyone into giving me their entire summer.  I'm sure they won't mind.  I will bribe them with...love and appreciation. 

And while I'm reading, taking an online course, and training my staff... I just need to type up a few documents.

1. Emergency Preparedness Plan (which has to be coordinated with your Local Emergency Manager)
2. Injury Prevention Plan
3. Playground Safety Plan
4. Student/Parent Handbooks (with Policies & Procedures)
5. About 30 different forms for registration, medicine, allergies, etc.
6. Employment applications
7. Employee contracts
8. Schedules for each age group
9. Schedules for employees
10. LOGS FOR EVERYTHING

No problem!  I'm an organized person.  I found some resources online for a lot of it (I'm a Google pro...but so is my mom).  I even have a friend who offered to help type and create documents (LOVE her!)

So where does that leave me?

Tired.  That's where.

And yet...still excited!

I'm working with a designer that a friend hooked me up with on my logo.  (Eeeeek!)  I have my website up and published.  (It's still a work in progress though - I don't have all the info I need to call it "done" yet.)  I'm scheduled to attend my orientation with Social Services on July 8th.  (I was told to bring all of my "friendly" documents along...ugh.)  I'm also supposed to meet with an insurance agent to get quotes on liability insurance for the business in the next few weeks.

Oh yeah...

And I'm still teaching second grade full-time...while trying to fit in the whole "wife and mother of two" thing...

The hubs needs a shout out here.  He has been cleaning (only as is absolutely necessary, but still...whatever he does - I DON'T have to do)  He has been dropping off AND picking up the kids.  He has been the "dance mom" when I couldn't.  He even took on the task of researching grants for me.  He's earned major brownie points.

The important thing to remember is this:  It CAN be done.  It WILL be done.  And WHEN it is...

“Happiness is different from pleasure. Happiness has something to do with struggling, enduring, and accomplishing.” - George Sheehan

 

♥M

 

IKEA for Dummies

Last night, I was entirely too weak of mind, body, and spirit to write a blog post.  I had to concentrate on my recovery before I could put it into words...

Yesterday, I took my children to IKEA.

If you are unfamiliar with this magical wonderland that is a home store, then please, PLEASE, take the time to go there.  The whole place is a maze of furniture showrooms, a home decor marketplace, and has just enough of life's practical items (light bulbs, band-aids, umbrellas, chocolate...) stuck in random places to make it absolutely necessary to explore the entire store each time you go...lest you miss any magical bargain that you cannot possibly be expected to continue living without, but didn't even know you needed.  There is also a cafeteria on the second floor, should you need nourishment in order to continue shopping.  Do you hear what I am telling you?  A store that provides a refueling station for power shoppers = an A+ establishment in my book. (OR an oasis for when you get so lost that you can't carry on looking for a way out until you get your blood-sugar back up...whichever, really.)   You will love it - unless you absolutely hate it.

My hubs WANTED to hate it.  You see, he is a custom woodworker; and in previous years I was not allowed to even consider making a "fake furniture" purchase from such a wicked place.  I changed his mind by making him go there with me - holding a list of things I wanted him to build for me.  I added up how much it would cost me to buy the "fake" furniture.  He added up how much it would cost him to make me the "real" furniture (materials plus time away from actual paying jobs... apparently my undying love does not translate to cash).

We left the store with several flat packs, and he didn't even complain about putting any of it together with fine print, Swedish directions.

Back to yesterday:

Plan A was for me and the 4-year-old to go to IKEA, retrieve a "big girl bed" for the 2-year-old, and have Nana (my mother-in-law) keep little sister while we were gone.  We scrapped Plan A for Plan B - all four of us going together.  "It will be fun," we said.

I should have taken heed of the many warnings that morning - the day would NOT go according to any type of plan.

1. The hubs decided that I was to drive his truck.

2. The hubs decided that his truck needed a dozen different fluids AND air in the tires in order to be considered suitable for me to drive.

3. The hubs decided to drive his truck to work, then have me pick it up on the way, so he could be especially sure that it was indeed performing no less than was his standard for my trip that day...whatever that was.

4. I went into the girls' room to wake them up and get them ready.  I discovered that the 2-year-old had taken her diaper off during the night, and the entire bed was soaked with pee.

5. I gave both kids a bath...while they screamed (and I think cursed) about the injustice of being transferred from the bed to the bathtub.  ME waking THEM in an unpleasant manner?  The nerve.

6. I washed the girls' pajamas, sheets, blankets, pillows, stuffed animals, and mattress cover.  So much for getting all the laundry done the day before (The Life Cycle of Laundry).

Fast forward: we overcame the odds, we're in the car, we're going to IKEA.  It should have taken an hour and a half.  It took 3+ hours.

1. There was traffic.

2. My GPS kindly offered to reroute us around the traffic. "Yes, please!" It took us many interesting places....and then attempted to put us BACK into the traffic.

3. I caught sight of the still-backed-up traffic, said "Oh, Heeelllll no," whipped the truck around, and got the heck out of there.  It was way less "007" and way more "You can't make me go back there!" than I probably realized.  I can't really be sure, however, because I was extremely distracted by my mother-in-law screaming, "We're going to die!" and  "I see the light!"

4. The kids slept ZERO on the way there...and we arrived promptly at what WOULD have been naptime.

And yet we entered the store anyway.  I thought I was prepared with coloring supplies, snacks, toys, drinks... They got bored with the snacks, wanted different drinks, hated the toys, and were disgusted with my coloring supplies.  They DID want to run, jump, climb, argue, cry, make insane demands ("Buy me this office chair!")...and expected ice cream on the way out.

I think I mostly kept my cool.  By that I mean I didn't beat anyone, I didn't yell, I ignored most of the little stuff, and we all came out alive.  I'm not entirely sure why I thought taking my 2-year-old that likes to scale tall dressers, balance on one foot on the seat of exercise bikes, and dance on kitchen counters to a huge furniture showroom store was anything less than asking for it, so really, I blame myself.

The ride home was another 3+ hours. More traffic, more wonky GPS directions, more crying, more bickering, more insane demands ("I want to blow bubbles!") and lots of rain to boot.  It wasn't ALL terrible though.  I got to hang out with my mother-in-law (although she probably needs counseling after the day we had combined with 6+ hours of my driving).  I got to listen to my babies sing their ABC's and count their 123's in the backseat (even if my helpful suggestions of including certain omitted numbers or letters was rejected - "I am counting MY numbers, it is not your business.")  We talked and laughed and played a silly game of how many different funny voices we could say "I love you" in (I think we were getting delirious at that point). 

