I’m not one to compare my kids - really, I’m not. I love them both, cherish them both, want them both to be exactly who they are, no more, no less.

But I’ll tell you a little secret: I really loved Sam’s hair when he was a baby, this hair. I would have been so very happy for Robby’s hair to turn out however it was meant to turn out, be it the opposite of Sam’s and dark and straight; I would have loved it too. But I’ll admit that now that Robby’s hair has started coming in and it is going in the same direction as his older brother’s, I’m really very happy. Truthfully, I love it so. And it’s not just that it reminds me of Sam’s babyhood, which it does, and it’s not just that it ties him a bit more to me physically since he is the spitting image of my father-in-law, which he is, and it’s not just that it makes him that much cuter, which is also true. It’s that I like the similarity between him and Sam.

When we were at the beach last week someone said to me, “Well, there’s no mistaking them for brothers, is there?” I don’t want them to look exactly alike - of course not - but I really do love watching my two little curly-haired, sweaty-headed boys go forth into the world together.

They’ve been playing more and more with each other now that Robby is more mobile, and I think it might be the best thing yet of this whole two children thing. Perhaps the only thing better than making your baby smile and making them laugh is watching your other child get them to smile and laugh, and then the two of them laughing right along together.

Labels: Brothers, Pictures, The Little One

Warning: In these photos I have not yet bathed and am still wearing a pajama shirt, but I love so much that Sam loves flowers and gardening, that I had to suck it up and share anyway.

Labels: Pictures, The Big One

Yesterday was our five year anniversary, mine and Hubby’s. While on our vacation last week we decided to do our celebrating on Friday, our last night at the beach. We had put the kids to bed early and ordered some fancy take-out and spent our evening on the deck listening to the ocean. We agreed it should be the way we commemorated our anniversary, and that the trip itself was our gift to each other this year.

Fast forward to Sunday, the day of our actual anniversary. It rained most of the day. So when it cleared up enough to go out by around 3:00 everyone was ready to leave the house. We went to the book store and let the boys play on the train table, we read some books, bought some gifts for friends, etc. At around 4:30 we agreed that we were all a little hungry and it might be nice to go out to an early dinner to celebrate on our actual anniversary - it was early, the kids weren’t tired, and it was, after all, “our real anniversary; it would be fun. Let’s go to Olive Garden!” And that, my friends, was our fatal flaw, our hubris, if you will. For those of you non-theater geeks, in Greek Tragedy, Hubris is an act of excessive pride, wherein the Greek hero ignores the warnings of the Gods, typically leading to his downfall.

You see, Hubby and I had our perfect celebration. The kids slept through our dinner that night with nary a whimper. We enjoyed each other’s company and got to eat our meal without inhaling it. We should have stopped there, while we were ahead. But NOOOO, NO, NO, NO. We had to push it, didn’t we?

Did you know that the Olive Garden even has a wait at 4:30 in the afternoon? Well, it does. Did we turn around and leave? No - Hubris - “We can wait; it’s early!” And wait we did.

When seated it was clear that Robby was not going to be content sitting in his high chair right from the start. We knew if we could just get him some finger foods he’d be happy, but it took the waiter about 10 minutes to get to us to even take drink orders since, as I said, the Olive Garden is packed even in mid-afternoon. But did we leave? No, we ordered wine instead. Hubris.

When Sam started screaming at the top of his lungs and our drinks hadn’t even arrived, I thought maybe we should throw in the towel. But no, I could handle screaming, I could redirect that energy into something positive (um, Hubris?). But when my wonderful suggestion for him to sing “Bushel and a Peck” resulted in him screeching “Dooda yooda yoodoo, dooda yooda yoodooo, dooda yooda yoodoo, DUUUUUUUUDE!!!!” at the top of his lungs, did we leave? The drinks hadn’t come yet - technically we could still get out without even having to pay a bill - but no. We pressed on. I’d like to mention though that Hubby was silent with fear by this point.

Then the pooping began. First Sam started talking about how he had to poop. Excellent. And so my husband and I were divided in our efforts, one having to escort Sam to the bathroom every five minutes, only to find out that poopie he would not (yes, he is still in diapers, but he needs privacy, you see). Meanwhile, Robby had also decided to get his load out and was grunting quite audibly and turning red in the face at the table. Neither of them were successful in their endeavors, but both were pretty damn cranky about it.

