First kid, second kid

"Parenthood is magical."

"A new baby changes your life in such unexpected ways."

"Everything is different after you have a baby."

If you are having your first, precious, lovely, perfect child these words will likely be repeated to you over and over by well meaning adults.

If you are having your second child, the conversations get much more fun. So to all my Mommy friends about to have second babies, this one is for you.

Adventure awaits.

Protein.

 

 

Any Given Weekday

You know those home tours and makeover reveals where everything is pretty and nice. Well, this ain't one of them.

I recently posted a kitchen update, mostly because it was clean. But today I am going to give you the "Average Weekday" house tour. Let's start in the kitchen.

A (slightly) more sane approach to the holidays

So I may have publicized my annual Christmas meltdown this year. Oh well. When you live with small children you learn that melt downs are going to happen. How you recover is what is important.

I recovered by moving my fire hazzard wreaths to the outside of the windows. I may have plugged them in using a string of lights as an extension cord.

 

The Hubster giggled at me. My Personal Assistant thinks they are "Brilliant!" The Baby laughed and clapped-he'll be the president one day. (Fun fact: I have never lived in a house with exterior lights at Christmas. This feels like a major accomplishment and I could not be more thrilled. And it only took me 30 minutes! I know, I know, it looks like I spent weeks planning and installing this light display, but no. Mere minutes.)

I broke a light bulb while hanging the lights. When I ran out to change it, My Personal Assistant fed Baby...the soles of his shoes. Those brown crumbs are what was left of a perfectly good pair of boots after I left the boys alone with their shoes for less than 3 minutes. Shame on me. (Baby is fine. You don't have to be too smart to be president right?)

Baby proof all you want-the first time you leave them alone with something dangerous-like the dreaded shoes-all bets are off.

I bought a $5 set of plastic Christmas tree decorations from IKEA (assembly required) and we decorated the tree in Camp Bedroom. Because there is a tree in Camp Bedroom with lights already on it, and Baby can't get to it.

There will be a post about how I painted the birches when I do the next update on Camp Bedroom.

I stumbled across an app called Waterlogue that converts your photos to water colors. It is mesmerizing and makes everything look more festive.

It is also making me miss painting.

Even the saddest of wreaths.

But maybe not bathroom mayhem. Whatever. The rest of this post will be in fake watercolor because it amuses me.

The Personal Assistant is still in charge of sending replies to Christmas cards, which may or may not be mailed by New Years. I also set him to work planting some paper whites for some easy/kid safe Christmas decor.

That kept him busy long enough for me to bake some egg free, sucrose free, starch free cookies (sounds yum right?) and make a batch of his favorite marshmallows.

(The cookies aren't half bad for my first time trying to make CSID safe/egg free cookies. It only gets better from here right? Besides, I keep telling myself that what he will remember is that I tried.)

The Personal Assistant would like more craft time, and one of the Moms in my CSID support group is stuck in the hospital with two little boys at home. We decided they could use a care package, so we spent the afternoon making Christmas busy bags and testing them. They were easy and lots of fun. I will share more about them later this week.

My dear aunt confessed that they are laughing less at her house these days. She is the point person for co-ordinating care for my Grandfather as he recovers from a fall (he's doing great) and for her daughters-one who is recovering from an AVM and one who has been diagnosed with a rare from of MD. It is a lot. She said she is hanging things on her walls that she loves-or that make her laugh out loud. I can't do much to help from here, but I do have funny pictures, so I spent an evening looking through old and new photos to send to her.

 

 

Looking a photos from this past year the Hubster and I were overwhelmed by how much The Personal Assistant loves "his" Baby. It is written all over his face in every single picture of the two of them. We are taking time to snuggle, and feel thankful, indulge in hobbies, and laugh at our imperfections. It may still be a bit crazy around here, but it is the funny sort of crazy that we can all live with.

Merry Christmas, and Peace, and imperfection, and giggles be with you.

-Jen

 

 

Posted with Blogsy

Quick Fix: Conflict of interests, snow day

We had a conflict of interests this morning. Kiddo wanted to play in the first snow of the year (sans pants), Baby wanted to sleep in, Mommy wanted to take a shower (solo) and curl up with some tea on the couch.

So we got out my daytime parenting partner: the activity tray.

It gets better.

Remember that "It gets better" campaign? The one about how life after high school is so much better and you don't have to worry about bullies any more? It never rang true for me. Yes, life after high school is better, without a doubt. Yes, there is so much more to live for after high school fades away. And yes, it is much, much easier to be yourself after exiting the petty, pressure filled halls of high school.

The Potty Fairy

Kiddo wants to potty train in theory, but not so much in practice. It has been a struggle. His CSID has not helped. Because I respect my readers (somewhat) I will not elaborate. Let's just go with "It's been a rough year, " and leave it at that. But he's old enough that if I don't do something, he's gonna have issues. So when a member of the CSID support group suggested we needed a potty fairy, I was all over that like white on rice.

Quick Fix: Mess Containment

 We've sold our house! (And now the chaos will begin for real.) In honor of an exhausting solo weekend with the boys, negotiating a deal, while my husband was away with his pals, I give you a new use for cookie sheets: mess containment!

Supermom.

I'm not gonna brag or anything, but I'm pretty freakin' awesome at this Mom gig. I mean, I turned an old t-shirt into a superhero cape and mask in no time flat. Who does that? Supermom. That's who.

In lieu of a real post, here's an actual conversation that just happened.

No kidding, this really happened:

"I'm hungry, I want to go down stairs."

"I am feeding brother right now, can I get you a snack?"

(The Hubster hands me a bowl of plain yogurt and runs away)

"No I don't want it. I want to go downstairs."