Getting home was still a sweet relief, however.  Well, until I realized that the 4-year old had fallen asleep and had an accident in her car seat, the 2-year-old had a fever....and I had a headache.

More baths, more laundry, and then sweet, glorious bedtime.

God made Moscato for days like this.  Amen.

♥M

Being a Sensitive Adult (a.k.a. Getting Your Feelings Hurt)

I recently wrote a blog post called My Sensitive Child (a.k.a. "The Drama Queen"), and there was an incredible response to it, but not the one I expected.  I really thought that I would mostly hear from parents whose children share similar traits; but actually, a majority of the responses were from adults who identified THEMSELVES as "sensitive." 

I feel very strongly that the reason I can be patient with my daughter is because I empathize with her.  In addition to being awkward (as evidenced in Awkward Anonymous & Freaky Friday), I am also a sensitive adult...probably as an extension of being a sensitive child.  Do I sense another support group forming....anyone...?

Throughout my childhood and teen years, I had very little by way of self esteem.  I was an easy target who always felt ridiculed for being "different" or separated from the crowd.  I always felt like someone was mad at me (even if they weren't).  I can still FEEL the feelings that I experienced in certain situations.  Anything as simple as forgetting my homework or anything as drastic as getting into a fight - it has all stuck with me.  All of the times that I felt stupid for something I said or did, every instance of feeling betrayed or bullied, they all remain tucked away in the recesses of my mind.  You know those people who can't remember anything from their childhood, or stare at you blankly when you recount some shared experience from high school?  Yeah, I don't get those people...but I am jealous of them.  What I wouldn't give to block out middle school...*shudder*

As an adult, I definitely have a thicker skin.  I would no longer be described as "shy," "inhibited," or "timid."  I speak up a lot more often.  I am more confident, and less likely to put up with your crap.  I didn't choose to "grow out of" those sensitive traits...life's circumstances grew me and molded me into a stronger person (on the outside, anyway).  It took ALL 28 YEARS, however.  In high school, I was good at faking being confident, and in college I developed a little more self-esteem.  Within the last few years I have realized that I just need to own and get over my flaws....or else I'll die of anxiety.

That doesn't mean my brain knows I am supposed to be this newly "NOT sensitive" person, however.  I have relapses...and they are usually when I get good and pleased with myself about whatever I've got going on.  This is when things start stacking up and tear down my resolve to be "tough" as opposed to "sensitive."  This week?  It was just one big test of my "think skin."

I've written before about the conscience effort it takes on my part to not blend other people's feelings with mine (Don't Hide Your Feelins').  That's not because I am influenced by others' ways of thinking, but because I can literally absorb the vibes that people give off and their feelings influence mine.  ("Whoaaa...that's intense, man."  What a hippie, right?)  Thus, when someone is angry and being condescending towards me, it takes a lot of effort, sometimes, to maintain my super cool, "go with the flow" attitude.  For a totally random example: if your boss was being way negative and talking to you like a prison inmate while looking at you like something they just found stuck to the bottom of their shoe....it could require extra effort to not totally lose your religion, much less your job. 

Maybe that's not a good example, though.  I mean, who wouldn't be tempted to lose their cool with an angry person, right?  If you are a sensitive person, however, the whole thing will bother you for days...and you'll think of it at random moments...and it will distract you from other things....and you will be even angrier later than you were then.

Over analyzing can be something we sensitive folk do very well too.  Here's a snapshot of my brain from earlier this week while having to smile and play nice around someone that I KNOW doesn't like me....

"I can't believe she just TALKS to me all the time... I wonder if she knows that I know that she spread all of that mean stuff about me...  I wonder if she trash talks about me around our mutual friends... Hmmm...I wonder what my friends say when she does.  Wait....they must not say anything, because otherwise she wouldn't be mean in front of them.... Omg...everyone hates me.  I'm never leaving home again."

See how I took that from "level zero" to "level crazy" in less than 3 minutes?  Get over yourself, M, people have more than you to worry about.  Phew.

Not convinced that I am a recovering sensitive adult?  How about my reaction to someone not liking a Facebook post I made?  (I posted an e-card that made a joke about "who do atheists thank for it being Friday?")

"Oh, wow...that got totally misunderstood.  Wait...if one person misunderstood, then probably the whole world did.  Holy crap, someone just unliked the blog page.  That has never happened. I'm deleting the post.  Let me check the stats....ok, only 36 people saw my post.  2 of them liked it, so that means I could potentially lose 34 followers.... I'm just going to text the person that I pissed off.... Ok, now I'm going to wait until they answer... Ok, they answered... Oh crap, I  have really screwed up!  I suck at life and I will never post anything on Facebook again."

Then I laid in bed and stared at the ceiling for an hour trying to decide how to best win myself back into that person's good graces.  Yeah...I'm a real tough cookie.

But wait...there's more.  I had to witness two different friends get treated badly this week, as well.  I think I've already established how crazy this makes me (To All My Friends! (God Help You.))  My passion for preventing the pain of others was strained and tested.  In one instance, I was at least able to shoot off my two-cents - in the other...no such luck.  As someone who burns way more intensely over the injustices dealt to others than to myself, these were serious struggles for me.

And lastly, things go personal again.  I have spent the last week promoting the fact that I am staying home next year and have gotten some super confusing vibes about it.  I KNOW that I am making the right decision to stay home.  I have gotten great advice, a lot of interest from people who are interested in me caring for their children as well, but also some pretty strange reactions.  Most people have meant well, and a majority of the feedback I have gotten is both positive AND helpful.  I have done a lot of research and feel prepared for my adventure.  And yet...that sensitive part of me that I can't deny - it's tingling.  My feelings are trying to be hurt by the weird, negative vibes that some people are giving me about leaving teaching and staying home to be with my babies.  Nevertheless -  I WILL be staying home with my kids next year.  The part of me that can't help but to be affected by people's negativity is just really smarting from all of the questions and skepticism about how it will all "work out."

 As a "recovering" highly sensitive person, I know that I will have moved on from all of these emotional setbacks within the next week.  As a "relapsing" sensitive person, however, I know that I will both remember these events and draw from the experiences when making future judgement calls.  If there's anything us sensitive people are good at - it's limiting the opportunities of others to make us feel foolish or insecure.