By the time I returned from my third trip with Sam, all of the food had arrived. But, of course, because both kids needed to crap neither was interested in eating. Robby wouldn’t sit in his seat anymore without full out screaming, and Sam had decided he wouldn’t either if Robby didn’t have to, unless he was standing in his chair and playing with the blinds and still singing, “Ya bet your pwetty neck I DOOOOO! Dooda yooda yoodoo . . .” You get the point. I imagine the couple next to us did not have sex last night, for fear they might end up with children and not ever be able to enjoy a quiet evening at the Olive Garden ever again.

We begged every serving person that passed to please get our waiter so that we could box all of the food and get the hell out of there. But by the time he actually arrived, then brought the boxes, then brought the bill, Hubby and I had scarfed our Seafood linguine and I had chugged my Sauvignon Blanc while we took turns holding Robby as he tried to escape and simultaneously trying to get Sam to sit down. Hubby said he’d never seen me eat so fast.

When we finally got out and loaded everyone into the car, we sat through a light for several rounds with it never giving us a green, ever, while the kids screamed in the back seat, until Hubby just drove on through.

When we finally got home each boy shat everywhere, Robby’s exploding from several areas of his diaper onto everything in his vicinity. It was at this point that I thought, “Yep, we totally asked for that.” Hubris.

And so I say to you again, tempt not the fates, swallow your pride, and get the hell out of there, lest the Gods of the Garden of Olive throw a shit storm at you.

Labels: Absolute Favorite Posts, Bodily functions, Holidays and Celebrations, Tales

It had been a long while since I’d been swimming in the ocean. Last year when we went to the beach I was very pregnant with Robby. Every time a wave would hit me in the stomach I’d just picture him being bopped in the head, so I didn’t end up going very far into the water during our trip. It probably didn’t help that my balance was off enough that I had a lot of trouble getting in and out what with all the waves knocking me around, and my feet were so sensitive from the pregnancy that the rocks and shells might as well have been little spear points.

So this time around I knew I needed to get in some good swim time. As I mentioned, the ocean was “closed” for a little while, but once the waves were calmer and it opened again, I took my first opportunity to get out there while Hubby watched the kids (we have a thing where we take turns so that we can each have a little swimming time).

The water was cold, VERY cold, but I was determined to get out past the point where the waves were breaking so that I could enjoy some calmer water, despite the fact that my shoulders were a bit numb. There was only one other guy out there that far, wading around with me. Not three minutes after I got past the waves and in a comfy spot, I looked over and saw three dolphins maybe 40 feet away and heading in our direction. I pointed to them and looked back, hoping Hubby would see, but I didn’t wait to see if he saw me gesturing, I just kept pointing toward them so that when they came up again I’d know where they were. When they popped up again they were about 25 feet away, close enough to the other guy that he let out a little “whoop!,” and when they came up again they were maybe 15 feet. I could hear the air coming out of their blow holes quite clearly.

When they came up once more they were right in front of me. An conservative estimation would be maybe ten feet away - Hubby said it looked more like five from where he was sitting on the beach with the boys. They were close enough that I could clearly distinguish the marbled nature of their skin. They were close enough that I knew if I really went for it, I might have been able to touch one. But I stayed put. I didn’t want to scare them off, and I certainly didn’t want to ruin it for all the people behind me who were watching. After they passed I considered swimming after them again, but I think I was a bit mesmerized, unable to commit to moving from my spot, not wanting to spoil or change the moment in any way.

Dolphins, right in front of me. Pretty incredible.

And here are way too many photos in which my boys look like raccoons. I guess our sunblock did the job since both of them now have decidedly dark circles around their eyes exactly where Hubby and I stop for fear of getting lotion in them. That or they are just totally and completely exhausted from the trip - you can tell in some of the pictures they are totally beat - I know I am. Good to be home.

