Suck It, Barbie

So, I've been running. Well, I call it running, but it's more of a mishmash of running (1%), jogging (85%), walking (10%) and limping (4%), combined with a LOT of sweating, a plethora of cursing and so much head shaking (as to why exactly am I doing this god awful activity) that I get dizzy.

Not only am I running, but I get up early to do it. Yet another conundrum in my world. I am the furthest thing from a morning person. Hell, I'm barely an afternoon person and only a semi evening person. I'm a sleeping person. And yet, 4 days a week, I get up early, like in the 5am region, to go for a run. My husband is both amazed and impressed that I'm doing this. That makes me feel a little better.

When I am out on my runs, I happen upon various specimens of humanity. Take this past Saturday. As I trudged through 12 miles of humidity and wind, I encountered:

1. Creepy Guy. Chances are good he was perfectly harmless, but he was out for a walk at an early hour, wearing long pants and a grungy t-shirt. I noted all distinguishing features, noted my escape route and picked up my pace a little. I'm sure I had my bad ass expression on too, so even if he was Creepy Attack Guy, he knew he couldn't take me.

2. College Girl. She was adorable in her ponytail, fresh face and ipod. She didn't know what a wrinkle was, most likely had no kids at home waiting for her return, only had to wash her own laundry, didn't know the benefits of 2-day old coffee and had yet to experience her first gray hair. She said hello pleasantly and went on her merry way. She made me a bit wistful.

3. Middle-Aged Lady. I don't really know what middle-aged means, because for some strange reason that particular age gets further away the older I get. I don't think I'll ever reach it. In my world, middle-aged is like my mom's age. This lady was a little heavier set, rockin' the arm weights, doing her morning exercise. It looked like it was a new routine for her, like she was doing her best to get healthier but wasn't about to not eat that baked potato at dinner that night. Rock on Middle-Aged Lady. Good for you for working out and doing your thing.

4. Victoria Secret Model and Abercrombie Man. You know these two...the chick in the size 0 super short shorts and running bra and the bronzed dude sporting an 8-pack and sunglasses. They bopped along, perfectly timed, glistening in the sunshine. If they were dead white, I swear they would've been vampires. I just shook my head and kept sweating.

5. The Mom. We ran past each other twice. We both wore determined faces and you could tell we were both trying to enjoy some alone time, but instead, were making various lists in our heads. We sort of smiled at each other, shook our heads in the "can you believe we got up early to do this" way that only 2 non-runners can easily interpret and moved past each other, each thinking, "I wonder how much shit she has to do when she gets home."

6. The Barbie. This was the 45-year old woman with the blond ponytail, swinging in timed perfection. She had on a pink tank and black bike shorts. Her stomach was perfectly flat and I instantly hated her. Yeah, I know, she probably hasn't had a kid in the past 5 months, but still. It's the principle of the thing. A woman 10+ years my senior should not have pants smaller than mine. It's simply wrong and it makes me bitter. It made me even more bitter when she wished me "Good Morning" in a voice so chipper and sweet it made my teeth ache. I wished her a good morning as well and continued on my run. As we went on our merry ways, I comforted myself with the following thought:

Well, maybe she's actually only 23 and never had a child and just looks REALLY old.

It could happen, right?

Guilt Free Parenting

Yesterday was a day at my house. Yes, I realize it was, for all intents and purposes, a day at everyone's house, but it was one of those days at my house. The girls were coming down from a sleepover/birthday party high, which means a little extra brattiness, a little extra sass and a whole lot more arguing over who gets to play with the new toys. I was exhausted from hosting the birthday party, the house needed to be re-cleaned, the children still needed to eat at regular intervals, I lost the 3-hour potty training poop battle I had raging with my 2 year old...you get the picture. By 3pm, I was cranky and didn't want to do anything other than sit down with my book and a glass of wine. I gave serious consideration to calling the high school girl who sits for us on occasion, just so I could get away from the noise for a couple hours. But, it was a little late to call her, so I hopped on Facebook for a few minutes and ended up IM'ing for a few minutes with a friend down in AZ. Getting a little adult interaction helped quell the crabbies. My friend doesn't have kids, but she did live with me for a few years, so she understands my natural introversion and the necessity of naps in my world. As I rarely get a nap these days, I think she's just impressed my head isn't doing an exorcist move most days.

