Top Ten Signs Mommy Is Ready For A Vacation

Jared has been out of town this week, so it's just been me and the kids (and a mean little cold virus that refuses to leave). It's been a busy week, with school letting out, swimming lessons starting, and a visit from the Breppersons, and I'm starting to feel it. One thing I've learned since becoming a mom is that I need to keep an eye on myself. . .I'm talking about Mommy Burnout here. It happens to every mom, so it's important to be aware of the warning signs:

1. You catch yourself arguing with your kids' See 'N Say ("I'm sorry, bunnies do NOT say 'boing' when they jump. In fact, why did they even put a bunny on here? They don't make a dang sound.")

2. The closest you've come to a facial lately is being immersed in a cloud of steam as you drain the spaghetti.

3. You drive somewhere sans kids and as you pull into the parking lot you realize you were singing along to the "Little Mermaid" CD for the whole drive.

4. You volunteer to do double carpool duty, just to ensure you leave the house more than once a week.

5. Your definition of "dressed up" is a T-shirt without any spit-up, your "good" yoga pants, and flip flops.

6. Your definition of "gourmet" is hot dogs in the mac & cheese.

7. You don't like writing checks because you can't remember what year it is.

8. You eagerly anticipate your next dental visit, because it guarantees you the chance to lay down for 30 minutes in the middle of the day.

9. Your kids stop asking you to play Hide & Seek because you are the world's worst "seeker" ("Hmm, I wonder where they could be? Maybe if I lay down on the couch and close my eyes I'll be able to hear them. . .")

10. You find yourself ordering things online just so you can chat with the UPS guy. (By the way, I have the coolest UPS guy ever. He listens to NPR.)

And now, for your viewing pleasure, some pics of the kids I love so much it makes me a little crazy:




(Man, these guys spend a lot of time hanging out on my bed. I hope you all like my bedding--it gets photographed a lot!)

Anna is Four!

It amazes me that it's been four years since Anna joined our family. Sometimes I look at this silly, chatty, stubborn little creature and then look back at photos of my rosy-cheeked little Boo Bear and find it hard to believe they're the same child. . .


. . .although she's still got hair just as blond and eyes just as blue as back then.

Anna is our family's "Fancy Nancy". I can't remember the last time she wore jeans; these days it's all about dresses, well-accessorized. The other day after getting ready for church, she asked me how she looked, and I told her she looked fine. "No," she insisted, "tell me, do I look cute or do I look adorable?" Yikes.

She'll acquiesce to wear regular clothes when we leave the house (because Mommy makes her), but she insists on wearing one of her many dress-up outfits for breakfast at least. In fact, if we're going to someone's house she'll usually put on her street clothes but pack a spare tutu to change into once we arrive.

owl dress + monkey tights + pink cowboy boots = high fashion

Lately Anna has been talking about what she wants to be when she grows up. The top contenders so far are a mermaid ballerina, a mommy kitty, or a girl frog. I hope I can talk some sense into her soon; otherwise it's going to make for a very interesting Career Day at preschool. Just how do you dress a 4-year-old as a girl frog?


Anna loves to help out around the house. . .sort of. Her favorite jobs are to help do laundry and cook--especially treats, like apple pie.


For a long time, Anna was a complete dairy addict. One day she offered to make her own lunch and then proceeded to open the fridge and take out the milk, cottage cheese, yogurt, a brick of cheddar cheese, a bag of shredded cheese. . .Whether it was just a phase she outgrew, or whether getting those honking big tonsils removed has made it easier for her to eat, she's been eating a lot more variety since her tonsillectomy. She doesn't consume yogurt in mass quantities anymore, and her cheese addiction has abated somewhat. The next time you're at our house, though, take a peek at the butter dish and you'll see that someone or something has been nibbling away at the stick of butter. . .No, we're not overrun with mice; it's Anna. She'll open the fridge to browse for a snack, and while she's considering her options she'll pinch off bits of butter to eat.


Anna is still very much the high-spirited, full-of-smiles child she's been since she was a baby. There's a stormy side to the sunny personality, though; she can dig in her heels with the best of them, and she's a gifted little sister, knowing just what to do and say to drive her big sister crazy at times. Despite the contrariness, though, at the core she's a tender and kind-hearted critter. For this birthday Aunt Kellie gave her a watering can filled with Ring Pops, one of Anna's favorite treats, and without any prompting Anna reached into the watering can and began handing out Ring Pops to the cousins gathered around her. So sweet.