Labels: Pictures, Tales, Vacations and travel

Charline is my real-life friend. I remember meeting her for the first time and getting so excited as our conversation progressed because it was one of the first times since becoming a mom where I felt I actually had a lot in common with someone I’d just met, with or without our kids. One day when she came over, she walked into my living room, sat down, and looked at me with a sly little grin and said, “So…Total Mom Haircut?” It was the first time I had been caught as a blogger by someone I knew in real life. I had flashes of posts I’d written streaming before my eyes as I tried to remember if I’d ever said anything bad about anyone she’d known or described a situation that she’d witnessed. Of course, we are so much on the same page with most things that I didn’t really need to worry anyway because I suspect (at least I hope) that she would always have sided with me in any blog-worthy tale. And most importantly, she was later inspired to start her own blog, Project: Motherhood, so now I have a real-life friend to blog right along with me, and here she is:

I cannot fully take credit for the title of this post. Another wise stay-at-home mom I know used these words to describe what marriage is now like to me.

“Every man for himself.”

Now, this is specifically what marriage is like for me NOW. Marriage WITH children. Because it wasn’t always this way. There was a time when my husband and I were polite to each other and generous with each other’s time and energy.

“No, you have the last pork chop, dear.”

“Of course, sleep in. You deserve it after such a long week at work.”

“I’ll do the dishes tonight. Just relax.”

Was that all just a dream? It seems so impossible to imagine now.

Now it is more like this:

The Race to Sleep In – 7:00 am. Jude (3) wakes up (asleep with me in the bed, AGAIN). He proceeds to hit Ruby (1) until she wakes up. Jamie is still asleep in the other room on the futon. The kids and I get up.

I tell Jude that Dadda is on the futon. I tiptoe in and place Ruby on the floor near him and race back to the bedroom as Jude is climbing on Jamie’s back and saying, “Dadda, wake up!! It’s morning time!! The sun is up!!”

Yes! Score for Momma.

This is not just me, mind you:

The Race to Sleep In Scenario #2 – 7:00 am. Jude wakes up. He crawls out of the bed to the living room. I drag myself to the bathroom, in hopes of making it back to the bed, since Ruby is still sleeping peacefully. Jamie is, again, on the futon, so I figure Jude will wake him up and I won’t be needed.

I come back to my room, though, to find an extra lump under the blanket, a big hairy head poking out at the top, on MY pillow.

Jamie ran in while I was in the bathroom and is already pretending to snore! And Jude is out there yelling for me. “Momma, what can I eat?!?”

Damn! Score for Dadda.

So, this is what kids have done to us. Sucked the nice out of us. We are both so desperate for sleep and for time away from the kids, that we’ll sacrifice each other to do it if we need to. And sometimes it’s necessary.

I even went so far as to do this to poor Jamie one night:

Jamie came home from work. Unsuspecting, innocent, Jamie. To find me surprisingly dressed up and seemingly ready to go out for a night on the town. Purse literally on my shoulder. I handed him the baby and left. I really did. I HAD to go out. And that was that.

Screw being nice. We’re in survival mode. Maybe we’ll be nice again when the kids are out of the house.

Labels: Guest Writers

I have known Kate pretty much since I started blogging. Back then she wrote Peeping Moms, her parenting blog, and since then she has started up a foodie blog called The Clean Plate Club. She has been one of those blog pals that feels like a real life friend right from the start. It is a relationship like that that reminds me of why I love blogging in the first place, because, as I have said many times before, blog friends are real friends too. Kate and I share emails, read about each other’s lives via our blogs, and, I think, know each other pretty darn well for two people who have never met. When I was thinking of potential guest posters she was one of the first that came to mind, both because I love her, and also because I guess I sort of missed hearing her take on parenting. Enjoy.

Beth asked me to guest post on her blog and I couldn’t be more honored! I have been reading Total Mom Haircut for a long time. I think it is the blog I have been reading the longest. I’m excited to be a tiny part of it because I totally respect and dig Beth’s work.

When she emailed me, Beth mentioned that I must miss mommy blogging. (I used to write one, now I do a food blog at www.thecleanplateclub.net) I do miss it. So, I’m here to answer the challenge and kick it old school with some thoughts about parenting.