After a quick chat, I slathered up the girls in sunscreen, turned on their new Hello Kitty sprinkler, put the baby down for a nap, grabbed my book and poured a glass of wine. I felt a little guilty about it. My husband worked like a crazy man all last week and this week he's doing it again. His job is very physical and he comes home tired and sore pretty much every day. He rarely works less than a 10 hour day and here I was, with my book in hand, sipping some Chardonnay. Sure, I felt a little guilty. But then I thought: So what? A little guilt isn't going to make this day any worse at this point. I need a little break and I'll be damned if I'm not going to take it. I'm going to sit here, relax for a bit, let the kids play and then get dinner started. I'm not totally checking out for the evening. Just for an hour or so. That's reasonable, right?

So, I took my "break", got interrupted about 7,000 times and the day continued as it always does. The world did not come to a screeching halt because I read my book for a few minutes and wasn't 100% immersed in the land of 2 and 3 year olds.

And maybe a little guilt isn't really that big of a deal. Hell, I was raised Catholic...I've got it down by now.

By the by, my friend also sent me this link last night. Perfectly topic appropriate, right?

http://www.cnn.com/2010/LIVING/personal/03/11/p.reasons.no.mom.guilt/index.html

Back to Me

I don't know about you, but if you have kids, and I've got 3 of the little buggers, your life can easily take on a whole new direction. Particularly where small children are concerned, they have immediate needs, on a minute-to-minute basis, that must be met as soon as humanly possible. Butts need to be hosed down, tummies need to be filled, noses need to be wiped, entertainment needs to be supplied...you get the idea. As they get older, they can wait a little longer for certain things, but by and large, the majority of a parent's day is spent bowing down to the whims of those 42 inches and shorter. It's sort of like a reverse ride at Disney...you get taken for a ride over and over, but you're kind of getting the short end of the stick.

Now, my kids are pretty young. We're coming up on birthday season in our house. My oldest will be 4, the middle will be 3 and the youngest is 4 months today. With younger kids, you need to be "on" for a majority of the day. You can choose to be off, but you're pretty much guaranteed a huge mess somewhere that's extraordinarily difficult to clean, so it really does behoove you to be "on". Now, I made a conscious decision to have children. I knew it would be a lot of work; well, truthfully, I had an idea it would be a lot of work, but it's one of those things you don't really know until it happens. And most days, I take the work willingly. I figure if I made a conscious decision to have children, the least I can do is pay attention to them and try and help them become people other people will want to be around on a regular basis. That being said, I also find my own life lacking a bit. Like part of me is hiding somewhere. And that part really wants to come out and play.

Before kids, I thought I was a pretty good person. I liked being around me. Other people didn't seem to mind being around me. But once the kids showed up, I spent a lot more time at home and sort of became encamped there. When I was pregnant, that took over my life. When the baby was born, that took over my life. As the baby got older, I was still nursing, so that was still a major part of daily life. But now we're at the point where we're done having kids (much to my husband's relief) and I feel like it's a really great time for me to be looking toward the future and to get some "me" back. Yes, I'll still be the mom, but I'll also be the Maegan. Sure, I'll be answering to "Mom" (and all it's various forms) far more often than I'll be answering to my given name, but at least Maegan will be back in the game.

