A Very Good Saturday

It doesn't always happen, but I managed to fill today with a little bit of everything. All week long I look forward to the weekend. And as long as the weekend is far away and exists only as a hypothetical, it is perfect. It's full of family, giggles, quality time, crossing chores off my list, and regrouping. But when it actually comes, the weekend is typically far from all of these things. It's usually busy and stressful, or lazy and unproductive. It often involves me choosing between a multitude of things that need my energy and time, including me. 

Working moms always talk about how the weekdays are a constant juggling act. But, sadly, the weekends don't offer much reprieve.

It's hard to be on all the time. It's hard to be organized and jet-fueled all week- packing lunches, dressing children, scooting them out the door, making them dinner, tucking them into bed. And It's hard to be doting, and patient, and present during the weekends- playing games, trips to the park, constantly giving my attention. When the weekends come, I want to check out for a couple hours and do absolutely nothing. But this usually means sacrificing quality time with the boys. This is why weekends are so hard for me. It's a constant battle between recharging my own batteries, giving the kids the attention I am unable to give during the weekdays, and tackling all the chores that have been sneaking onto my ever-growing list. No matter what I choose, there are consequences, even if those consequences are purely emotional or mental.

So basically, as much as I look forward to the weekend, it can be a big pain in the ass. When things compete for my time and energy, I hate to be the one responsible for setting priorities. But if I don't and just do whatever I feel like doing, I end up feeling guilty for wasting my weekend. And on the rare day when things just turn out well, without much effort, it's so rewarding. 

Off-topic: Santa visited my parents' house the other weekend. It was such a special treat to have a private visit by the jolly old man.

Ryan did not quite agree and is still very terrified of the guy.

But Jacob wasted no time collecting his present (he had to name five good things he had done first- it took a while).

Today was one of those days where everything just worked out. I got up and made the kids a nice breakfast. We played games and wrestled. They helped me do some laundry. Then we headed out the door to celebrate my niece's birthday with family.  After the party, we came home and I tucked my precious sleeping Ryan into his bed and snuggled with the big boys on the couch as we settled in to watch the movie Elf. When it was finally time for Jacob to go to bed, I sat on the couch and chilled out with only the glow of the Christmas tree to light the room. 

This beautiful tranquil scene is my favorite part of a long, busy day. There's something soothing and comforting in sharing a darkened room with a tree swathed in strings of yellow lights. 

The Working Mommy's Lament

The moment I get off work, I experience a mini high. Stepping out of the office and breathing the crisp winter air is as good as any drug. But most of all, I am dying to see my kids.

Sometimes it's easy to be away from the boys 8 hours a day. I fill my mind with information, my time with adult-interaction, and occupy myself by thinking through some challenging legal issues. It's rewarding. It keeps my brain sharp. I feel useful.

Sometimes, it's a little bit harder. I sit in my lumpy desk-chair, which over the years has obviously transformed into a chair for the spinally challenged. I click through e-mails. And I let my mind wander. What are my boys doing right now? I bet they are running around the park playing tag. Or perhaps Ryan did something hilarious, causing Jacob (and thus Ryan) to erupt into a fit of giggles. Maybe they are having quiet time, leaning their heads against their grandma and listening intently to a story. Sometimes, I'd give anything to be there. I'd give anything to be the one to take them to the park, laugh at their antics, or read them that story.

Childhood is to be cherished. But it zips by so quickly. Too short. And I cannot be there for a big portion of it. Life is cruel like that.

So, the moment my time in the office is over, I leap out the door, eager to see the boys. I always imagine that I will arrive at my mom's house and my boys will run excitedly towards me, bowling me over with big hugs. I imagine that we will share  some good quality time before dinner and bed. Maybe we will have time to enjoy the last few moments of daylight at the park. Maybe we will lay on the living room rug, in the very heart of our home, and play a game of Uno or dinosaurs. Or maybe we will sit at the table together and finish a holiday craft. These possibilities all rush through my mind on the drive to pick up the kids. I get so excited that I rush through several stale-yellow lights.

But by the time I walk through my mom's door, I'm met with a much different scene. Ryan leaps for me (as anticipated) but he clings to my legs, whining and crying. He is over-tired. He is over-stimulated. Jacob, who is usually a good boy all day, starts to act-out the second he sees me. He crosses his arms, pouts his lips, and gives me the stare-down. He puts his shoes on, only after I beg him to do so ten times. He refuses to use the bathroom. He throws his brother's toys. He stomps his feet. He whines for a snack to take "for the road."

I lug the kids, their car seats, and all their crap to my station wagon (no minor task). Ten minutes into the drive home, things aren't going any better. Ryan is repeatedly asking for his "baba" and crying when I cannot conjure one out of thin air in the middle of Highway 3. Jacob declares that he is STARVING and wants MCDONALDS NOW OR ELSE HE WILL DIE. Why is he not consoled by my reassurances that there is a three-day-old piece of pizza waiting for him in the fridge? Spoiled kid.

My dream reunification has been shattered. Things are going downhill fast. I need to turn this frown-mobile around....quickly, before self-pity (mine) sets in. I turn off my favorite news radio station (I'm addicted) and start to sing Christmas songs. To my amazement, Ryan stops crying. Jacob stops whining. By the second round of Jingle Bells, Jacob is even singing a long. When the song ends, Ryan yells, "More! More!" So, it's on to Frosty the Snowman. Then Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer. Then Santa Baby. I'm clearly running out of songs.