Don't worry, though - as an awkward person, the sensitive traits will lose out and I will soon act foolish anyway...all on my own!

 "Unless you're ready to look foolish, you'll never have the possibly of being great." - Cher


♥M

Survivor: The Sick Mom + Birthday Party Episode

 

I was just plain arrogant when I claimed to NOT be stressed out about the upcoming birthday party, earlier this week. (Spring Party Planning Madness) 

In  making that claim, I did what I do best - I spit in the face of Murphy's Law, shook my fist at fate, and dared life to throw me it's best curve ball.

Which is why, in my opinion, I was stricken with a stomach bug Thursday night.  I spent the night in the bathroom floor, trying to remember why similar situations hadn't seemed nearly as traumatic in college after a good frat party.  (Probably because I had been to a good frat party...and didn't have to work in the morning...and throw a party for 20 little kids the day after that.)

The next morning, the hubs made valiant efforts at being a nurse.  He was shocked (SHOCKED, I tell you) to learn of my illness, and couldn't imagine how he had missed out on all of the action.  He brought me water and an English muffin.  The 4-year-old drank the water and the 2-year-old ate the English muffin.  While our 2-year-old jumped up and down on my stomach shouting, "Mom. Mom. MOM. MOOOOOM!" there were offers made of people staying home and taking care of me. I informed my family that I loved them very much, but that if they loved me - they would leave. 

It was quiet.  I slept all day.  My party of dutiful nurses returned home that evening, bringing with them gifts of Gatorade, mac-n-cheese....and fish sticks.  (I just.........fish sticks?!)  I said thank you, drank the Gatorade, made myself a bagel, and returned to the couch to continue dying slowly.

I spent a good 15 minutes being jumped on, took one good headbutt to the nose from the youngest, told the hubs no, I wasn't quite up to changing poop diapers yet, and squashed a half-dozen temper-tantrums over the kids not being able to drink after me because all of a sudden, Gatorade was the only thing they had ever wanted to drink, ever, in their whole life, and I was a total "meanie-butt" for not allowing them to partake of it.  I announced that I was going to take a bath.  I will not lie - I just wanted to hide in the bathroom.

My hiding spot was safe for 2 minutes and 16 seconds.  Then the door opened, and my two lovely daughters came in to check on me...each dragging one of their little folding chairs behind them.  They set up their little chairs and sat there eating pretzels.  I closed my eyes and pretended to be very boring, so they would consider relocating.  I gave up on the bath 10 minutes later.  By then, there was a handful of pretzels, a blue crayon, and one of Daire's socks floating in the tub with me.  There had been an assassination attempt on my cell phone.  They had "helped" me wash my hair.  Daire had tried to get in the tub with me - with her clothes on.  By the time they went to bed, I went too.  The alarm had rung, my "sick day" was over and I needed to put my game face on for the next day. 

I felt fine this morning - my "bug" was behind me, and I was ready to throw a party for my babies.  I still wasn't freaking out because I have AMAZING people in my life who had set up and decorated everything for me.  Thank you, baby Jesus! 

We arrived at our church (a.k.a the party site) and the bounce house was being delivered.  It was time to cue a mini-panic attack.  It was raining, so the bounce house was being set up indoors.  Scratch that - the ceiling was ONE FOOT too short, so the bounce house was NOT going to be set up indoors.  That's ok.  We will come up with a Plan B.  No?  Ok, Plan C...Plan D...Plan E?!  I started feeling sick again.

We settled on a suitable location for the bounce house outdoors (the portico turned out to be perfect...whew!)  Disaster averted.  Ok, now we're late to pick up the pizza.  No big deal, I called ahead it will be ready.  It was not ready.  I called yesterday.  The hubs reported the following conversation:

Hubs:  I'm here to pick up 16 pizzas.
Pizza Guy:  *shouting over his shoulder, to another employee* HEY - that order WAS for today!
Hubs:  Soooo...they're not ready.
Pizza Guy:  Not really...you were supposed to be here at 11:30...
Hubs:  Soooo....you had an EXTRA 30 minutes....
Pizza Guy: Oh...well, yeah.
Hubs:  It's ok, how long do I have to wait?
Pizza Guy: 10 minutes.
Hubs:  ....you're going to make 16 pizzas in 10 minutes?
Pizza Guy: Uhhhhh....

An hour later, the hubs showed up with pizza.  He was alarmed about our country's future in the hands of today's youth.  I was glad I had stopped and picked up the chips and dip.

The rest of the day was a blur of happy chaos and memory making.  The girls were happy with their party and I was happy to watch them be happy.  I didn't get a lot of pictures, but such is the story when you're in the moment. 

Every year, I learn a little more about throwing the "perfect" birthday party.  Little tips and tricks on everything from a cheaper or easier way to do something, a better way to organize things, or "the" best way to set it all up.  This year, I decided that we will just leave town next year.  We are "eloping" for their birthdays.

I reserve the right to recall the genius of this same plan for any and all holidays.

♥M

50 Things That Make Me Feel As If I’m Being Punished By a Slow Death

Sitting outside of my daughter’s dance class, listening to her cry about me not sitting IN the dance class with her (again)…after being in dance WITHOUT crying for almost 3 years…has inspired me to pop my earbuds in and write a list of things that make me cringe. 