To that end, I've set myself a couple goals. And if other people know about those goals, then I'll be a little more likely to stick to them, so here they are:

1. I'm going to run the marathon. I attempted to do this 2 years ago and made it halfway. I thought that was pretty good, because I am SO not a runner. But this time I want to finish the damn thing. I don't need to do it in record time. I don't need to look pretty doing it. I just need to finish. I started training this week. And it's not pretty. But I'm doing it...and at an obscenely, horrendously early hour in the morning...before the kids wake up. I figure that way I start the day with just myself to worry about...and I get gratifying looks of astonishment when people ask me what time I woke up that morning.

2. I'm going to take a sewing class. It's something I've wanted to do for years. I have no idea why, really, but I want to, so I'm going to. And (gasp) I'm hiring a babysitter so I can actually do it. Watch out!

3. I'm going to put a lot more effort into my new-ish business venture. I started selling a jewelry line a couple months before #3 arrived and it's been relatively successful. Now I just need to get into the habit of keeping the ball rolling. It's a lot easier to keep it rolling than it is to start it up again every few weeks.

So, there you have it. A few goals for yours truly. Perhaps you have some goals for yourself you've been putting off...feel free to leave a comment about your goals. Maybe it'll help you keep yourself accountable. Or maybe just thinking about them a little more often will be the fire you need to get you going. However you choose to get around to your goals, I wish you success. Please let me know how they turn out...I'll be rooting for you.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to go pop a few ibuprofen because my legs are killing me...and I need to call the sewing shop and register for my class.

Cheers!

Public Service Announcement

This afternoon, my husband and I and our 3 kids met another couple and their 2 kids at a local restaurant for an impromptu lunch. Now, I tend to think my kids are incredibly well-behaved and know how to act in a restaurant, but I also know that every child has his/her limits. My kids are still quite young, so their limits are that much more, for lack of a better word, limited.


Prior to motherhood, I worked a variety of jobs. Most of them were restaurant-based. I've washed dishes, cooked, waited tables, run food, tended bar, managed. Pretty much anything you can do in a restaurant, I've done. With that being said, I have very specific expectations of my children when they are in restaurants, because I've been on the other side of the equation. You know...the side that has to clean up the smashed Saltines, the plates filled with various liquid substances, the tables covered in unknown goo.


And so, dear readers, I offer you this public service announcement. Please feel free to pass along these helpful hints to your family and friends and any stranger on the street. Your local service industry worker will love you all the more for it.


1. While you may think your children are God's gift to this earth, your server could pretty much care less. Your server is there because it is his/her job, not because s/he is extra excited to see your kid, who is more likely than not, going to make a mess in said server's section.

2. Maintain your child. Request a booth, if at all possible, and put your children ON THE INSIDE. As you well know, children have a tendency to escape small areas and sitting on the outside of a bench is simply too much for their little bodies to bear. They must escape, in which case, they run the risk of being run into by someone carrying a tray full of heavy plates containing (hopefully) hot food or a bevy of beverages in hefty glassware. If you don't want your kid to get clonked in the head with a steaming plate of hot turkey sandwich, put them on the inside of the table. Now, I'm not saying you, the parent, won't get clonked in the head with a steaming plate of hot turkey sandwich covered in gravy, but if you're nice to your server, you stand a pretty good chance of a safe delivery.

3. The restaurant does not stock Saltines in order to appease your child's pre-meal appetite. Bring your own snacks. And if your kid spills said snack all over the floor, apologize for the mess and tip a little extra.

4. Use plates. I'm assuming your child eats off a plate at your house. Same rules apply in a restaurant. And if your kid refuses to comply and makes a huge mess all over the table, again, apologize and tip a little extra. Are you seeing a pattern here?

5. If your kid turns into a screaming banshee over the course of the meal and people are starting to stare, take the kid out of the restaurant. People will love you for it and most of them will give you sympathetic smiles as you walk past, as opposed to murderous stares if you stay. Kids have fits. People know that. People understand that. People do not need to be subjected to it longer than necessary though.