When we get home, everyone is in a better mood. Except me. I'm exhausted. I haul the kids, their bags, my briefcase, and some groceries into the house. I want to curl up in a ball on the rug and pass out. But....damn it. Kids. Quality time. Etc. Etc.

Jacob = world's biggest ham

So I pull out an old craft project that I had put away for a rainy day. We paint. Drill holes (macho points for me!). And plug in. Jacob is amused. Ryan not so much. He does not like the lights. He says they are "hot" and keeps a three feet distance at all times.

Ryan is too close to the lights. He does not like it.

For some reason, I am the only one who thinks this craft is off-the-charts-amazing. Jacob tolerates it and fakes a smile for the camera.

Christmas trees or Mardi-Gras gnome hats?

I warm up the three-day-old pizza and we have dinner (my husband goes to the gym 2-3 times each week and doesn't get home until 8 pm on those nights, which is why he is glaringly absent from this post). Ryan decides to use a toy wrench as a fork. It makes total sense to him. I love this kid.

When dinner is over, I clean the table, do the dishes that have been piling up in the sink for the past couple days (no dishwasher!), and get the kids in their PJs. By this time, I'm running on fumes. My desire to be horizontal is as strong as my will to get the kids in bed. Or not. I fall onto the living room rug and allow myself a five minute power nap...with both eyes open because Ryan found a pair of scissors and I'm too tired to get up right that minute and take them away. Ryan puts the scissors down, comes over to me, straddles my torso, and sits on my back. He bounces a couple times yelling, "giddyup!" Nap time comes to a screeching halt.

Ryan with his most-prized possession.

Somehow. Someway. I manage to get the kids' teeth brushed. We read a story, I sing the world's shortest lullaby, and I tuck them into bed.

snuggles

As I exit their room and close the door, I have mixed feelings. Half of me is jumping up and down (hypothetically only--remember, I'm exhausted) and thrilled to finally collapse on the couch. The other half of me is reluctant and sad. My nightly 2.5 hours with the kids went by way too quickly. When I wake up, my husband and I will have an hour to hustle them back out the door. Then it's back to work to do it all over again.

The time is just too short. My energy levels are just too low. My plate is just too full. Am I giving them enough? This question will never have a satisfactory answer.

How The Mom Stole Christmas

Every boy in the house liked Christmas a lot

But pick up their things and behave, they DID NOT.

Their Mom hated toys and the whole commercial season

You want to know why? I'll give you the reason

It could be that Mommy stepped on legos each night

It could be that Mommy's budget was a little too tight

Which explains why she could not go to the mall

and replace her mom jeans that were three sizes too small.

But whatever the reason, the legos or jeans,

While she sat in the bathroom cleaning pee off the latrine

Staring down at the seat, she pulled her hair and she cried

She steamed from the ears as her face went cross-eyed

For she could hear the boys in the room just next door

Dumping all their toys out onto the floor

"And they're coloring on their walls" she snarled with a sob

"and leaving poop-stained underwear on the door knob!"

Then she growled with her fingers nervously drumming,

"I MUST find a way to keep Christmas from coming!"

For on Christmas, she knew the disobedient boys

would wake up bright and early to find piles of new toys

And then! Oh the noise! Oh, the noise! Noise! Noise!

Because Santa will come, rain or shine, Christmas night

Even if all the boys did all year was FIGHT! And FIGHT!

and FIGHT! FIGHT! FIGHT! FIGHT!

Each boy would tackle the stockings and gifts under the tree

And toss wrapping paper pieces like a wild banshee

And then they'd do something she liked least of all!

Every boy in the house, the tall and the small

would clutch closely their toys, all glittering and shining

She'd ask them to share and they all would start whining!

They'd whine! And they'd wine! 

And they'd whine! Whine! Whine! Whine!

And the more the Mom thought of the whole crazy ordeal 

the more the Mom thought, "I must stop this for real!

"For too many years, I've put up with it now!

I MUST stop Christmas from coming!...But HOW?"

Then she got an idea!

An awful idea!
THE MOM GOT A WONDERFUL, AWFUL IDEA!
"I know just what to do!" She yowled through her yap
As she quickly made plans for a Santy Claus trap.
And she chuckled, and clucked, "What a great sneaky trick!
"With my grand, foolproof plan, I'll lock up that Saint Nick!"

"All I need is a chimney..." The Mom said as she guzzled some wine.
"A cardboard box, chicken wire, and some twine!
For when the kids see that St. Nick has forgotten

Maybe, just maybe, they will stop being so rotten!"

So the Mom plotted and planned all night and all day

She created a Pinterest board to help pave the way

And when it was time, the Mom's eyes glowed infrared

and she tucked her unsuspecting boys way deep in their bed

All the windows were dark. Quiet snow filled the air.
All the boys were all dreaming sweet dreams without care
The Mom gobbled Santa's cookies, washed down with some rum
She hiccuped and giggled and prepared for the fun

"This is step number one!" The elated Mom hissed

As she clutched her well-laid plans in her fist.

Then she picked up the scissors snipped away with rage 

And began the construction to make Santa's cage

And as she was snipping and snapping and snupping

She stopped what she was doing when she thought she heard something

From the dark boys' room, she heard a little boy's prayer

and his gentle, soft voice soon filled the air

"Dear Santa," the boy started to say

"I have not been a very good boy today.

In fact I have had a pretty bad year.