"Well that's not happening right now."

He yells. I yell back (he had me up with him from 1-3:30 last night, I am not in the best mood.) I go to put the yogurt away and get food he likes. He cries. I come back and silently put the food down. He is crying.

"I think I need to say I'm sorry, so I took a time out. I think I wasn't nice to you. Then I thought, 'maybe she is right, maybe it's not time to go downstairs' but it made me mad when I wanted to do something and you said no."

I am thinking, Stop it, you're three, but all I can say is, "Ok. It is ok."

There's no moral here. I am too tired. Just a simple, "holy crap did that just happen?"

-Jen

 

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Animal Cruelty.

This looks like a sweet picture of a boy and his dog. It is not. This is a picture of a boy who has run a dog around in circles until she's too tired to move. The poor creature is just relieved that all he wants at the moment is a pillow.

Kiddo is filled with LOVE. Big, big, love. Rough and tumble, flying leap to hug your head when you aren't expecting it kind of love. Climb on your back until it gives out just to be near you love. Big, BIG love. My body doesn't like it, but I get it. Softie, our dog, well, she deserves a medal.

The fundamental flaw in my parenting style.

Playing with butter

"You LET him do WHAT?"

The thing that people question the most about my parenting is The Mess. It is always about the mess. Not the experience, not the fun, not the learning, the mess. As if one should care about the mess. As if the mess is the most awful thing one could imagine.

If I had a quarter for every incredulous question, raised eyebrow, or disapproving look I would be a rich woman rocking a designer diaper bag.

The Best Day of My Life

When I was attending a conference at IUPUI the summer after my junior year of high school, some of the college students on campus lamented, "Oh man...enjoy your senior year!  It will be the BEST year of your life!"  And then later adults told me, "Enjoy college, they are the best years of your LIFE!!"  I, admittedly, got married just a handful of days after I graduated from undergrad, and still, people told me, "Enjoy your wedding day, it will be the best day of your entire life!"

The Ultimate Evening.

Back when Hubster and I were dating long distance, a client asked me to show her step son around town. Ok. Fine. He, knowing absolutely nothing about me or my relationship, spent the evening trying to convince me that the love of my life was cheating on me, and promised to show me 'The Ultimate Evening.' So of course I told the bartender to hold the alcohol on any and every drink I ordered, no matter what I said, and to charge him top shelf prices. Then I went home and called my future Hubster and we laughed and laughed. Fast forward twelve years (!?) later and we still laugh about 'The Ultimate Evening.'

Playing with our Kids... Or, How long can *YOU* play tag?

I am writing this post for my 5-year-old son, who is a believer in science and research.   You know, except when he's determined that he wants Pluto to be a planet, so it is.  It just is, so there.The other day I picked him up from school and we had some time before I needed to make dinner.

Me: "What would you like to do, babe?"

Him: "I want to play TAG!"

Me: "Playing with you is one of my favorite things...but I do not enjoy tag.  Children love to play tag - so the next time you are playing with children, you can do that.  But, what shall WE do?"

Because I am too tired

 

My Auntie mailed me a pile of smash books. I think they were supposed to be used to document the boy's lives. I am using them to maintain my tenuous hold on sanity. That's pretty much the same thing right? I'm too tired to write a blog entry, this counts right? Right?

-Jen

1-2-3 Choose!

I hate tantrums. My son hates tantrums. And yet, here we are living in tantrum central. I know all three year olds have tantrums, but my kid is like Dr. Jekl and Mr. Hyde: normal days are really quite manageable, CSID reaction days (when he feels like he has the stomach flu) are hellish. But since we're going to be living with it for a long, long time, we have to find a way to maintain good behavior.

We've tried many, MANY different tantrum taming tricks (ignoring, 'asked and answered', redirection, and on and on) they have not worked for us. In desperate moments we've even tried spanking, and *News Flash* it does not work-and it teaches him to hit in anger, and it leaves me feels like the worst. Yikes.

But you know what my three year old absolutely LOVES?

CHOICES.

Lunches of Fun

When we found out our oldest son had CSID I was panicked that all the hard work we had done to diversify his diet and make food fun would be in vain. Would mealtimes become a drudge? Would all the food be plain and tasteless? Would my son (who loves to eat) become a picky eater?

Guest Post: I used to be the Perfect Parent

I was the perfect parent.  Seriously, I was stellar.  I knew exactly what to do in every single situation life could possibly throw at me.  And then I actually had a child.

Scenes from a C-Section

"Please, just make it happy" I hear myself say, "Not scary, not like last time." I didn't want to be deciding to have a second C-Section. My doctor was pro VBAC, much safer and healthier for everyone she said. But once again, I am not dialating and baby is not dropping, and he is measuring large. It doesn't look good. We decide a repeat section is the safest course given my history and the current circumstances. My doctor is clearly disappointed for me. I cry a little.

I am Mom.

I want to let you all in on a little secret: I do not, DO NOT have my shit together.

Not even a little bit.

The Christmas tree is still up and quickly becoming a probable fire hazard. The mantles are still decked out in festive greens, and increasingly, spiderwebs. The bills are in a pile on the corner of the dining room table, unpaid, un-filed, untouched. My 6 week grocery plan has expired, I was supposed to go grocery shopping last weekend, and I have not one clue what I will be feeding my family tomorrow. Not one. There are no clean towels. (And I own many, many towels.) I am tired. I am exhausted. I need to shave my legs but I can't reach them over my ever larger, ever harder, baby bump.

I have no intentions of making a New Years Resolution, or improving myself, or organizing my house. I could not possibly care less about any of it.