6. Yes, your child should eventually learn to order for him/herself. But if it's an hour before a hockey game, the restaurant is jam-packed, and your server is running around frantically trying to keep all his/her customers happy, now is NOT the time to encourage little Jimmy to practice his ordering skills. Just place the order and be done with it.

7. The steps in any restaurant are not your child's personal playground. Especially if your child is a toddler. Do you have any idea how many shoes have stepped in God knows what before you let your child crawl up those stairs? You cannot be certain those wet spots are water, people, and little Suzie isn't legally allowed to drink until she's 21. Shudder.

8. Don't blame your server when your child's chicken fingers are delivered and they're hot. Hello! They're cooked in a vat of hot oil! They're gonna be hot.

9. If you're eating at a place that serves liquor, chances are good it doesn't serve chocolate milk or apple juice. If your kid's gonna have a fit, bring your own. No, your server won't make it for you "special." And believe me, you don't want to be messing with "special" orders, particularly on a busy night. You've seeing "Waiting".

10. Even if your kid is really good and does well in a restaurant, they can only stay for so long. Keep that in mind when you order. If you have to eat in shifts, do it. If you're extra smart, you'll order the kid's food when you place your drink order. That way you won't have to deal with hungry kid. Sure, when your food comes, you'll have to deal with fidgety kid, but that's a whole lot easier that dealing with cranky, hungry kid. And no, you won't get to eat your food when it's hot, because you'll be dealing with fidgety kid, but you're the one who wanted to go to a restaurant. What did you expect?

And always remember people:

When in doubt, tip a little more.

Mother's Day

Some of you may think Mother's Day is a Hallmark holiday. Apparently, we have a woman named Anna Jarvis to thank for the holiday and not Hallmark. See her story here:

http://today.msnbc.msn.com/id/36969170/ns/today-mothers_day_guide?Gt1=43001

Regardless about how the holiday came about, I've just got to say:

Hell, yes, I deserve a day dedicated to me!

And who am I, you may ask? Well, I'll tell you:

I'm the woman who carried you for 9 months. I didn't have morning sickness...but I could have.

I'm the woman who suffered through sleep deprived nights before you even arrived. I let you kick me in the liver, dance on my bladder and bruise my ribs.

I let you suck the blond out of my hair (I still miss it sometimes), make me look like an idiot for 9 months because I was too freaked out to color my hair while you were inside me and dealt with the fact that I shed like a woolly mammoth for months after you were born.

I let you exit my body the "natural" way. And let me tell you, there's nothing natural about 10 cm, salad tongs, vacuums, episiotomies, stitches in the lady parts, the post-partum poop episode(S) or post-partum hemorrhoids.

I let you eat from my body. That is wacky in a way nothing else can be considered wacky...and let me just mention - bloody nipples.

I let you wake me up whenever you want. For as long as you wanted.

I clean up god knows what just came out of your body. From either end. All over me.

These are just a few of the things I do and/or have done for you. And, yes, I do them willingly and with love. But that doesn't mean I don't like a little thank you now and then.

If you are a mom, Happy Mother's Day to you. If you have a mom, Happy Mother's Day to her. Believe me, you and she deserve it.

My Biggest Fear

My (current) biggest fear is that I will have to drive a minivan...and soon. But this makes it all a little better:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ql-N3F1FhW4

Off Her Game

A friend of mine came over on Friday evening. She brought her 3 kids with and all the kids "ate" dinner together. The babies hung out together on the floor, the 3 girls ran around the house in various states of undress and the 2-year old boy chased my cat for about an hour. The mom and I shared a glass of wine, which consisted of about 3 sips apiece by the time she and the kids got back in the car. It was a chaotic evening, but exactly what one would expect from a house filled with 6 kids, ages 4 and under, at the dinnertime hour.

Later that night, I got an email from my friend in which she apologized for the chaos and for being "off her game."

I promptly returned her email and informed her there was no need for an apology and I had no idea she was even close to off her game.