So I completely understand if you leave no presents here."

"But please Santa please, I was doing my best

to toughen up my younger brother by being a pest

And the messes I made were not messes at all

They were forts and castles and towers and walls."

"Mommy says I was bad, but I just don't understand

Everything seems different to me where I stand

And those time I don't listen, I don't mean to disobey

So please Santa please come to our house Christmas Day."

And the Mom, with her evil-grinch glow 

Stood puzzling and puzzling, "Could it really be so?"

That maybe my boys aren't naughty and bad

Maybe they just have selective hearing like their dad?

Maybe these kids are just doing what little kids do

Maybe they're supposed to act like they live in a zoo?

And what happened then...? Well...I'll tell you what they say

The elastic in the Mom's jeans Grew three sizes that day!
And the minute that happened, she became much less uptight

and her cold frigid heart warmed all through the night
She thought of the times that her kids were quite sweet
Playing games, goofy smiles, sticky hugs were a treat

Her anger escaped and suddenly it became very clear
She wouldn't stop Santa from coming, at least not this year

She put away the scissors and wire and twine

And generously left St. Nick what was left of her wine.

The Mom hopped under her covers, happy thoughts floating in her head 

Content not knowing her kids had just peed their bed.

Toaster Husband

Sometimes, I don't know why women get married. Most of the things a husband does in a marriage can be accomplished by a toaster.

A toaster would be a great stand-in for a husband in the evening. After work, all I would have to do is plop the toaster in front of my husband's computer. Add a pair of headphones...voila....a husband.

Having a conversation with a toaster is the same as having one with a husband.

"Hey toaster, can you take a break from your computer to tell me how I look in this dress."

"Thought so."

Also, when I have a really bad or interesting day at work, I can come home and tell my toaster. It's basically just like telling a husband. Our conversations involve the same level of empathy and emotional intelligence.

"Toaster, my day was really hard today. The boys screamed the whole way to my mom's. I had this really long meeting and then I had to write a 20 page brief."

"Oh...and I may have scratched your car...just a little."

Raised eyebrows? Is that a hint of emotion?

Heart Hurt

In the wake of my cousin losing her triplets, I feel like the only things I should feel are blessed and thankful and gracious. I have been bestowed with two wonderful gifts. In them, I am richer than I could ever deserve to be.

And yet....my heart hurts. I'm ready for another baby. Not just ready, but insanely consumed by the thought. While my house is full of love, I can't shake the feeling that there is someone missing. I yearn for the baby-to-be that I do not even know. There is a baby just waiting for us to welcome him/her. I feel sad for that baby. I cry for that baby.

The problem is...my husband does not agree. When I ask for another baby, he says, "No way. We already have too many." I began asking him casually about nine months ago. I didn't want another baby right then, but I wanted to know that baby no. 3 was a possibility. Each time, he flat out said "no." As Ryan is getting older, my desire is becoming more desperate. I've been asking more frequently. I still get the same response. "No. End of discussion."

Because he wants what is already the status quo, he automatically gets his way. He doesn't have to engage in a discussion. He doesn't have to talk it through with me. He automatically gets what he wants. I can't help but feel marginalized. I so desperately want to pound my fists, stomp my feet and scream, "It isn't FAIR!"

This week, I attended a party thrown by a long-time friend. It was populated by moms. Moms with babies. There were three babies in attendance. My friend, herself, is pregnant with her second. I held and loved the heck out of those babies. There was one precious 8 week old girl- the most gorgeous baby girl I had ever seen. I held her for hours. I smelled her sweet hair, grasped her tiny fingers, and rocked her gently as she snoozed in my arms. I came home and cried. A lot.

In fact, there has been a lot of crying this week. There have been more than a couple pregnancy announcements and baby births lately. I try so hard to be happy for the expectant couples. But all I can think about are my own empty arms. My own aching heart. It's selfish and immature. And just knowing that I SHOULD be overjoyed by the two babies I already have, my deep sadness is only compounded by guilt. I don't know what I'm going to do, I feel so helpless and alone. But I really do need to find a way to cope with hearing the word baby without wanting to run out of the room in tears.

Jitters

Tomorrow I head off to Reno with friends for our second annual girls' only trip. I should be excited right? Somehow, I'm not. I'm trying really hard to psych myself up. But all I can think about is how this time last year we were in Vegas and all I wanted to do was come home to be with my babies.

The entire trip I kept thinking about how old and lame I was. The girls wanted to stay out dancing and gambling until the wee hours of the morning. I was exhausted and grumpy and ready for bed by 11 p.m. I distinctly remember being on our third hour of dancing, going through the motions, looking around the bar, and thinking how ridiculous and immature all the other people were. Seriously? I sound 90. It's totally unlike me.

It's just that, when your entire world is several states away, having family meals without you, being tucked into their warm beds, and eagerly awaiting the return of their mommy, suddenly the loud music, the gyrating youngsters wearing little to no clothing, the watered-down drinks...all seem so very unimportant. And almost tiresome.

I probably sound like a whining b----. I mean, I bet a lot of people would love the chance to get away for a couple days. Don't get me wrong, we had fun too. We always have fun when we get together. I just......can't turn off the mommy. As much as I need to get away from them sometimes, it's hard to be apart for long periods of time. I can handle one night away pretty easily. But after that, the longing for baby cuddles, sloppy kisses, and high-pitched laughter is almost unbearable.