Happy birthday, Anna! You're such an important part to our family. . .We love you!

"Spring" 2011

It's been a wet, cold, sorry excuse for spring. (On the plus side, my tulips have never looked better. . .at least, the ones that didn't get eaten by deer.) But despite the lousy Smarch weather, we've stayed busy this spring. . .

April brought Ben's blessing. Grandma and I found his outfit at a store just down the street from us. Aunt Kellie says he looks like a character out of Jeeves & Wooster:


At his 2-month checkup, Ben weighed in at one ounce shy of 15 pounds, and the pediatrician remarked that he'd set the record for the biggest 2-month-old in their office. I felt pretty vindicated at this--a nurse in the hospital had hinted that I probably wouldn't be able to keep up with such a big baby. Ha. I ought to send that nurse a snapshot of his fat rolls:


In May, Jared took a day off of work to go with Elizabeth's kindergarten class on their field trip to the zoo:

They had a great time, and Elizabeth couldn't stop talking about the camels, the dinosaur statues, the snake slide. . .so a few weeks later, I took the kids to the zoo one evening. Between taking Anna potty every 20 minutes and dealing with a grouchy baby who decided he did NOT like the double stroller, it was a little stressful--but still fun. Major props to Elizabeth, who cheerfully (and competently) pushed Anna all over the zoo in the double stroller so I could carry Ben. We bought a zoo membership this year, so I've got all summer to master the art of singlehandedly taking the kids to a public venue without losing my mind. Or a kid. Maybe I'll even manage a photo or two. . .or maybe I'll leave the zoo photography to Jared. I've been to the zoo countless times and haven't gotten pics of the animals as good as these ones that Jared took:

May also brought Mother's Day. This year, along with breakfast in bed, the girls surprised me with a special message in Legos:

Anyone else reminded of old-school Nintendo games?

In between rain showers, Jared has been toiling away in the backyard. We'd planned on putting in a new fence on the south side of the yard sometime soon, but the decision to put one in ASAP was made for us by an impressive windstorm that hit our neighborhood over the winter and knocked down the old "fence". If you've seen our yard, you'll know why that's in quotation marks; when we tore out the overgrown shrubs along that side, it revealed a rather Hoovervillian structure that was more building pallets and slabs of particleboard than actual fencing:

(summer 2009)

To say the new fence is an improvement is something of an understatement:

"Something there is that does not love a wall."

That something is not my husband.

Not having many nice days to work in the yard, I've been puttering around the house instead. I set up a new sewing area in the basement with high hopes of sewing some summer dresses for Elizabeth; ready-made dresses are just too wide and too short for my long-legged grasshopper of a girl.

Oh, and did I mention she's flexible?

I also finally got around to taking care of Ben's "cradle cap". Those of you who've had babies with cradle cap know that nothing else invokes quite the same combination of satisfaction and repulsion as going after that stuff with some olive oil and a toothbrush:


And now it's June. Anna is about to turn four. Elizabeth is done with kindergarten. I'm feeling a little verklempt, even more than I did on her first day. I mean, now we're staring down the barrel at first grade. . .Full day! Lunch at school! TWO recesses! First grade is the big leagues.

Elizabeth at her kindergarten program

But we've got a nice long summer to enjoy before I start getting too sad about my girls going off to preschool and first grade in the fall. We're kicking off summer vacation with a marathon week of visiting cousins, swimming lessons, and Anna's birthday (which I'm determined to get pictures of this year!) Stay tuned.

Handy Man

I've heard it said that boys never really grow up, they just get bigger/more expensive toys. I assumed this saying was referring to those guys who fill their garages with four-wheelers, snowmobiles, and boats. I'm learning otherwise; it's becoming apparent that Jared has simply swapped his Tinkertoys and Construx for two-by-fours and copper pipe, and that our house is his biggest, best, most expensive toy ever.

I wish I could tell you what all this stuff does.
(Short answer: it heats our house.)

I wish I could tell you what this stuff does, too.

(Short answer: Well, I know it's called a network box. . .)

My mother-in-law says that she always meant to get a sandbox for Jared, because he loved creating, building, and digging. I tell her she can stop feeling bad that the sandbox never happened, because now he has something even better: a tractor and a backyard.

Just imagine how wonderful to have your own house, where you can knock holes in the walls. . .

