Gaining a Toddler

My youngest turned 2 last week. I officially no longer have a baby in the house.

I wanted to mark the occasion on here in some way, but I couldn't decide how to do it. Did I tell his birth story? As a planned C-section, that was a rather short and drama free story. Do I lament the putting away of the crib and putting him in a big boy bed? Well, I kind of did that on Facebook and decided I didn't want to dwell on it, lest it make me sadder.

No, I finally decided that I wanted to celebrate all of the new things that are coming for him. He is different from Elwood, so even though we will have the same milestones, he will meet them in his own way, in his own time.

I look forward to the future for both he and Elwood. I am excited to see the people they will become as they grow and change. But, don't be surprised if you catch a sad glint behind my eyes when I remember the babies they once were and how it felt to be the center of their world.

40 Years Later - Free Spirts

For the 40th anniversary of Woodstock, I decided that the boys and I would tie dye some t-shirts (and I thought it would be a fun craft).

So we tied:

And then we dyed:

And then we rinsed:
And then hung the shirts up to dry:
While they were drying, I took my guys outside to play. It was warm, but having just filled the pool this morning, I figured the water was still cold. In the spirit of the free wheelin' 60's, my children decided to jump in with their clothes on. (In all fairness, Finn just jumped in before I could stop him - after that, I told Elwood it was okay).

What I didn't catch on film was the two of them dancing naked to Nancy Sinatra "These Boots Were Made For Walking" right after we came in. I was laughing too hard to find the camera.

Fortunate Sons

I want my boys to be "Fortunate Sons".

While I take that phrase from the Creedence Clearwater Revival song, my children are not those of privilege or influence. If they were, I would not encourage them to abandon their responsibilities - to God, to country or to family. But do I want them to face war - no. And the point of that song was, the fortunate ones did not face Vietnam. They were not sent off to face war and, in many cases, die.

I am very grateful to the men and women who have and do serve our country in the military. I am extremely proud of my brothers - Patrick, who is on his way to Iraq, and Dominic, who just volunteered to serve another year in Afghanistan. This is by no means meant as disrespect. It is simply my wish for the future of my children.

I want my boys to grow up in a world where war and death and destruction is not the opening story on the news every day.

I want them to grow up in a world were peace reigns, understanding permeates and compassion is what guides people.

I want them to grow up in a country where people of different opinions can come together and discuss their differences with out disrespect, name calling and pepper spray.

I want them to be part of a generation that will understand we all have common ground from which we can build a better life for everyone - in a fair and just way.

I want them to know that even though there are bad things in this world, good will win out.

I want so much for them. And I hope they will want these things for themselves and the others in their lives.

A mother can dream, can't she?

Happy Anniversary

When I met my husband, I was 22, so I can't claim to have been a kid. But I was very naive.I had only started to sow the few wild oats I had about 5 months before I met him. He was the first man who had ever made me feel smart and beautiful and worth something - and who I felt the same way about. I fell in love with him in 2 months and then spent another 4 years, through good and bad and all the stupid stuff in between, waiting for him to decided that not only did he love me but that he wanted to make our relationship "official".

That sounds bad. I've never questioned his love for me. Even during our worst fights, I never questioned it. What I questioned was his patience for me and mine for him. There is no lack of love - but patience sometimes runs so thin it's see-through and brittle as spun sugar.

Eight years ago today, we decided love would get us through when patience might not. My wedding is the 3rd happiest day of my life (behind the boys births), but it was absolutely the most fun. My favorite memory is when I walked up the steps to the gazebo where we were married - already crying - and Todd took my hand and told me "It's okay. I love you."

Happy Anniversary Todd. We don't always see eye to eye and our patience runs thin and our styles may be different, but it's okay. We're good goats.

I Guess I Deserved That

Last night was a bad night. The kids were wound up and over tired. I was cranky. Todd had to go back to work after bath time. Nothing seemed to go right. I felt like all I did was yell at Elwood all night. He didn't end up going to sleep until after 10:30 and by then I was upset because I had taught him a new phrase - "I can't take it anymore". I went to bed with him cuddled up next to me and wet tears on my cheeks.

So tonight, I made an effort to be Non-Yelling Mommy. I made a special dinner - breakfast actually. French toast and strawberries - what kid could complain. Things were going so much smoother.

So I said to Elwood "We're going to have a better night tonight, right?"

He replied "Yep. Where are you going?"

My husband almost choked on his french toast he was laughing so hard.