To make it harder, for some reason, I'm really nervous about flying (something I usually LOVE) this time around. I've been a little bit morbid lately. Probably from watching/listening to too much news.  And my babies are just growing too quickly. Every second with them is precious.

My plane will land safely. My plane will land safely. My plane will land safely.

Babies On The Brain

Babies are constantly on my mind. My own baby is, admittedly, not a baby anymore. He is so independent and smart. So tough and stubborn. There is no more swaddling. No soft baby cries. No rocking to sleep. Thank goodness for his chubby, pinchable legs. His baby-scented hair. For those moments when he runs to my leg crying for "mama" and wants "up." These are little consolation prizes for the impending loss of babyhood.

A mother's heart can only take so much.

So many hours of my day are filled with love. I am constantly reminding myself of how blessed I am. When I hold my two boys in my lap, I feel like I am holding the entire world. I am acutely aware of how much I have been given. And yet....And yet.....there is still more longing.

When I see a van-full of children. When I see a haggard mommy rounding up a brood of four in the grocery store (how she ever gets out of the house is a mystery to me!). When I see a pew of freshly groomed children of varying sizes at our church. I want that. Too many blessings to count. Not just for their number, but for the fact that they never stay still long enough. I don't know what it is. I don't know how to explain it. I love large-ish families the way I love the color green. It's defies explanation.

Everyone has their own definition of "large" family. I look at a family of six and think, that's the PERFECT size where others likely see that as "large." Don't get me wrong, I don't have any desire to be the next Duggar family or Octomom. But I do yearn for a third baby...and fourth.

There are practical reasons to have four kids. One is about hedging your bets. You know, in case one goes to prison, one gets injured, and one becomes a druggy, chances are you will still have one good one left. The other reason is retirement security - more kids to help pay for your retirement home and care for you. But I also have this crazy fear of growing both old AND lonely. All the grandmothers in my family have outlived their husbands. My next-door neighbor (who lost her one and only son years and years ago), just lost her husband. The fear of having no one, of spending my last days and weeks and years alone....I can't bear it. I figure more kids will decrease the odds of that happening.

 Then there is the pure and simple fact that kids are awesome. So, more kids = more awesome. I figure this must be true at least until you hit four kids. I'm sure at some point the amount of awesomeness stops exceeding the extra work and money. But then, I imagine somewhere after your tenth or fifteenth kid, you might as well keep going. Economies of scale...and all that.

Two other reasons:

So, the baby fever has hit me again. It waxes and wanes. Some days it is so unbearable and others, I am content to just see if this is a wave I can ride out. But every time someone close to me announces a pregnancy, or baby shower, or baby birth, it's not just a wave. It's a full blown tsunami. All of my senses and logic are washed away when I think of the fact that OTHER PEOPLE are having babies and I am not.

But even at the height of my desire for another baby, my dreams come into contact with practicality and are instantly deflated. First roadblock: the husband. He says no more. When he says, "no more," he makes it quite clear that what he really means is, "Hell no! Not a chance. We already have too many!" This makes me sad.

Second roadblock: space. I already have two kids sharing a room. Four people in a 950 square foot house (with just one bathroom, I might add) is "pushing" it, at best. There is no way we could fit another person in here. The baby would sleep in my dresser drawer until he turned 18. We have plans to remodel and add a third bedroom and second bathroom. We could totally make it work after that. But this will probably not happen for many, many years.

Third roadblock: my body doesn't work. It was so hard to get pregnant with Ryan. The reasons for that have not changed. I will likely need to go through more fertility treatments of some kind. The emotional turmoil is so, so hard.

Lastly, despite how badly I want another baby, I keep remembering how horrible both pregnancy and my planned c-section were. I hate being pregnant- every second. And I mistakenly just read my post about Ryan's birth story. I wish I hadn't done that. I remembered the emotion roller coaster, the fear, the pain, and that I lost so much blood during my c-section that my doctor wanted me to have a blood transfusion. I had sworn to myself "no more babies!" I really want a baby. But I don't want to do that again!

But I'm  not ready to be done. There is a perfect, baby-sized void in my heart. There is more love for me to give. I feel really stuck. I don't know what to do or what I even can do. In the meantime, I will suffer through baby fever....sadly and silently.

Nannies, Parties, & Litigation: All In A Day's Work

I woke up at 7 a.m. (groan!) this morning to begin a day of interviewing part-time nannies. It went mostly well and I already have my heart set on someone. My ideal pick has two boys that are the same ages as my boys. The family seems laid back, down to earth, and very embracing of the craziness that goes along with raising boys.

Out of all the homes we visited, Ryan was most at ease here. Jacob had a rare opportunity to go on vacation with his grandparents this week so he did not get to tag along. Ryan walked right up to the boy his age and they played so nicely together. The dad was also present and I could tell he plays a big role in his kids' lives. They have a nice-sized yard that is completely fenced in. They eat chocolate (evidence was peaking out from the pantry-- I don't trust people who don't eat chocolate!). Plus, they have really awesome toys (outdoor trampoling, indoor trampoline, outdoor big toy, indoor play toy). I never realized that little things would play such a big role in making me feel at ease with a potential nanny. Out of all the places we visited, I could most easily picture my children at that home.

There may be an issue with the days they are available so I'm crossing my fingers. I really hope that it works out! Especially considering that my two weeks' notice has turned into ONE week's notice and I need someone to start in three days!

