Shhhh....Don't Wake the Dragon!

It's happened.  

For two solid nights in a row, Amelia has slept through the night. Twice I tell you. That is a TREND, not a fluke.  I'm so absolutely incredulous I'm afraid to talk about it. 

Matt credits this accomplishment to the simple act of shutting off the baby monitor. So she's either sleeping through the night, or she's not getting to that going-off-the-rails-crazy level of crying which I can hear over our air conditioner. Either way, I guess I'm ok with that. I mean, for five and three-quarters months I proved I couldn’t let her make a peep without running in to check on her.  So I guess a little crying won't re-wire her brain to be a crack addict or anything. At least I hope not.  

She finally made enough noise at 5:30 this morning for me to hear her-- and she wasn't too upset. She was just sort of complaining, not really all-out crying.  I scooped her up and she latched onto me almost before I could even un-holster.  She drank for a long, long time, all while closing and opening her little hands, reminding me I need to cut her nails again or risk multiple lacerations in places I'd never want a laceration.  Afterwards I put her back down in her crib thinking I'd have a better chance at winning the lottery than getting her back to sleep, and after 10 minutes of chatter...presto.  The dragon sleeps!

Now, where do they sell lottery tickets?  Awesomesauce!

Ten Ways to Survive Single-Parenting at the Pool

In case you haven’t noticed, it’s summer around here. We’ve been pretty busy soaking up the sun!  So far, my favorite part of the summer has been the new swimming pool at Hoyt Park, Hoyt Park Pool . It’s so absolutely mind-blowing fantastic that I’ve not figured out how to take pictures of it, since every time we are there we are having so much darn fun.  This is true even if my husband is with us, which is usually not the case. 

From nine to eleven every weekday morning (Parent Tot hours), it’s basically a water park, minus all those darn big-kids and unruly teens.  Plus, there is a lot for little ones to do—zero-depth entry to a little kids play set in the water, and a sandbox area with lots of fun water and sand toys nearby.  

Having a six-month-old and two and a half year-old, things are a bit busy when we’re at the pool. I’m usually the mom with the infant strapped to my chest in the Baby Bjorn carrier, waddling around in the shallow section trying to stay within three paces of Carson so I can pull him back up on his feet should he forget that he can stand up to breathe. I’ve also mastered a few tricks to make the whole event much easier with two kids. I consider these just a few of my favorite lessons when taking myself to the insane asylum…er… taking the kids to the pool by myself.

1)    Put the bigger kid in his swimsuit and swim diaper BEFORE getting him in the car seat (but not if you know of an impending poop, in that case, hold off).

2)    Get one of those tables with an umbrella—it’s infinitely helpful in the diaper-changing department. You won’t have time to lounge in one of the Adirondack chairs anyway.  Critical if you have two kids in diapers.

3)    Always bring a snack and drink for the kids and you.  No matter if you’re hungry or not.  A snack nearly always gets my two-year old to sit still long enough for me to gather everything up before we leave.

4)    Apply sunscreen before getting to the pool.

5)    Bug spray, not a bad idea but not critical either

6)    Stroller for the little ones—critical, for both sun shade and for the spontaneous nap (for the kids not you)

7)    Sun hats for everyone, and sunglasses for whomever will wear them

8)    A tiny bit of cash for the occasional ice-cream bribe

9)    A wet/dry clothes bag

10) A swimsuit cover-up for you, since changing out of your suit is gonna be nearly impossible.

Hopefully that will help you find some tiny bit of sanity at the pool. One caveat—if you are doing the parent thing solo at the pool, smash any expectations you had about relaxing while there.  This is survival, with a very tiny silver lining:  you can find some relief in knowing this will wear their little butts out. When they get home, they will sleep like the dead, and then you can relax.  So go have some fun at the pool!  

If anyone has more suggestions to help ease the trip--by all means, post here! 

Life on Life's Terms

Today we took a trip to Goodwill to give away Amelia's 0-3 month sized winter parkas. Not because they don't fit, but because it's May 26th. I mean, June is five days away, right? Who needs these heavy fuzzy parkas? Afterwards, we met a friend for a walk outside. We bundled up the kids and headed out.  The temperature? A balmy 54 degrees with 15-20 mile per hour winds. That equates to windchill somewhere in the low 40s. Twenty minutes into the walk, Carson was begging to go home, his little hands icy to the touch, and his lips somewhat blue. It took me a few blocks to get the message. I stubbornly pushed the stroller, charging on. It's May 26th, dammit. We are enjoying spring if it kills us.  