Nothing Special About Today

It wasn't a holiday.  It wasn't any one's birthday.  It didn't mark the beginning or the end of anything.  Just a normal, everyday Sunday.  But, somehow, when my husband and my boys are with me and we are playing and there is no work, no trouble, no one complaining, it seems extra special.  

We took the boys to the park for picnic of Happy Meals and then playing at the playground.  It was a little chilly in the shade (odd for the middle of May), so our picnic was a little rushed.  But once we got out into the sunshine on the playground, it was beautiful.  We were the only ones there and all you could hear were the sounds of our laughter. We slid, we climbed, we swung, we ran.  The boys allergies had their noses running, but for that hour, that was the only problem. For that hour, we weren't worried about money or jobs or cleaning.  We just had to make sure no one fell off the slide.  We just had to make sure we pushed the swings high enough.  

There aren't enough moments in life like that.  That's one of the reasons I'm resistant to change our bedtime routine.  I lie in bed with the boys every night as they go to sleep.  It's not the best way of doing things and half the time, they don't leave our bed.  But for that little time, everyday, it's just me and them watching a movie or reading a book.  I want more time like that with them.  More cuddling in bed.  More days in the park.  More family time.  

Finn's a Quick One

Elwood & Finn - BMOC

BMOC = Big Men on Campus

That's how I saw my two little guys last Friday as we participated in our local Relay for Life.  

As we walked the thru the park, kids and adults were yelling "Hello" to Elwood and Finn.  Little girls ran up and hugged them.  It was crazy.  

Even though I've lived here for 8 years (5 full time), I'm always going to be that girl from St. Louis that Todd married.  But my boys, they're natives.  They have friends, even at this stage in their young lives.  People know me as their mom - which I don't mind at all.

My husband made friends in this tiny town that he has carried with him throughout his life.  They are good men who married wonderful women who I am proud to now call my friends.  They are people he can count on, be it to fix something around the house or to support him in difficult times.  I hope that growing up in this small town, this is what my boys have to look forward to.

When "That's Not Funny" Really Is

Usually, there's a very clear line between what's  acceptable and what's not.  And while I admit to not being the most consistent about discipline, Elwood knows what is right and what is wrong - and what he should and should not say.  

However, there are times, when discipline is just not possible.  Times when the giggles overcome you and the child sees that they have won solely because of their cuteness.  

Case in point  - 

The other night, Elwood was over tired, over stimulated, and just out of control.  He was all over the furniture like a monkey on speed.  Jumping from couch to couch.  Diving off the arm of the couch.  Up and down for what seemed like hours.  Then, he set his sites on his brother.  Finn, while no longer a completely innocent victim, is still not always a willing participant in his brother's antics.  Elwood pounced on him.  There was no subtly, no stealth - just a belly flop onto his little brother.  

After pulling them apart and reprimanding Elwood, he stood, arms crossed, bottom lip out, and looked at me.  Glared is probably more appropriate.  He opened that little mouth and growled "Finn's a jert!" (For those unsure about toddler-speak, jert=jerk).

 

Well, I lost it.  I tried to look and sound stern as I told him "That's not nice.  You don't call people that", but there was just no way to keep the smile off my face and the chuckle out of my voice.  I turned to Todd, hoping for a little back up (or back bone), but there was no help there. He kept his back to me while he did dishes, his head shaking and his shoulders rocking with laughter the whole time.

When I turned back to Elwood, he had the most beautiful, triumphant grin on his face.  He knew that he had won.  So, I gave up.  I surrendered to my little monkey and I laughed until I almost cried.   

So Many Words yet No Complete Thoughts

I think I'm making this blogging thing harder than it truly is.  I've come up with countless things I could write about, yet they aren't completely formed thoughts.  A few sentences of a good idea here and there, but nothing more.  It doesn't help that my mother told me one of my entries bothered her.  I know it's just because the idea of airing your feeling for the whole world to see isn't something she's comfortable with.  But it makes me over think everything I start to put up here.

I want to hone my writing skills and find my voice.  I want to record all of the wonderful and difficult and crazy and sublime things my kids do and bring into my life.  I want to put this out there so that I can say "There it is - it's in writing - it's real".  

Maybe with the coming of spring, my brain will thaw and the ice jam will loosen in my brain and some of the thoughts can become flowing prose that I will be confident enough to post.  

Ghosts

Today would have been my Grandma E-A's birthday.   I miss her as much today as I did when she died twelve years ago.  The pain has dulled, but it's still there.  Her death changed the landscape of my family.  This fall, I wrote this piece in honor of all of my grandparents and the traditions they passed down.  I was going to include it in Christmas cards, but that seemed kind of pretentious.  So, I held onto it, wanting to find the right forum.  Today, in honor of  E-A, I've decided to post it here.  