After the morning of interviews, we attended my neice's first birthday party. We met up with my parents at the party and they returned Jacob to us. As Jacob ran into the house, he made a bee-line straight for Ryan. The look on Ryan's face when he saw his big brother for the first time in four days was simply priceless. The two musketeers were reunited and they were both so very happy.

Ryan's new glasses

The party was a cute princess safari theme and the boys had fun playing with their family and with their neice's toys. Jacob had even more fun foraging for used wrapping and tissue paper (after gifts were opened) and constructing a gigantic mountain out of them. As he went around picking up used trimmings, he announced proudly, "I collect pretty bows!" Apparently, as of today, he is an amateur bow-collector.

The party fizzled down after presents were opened and we made our way back home. When we arrived, it felt great to have our whole family under the same roof again. It was especially nice to have both boys back together. They agreed.

Back to the same old games

The day flew by and at 7:00p.m., I decided I should get my butt in gear and think about what we would have for dinner. An impressive 30 minutes later, I had a full meal on the table! After realizing that my pantry is nearly bare (I haven't gone grocery shopping in two weeks), I opted for my favorite, quick meal of pasta and almost homemade sauce. I say "almost" homemade because I use canned tomatoes. Some people may think that is taboo but I find that fresh tomatoes are not always in the best shape or even in season (it's hit or miss for us- mostly miss) but you can be always be guaranteed great tasting tomatoes out of a can so long as you simmer them for a good 15 minutes. While the tomatoes simmer, I throw in fresh garlic, salt, pepper, red pepper flakes, balsamic vinegar (secret ingredient!), and freshly grated parmesan cheese. I poured the pasta sauce over whole wheat spagethi, accompanied it with chicken-artichoke sausages from Costco (amazing!), and paired it with homemade garlic breadsticks (actually and truly homemade). I whip up the breadstick dough in advance, let it rise once, shape it into breadsticks, and keep them in the freezer until I need to bake them.

As I was smack in the middle of fixing dinner, my boss texted me and asked if I had time to talk about a case. I gave him a call and we talked strategy about two motions we have pending. With one hand holding my phone and the other hand alternating between stirring the sauce, checking the breadsticks, and gesturing widly in the air to match the enthusiasm in my voice, we outlined a response to one motion and a reply to another. It was kind of surreal to talk about sanctions and court rules as I contemporaneously put dinner on the table. Did I ever mention that I love litigation?

And noow, even though the kids are in bed, I am sitting for the first time all day, and I have the entire evening to unwind on the couch, I am so worked-up and excited to put my thoughts into cleverly crafted arguments that I'm researching and briefing away instead. This is proof that I really do love litigation. I don't willingly scrifice my one hour of Facebook/Pinterest catch-up time for just anything!

Word

Things I've said recently that no one should ever have to say:

"Keep your tongue in your mouth."

"You can't go outside without pants."

"No, catfood is NOT for babies!"

"Whose poop is on the floor?"

"Get your hand out of your butt."

"Please don't wear my underwear."

"How did my toothbrush get in the toilet?"

"We don't lick wall."

Friday Night Fights

Winning....

Can I just say that Friday nights basically have no meaning when you have children? The only difference for me is that the next morning I will be woken up early by my children rather than by my 5:30 a.m. alarm clock.

I walked home from the ferry this evening at 7 p.m. eagerly anticipating my arrival through the door. My children would scream in excitement and throw their arms around me. Then I would fall into the couch in front of Wheel of Fortune (Jake's favorite show, second only to America's Funniest Videos) and let the kids crawl all over me.

EXCEPT...I walked through the door and immediately got the GLARE from husband who was on his hand and knees scrubbing a suspicious spot on the carpet. The GLARE was accompanied by a terse command, "I need you to help with Jake." Apparently, he had just woken up from a nap and pooped all over himself and the carpet. I found him sitting on the toilet and wiped the nasty disgusting poop from his butt while trying not to gag. Ryan crawled over and started to cry because I wasn't holding him. Jacob joined in the crying (only harsh, shrill screams, of course) because he didn't want to take a bath. Sorry kid. When you poop your pants, you take a bath. It's the universal mom rule.

During the entire bath he screamed that he was hot, and freezing, and wet, and tired, and had soap in his eyes, and wanted to watch Wheel of Fortune, and hungry, and wanted his privacy but didn't want to be alone. Meanwhile, husband whisked away the baby who was still crying because sometimes only the Mommy will do.

I cuddled my babies, put them to bed, and now I'm watching PG family sitcoms on TV while catching up on my water intake while staring at the mountain of unfolded laundry that has been piling up all week.

Yep. Friday nights sure are special.

Monsters Under The Bed

I know violence is as old as time but only recently has it been so pervasively and prevalently on my mind. It may be increased coverage on shootings in light of the national gun debate or it may just be the usual hysterics that rock our nation in the wake of a violent tragedy, but lately it seems that horrifying stories about death and violence and crime are daily taking the centerstage of all news programs. Some stories showcase the bravery of heroes in the face of danger. Others focus solely on the unimaginable grief of loved ones.

Amidst all of this, I find it increasingly hard to fall asleep peacefully at night.

Each night, as I slide under my covers, I try to unseize myself of the fear that is tightly gripping my mind. I try to shake off scary thoughts and imagined sounds. And even though there is just a thin wall separating me from the two precious boys snoring in the next room, in my mind, that wall has the depth of five dozen bricks. As much as I try to ignore all the scary "what-ifs," multiple horrifying scenarious still play out in my mind. I never know how each one should end. And this just increases my anxiety.