Here's the thing moms: No one knows when you're off your game. You might feel like you've lost all control, you might be more sensitive to the noise at a certain point, you might feel like you're chewing glass, but no one else can tell. Sure, if you're screaming and the neighbors down the street can hear you, then you've entered into the danger zone. Child services may be on their way. But if you're doing the job, the kids are fed, butts are clean and at least 1 of your 3 children are smiling, on a rotating basis, then you're good. You might not feel good, but they do.

And there's no need to apologize for that.

Flashback

Last night, my two oldest were complete stinkers at bedtime. It was the end of a long day - they hadn't taken naps, they were tired, I needed some quiet, their dad was at a reunion party so I had no interference being run, the baby was hungry...you get the picture. So, when I went upstairs at 8pm, an hour after they should've been asleep, I threatened to take precious items if I had to come upstairs again. Usually, just the threat is enough.

Last night was not that night.

I let things go on for a while, because, honestly, I don't like to take their things away. It's not a warm, fuzzy feeling in my world. But by 9:15, a full two hours past bedtime, they were still going strong and I WAS NOT. So, I went upstairs, pulled them off the floor (they were hiding under one's comforter and screaming at each other at dog-level decibels) and took Blankie (those of you whose children have a Blankie understand the importance of the capitalization) from the youngest. She knew I was serious, got into bed and went to sleep.

Next up, the oldest. She doesn't have a particular precious. She has rotating preciouses and, truth be told, I didn't know which item it was yesterday. She has a kitty pillow she sleeps on every night, so I thought that was a safe bet. I took kitty pillow.

She said, "I can sleep without kitty pillow."

Flashback.

I have no idea how old I was. I don't even know what my sister and I were doing to get in trouble, but my mother had completely had it. We each got a spanking. A good, old-fashioned, over-the-knee spanking. (And I share this story not for the capital punishment angle, but mostly because my mother has the upper arm strength of a gnat, so don't think she was some 6'4 linebacker or something like that.) So, I got spanked first. I was properly apologetic for my misdoings.

Next up: baby sister.

She gets her spanking, stands up and says the stupidest thing you could EVER say to a mother so at her wits end she's resorted to spanking.

She said, while looking my mother dead in the eye, "That didn't hurt."

Well, let's just say, the next one, immediately following said statement, did hurt. And, apparently, baby sister learned a valuable lesson - when getting spanked, keep your mouth shut and nobody gets hurt.

It was the one and only time I remember getting spanked. I'm certain the only reason I remember it is because of my sister's ill-timed remark. Because, as she said, it didn't hurt.

Flash foward.

My 3-year old tells me she can sleep just fine without kitty pillow. I see red. I hear ocean waves in my ears. I take a deep breath, force myself not to scream. I start removing precious items from said 3-year old's bed at lightning speed. By the time I'm done, she's lucky she's still wearing pajamas. I look at her. She looks at me, mouth agape and eyes wide. I ask her if I should continue. She shakes her head and lies her head on her pillow. I say good night, shut off the light, close the door, walk downstairs, still slightly shaking, and drain my glass of wine. I watch tv for a little longer, put the baby to bed, get ready for bed myself. I go in to check on the older 2, shortly after 10pm. They are both blissfully asleep. I breathe a sigh of relief, praying tomorrow's bedtime will go more smoothly.

Then, I wimp out and return Blankie and kitty pillow to their rightful owners.

Dance Dance Revolution

This year, I decided the girls needed an activity to do, so I signed them up for dance class. I wasn't sure if they'd like it or not, but they absolutely LOVE it. They get so excited every week when I tell them it's a dance class day. The older one takes a tap/ballet combo and the younger one just has ballet. They have the same teacher, whom they ADORE. All in all, it's been a really good experience for all of us.

At the end of the year, the kids have a recital. Each class puts on a little group performance. They have special costumes. They have to wear their hair a certain way. They may wear makeup. They also have Picture Day.

Cue "Jaws" music.