50 Things That Make Me Feel As If I’m Being Punished By a Slow Death:

1.       Letting my kids “cry it out”

2.       Getting stuck behind a school bus on the way to work

3.       Someone trying to explain football to me

4.       Museums

5.       Watching the cartoon “Caillou”

6.       The last 5 minutes (just kidding – the last 10 minutes) on the treadmill/elliptical

7.       Shopping with anyone other than myself

8.       Trying to figure out a malfunctioning electronic device

9.       The Discovery Channel

10.   The History Channel

11.   Waiting rooms

12.   Being the Designated Driver for a bachelorette party

13.   Leaving the house with no makeup on…then running into a dozen people that I haven’t seen in months/years

14.   Calling my insurance company…or cable company…or phone company

15.   Faculty meetings

16.   Getting my student loan statement in the mail

17.   Ordering food in a drive-thru

18.   Trying to get a cell phone signal in a “dead zone”

19.   Chapped lips

20.   Deciphering kids’ explanations for “What happened?”

21.   Folding footed pajamas

22.   Feeling like I’m being softly choked all day while wearing a t-shirt that has a too-small neck

23.   Vacuuming my car

24.   Balancing my checkbook

25.   Spending more than 5 minutes on my hair

26.   Being in the grocery store with the Hubs AND the kids

27.   The last 2 weeks (just kidding - the last 4 weeks) of pregnancy

28.   Country music

29.   Being bumped into repeatedly in a large crowd

30.   Having something stuck in my teeth

31.   Opening presents in front of people

32.   Trying to pick a knot out of something right after I cut my nails

33.   Traffic jams

34.   Running into someone who calls you by name, and you have no clue who they are

35.   Peeling old wallpaper off of a wall

36.   Talking coming from my radio instead of singing

37.   Getting stuck in a conversation with someone who tries to “one-up” everything you say

38.   Getting stuck in the check-out line behind the person with an “issue”

39.   Being able to hear someone chew their food

40.   Waking up within the hour that my alarm is set to go off and not being able to fall back asleep

41.   Having to refold all of the clothes in the kids’ dresser…every time I go in it

42.   Counting down to our family beach week

43.   Trying clothes on in a dressing room

44.   Watching a kid tie their shoes and resisting the urge to do it for them

45.   Trying to convince my kids to open their mouth so I can brush their teeth

46.   Dusting my blinds

47.   Not making it through the Railroad Crossing in time and having to wait for an entire train to pass

48.   Separating puzzle pieces after the kids dump a dozen different ones out at once

49.   Listening to the Angelina Ballerina CD on repeat

50.   Wal-Mart

♥M

A Week Summary

To conclude my batcrap-crazy week, I gift you with a list of conclusions.

Conclusions that this week has led me to make...

1.  At any given moment, there are people around you suffering.  You never know if someone just lost a loved one, is dealing with illness, is getting ready for a surgery, is going through a nasty divorce, is worried about their job....so just BE NICE.  It won't hurt...not every time anyway.

2. All children can be loved. Some just make it really hard...on purpose. They have to test you to feel out whether you will "still love them if..." They think that you won't. Prove them wrong.

3.  If I could answer the question "WHY?!" then I would be rich.  So. Rich.

4. I have become one of those obnoxious people who are all, "Man, I haven't been to the gym (or gone running) in over a week.  Poooooor meeeee."  It's so awful to realize this about yourself.  Uuugh.

5.  If a physician has prescribed a medication, it should be taken as directed.  For the sake of everyone.  Please.

6.  Pajama Day at work is not what you'd expect.  It is not "comfy."  You will remain in a state of distress all day and feel like you're in a bad dream where you forgot to get dressed before going to work.

7.  You should have to pass an IQ test before you are allowed to create a Facebook account.  Or have a co-signer who pledges to proof your posts before they go out into the world.

8.  My 2-year-old is possessed by a demon.  Maybe more than one.

9.  Driving home with your car's gas light on and thinking "I'll stop in the morning" is never going to work out for you.  You will ALWAYS be running late the next morning.

10.  There is such a thing as being in a constant state of forgetting something.  At all times, the answer is "Yes, you are forgetting something."  Don't bother wondering what it is; just hope it comes back to you before it's too late and your forgetting causes any damage.

11.  God made earbuds so that I can put them in and ignore people.  Sometimes "people" means my spouse.  (If I can't HEAR you, then I can pretend like you are saying whatever *I THINK* you should be saying.)

12.  Back to #1 - When all else fails, and you feel like you might be slipping into a grouchy, pity-party mode, the best way to put the brakes on that is to reach out and offer your hand to someone who needs your empathy more than you need a "woe-is-me" session.  Had a bad day at work?  Get over yourself - someone else probably had a worse one.  Call a friend who's going through a rough time and ask how they are doing, offer your buddy to help with his project or move this weekend, visit your sick aunt and take her some soup....Why?  Not because it will make YOU feel better about YOUR bad day, but because it will make you realize that you actually aren't the one that the sun rises and sets with after all.  Plus, no one likes the person that only ever complains and never, ever listens.


With all of that being said, I'm fairly certain that I could get at least a solid two-hour head start before anyone realizes that I have run away from home.  Feel free to shoot me an e-mail with a location and meeting time if you have the name of a good source for forged papers.  I'd prefer not to travel under my real name.  Thank you in advance.

♥M

A bonus struggle from my week:  Being torn, while editing this piece of writing, between trying to guess what the "s-word" at the end was supposed to be (shock? strike?) OR just adding "in his pants" after it...

 

Emotionally Compartmentalizing

So I did some research on "emotional compartmentalization" tonight.  I was inspired by my extremely "off" day today, and being curious about how I might do a better job at this, I empowered myself through Google.  Some articles left me slightly confused about whether it's a good defense mechanism...or an alarming symptom of being a sociopath.  Yikes.

I think we all do it though.  When you're at work, you focus on who you are as an employee and what you need to accomplish during your time there that day - in that particular capacity.  When you leave your job, your focus shifts to whatever other role you are switching gears to.  For me it's usually straight to "mom mode."  When I am with my kids I am in their moment, and they are my focus.  (Kind of hard NOT to be, they're kind of demanding...)  There are so many other "gears" to switch between, though...so many other roles and responsibilities to keep lined up in a row.  Sometimes you forget which "gear" you're supposed to be in, or it's necessary to cross the wires and be in more than one at a time.  That's when my neatly arranged "compartments" get messy and require a lot of extra balancing.

This week, I've been extra foggy.  My grandmother is not doing well, and I'm not doing a very good job at figuring out how to fit that into my "acceptable emotions compartment."  Therefore, I am pretending like it's not happening.  I had a very candid conversation with her ICU nurse yesterday, and I appreciated all of her honesty when answering my extremely direct questions.  I'm just not yet ready to absorb her answers, however, so I will just tuck them away for examination at a later time.  Not today.  Probably not tomorrow. 

The problem with switching parts of your brain on and off is that the things you push back, with the intention of ignoring them, have a certain way of niggling their way up to the front anyway.  It might just show up in different ways than you'd think.  I've been extra spacey, extra forgetful, less engaged when having conversations...detached, I guess.

Which is what led me to believe that I needed some advice on doing a better job at "compartmentalizing."  Here's a summary of my "research."  I may have added some of my own advice, as well.  You know I can't help myself.

To Compartmentalize, Or Not To Compartmentalize?