What would I do if something really were to happen? How would we protect the kids? I have no doubt I would jump in front of a gun if need be. But would that even be enough? As much as I don't want to think about these scary things, part of me feels like I need to. Isn't it better to be prepared?

I am fervently against gun ownership. I have told my husband a thousand times that I will not live under the same roof as a gun. In my mind, a gun is at least 10 times more likely to result in an unintended injury or death (especially with children in the house) than to result in successfully thwarting a criminal invader. But late at night, when my thoughts are running wild, when every sound coming from the boys' room makes my heart leap, when fear replaces logic, I can't help but think that a gun would make me feel safer. I can't help but feel that a measley baseball bat under the bed is grossly ineffective.

Hopefully the landscape of the national gun debate will quiet (as the next controversial topic takes over) and these scary thoughts will fade. But until then, versus of The Lord's Prayer will continue to run through my mind as I close my eyes each night. I will continue to fall asleep hoping that I never have to be brave. That I never discover the extent of my strength. And that I never meet the depths of my grief.

Being a mom is really hard. I never knew having children would be such an emotional vulnerability. 

The Wonderful World Of Parenthood

Sometimes, when you're a mommy, you become oblivious to the world of the kidless. I'm convinced that sometime between changing your first and 1,000th diaper, you lose all sense of your pre-kid reality and become a whole new person. A person who makes frequent references to Thomas the Train, who always parks next to a cart return (baby carseats are HEAVY!), and looks forward to dentist visits as much as any tropical vacation because it means sitting in a chair without kids for an extended period of time!

It's easy to forget that some people live a life completely free of diapers, cartoons, and fruit snacks... until, like me, you make a tastless joke about Elmo which is completely lost on your boss. Or you start to absent-mindedly sing songs from Dora the Explorer ("Mermaids are the heroes of the ocean!") while waiting at the copy machine for your print job to finish only to receive strange looks from your coworkers. As they flash you worried/confused looks, you wonder how someone can escape life without having experienced Dora.

The other day, I was walking aimlessly around a new grocery store. A clerk came up and asked me if he could help me find something. Without skipping a beat I replied, "I'm looking for Butt Paste." His eyes widened in what appeared to be a mix of embarrassment and horror. I can only wonder what he thought I meant. I quickly explained to him the intricacies of diaper rash creams so he wouldn't think I had some kind of embarrassing medical condition.

I don't think kidless people will ever understand how wiping someone's butt can become just another mundane daily routine.

Working Mom Law of Baby Physics #1

It's late (11 p.m.), and I'm trying to pull together an important motion for summary judgment. I've researched the heck out of this thing. I've been working on it for three days. My mind is starting to freeze up, my eyes are going cross-eyed, and I'm increasingly concerned by how little sleep I'm going to get tonight (I have to wake up at 5:30am each morning)....BUT... I'm nearing the finish line!

Suddenly, the baby cries from his crib in his room. I calm the crying, get him back to sleep, and return to my work (which I really do enjoy, btw). Five minutes later, baby screams. Again I get him back to sleep and return to my motion. Minutes later, he is awake AGAIN, crying. I get him back to sleep once more only to hear him wake up a fourth time! At this point I'm ready to do bodily harm to someone. He only recently started this frustrating sleeping routine. I'm flustered and have no idea how to manage it.

I decide to let him cry it out for a little. My husband just went to bed. Our room shares a wall with the kids' room. Ryan screams for a good 15 minutes. How does Jacob, who is literally four feet away in the same room not wake up?! How does my husband who isn't much farther not wake up. Part of me wants to let Ryan keep screaming just to rouse my husband from his sleep. Why am I the only one who does night duty?! If my husband is not going to help out, he should at least be woken up and subjected to the screams. In case you haven't already guessed, I am an angry, sleep-deprived working mom:

If I'm going to suffer, THE WHOLE WORLD WILL SUFFER WITH ME!

I finally give in and pick up the screaming baby. He is just as angry as I am. The two of us get to be angry together until he finally calms downs and goes to sleep (fourth or fifth time, I've lost count at this point). Suddenly it's mid-night, my motion is not complete, and I have to wake up in about five hours.

Working Mom Law of Baby Physics #1: Baby will wake up multiple times on the night you need to complete a very important motion ("VIM").

Tomorrow morning is going to SUCK.

Expectaciones Nonnes

So....this weekend was our fifth wedding anniversary. After five years of marriage, I'm a fountain of marital wisdom, equipped with volumes of advice to pass down to future generations. I could write a soliloquy. But, honestly, everything I learned can be summed up in two words. So, do ya want to know the secret to marital bliss?

No Expectations.

Or, in Latin: Expectaciones Nonnes. Ok, I made that up. But it sounds good, right? Yes, the lack of expectations is a wonderful thing. It will save you every time. It's hands down, the best gift you can give yourself.

See, in the past, I made the mistake of actually expecting things for anniversaries. You know, like cards. Or flowers. Or power tools. You can file that last one under "Things I've Learned About Men From My Dad."

This year, I didn't expect anything more than a "Happy Anniversary" text as I woke up at 8am on Saturday morning to discover that my husband was gone for work training all that day and never even bothered to let me know. And that's precisely what I got.