This expectation is exactly the type of thing that gets me into trouble. A friend of mine calls this a "premeditated resentment." And it's so true. I set myself up to be resentful about something I am absolutely powerless over. I do it in every aspect of my life-- as a customer, as a friend, as a sister, daughter, wife, mother and aunt.  I get an idea about what (insert anything) should look like, and then when it does not turn out that way, I get...well,  out of sorts. Still echoing in my head are the messages from all those damn business classes I took when part of big Corporate America, ideas lulling me into some whacked out sort of perception of reality. They hired fancy consultants to tell us we just need to communicate our expectations better.  So, if I just phrase it differently, they'll get it. And when whatever I'm focused on doesn't change, I communicate them again, and again, in a different way, or with a different tone, or with a different incentive for my subject.  Each time I'm taught the hard, hard lesson: I'm powerless. Powerless over the weather (of course, you say), over the way Lowe's Door Sales deals with me, over the way this person or that person wants to participate (or not participate) in their relationship with me.   All I get to do is my part, and that is, in it's essence, to be kind, and take right action.  I get to say what my needs are, once, and then I get to let it go. How do I do that with the Lowe's Installations department?  I cut them some slack when they screw up. I laugh it off. And when I can't laugh it off, I need a firm reminder that I have a choice to take my business somewhere else. 

Easy, you say, with the Lowe's guy.  But what about my family?  After all, it's much harder to choose your family.  Well, you can, but your new choice probably won't be a whole lot better than God's choice, and it will eventually catch up to you. After all, being human, we're all imperfect.  

Discontent 

Mommy, put the camera down and play with me. 

Living this way will not change the thing I'm upset about. It won't budge, I assure you.  But it will do two things.   First, it will make me feel happier while I'm living with Life on Life's Terms.  It will allow me to invest my time in relationships with people who love me and want to see me-- instead of chasing the one who doesn't.  Secondly, and not the least important-- it will teach my children how to choose happiness when life deals them lemons.   And from what I can tell, everyone's life deals them lemons sooner or later.   Or, at the very least, bad weather.   

Another Dental Disaster Looms

So our friends Steve and Heather got Carson a very cute little camping chair (for the deck, are you kidding me, we will NOT camp with this kid).  Pair this up with the most favorite recent toy-- the Little Tikes basketball hoop we put on the deck-- why, you ask?  Check it out.

I captured the wheels turning in his head as he put this one together.

Ok, I'm like, why is he moving the chair closer to the net?

oh, this is what I get for standing on chairs to get stuff from cupboards 

Cue the Sound Effects. 

Like SWOOSH- because this one went IN. 

Rinse and Repeat.  Again and Again.  

There is no chance we will be getting one of those little mini-trampolines any time soon.    I'm just glad he's stopped passing the ball to his 4 month old sister.  "Meena, dratch! (catch)"   

Oh, and here she is, his biggest fan: 

A Smile of His Own

About a year ago, my son Carson's smile was permanently altered at an elementary school playground near our house.   Yesterday we stopped there for the first time since the incident.  As he tromped across the sway bridge in his size 6 stride-rite sneakers, I still cringed.  I wondered if the other parents could see the PTSD on my face-- the pure parental guilt, and the hyper-vigilance with which I guard him while he plays.  The poor kid surely thinks his other name is Careful, since I say it so much.

Last year, when it happened, we'd stopped there on our way home from the gym.  He was goofy and tired, his tiny toddler legs surely rubbery from running about the Kids Club at my gym.   Barely walking a month, his run looked like someone constantly avoiding a fall-- his legs barely catching up with his torso in time to avoid catastrophe.  But it was one of those gloriously warm spring days-- too warm to just go home for lunch and nap.  I could not resist letting him try his new legs outside.  The bright red, blue and yellow colored play equipment beckoned.

May 2010, Before The Incident: his baby teeth, perfect.

We weren't there five minutes before he slipped on the sway bridge, his little Robeez leather bottomed shoe-clad feet sliding out from under him, and his two front teeth breaking the fall.  In full grin as he fell, he landed them squarely on two giant metal rivets which held the sway bridge to the platform it connected.  There was that moment of silence, and then the blood curdling wail.   Not knowing he actually hit his teeth, I picked him up and dusted him off, minimizing the incident.  Examined mouth. No blood.  "You're ok, you're ok.  Oh, you're so tired!"  But I did notice some strange white stuff on his lips. It looked like wax.  I brushed it off, hugged him, and suggested we go home for lunch.