1. It's ok to compartmentalize....as long as you're not like, schizo about it and have multiple families and/or identities (i.e. Bill Clinton, Batman...Ted Bundy).

2. Use compartmentalizing as a way of being in control of your psyche for the sake of productivity - NOT for the purpose of avoiding or separating from your feelings.  That latter one will turn you into one of those weirdos that starts screaming at the check-out girl for putting a can of corn in the same bag as your bananas.  No one wants that.

3. DO NOT multi-task.  (Whaaaaaaaat?!?!)  It only takes your focus away from whatever you are trying to immerse yourself in at that time, and it will NOT increase the number of tasks you check off of your to-do list - it will in fact, keep you from accomplishing as much in the long run.  I know...crazy, right?!

4. It's ok to tuck difficult, personal things away - IF YOU RETURN to them later and deal with them.  Again, let's not get all "rocking-in-the-corner-while-hugging-your-knees," Ok?

5. Do not waste valuable time obsessing over things that you have no control over.  If thinking about it isn't going to magically fix it, then DON'T.  Move on.  Go be distracted.  Unless credit card debt is one of the things you're trying not to think about, then I suggest retail-therapy.  You don't even have to buy anything.  Pretend you're shopping for a new recliner and read a book in the furniture store.  (Just be sure to switch chairs every 10 minutes or so, or they might get suspicious).

6. If you are compartmentalizing your life to the point that the thought of different areas merging frightens you, then you have gone too far.  If your co-workers and your family couldn't discuss you without feeling as if they were talking about two different people...then you have a problem.  Do you hide under tables, duck behind displays, or put a pair of sunglasses on if you are with people from one "part" of your life, and see people from another "part?"  Get some help, man.

7. Learn to say "NO."  If you are even bothering to compartmentalize your life, then you probably shouldn't be adding any extra commitments or taking on any additional huge responsibilities without cutting something else out.  Sometimes we are all narcissistic enough to think that we "have to" do something because if we don't, then it might not get done (i.e. might not get done OUR WAY).  The truth is, you aren't the only one out there with any particular skill set.  Sorry to break it to you, but there are probably people actually waiting for you to move over so they can have a turn. 

Now go, be merry, and compartmentalize away, my friends!  Just don't be a weirdo about it.

♥M

My Daire-Devil

Anyone with more than one child knows that it is more than just possible for the same two parents to bear children that are polar opposites, it almost seems inevitable.  The hard part is recognizing their differences in such a way that you don't actually "compare" them and end up turning it into a list of pros and cons for each one.  ALL kids are different...some of their differences just stand out more than others. 

We named our second daughter Daire without even knowing what a huge joke it would turn out to be.  When she starts school, I can only imagine how many "I dare you..." jokes there will be.  And how many trips to the nurse's office will result from them.  I have no hope of her being the kind of  kid that turns down a good dare...

She was the infant that I had to literally wrap onto my body with a baby sling in order to use my arms for anything, because she insisted on being moved around, at all times.  She was the baby that was full-on crawling by 6 months old, and walking around at 9 months old.  (I was actually embarrassed to tell people how old she was when they asked because I could tell they thought I was lying every time.) 

Running and climbing were tasks whose mastery she took very seriously, and still fine-tunes her technique of around the clock.  I have pictures of her dancing on the kitchen counters, hanging from curtain rods, and standing on the entertainment center to push the buttons on the T.V.  All of those things happened in the time it took me to turn around and back again.

She's the kid who falls down, skins her knee, then pushes you off, annoyed by your comfort and attempts at first aid.  She's busy and doesn't care that the blood is dripping down onto her white socks while she runs off.  That's YOUR problem, later.

She's the kid that tells strangers "HI!" in the grocery store, will bite you if you don't pay attention to her as quickly as she would like, thrives off of having an audience, and has no limit when it comes to what she will do for a laugh. 

She's the kind of kid that strikes fear in the heart of pediatric professionals, made my dad suggest inventing an Adderal dart-gun, stopped me from judging people who use those "kid-leashes," and caused the baby-sitter to think about adding a padded room.

We've made a few feeble attempts at domesticating her.  We tried dance.  Once.  A breakdown of Daire's first (and only) dance class: 

First 15 minutes = Sat in my lap, just soaking it all in. (Ok, she's being calm!)
Next 30 minutes = Halfway participated, explored the room a little bit. (Hmm, this could actually work out!)
Last 15 minutes = Wild, heathenistic, demon-possessed behavior similar to that of "Animal" from the Muppets. (WHAT was I thinking?!)

I stood confirmed in my original theory that there was wisdom in holding off on domesticating her through the art of dance until next year.
I have been beating myself up for a while about how we never took Daire to get pictures taken for her first birthday.  Then last Saturday, we took the girls to get their pictures taken - and I was like "Oh, yeah...THIS is why we didn't go last year."  We did get a handful of really cute pictures, but at the expense of major trauma for all involved.  Daire shook all of the lighting poles violently, licked all of the glass walls repeatedly, climbed the photographer's ladder (with the photographer still on it), threw all of the props (a hysterically funny game to her, by the way), and had to be chased as far as the shoe department of the mall store we were in (then hauled back kicking and laughing) - twice.  By the time we left, the photographer was probably scripting a letter of resignation in her head and trying to decide where she would go first after work, to pick up a job application. 

Right now, you probably think that I'm complaining.  I'm not!  Daire keeps me laughing, active, jealous of her energy - and I would never trade her or change her for ANYTHING.  She is perfect and beautiful and healthy....and she marches to NO beat but her own.  When I look at her, I smile and wonder what kind of HUGE things she will accomplish one day with all of that determination, tenacity, and "Daire-devil" spirit.  Until then, I will just keep chasing after her with band-aids and ice packs...and maybe a big net, too.  (There's a thought...)

My only regret is that we don't have a reality show, so that I could at least cash in on all of the chaos.

♥M

High on Aspiration, Low on Ability...Part 4

 

"Fall seven times, stand up eight."

Japanese Proverb

 

I thought this would be a good time for another update since I fulfilled my destiny of ending up in the orthopedic doctor's office today.

A few weeks ago, I started feeling a twinge in my right ankle, so I did what any intelligent person does and ignored the crap out of it.  Did I think that there could possibly be anything wrong as a result of increasing my mileage from 2 miles to 6.4 miles in 6 weeks?  Noooooo!