Inaugural Hole, circa 2007

. . .jackhammer up the floor. . .

The Great Floor Drain Migration of 2011

. . .and dig giant holes in the yard. . .

groundbreaking for The Great Wall of Ridgeview, circa 2009

all without getting in trouble with your parents. There is, however, still the issue of the wife. . .Jared deals with this by throwing me a bone every so often in order to maintain a generous WAF*

"You want recessed lighting in the living room? I can do that."

"Okay, we can use landscape rock instead of cinderblock for the retaining wall. . ."

"How about some shelving in our closet?"

So living with a handyman certainly does have its perks. Other times. . .well. . .you know how when you leave a dog home alone, sometimes they get bored and trash the house just to keep busy? Now imagine that your dog had opposable thumbs and access to a crowbar:

(When funds run low but you're hankering for some home improvement,
just remember Jared's motto: demolition is cheap. Fun, too.)

Why do I put up with it? I can think of three primary reasons:
1) I have faith that it'll be worth it. There are things I want done that I believe will be done someday, if only I can be patient for now. (Wow, that sounds almost spiritual, doesn't it?)
2) I'm cheap. Sure, my general contractor may be slow as molasses, but he works for free.
3) I love my husband, and I recognize that having projects to work on makes him unbelievably happy. Some husbands find happiness in watching "the game" every weekend, or collecting the latest techie gadgets, or spending a day on the golf course. Mine just happens to find his bliss operating heavy machinery.


*WAF = Wife Acceptance Factor, a term Jared's coworker came up with to describe the level of inconvenience/noise/mess your wife is willing to accept. The WAF is, of course, dynamic. Pregnancy tends to dramatically decrease the WAF, as does forgetting your wife's birthday--but you can easily increase your WAF through such simple acts as mopping the kitchen floor, cooking dinner, and getting up with the baby. It's always wise to double-check your WAF before embarking on a new project. Unless you enjoy sleeping on the couch.

A Study in Contrast

Elizabeth


Annalise


Benjamin

Baby Fat

I realized today that Ben weighs about as much as I have left to lose to be at my pre-pregnancy weight. Sure looks a lot cuter on him:

Mom Brain

I feel like being a mother has made me wise in ways that no other experience could. But it's also made me unbelievably stupid.

Once upon a time, I could write a cogent 5-paragraph essay discussing the impact of Steinbeck's novels on post-war America, solve college-level physics problems, and simultaneously sight-read four lines of music in three different clefs--and that was all before lunchtime.

Now I'm lucky if I can complete a sentence without some help from my 6-year-old:

Me: "Go put your dishes in the. . .um. . .the thing that cleans the, uh, things we put food on."
Elizabeth: (snickering) "The dishwasher?"
Me: "Um, yeah."

You're probably thinking the above example was an exaggeration for effect (shoot, there's a name for that*). Sadly, it's not. Nouns in particular are difficult for me, whether it's my kids' names** or the names of everyday items such as the. . .oh, you know, that thing that keeps food cold.

I'm not saying this to imply that being a mom is a waste of my skills or brain power. On the contrary, I believe that what I'm doing is truly valuable, and in many ways it's very mentally stimulating. My major was in early childhood education, and believe you me, there's no better way to learn how children learn than to follow them in their daily lives. I was absolutely giddy with delight at watching Elizabeth learn to read; it really is fascinating to watch the process, up close and personal. I guess one way to look at these last 6 years would be as a very long, very intense lab experience. Still, there's no denying that I've forgotten an awful lot of what I used to know.

What counts, I suppose, is that I remember the important things. I have committed to memory the phone numbers of Elizabeth's best friends, the PBS morning lineup, and the words to more picture books than I'd care to admit. I can tell you the incubation period and symptoms of the ten most common childhood illnesses. I've learned ways to coax even the most recalcitrant three-year-old into getting dressed. I can (and do) change diapers without fully waking up. I can simultaneously wrangle three children while grocery-shopping with a budget and without a list. I know where the binky is. So maybe my brain's not so flabby after all.

And when's the last time I needed to solve a quadratic equation, anyway?


*Hyperbole! Ha! Score one for me.

**I always mix up the girls' names, but that's to be expected. Poor Ben, though, has to contend with me forgetting not his name, but his gender. By day I do just fine, but come 2 AM when I'm handing him to Jared, I inevitably find myself saying, "Could you change her diaper?"