Up here on the mountain, it’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas. Much to my husband’s dismay, I have already begun all the lists – not just the naughty and nice list, but the menus, the shipping supplies, the cards, and more. Santa’s got nothing on me when it comes to holiday lists.

While it may sound like my focus is on the secular aspects of the holidays, it is all rooted deep in my heart and my memory. My Christmas fanaticism comes from wanting to recreate the holidays of my childhood. Much like a Dickens character, I am haunted by the Ghosts of Christmas Past.

The holidays were very important in my family. Christmas was spent with my mother’s big Italian extended family; New Years with my father’s boisterous Irish one. For most of the first 23 years of my life, that was the norm.

Houses were filled to the brim with grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins, and friends that might as well have been family. We ate foods we only got once a year. The seafood feast on Christmas Eve and the lasagna on Christmas Day at my Great Grandmother’s were the stuff of legend. My Grandma Rita’s spiced beef on New Year’s Day was a bit of salty heaven.

And this was probably the only time of year there were no arguments about going to church. Midnight mass on Christmas Eve was magical with the candles and incense and the choir singing in Latin and Italian. On New Year’s Day we were there in the pews, bleary eyed and some a little green around the gills, but there, to give thanks for the year ahead.

Much of this ended with the deaths of my grandparents. The houses we filled now have new owners. Our families are scattered and re-arranged. The traditions are fading. My parent’s divorce meant even my immediate family would never be in the same city.

When Elwood was born, my husband and I decided that unless there were special circumstances, we would celebrate Christmas at home. We would open our doors to whoever wanted to come, but our children would wake up in their own beds and Santa would always know where to find us.

I don’t regret that decision at all and I don’t miss the packing and driving. But I miss those wonderful times together with so many members of my family and I want my boys to have the same thing. I do everything I can recapture that feeling, but it’s not the same. Mailing a gift to my niece doesn’t give me the same joy as watching her find it under the tree. The boys matching pajamas are adorable on Christmas morning, but the pictures e-mailed to extended family don’t do them justice. I’ve mastered Grandma Testa’s lasagna, but it will never taste the same to me.

Last year, we hosted Christmas Eve. The people were different. The house was different. The food was different. But there was something comforting and familiar about it. I said a little prayer of thanks as I watched Elwood & Finn with their cousins.

I also began to let go of the idea that I had to recreate the holidays of my childhood. I’ll tell my boys the stories and I’ll show them the pictures. They’ll learn the traditions I learned and we’ll make the special meals. But together, our family will create our own traditions that feel just as right. Hopefully, my boys will want to recreate them when they have families of their own.

My First Kid

Long before I became a mom, I was a big sister - twice over actually. My brother Patrick and I were contemporaries. With two years separating us, we spent most of our time fighting. We have become friends as adults, but those teen years were tough. But Dominic, 10 1/2 years my junior, was different.

I call him my "first kid". He calls me his "unwed teenage mother" (for the record, neither of our parents find that amusing.) Dominic and I spent a lot of time together from the time he was born until he became a surly, independent teenager. And even after that, we still hung out from time to time. Not all of it was idyllic, Disney movie, sweetness and light.   There were plenty of times I wanted to throttle him.  But, I still have many wonderful memories of my baby brother. Like the Halloween that I made us Bill and Ted costumes. He was Bill S. Preston, Esq. and I was Ted "Theodore" Logan. Or the Bill Clinton rally I dragged him to where he almost passed out from heat stroke and also got a great picture of President Clinton with his disposable camera.

He turns 24 today. He celebrates his birthday while serving his second tour in Afghanistan. He isn't a kid anymore, but he will always be Baby Bro to me. I knew him when he was the same age as my boys are now. I cuddled with him as I cuddle with them now. I watched him sleep as I watch them sleep now. He was my first kid.

Happy Birthday Baby Bro! Stay safe and keep your a** down!

Free-Toes

Free-toes a la Elwood

Free-toes a la Finn

An Answer

In response to yesterday's post, yes, that child was sick. At least sick enough to be kept home today. But well enough to be desperate to go outside and play on this gorgeous day. So, we made a deal when I came home at noon. Eat some lunch and take a nap (which he never does anymore), and we can go outside. He complied, so we'll be heading out into the last of the afternoon sunshine shortly. Maybe we can even do a little "Wearin' O' The Green" on this St. Patrick's Day (grass stains, that is!)

Does This Child Look Sick to You?