I’m thinking a lot about time lately. particularly how fast it goes. Both of my children have birthdays this week. My baby girl will be 10 months (she’s just gotten her 3rd tooth!) and my son will be 4 years old. Which I cannot believe. Lately I am just constantly looking around with my mouth open going, “how did this happen?” “How can I have 2 kids of 4 and nearly 1 so fast?”

It’s a strange juxtaposition. Because I can remember nights (MANY nights) that felt so. incredibly. long. My son was not a sleeper. Not even close. He didn’t sleep thru the night until he was 15 months. Those nights seemed to last forever. I would literally sit there and wish for day to come so it would be over. The sleeplessness made me loopy and grumpy ta’ boot. Little did I know my wish would come true–again and again. And all of a sudden it’s years later and I’m somehow
feeling like I was rushed. How dare I say that when all I wanted was to be past it?

My daughter is another story altogether. She IS a sleeper. A real good one, God love her! Her babydom seems to be passing even quicker than my son’s did. Which is just ridiculous. And while this excites me on one level, it makes me sad on another. Hubby and I are pretty set on the decision not to have another. So, I feel my baby days waning. Sometimes this is a great relief to me. Soon we’ll have 2 kids and not one kid and one baby. We’ll be able to do more as a family. We’ll be
less tied to nap times and bottles and diapers. But on the flip side–there will be no more nighttime snuggles while she eats, no more cute, tiny clothes, no more laying on the couch just cooing at each other. I feel like it’s all passing me by! It’s going too fast!

In a way, I feel like my son is “done.” He walks, talks, has all his teeth, is potty trained, goes to school. We got him this far, he pretty much takes it from here. This week he learned to buckle his own seat belt. Obviously, he’s only 4 and therefore, I have YEARS of taking care of him, but I do feel like he has passed thru a threshold. And it is one that I see on the horizon for my daughter. It will be here before I know it. Literally.

My answer to all of these feelings? A greater commitment to living in the moment with my family. I dive into everything excitedly. Every dish I wash, every load of laundry I do, ever diaper I change, bath I give or pre-bed snuggle time we have. I am trying to appreciate and love it all. I spent a lot of energy when my son was new fighting the selflessness that has to come with parenting. I wasn’t prepared for what I would give up. Or the work I would have to do. Now, I can say,
I embrace it. Bring it on! Because I’ll have years of my life where I can do or not do the laundry. I can head out to a movie on a whim with hubby. Or take my sunday morning slow. That will come. Right now I’m all about the ride, the chaos, the work and joy of being a stay-at-home mom.

And it’s a privilege to care for these two children. I’m honored and humbled. And determined not to miss a thing.

Labels: Guest Writers

Greetings from the sunny shores of New Jersey. We’re having a fine trip. The ocean is um, well, it’s kind of closed right now. Something about waves being too big for it to be safe. So yeah, it’s a wee bit hot, you know, on the beach, when we can’t actually get in the water…

And Hubby and I have been plowing through the third season of Lost in the evenings once the kids are in bed. We have the finale tonight. Don’t you dare tell me anything about it because a) I probably already know because I know about one major thing that happens. And b) you will not be forgiven, not ever!

And here’s my question: Do you think blogging makes you share way too much information when you meet people? I ask because I recently filled out a little get-to-know-you survey for a local mom club that I joined to meet people in our new area. I basically filled the thing out as thought I was doing a meme on my blog. When it was printed in the newsletter with the other new members’, I saw that everyone else had written like 1 and 2 word answers. Mine had been cut . . . It made me sort of wonder if I was giving out way TMI.

And then on the beach this morning we were talking to the people near us who had a girl Sam’s age. I think by the end of the conversation the woman knew major details about my life and could probably go in depth on my feelings on tons of topics - I talked the poor woman’s ear off. She’d ask me a question and I’d give her these long, personal stories, and we’d only just met.

Do you think blogging skews your sense of what is appropriate information to share with others/strangers? I can’t work it all out right now, because we have to head back to the beach and see if the ocean is, um, open yet, but that’s what’s on my mind.  I have to wonder if it might have something to do with the fact that I spill my heart on the internet on an almost daily basis.

Hope everyone is enjoying the guest posts. I have a few more lined up and they’re great.

Labels: Bloggy Stuff - Memes/Links/Business, Vacations and travel