Well after my epic 6.4 mile adventure on Saturday, my ankle was just super obnoxious about hurting so I called and made an appointment.  I had an awesome nurse, by the way, who reminded me of someone's really fun aunt.  Also, she laughed at my jokes and wasn't annoyed by my WebMD references, so she gets a gold star.

She looked at my charts from my last visit and said, "Oh, you haven't been here since 2010!"  "Yes, that was the last time I was a runner," I told her.  "You aren't a runner anymore?" she asked.  "Yes, I'm a runner AGAIN.  That's why I'm HERE."  She laughed, but had no clue how freakin' serious I was. 

She was also nice about the fact that I had obviously been a total idiot about the whole injury.

"Did ice help any with the pain?"
"Uhh, I didn't put any ice on it."
"What about Tylenol or Advil?"
"Yeah...I didn't take any."
"Well, what did you do honey?"
"Ignore it?"
"There's no box for that on our form, dear."
"Right.  I suppose there's a reason for that."

Anyway, after some poking and prodding, a series of x-rays, and being made to run in place for an audience of 1 doctor and 2 nurses....I was given the diagnosis "stress fracture."  Sorry doc, but I don't have time for that! 

A stress fracture is basically when your muscles get tired and overworked and cannot absorb the shock from something high-impact (like running) and so your bones take over as shock absorbers.  All of this makes perfect sense, EXCEPT - my muscles didn't ever feel super tired or overworked while I was running.  I did 5 months of weight training before I ever laced up and took off on my first fat-kid jog.  I have not had one cramp in my side, one sore leg muscle, or felt weak while running.  I HAVE felt like there was not enough oxygen on the planet Earth, realized what little endurance and strength have to do with each other, and wished for a pair of bionic lungs.

So I asked,  "If my muscles aren't tired, then how do I know I'm overdoing it and putting too much on my BONES?!"  The answer, "I don't know."  1.Thank you for admitting that.  2.Don't you have Google?!  Now I have to look this up myself.  Thanks.  They did put in an order for me to get my Vitamin D levels checked, though.  NO CLUE what that means.  I'll look that up later, too.  I haven't given myself a good "OMG I probably have 3 different kinds of cancer...and a rare blood disease!!!!" scare lately.  I'm overdue.

In addition to the stress fracture business, I was deemed a "toe runner" and told I needed arch supports while running (he tsk-tsked me for not bringing my running shoes to the appointment for him to inspect....uhhh, what?  I'm weirded out that I had to take my socks off for you to touch my foot...you want to look inside my sneakers too?!  This relationship is moving way too fast for me.)  There was also some nonsense brought up about me "cross-training" instead of running.  After he explained to me what that WAS, I told him sorry - I own sneakers....not a bike...or a pool. 

So there you have it.  Update = I've been benched for a few weeks.  Looking at my ankle brace makes me Hulk out a little on the inside, but I don't plan on letting it discourage me.  I won't throw away all the hard work I've done, just for a pity party.  Well... I'm still going to HAVE a pity party, I just plan on lacing my running shoes back up when I'm done. 

♥M

Not THAT Kind of Dance Mom

My oldest daughter is in her third year of dance and for the most part it's all been a very pleasant experience.  She's always enjoyed it and I've never had to "make" her be an active participant.  There have been moments here and there where I panicked that I was being one of thooooose "dance moms" and pressuring her...like when she didn't want to hold still for me to put her hair up at recital time, or she cried about putting tights on with her leotard.  I feel guilty about those things until she gets to class or goes on stage and I see that big smile and watch how much she enjoys it all.

Tonight was a totally different story.  I don't know if she didn't have a nap, has preschooler PMS, or just had a bad day, but the kid was a mess at class.  She was 100% fine on the way there, willingly bounced into class, then it all just went to hell.  I heard crying and thought "That SOUNDS like Jace, but it can't be...she never cries about dance."  Oh, but it was.  When I went into her classroom she was standing there crying like her heart was broken.  So naturally, mine broke.

Apparently, she was having a meltdown over being in the front row of the routine they were practicing.  Um, what?  I stood there for a few minutes, desperately doing "please stop" hand signals, but that didn't work (shocking, I know).  I waited a few more minutes then tiptoed across the back of the class and squatted down in front of her.  "What's wrong, baby?"  I got zero as far as coherent responses go.  I hugged her for a few minutes...no good.  I took her to the bathroom and cleaned her face and got her to calm down.  She still couldn't tell me what was wrong.

What to do?!  I don't know what's wrong, so I can't fix it.  She wants to go home, but I don't know what the right thing to do is!  I don't want to let her think that throwing a fit gets mom to swoop in and take over!  But I don't want her to cry either!  Uggggh!

I tried a firm approach.  "You have to go back to class. Ballet is over and it's time for Tap.  Your class needs you in there because you're starting recital routines tonight.  If you walk out and quit that's not fair to your friends.  You can't just quit things because you're having a bad time.  We're not leaving."  More tears.  I left her in class thinking she'd dry it up in a few minutes....then paced back and forth outside the classroom door, wringing my hands, listening to her cry. 

Her Ballet teacher tried to comfort her.  Her Tap teacher tried to talk to her.  No go.  The other dance moms were supportive - "She's just tired tonight.  It's Ok, they all go through a phase sometimes."  But I didn't know what to DO!  I was so torn between coddling her to make it all better and trying to "teach" her to be tough.

I took her home.  I don't know if I did the right thing, but I did what FELT right.  I could say it was because I didn't want dance to be ruined for her by forcing her to do it when she wasn't digging it....but the truth is that I just totally caved to my mom instincts and reacted to my baby being in distress.  I really wanted to make a valuable "life lesson" out of the whole thing, but I went weak in the endzone.

On the way home she laughed, smiled, and chattered away.  I lectured her on quitting things before you were done and not always crying to get your way and blah, blah, blah.  She informed me that was "ignoring me 'cause she won't worried about that."  Jesus help me.