This was my first experience with Picture Day. And what I've deemed the Pageant Mom. Pageant Mom is a scary beast, let me tell you. I was afraid...very afraid. And I don't live anywhere close to Texas. That's where I think the scariest PMs live. But I could be wrong.

So, here's the deal: When they sent home information about pictures, they essentially told us the kids needed to wear their costumes. That was really the only instruction. For the recital, they need to wear their hair a certain way and we may want to consider putting a little blush on the kids so they don't get washed out under the stage lights. But for pictures, they didn't need to do anything special aside from wear their costumes and show up at the appointed time.

The 2-year olds' class went off without a hitch. The kids were adorable. They did their individual shots, then a group shot, got their suckers for being troopers and off we went.

I assumed the 3-year old class would go the same way.

Well, you know what they say about assuming things. Only this time, I wasn't the you-know-what.

Apparently, once a little girl hits the ripe old age of 3, the PM comes out in full force. And a force it is.

So, I'm sitting in the hallway, with my 3-year old. She's cute as can be in her little costume and her naked little face.

Then the other 3-year olds start rolling in. It was like a freaking Jon Benet Ramsey parade. And if you've seen the pictures of that kid, then you know what freaky looks like! These 3-year olds had on mascara, eye shadow, blush and sparkly lip gloss. Hair was curled and sprayed within an inch of its life. Moms were fussing over exactly where the hair should fall over the shoulder. They're working on poses. It was all I could do to not stare.

The advice I gave my kid? Smile with teeth. And please god, don't look at these other girls, and their crazy ass mothers, and think "Hey, they're prettier than me."

Something tells me I might not be cut out for the world of dance. Or, perhaps, my kid will be the one who says, "Mommy? Do I have to wear this crap* on my face? It feels funny. I'd rather make mud pies."

*Ok, so she better not say "crap" but we'll all know that's what she means.

Work for It

A friend's post today was about the lack of an immediate "bond" with his kids after he and his wife adopted.

You can read his post here:

http://temorgan.blogspot.com/2010/04/babys-smile.html

This got me to thinking...

While he had a little warning, not to expect a Hallmark moment the second he met his kids, birth parents don't really get this warning. And, to be honest, they need one. Especially if birth parents have more than one child. The first kid sort of lucks out...there's a newness never experienced by the parent. Every smile has a nuance, every cry is immediately answered, every diaper is barely wet before it's changed, every bottle is warmed to the perfect temperature. For every child after that, I have a piece of advice for you:

You gotta work for it.

It's not that second and subsequent children aren't loved. It's simply that the connection takes longer to build. The newness of the first child isn't there anymore. Parents have heard all the cries, have been through the sleepless nights and they're over it. And here's the kicker...nobody tells you it's ok to not be over the moon over your latter children, or even your first, for that matter. Nobody says, "Hey, you know what? You might not like your kid too much the first few months. You might resent the hell out of that baby for ruining your sleep and your ability to function like a human in the daylight hours. You might feel like you need liquor on a more consistent basis. You might have a shorter temper with your first born. AND IT'S OK."

Well, you know what? It is ok. And 99% of the time, that feeling will subside. I don't know if it's different for dads, but I know it was very different the 2nd and 3rd time around for my husband. It took him a full month to connect with our 2nd. Up until then, he was tired, I was a wreck, neither one of us knew which end was up and the baby gave him nothing. Then, on her one month birthday, he was holding her, talking to her and she cooed at him. I saw the whole thing happen. His shoulders relaxed, the two of them had an in-depth conversation, he looked over at me and said, "Ok, she got me now. We can keep her." I nodded my assent and they've been inseparable ever since. The same thing happened with number 3. We get to keep him too.

So, if you've got more than one kid, know it's ok to not be over the moon immediately. It will, most likely, come. In the meantime, give yourself a break and remember that LOTS of other parents have experienced the same thing.

And most of those parents did, in fact, keep their kids.