He did the kind of sobbing he does when he's either terribly tired or (now we know) in a lot of pain.  Barely able to grab a breath.  Barely able to talk.   Not that he had that many words yet anyway, he was only 15 months.  I suspected he bumped his chin, so I finally succumbed and gave him ibuprofen. But later that night while we were giving him a bath and he smiled hugely at his daddy, I saw it.  Oh, God.   Two. Giant. Chips. Out of my darling boy's front teeth.  The natural tiny gap between his teeth had grown to a cavernous hole.  He'd lost the inside edge of the left one, and the bottom of the right one.  I was crushed.  I'd ruined his smile.  I'd only had this kid 15 months, and already had caused semi-permanent damage.  If I'd only put something other than slippery shoes on him.  If I'd not stood right behind him and bounced the bridge when he was running across it.  If I'd only caught him.   He wouldn't look like a redneck.    Matt and everyone else assured me it was cute.  He looked tough, they said.  I didn't want tough, I wanted my baby faced boy to hang onto his baby-ness as long as he could.  Now he was more little boy, less baby.

 There are not many photos of him in the weeks following the incident.   I mourned his teeth for nearly a month.  I took him to a dentist, an experience I would not recommend with a 15 month old.   After an exam that was similar to landing a 20 lb tuna on a rocking boat while deep sea fishing,  the doctor assured me the root was not damaged, and that it was purely cosmetic.  I should watch for discoloration in the tooth.  And pay attention if he says it hurts later, because it could develop an abscess.  But he didn't anticipate it would.  And no, they don't do cosmetic repair on 15 month old babies.  Damn.  There goes the modeling career.

After, Sept 2010 (It took me several months to get a good picture of them)

The offending Ottoman, and resulting teeth marks.

On Easter Sunday this year, Carson was chasing a balloon across his playroom.  He was laughing, as usual, and when he tripped and fell while looking up.   He again led with his teeth.  This time he smashed them squarely into one of our pleather ottomans.  He hit it so hard it left teeth marks on the pleather.  His mouth bled a little this time, and I'm pretty sure it was not only from the busted lip accompanying the fall, but also the gums.   The extreme pain sobbing ensued, followed by ibuprofen for a whole day.  The sobbing, of course, stopped within an hour.   And he was totally himself as long as he had ibuprofen.  On day 2, the gum surrounding his left front tooth was a bit blue and bruised.  I knew from the last visit to the pediatrician that they could not do anything but wait to see if the tooth turned any colors, or caused him lasting pain.   So far it's still white, but I examine it daily, ask him if his mouth hurts, and make him point to where.  He usually points to that tooth, but when I push on it or wiggle it, it he just laughs at the look on my face.

Today the gaped-tooth grin he wears while beaming up at me fits him perfectly. He's spunky and mischievous.  Square, straight, perfect teeth just would not have looked right on him.  I'm no longer concerned about his look, only whether the sharp edges are the constant source of injuries to his bottom lip, or worse, that he'll never get that adult tooth to come in quite right.  I am sure he will survive. No kid ever suffered lasting damage from a quirky smile.   

But I still can't help but cringe as I watch him fall, leading with those teeth.   And as he does, I call out his other name:  Careful!  And I feel like I finally totally understand what it's like to be a parent:    

To hope they have fun, but pray they don't get hurt.  To let them go and hope that your watchful eye and expertly muttered warnings will protect them.   And to know that sometimes, chipped teeth are just what they need to make their cute little outsides match their silly little insides. 

Today, my little snaggletooth.

Write about That Later. Wait, Now I Don't Remember!

I have this conversation with myself, no lie, every single time I go to write.  At random moments throughout the day I come up with these really great little comparisons.  These really great little ways of seeing some kind of special moment in my kids' lives.  And then, when the moon and the stars all align and I get five silly little minutes to write, I can barely write my name, let alone remember what it was that I had to say.