Funny thing is, I didn't even care. Sure, when given the option, everyone would prefer to be doted upon and showered with attention and gifts. But when you're scrubbing baby spit up out of the carpet, trying to coax your kid out of chewing a booger he just picked, and getting lost under a never-ending pile of piss-soaked sheets, romance kind of is lost on you. In such a situation, a five minute, solitary soak in a pink ring-stained tub in a bathroom smelling of mold that temorarily houses an array of poop and spit-up covered clothing, is the equivalent to a $200 meal at a five star restaurant....without all those pesky calories.

So that night, I made tacos for dinner. My husband's favorite. Then I half-assedly scrubbed a sink full of smelly dishes. Then we watch an episode of Boardwalk Empire. And by 12am I was in my bed, separated from my husband by a kicking, eyeball clawing, hair pulling rascal who had suddenly decided sleeping was for "other" babies.

That's pretty much what they mean when they say "happily ever after," right?

Expectaciones Nonnes.

Yeah.

What's Pissing Me Off Right Now

Wanna know what's pissing me off? THIS label on all containers of baby formula:

It's like a slap in the face everytime I make Ryan a bottle.

Breast is best? What the hell does that even mean? "Best." It's such a loaded word. If a mom physically cannot breastfeed, then no, breast is NOT best and who are you, stupid government regulation requiring The Label on every container of formula, to pass judgment. What about the mom who juggles work and home duties, who cannot or does not want to interrupt her challenging work every three hours to pump for twenty minutes, which is physically and mentally uncomfortable, in a non-private work space? When pumping would make the return to work insanely hectic, logistically hard, and almost not worth it, then is breast really "best?" At the sacrifice of a new, guilt-ridden mom's sanity, I say NO.

So what's the point of that stupid passage of judgment of a label anyway? I'm willing to assume that any mom reaching for a container of formula, for one reason or another- whether out of necessity or lifestyle, has already decided to give her baby formula. And, it's probably likely that that mom already feels a little twinge of guilt for not being able to exclusively nurse her baby. How is that mom supposed to feel when she sees that judgmental label exclaiming to her that she's`not giving her baby the "best?"

For me, I was physically unable to nurse without using a nipple shield. But I still nursed Ryan until he turned four months old and I returned to work. At that point, I decided that my life was already crazy enough with two children, a job, and a childcare commute, I wasn't going to pump. I didn't mind giving up nursing. In fact, I couldn't wait to stop. Yes, I'm an evil, non-crunchy mom who hates breastfeeding. Judge away.

With Jacob, my first baby, I continued to pump after I returned to law school. But I HATED it. Absolutely and in every way. It was so impersonal and uncomfortable. It was a logistical nightmare if I was commuting or out in public. Carrying the pump as I walked all over Seattle and trying to keep the milk cold all day was such a pain in the ass. It drove me insane and wore me down. My only regret with nursing is that I didn't switch to formula sooner.

Why didn't I? Because of self-imposed and externally-imposed guilt. If you're a mom, you're getting pelted with tons of messages a day about what you should do, shouldn't do, what you're doing wrong, what you need to buy, etc for your kids. There's judgment around every corner. And all of us are just trying to do the best we can with the time, money, and energy we have.

At Ryan's two month check-up, I remember telling his doctor that I would be returning to work. I was haunted by guilt over the future transition to work and that guilt made me feel compelled to ask her permission to switch to formula. The second I did, I immediately felt sick. Why the heck did I think I needed to ask her permission? Plenty of babies grow up on formula. I had no reason to feel guilty or insecure about my decision. Bless her heart, she might have recognized the fact that guilt was eating up my insides. She smiled, looked at me reassuringly, and enthusiastically told me, "of course it's ok!"

There is no such thing as "best." There is no rigid set of rules that applies across the board for all babies. All babies grow at different levels, live in different environments, have different temperaments. We don't need to be constantly told that the decisions we make are not some unatainable level of what's perfect or "best."

I know plenty of babies who grew up on formula because their moms were physically unable to breastfeed. Those babies are now smart, tall, strong, secure children. Jacon was given formula for the last six month of his babyhood and he's one smart, creative kid. Ryan has been eating formula exclusively for the past two months now. He is thriving, happy, chubby, smart, coordinated, and loved.

So, take THAT stupid, judgmental label!

Buh-Bye Baby Weight

Another reason why my job is awesome...it is a baby-weight killer!

My commute keeps me on my toes, literally. It's 2+ hours of car, ferry, bus, and walk travel (one way). This week, I started skipping the bus on my way home and instead have been walking to the ferry after work. This means, depending on the day (if it's not my turn to drop the kids off, I walk almost a mile from my house to the ferry), I can get up to 2-4 miles of walking in each day.

And just like that, I solved my lack-of-energy-to-go-to-the-gym-at-8pm problem!

I've struggled so hard with these last 5 pounds of babyweight. After Jacob was born, all the weight melted off within a month with NO extra effort. This time around, I shed a bunch of weight in the first month after Ryan's birth, but then my progress stagnated. I started running and then threw out my back. I started running again which only made me super hungry. I cut way back on my chocolate intake (notice I said "cut-back" instead of "cut-out" - I'm not INSANE). I continued drinking a gallon of water each day. Nothing worked.

Four months of no progress made me really depressed. I was in a pit of despair. I tried to just accept my new body and move on. I tried SO hard. But just those 5 extra pounds made me feel so horrible. It make me neurotic. It became a mind game. Those 5 stubborn pounds (located all in one place) were taunting me. No matter how hard I worked, they clung to me (damn parasites). This was war. I HAD to defeat them! I just HAD to.