There has been an unwelcome visitor in our home for the last eight days. A stomach bug of unknown origins took up residence here starting last Sunday and for the past week, one of us has been sick. First, it was Finn. Then, it was me. By Saturday morning, Elwood had finally fallen. He got the worst of it - not to be too graphic but for a while it was coming out of both ends. He spent most of Sunday sleeping, but around 5 p.m., he perked up, asked for food, and seemed to be on the mend. Which led us to the debate every parent dreads - is he well enough to go back to the baby sitter? He hadn't thrown up in over 24 hours by that point and he was starting to eat and drink. Having used almost 2 days of sick time last week, I wanted to try and send him. I knew he'd be tired, but I hoped he would take it easy and that we would be okay.

Why, oh why, did I think a 3 year old would take it easy? He over did it and threw up this afternoon. I know that's all it was - not a relapse. But now, we have to figure out what to do tomorrow. With no fever and no outward signs of being sick, do I send him back and risk being "The Mom Who Sent Her Sick Kid" or do I stay home or see if Grandma & Papaw can watch him and become "The Crazy Over Cautious Mom" (which, is what I tend towards anyways)? I guess we'll wait and see how the rest of the night goes.

In the meantime, I ask - does that kid look sick to you?

There Is Always a Beginning

Last summer, I took a leap without thinking. I volunteered to contribute something to the local parenting magazine, SE Parent. It was very unlike me - I just did it. But I knew that if I thought too long, I would talk myself out of it. But, I couldn't come up with a name for the column. I had a ton of topics I thought about covering, but no name. Then, one night, as I was laying in bed with Elwood trying to get him to sleep, it came to me. And thus, Climbing Mommy Mountain was born. This is where it started.

I couldn’t come up with a title for my column. I laid in bed, wide awake in the dark, worrying about what to call my little piece of journalistic property. I wanted something that conveyed the wonder, frustration, beauty and fatigue that come with being a parent.

Out of nowhere came the idea of comparing motherhood to mountain climbing. The more I thought about what I know (and guessed) about mountain climbing, the more it made sense. Thus, Climbing Mommy Mountain was born.

When you climb a mountain, there are months of preparation to make sure you’re ready for the journey ahead. You gather a team to support you, both along side you on the trek and those back at base camp to offer guidance and advice.

There are amazing highs and heart breaking lows. Often you don’t know what the next step will bring. You operate on adrenaline while bone tired.

As you climb higher up the mountain, the challenges you face change, but you are more sure of your footing and your ability to make the right decision. All the while, you are in the midst of beauty that takes your breath away and sometimes make you weep with joy.

To me, this sounds a lot like being a mom.

I began my climb 2 ½ years ago when Elwood was born. I remember crying to my mother as she prepared to go home after spending the first week with us “ I can’t do it Mommy – I don’t know what to do!” She gently reassured me that I was doing great and we’d be fine. She also said all I need to do was call and she’d be back.

My husband and I still laugh about that first night home alone with Elwood. We were so scared and timid with him – like he was made of glass. While my husband went to change his diaper, I laid in bed, waiting to see if he would need help. His yell for me to come quickly filled me with fear. Imagine my relief to find that the emergency was simply that Elwood had pooped with enough force to splatter the wall at the end of the changing table.

We made it thru that night and I never made that call to summon my mother back. There have been many more, less dire calls, to both her and my mother-in-law, trying to decipher the perplexing behavior of my boys.

That’s right – we enjoyed the climb so much we decided to add another mountain to our range. Ten months ago, Finn came along and brought with him familiar terrain and new challenges. Now we have the joy of not only watching our children grow as individuals, but also at brothers

Exhaustion and exhilaration. Excitement and exasperation. These are some of the words that best describe my journey up the mountain – a journey that has changed my heart, my mind, and my soul. Thanks for tagging along.

More of the Same?

I recognize that there is a glut of "mommy" blogs and sites out there. Hell, I probably wouldn't have even thought about blogging if I hadn't become enthralled with several of them during my first pregnancy. But, everyone has a voice and everyone is different, so I'm going to put mine out there.

This is more of a public diary than anything else. A public diary chronicling my climb up what I affectionately call "Mommy Mountain". In a column I did for a local parenting magazine, I compared motherhood to mountain climbing. You start at base camp with a team to support you. You start out, not really knowing what's coming. You are exhausted, but you keep going. You are surrounded by amazing beauty. (Since I'm a little unclear on whether or not I can post that column here, I'm paraphrasing.)

The point is - it's hard and it's amazing and it's crazy and it's rewarding. And I want to savor every minute of it because it goes by way too fast. So here is my story - my family's story.