Oh, and why WAS she upset to begin with?  If you can take the word of a 4-yr-old about anything after the fact (She can remember what county the fair we went last to summer was in, but has no clue what she did with my car keys just that morning, when I'm late for work) - she was upset because she didn't like the song that the teacher picked for their routine (The Candy Man by Sammy Davis Jr.).  It's a "boy song" and she wants her ballet routine for the recital to be done to the song "I Love It" by Icona Pop.  *forehead slap*

♥M

P.S. Remember those supportive dance moms I mentioned?  So just as I'm feeling really crappy and thinking about all the ways I totally screwed the whole situation up and all the different things I coulda/shoulda said and done...I get this text:

"Loved the way you handled Jace tonight at dance.  You were so loving and maternal.  I have a bad habit of worrying about what others think in situations like that and expecting my daughter to perform and act like a grown-up.  Thanks for being a good example to me...that will stick with me. :)"

Shut the front door, people.  Me?!  A good example?!  I'm not sure I agree, but I am surely flattered and definitely grateful for such kind words.  What a mom-boost!  And who's really the example for who?  As far as I'm concerned, SHE set the example for me - when we think another mom is doing a good job, TELL THEM.  You never know when they may be feeling like crap and NEED to hear something so simple as "Good job, mama!"  ♥

High on Aspiration, Low on Ability...Part 3

 

Time for an update!  I know you're dying to know how my training is going for the Rugged Maniac.  It probably keeps you up at night, wondering.  If so, then this blog post is just for you!

I have 11 more weeks to go and I can finally run a whole 3 miles without dying.  That was where I set my bar, so anything from this point on is just me being an overachiever.  I've also been lifting weights, etc. in preparation for the obstacle courses, but I'm not going to lie....most of my plan for that particular challenge is just to make it to the top of stuff and then sort of fall over the side.  Or to hold onto my brother-in-law's ankle and let him drag me through the tunnels.  Eh, I have some time still to work on that particular part of the plan.

I have NOT injured myself any further.  I mean, I did cut my pinkie toenail too short before I ran the other day, but I'm recovering nicely, thank you.

 I also gave serious thought while running past the fire department to laying on their doorstep and dramatically flinging my arm against the door until they opened it, then gasping out a plea for a hit off of one of the oxygen tanks.  I didn't act on that fantasy at the time, but I have not discarded it as a bad idea for the future.

I am still miserable on the treadmill.  I have accepted my lack of coordination and make my best efforts to run on ground that stays still.  I actually had to tell someone that I couldn't speak to them last week at the gym, because if I try to talk and run on that devil machine at the same time, I WILL fall off.

 

I got nervous about the Rugged Maniac being my first 5K everrrr....so I signed up for one in April to get the nerves out.  It's called The Race to Parenthood and I'm pretty stoked about the cause and the fact that 100% of my registration went to my sponsored couple's fund.  I plan on ordering this T-shirt to run in...just in case.

 

 

 

 

I bragged that I can "run" 3 miles, but I'm NOT going to tell you how long it takes me.  Let's just say that sometimes I worry about people looking out of their windows in the morning and saying "There goes that weird girl that runs in place on the sidewalk again..."

 

 

To recap:  1) Finishing the 5K = possible because I AM now able to make it that distance and breathe to tell about it.  2) Injury free to date.  3) Not a rock star, but feeling pretty badass.


♥M

Terrible twos...threes...fours?!

Why do two-year-olds get such a bum rap?  The phrase "terrible twos"  is just inaccurate.  For one thing the "terrible" behavior starts well before 2 years....and it definitely lasts longer than 3. 

I have to tread lightly when complaining about my kids and the stuff they say because it's not like I can blame it on anyone else.  Between the hubs and myself there's no hope for them to escape their genetic predisposition to eventually mature into some curious combination of sass and smartass.  Usually, I get a real mirror check by way of hearing something outrageous cross their lips.  (Jace to her sister: "You are acting straight up ugly!  Carry that to another room, girl!"  Daire to Jace: "I'ma get you BUTT!")

I'm so used to the dramatic scenes of these two tiny females that sometimes, even in the midst of full-on hysteria, I can maintain a single train of thought about whatever it is that I continue doing.  Now, before you think I'm totally heartless, I'm not talking about when they are physically or emotionally hurt.  There's a big difference between being hurt and having a tantrum.  Boo-boos get kisses and hurt feelings get heart-to-heart talk-time (on a preschool level....this usually involves 4-5 interruptions of "Hey, guess what?" before we're "done".)  Tantrums get squat except me stepping over you to go about my business.

A good example would be this morning-  Daire wanted my makeup while I was getting ready for work.  I told her no.  She cried.  I offered to put lip gloss on her.  She threw herself in the floor.  I offered to let her put the lip gloss on herself, but would only relinquish control of the applicator, not the actual tube of lip gloss.  She smacked the applicator from my hand and rolled around in the floor.  I picked her up and put her in time out.  She went limp and slid from the chair, into the floor and lay, spread-eagle, sobbing uncontrollably in the hallway.  30 seconds later she was back in the bathroom, doing pull-ups on the vanity and knocking whatever she could reach off of the counter.  I picked her up and put her back in timeout.  She flung herself face first out of the chair, into the floor and kicked her tiny legs until her shoes flew off.  The whole thing lasted a good 20 minutes and not once did she stop screaming at an unearthly decibel, "MY MAKEUUUUP!"

That, my friend, is a tantrum.  What. Is. The. Proper. Response. To. THAT.

I'm always reading these mommy articles, blogs and books looking for parenting advice.  I mean, my kids are awesome, but they do a lot of crap that makes me go "wonder how to fix THAT."  Y'know like TANTRUMS.  Let me tell you what TICKS ME OFF about all this great parenting advice - it sounds good until you use it.  Be real people, ALL kids are different and mine - yeah, they aren't following the little scripts that you wrote out for us to follow.  For example...

Advice: If your child does 'A' then you should respond with 'B.'  They will then do 'C' and everyone will be happy and bake cookies and play in a spotless playroom just like the one in the picture at the top of this article where the mom and kid are laughing together from having solved all their differences amicably and butterflies are coming out of everyone's butt.

Real life: My child does 'A' so I respond with 'B.'  Then they do 'G,K,L,Y,' and say 'V,R,W.'  Now I'm trying to figure out what page all of that is on and what I did wrong with my application of 'B.'  No cookies, no playroom, and no butterflies.

What IS the proper response to tantrums?  I mean, I guess I could prevent them by... I dunno, always letting them have their way, but I'm not really down with that... for a lot of reasons.  I'm more of a, "Hey, go cool off and get back to me" kind of mom.  But is that effective?!  I mean, my oldest is almost 4 and she regularly has these PMS-type emotional outbursts. ("How could you offer me Kix cereal instead of Honey Nut Cheerios?!  I will NEVER be your best friend AGAIN!!!"  Cue dramatic flop onto her bed and sobbing.) Sooooo.....does this just last until they're like, 30 years old?  Or is there a break somewhere between 5 and 13?! 