It didn't help that my favorite clothes no longer fit right (I paid good money for those!). I mean how many more times can I really get away with wearing stretchy-waited yoga pants and oversided sweathshirts to run errands? I think I more than exceeded my new-mommy quota. In fact, I'm pretty sure I owe libations to the fashion gods for my fashions sins these past 5 months.

But things are FINALLY turning around! After just 1.5 weeks at my new job, I've already lost half of my remaining baby weight. Not only does the commute add 2-4 miles of walking to my daily routine, but being super busy with exciting lawyer tasks keeps me from snacking on junk. I'm far too busy drafting motions to think about buying candy bars.

I've already lost nearly half of my remaining baby weight! Only 2.5 pounds to go!

Unfortunately, I may have just sabotaged all this progress. This morning, I made (from scratch- with real yeast and sh*t!), pizza bagels! Cause really, what else am I supposed to do when my kids wake me up at 6 a.m. But, you can't just make pizza bagels and not taste one. Or two. Or three.  They had to pass my quality control of course. And to QC test a product, you need a decent-sized sample.

Good thing there's plenty more walking in my future.

Being Patient

I think I have baby fever. It's a very odd thing. My baby is only 4 months old but I just can't wait to have another one. I can see how having babies can be addicting, you know, if it weren't for the getting fat, nausea, end of pregnancy discomforts, going under the knife, and 4 months of recovery before I can even do a freaking sit-up.

If it weren't for finances, I would be ready to have another one. Right now. As I rock my baby to sleep each night, my heart aches for one more. I recognize that that seems silly- why can't I just enjoy what I have, right? I just can't explain it. I dream of laughter-filled evenings. Being attacked by a flock of children early in the morning. A table full of hungry mouths telling me stories about their day all at the same time. I love the noise, the chaos, the feeling of being outnumbered that comes with larger families.

I can't help but be excited about another baby and beging to wonder who will he or she be? It's similar to looking at baby Ryan or even Jacob and wondering who will they be in one year? Two years? Ten years? We are still building our family and there may still be some blank spaces in our family photos. How weird is that? Our kids will mean the entire world to us from here on out and it's weird to think that we do not even know them yet.

While I'm anxious for one more, I'm also nervous. With Jacob, we got pregnant right away. But I went through some grueling infertility before we got pregnant with Ryan. Before it happened to me, I had never even HEARD of secondary infertility. I was totally devasted each month that passed by and I didn't see a posivite pregnancy test. It was a silent pain that ate away at me. It made me resent those around me and it made me think things that I am not proud of.

Unless you go through it, you can't truly understand the pain. It's much different than really wanting a baby but, for some reason or another, deciding to wait. It's different because the worst part of it all is the fact that you have absolutely no control. No choice, no decision. You just hold your breath and cross your fingers. And when you are unsuccessful time after time all you can say is, "Why me. Why again? WHY?" And nothing can take away the pain that comes from yearning, but empty, arms.

I'm not sure what to expect a third time around. Will it be easy or will it be hard? If it will be hard, I'm not ready to face the emotional blows. Things are too good right now. I don't want to throw pain in the mix. I want to enjoy what I have.

And right now that includes, sweet cuddles, wide gummy smiles, excited coos, and sleeping side by side every night from 4am to 7am.

So, maybe I'll just focus on enjoying things the way they are right now. Then, when Ryan is a little older, I can slowly dip into the unknown once again.

Grateful

Every morning before I push myself out of bed and each night before drifting off to sleep, I try to come to terms with my new routine.  It's been a harsh reality, this whole concept of giving your children (especially your baby) to someone else for 40 hours a week.  It's been hard to accept the fact that from Monday through Friday, I get only 3 awake hours each day with Ryan. I try to cherish those hours as much as I can. But I know it will be hard for a while.

As I struggle with this new routine, I am both sad and extremely grateful. Every time I turn on the radio, it seems, I hear a story about loss. When I scan news websites, I don't have to go too far before I come across a tragic headline.  People all over the world are prematurely having to say goodbye to those that they love. But the stories that make me stop and think twice involve the tragic loss of a child. Since becoming a parent, this is my greatest and most consuming fear.

So, I'm stuck between two feelings. One is a feeling of sadness and self-pity at having to spend so much time away from my kids. The other is a feeling of uneasy relief and thankfullness for each day that I get to spend with them, no matter how little that time is.

While we don't always get to live the life that we want, we should always be thankful for the life that we have. For each precious

and not-so-precious moment.

8 Signs You Need A Girl's Night Out

1. Your favorite snacks are fruit flavored and shaped like sea creatures.

2. No matter where you go, you automatically always park next to a cart return.

3. When you are standing for an extended period of time, you unconsciously begin to bounce as if there was a baby in your arms.

4. The only songs stuck in your head are about dinosaurs, trains, or talking tools.

5. When giving directions, all your reference points are children's parks. "The grocery store is five blocks from that big park and seven blocks to the left of the downtown park."

6. You spend way too much time wondering why the students on the cartoon Sid the Science Kid call their teacher by her first name. Seriously, why?!

7. The most intellectually stimulating conversation you have had in a month was whether Superman or Batman would win in a bicycle race.

and the grand finale.....

8. You have an erotic dream....about Spiderman. (I now blush uncontrollably when Jacob watches his Spiderman cartoon)