I am sure this is a common Mommy and Daddy writer thing.  Surely God's sense of humor is that He gives me all kinds of divinely inspired words, and no way to remember them when the time comes.  I have a sneaking suspicion that this is early Alzheimer's disease, and one day my family will look back and say, "remember when she was at home with the kids and they kept wetting through their diapers because she forgot to change them?" or something.  Oh, that doesn't happen.  Oh wait, yes it does, but only with Carson, and only because his damn diaper works so well he doesn't tell me it's wet until he's soaked through his pants and the couch cushion.  Oh and if you spend time on our couch, please forget that you read that here.

I am told the best way to combat the Mommy-Writer brain is to carry a--- oh, don't say it.  Not the old-school device-- yep-- a PEN and a note card or small pad.  I mean, it's not like I'm chiseling the damn words in stone, but there are all of those dreaded pen and ink excuses, like I hate my penmanship and it's not very cool, and can't I just type it instead?  A friend suggested leaving myself a voicemail or voice note on my phone.  I am sure my phone has some sort of memo function, but I've not figured it out yet, and since it is not a super fangled iPhone, I don't care to invest any time in figuring it out because some day I am going to get an iPhone and blah blah blah, really these are all just excuses to not write.  So, instead, you'll have to settle for my second rate ideas here on the blog, and I'll spend a little extra time complaining about it, because that is what I do best.

This week I'm working on getting my camera out when I see cute moments with the kids.  I don't know what I'll really do with all these pictures, but what is that rule about memory and the price of it (computer memory, not human), doubling and halving every 6 months?  Well, essentially, there is no limit to how many I can hold onto between now and the day they leave the nest, so I figure I will just keep snapping away so that someday, I can find those clever words I will one day have time to write down about each and every one of those moments.

Easter Morning- He's feeding me a Peep. 

Ok, I think this is the same Peep, but who's counting? 

For now-- here's a few pictures of the kiddos in their nearly current state-- a few weeks ago perhaps, but still.  Cue the "Awwww!"

Daddy's girl.  Such a sweet moment.

Amelia is sure to think we just left her on this mat for her entire first three months, with all the photos we have of her on it-- it's either this or her bouncy chair!! 

Two-Kids-Land

Yep, it's been FOUR MONTHS since I've written a blog. Though that should not be a surprise to anyone who knows me, I swear I can't believe sometimes how long I wait, how many great IDEAS for a blog I let go unwritten, and how many blogs I'll sit and READ before I actually sit down to do mine.  By the way-- all of your blogs I follow are so incredibly good!

So, the update: we had a little girl. Amelia Grace Pomeroy was born January 19th, 2011, at 3:14 PM, and was 8.0 lbs and 20 inches long.   She was born on the day of a full moon, and on the exact day I predicted, (once I knew the moon would be full that day, that is).   She was due on the 16th, so "fashionably late" she came, and we are so grateful for her timing-- any earlier would have meant she was smack in the middle of a huge snowstorm.  Later, the biggest one in the past 100 years.   We are so blessed-- she's a beautiful child with a sweet disposition.  I credit that entirely to my husband, and of course to God who knew I couldn't handle anything different.

We splurged a bit with Amelia and had a professional photographer come in and take some photos of her. We have about one hundred that we love, but here are the ones that are making it onto the blog.

 

Sweetness defined.  She is our little Angel. 

There have been too many wonderful moments already to recount, and every day I tell myself I need to be writing more down-- but the opportunities to do so are fleeting, and the fatigue often overwhelming.  Such is Two Kid Land.  It's rough, I'm told, rougher now than when they're 5 and 7, but still-- who cares about 4.8 years from now, right?  I am stuck in today, and most of the time, yesterday.  So true! 

Carson is amazing with Amelia. He surprises me every day.  For about the first month he wanted us to read him the Big Brother Book which, appropriately, talks about how great it is to be a big brother.  He still asks us to read it regularly.   He shows genuine concern for her, and lately, even when she is not around, he'll ask for her.  He has given her a nickname we all love as much as her real name, "Meena"-- so cute and absolutely perfect.  For the first week he kept calling her "Angel" as well.   That was kind of strange to me, because no one ever called her that-- and he came up with it all on his own.  Maybe he was commenting on the ones he saw hovering over her.  

I am working on figuring out how to add video here-- and will do so soon.  Right now my priorities have been really self-care, kid care, and home management, which leaves me little room for hobbies.  Then again, hobbies are part of self-care, right?  Ah, whatever.   

Till later- thanks for stopping in, I promise to find my creativity somewhere between here and never.  

Happy Spring!