This is one of those nights where I call my mom and apologize for my childhood transgressions.


♥M

Who's in Charge Here?!

Do you know the difference between a good leader and bad leader?

A good leader is admired by those that they lead.  They have integrity and self knowledge and encourage others to do the same.  Good leaders recognize their own strengths and weaknesses and urge others towards realizing their own.  They offer support, hope, and motivation to others.  They listen.  They inspire.  They unify their group based on common goals for the good of the whole.  They seek to promote the interests of their cause regardless of personal image. 

A good leader uses their charisma to make things happen...but not at the expense of those who are loyal to them.

A bad leader is toxic.  They use their superior social skills to quickly gain the trust of followers, but eventually will resort to abusing and undermining them.  A bad leader demands that their needs be served above those of the joint cause.  They use authority and fear to prevent anyone from questioning them. They demand respect rather than earn it.  They dominate.  They demean others for the purpose of distracting from their own shortcomings.

A bad leader will sacrifice the morale, ability, and productivity of the group in order to move themselves forward.

When a bad leader is in charge....are they really leading anyone anywhere?  If people are forced to follow them for fear of punishment or retribution, then no loyalty bonds the members of that group to the person leading it.   The divisions created amongst the followers as a result of the direct manipulation of the leader does nothing to achieve goals or produce results.  Instead you end up with small groups that each think they know how best to progress towards a finish line that may or may not exist.  Disjointed cliques form amongst the previously seduced followers who have begun to resist the tyranny and domination of the bad leader.  The bad leader depends on this chaos and disunity created in the course of their reign in order to hold onto their position.

In anticipation of the dust settling, a bad leader will ensure that they alone are left standing and those they have been charged with navigating are reduced to spasmodic groupings...each pointing the finger at the other in an effort to place the blame for unchecked ambitions.

Do you know who you are following?

♥M

Another Crazy Love Story (Part III)

Part III: The Baby Years

In 2009, we decided we wanted to be a family of three.  In 2010, we had a perfect baby girl, and named her Jace.  Jace was the equivalent of a bomb going off in our lives.  It's very confusing to be in love with each other, then have this little person suddenly take over.  It's not about quantity - you don't love one more than the other.  It's just a different kind of love, but one that's equally intense. 

We survived as well as new parents do.  We were cranky from being up all night.  We learned that trial and error are the ONLY way to learn what makes YOUR baby happy....NOT the 50 baby books on the coffee table or the 200 people telling you how to do everything.  James was extremely supportive when I wasn't able to breastfeed, like I planned.  I learned to let go of my focus on making things go the way I had planned, and instead focus on handling things the way that they went.  Jace made our hearts bigger just by coming into the world.  She was the best thing that had ever happened to us.

The summer after Jace turned one, people kept teasing me, "Time to have another baby!"  I kept saying, "Not yet - We need a bigger house!"  The teasing made me paranoid though, so I took a pregnancy test.  James and I just stared at it for a few minutes....then looked at each other and busted out laughing.  How in the world was this going to work?!  We live in an apartment sized house, and we were drowning in paying student loans!  And yet, we were over the moon excited and couldn't wait to meet Baby #2.  I was, however, fully aware of the fact that I would have to hear those exact same concerns from anyone that we announced my pregnancy to.  I wanted to bask in my joy a little longer...before I had to fend off all of the "helpful" people.  ("Oh my God, you're going to move aren't you?!"  Yes, I just took maternity leave and am pregnant again, so we can definitely spring for new digs.  "How are you going to afford to pay for two kids at the sitter?!"  Well, we're just going to leave one in the backyard while we're at work...it's fenced in.) 

Plus, I was the matron-of-honor in an upcoming wedding, and thought it would be a pretty crap move to announce that I was pregnant in the middle of throwing bridal showers, planning a bachelorette party, and attending dress fittings.  A real "look at me, not her" sort of thing.  Not cool.

Somewhere between month 4 and 5, I casually announced that we were expecting.  It was pretty well received, with the exception of one friend.  She had been having trouble with a second pregnancy, and unfortunately my good news was not something our friendship was able to tolerate.  Looking back, I understand that it was her pain that made her lash out at me; but that there was nothing I could have done to help ease her distress in my "condition."  She saw my unexpected pregnancy as a slap in her face.  She felt that I didn't deserve my baby because I hadn't suffered the same way she had.  It didn't matter that I understood WHY she said the things she said...no amount of understanding can make words like those hurt any less.  I was extremely sad to have lost her friendship, but not everything that is broken can be fixed.  That included the "close as sisters" relationship we had, which I still mourn from time to time.

If it's possible to have two of the "best moments ever," then Daire's arrival was exactly as much of a "best" as Jace's.  She was an even bigger bomb in our lives, however.  The thing about Baby #2, is that they don't just change the lives of you and your spouse....they turn Baby #1's life upside down too.  Poor Jace was so torn between being just as in love with Daire as we were, and also being insanely jealous.  Nothing stayed the same for any of us.  Our house, our schedules, our SLEEP, how we divided our attention...everything changed.  We had the whole "new baby" thing under our belt, but "new baby plus toddler" was nothing short of something I'm still waiting on a trophy for.

The first year of "baby plus toddler" was hard, the second year was bumpy, but now we're hitting smoother patches.  The girls are sharing a room (as opposed to us sharing OUR room...with either of them).  They can both talk now (not always a good thing).  They are both fully mobile (definitely not always a good thing) and decently independent.  The big one can even dress herself!  Woohoo!

Our endurance, tolerance, and patience have been tested daily throughout these baby years, but we do get more sleep than we did a year ago - and THAT is always lovely.  The fact that they are both girls makes for a lot of drama-handling and regular doses of theatrics; but I'm trying to study and gain knowledge daily on diffusing these intense meltdowns....otherwise I'm not sure how we'll all fare through their pubescent years. 

All we can do is march forward, like good parent-soldiers, and take comfort in the fact that we are facing these challenges together.  We'll need each other to lean on in the years to come, that's for sure; because with what I've seen of this parenting stuff so far - it is NOT for those of a weak spirit...or a weak stomach.

♥M