The Mommies' Diaries…Parenting, One Blog at a Time.

The word “love” is often associated with the symbol of a heart right? Everyone can feel their own heart beating by the pulsations in their chest, arms, neck, and sometimes “headaches.” That “thump thump………thump thump…..thump thump” sound over and over again. The heart is what circulates life through our bodies. Without your heart you die. For me my heart is my daughter.

I’ll never forget the first time I sat in the doctor’s office and they placed that contraption on my wife’s stomach, turned up the volume on a speaker and I heard a “whooshing” sound over and over and over again. I asked the doctor what the sound was and she replied “that’s the babies heartbeat!” I melted like butter. No sound before it ever compared. Here I was, 30 years old, streaming tears of joy and a smile ear to ear in front of a couple of strangers who get to hear such wonderful music on a daily basis. My wife and I both looked at each other and knew, at that moment, that our hearts belonged to this little person. It was then that I promised my baby that I would dedicate every ounce of me to his/her life. (At that time we hadn’t yet found out we were having a girl). It’s her world now!

People often try to define “I love you.” There is no one particular definition rather it’s what the individual feels. For me love is my family and this little girl who has brought so much joy and  laughter to our lives. She has no idea the impact she has had on so many….almost a rejuvination of sorts. She is my heart!

Dear First Grade Teachers,

I want to thank you for a fantastic year. My son was happy to go to school each morning, his writing improved and he mastered some new math skills. Most importantly, he was excited about what he was learning and would come home and look things up on the internet he wanted to know more about and he would teach me new facts.  This kind of enthusiasm only comes when teachers are also happy to be in the classroom and excited about what they are teaching. So I tip my hat to you for creating classrooms that were engaging and relevant to six and seven year olds.

I love that you ended the year learning about the upcoming London Olympics, brilliant and so timely. We are huge Olympic fans in our house. The Olympics gives the world a chance to celebrate our shared humanity, put aside our differences and come together in the spirit of athletics and competition.  The object is to perform fairly and honestly and to the best of our natural abilities. The Olympic spirit can be felt not just by the athletes that compete and not just in those who take home medals. The real spirit of the Olympics is seen in the athletes from poorer parts of the world with limited resources who represent their country with pride and dignity. As the Olympic Creed says:

“The most important thing in the Olympic Games is not to win but to take part, just as the most important thing in life is not the triumph but the struggle. The essential thing is not to have conquered but to have fought well.”

It’s moments like this that get me every time:

watch?v=HFKpZnok10s&feature=player_embedded

I love that my son is feeling patriotic.

But.

Team Handball?

My son is now fascinated with Team Handball.  I thought I knew everything there was to know about the Olympics, and I had never heard of team handball before. Anders has watched every YouTube video featuring team handball, almost all 20,000 of them.  My husband says it looks like a sport for short guys that can’t play basketball, which might not be such a bad thing for Anders.

I have been searching for a team somewhere within a 50 mile radius that will train a seven year old in team handball.  Shockingly, I’m having a bit of a hard time with that.

Thank you. Thank you first grade teachers for sparking the Olympic spirit in Anders. But perhaps next time scratch team handball from the curriculum.

Sincerely,

Kirsten

It is summer and because I want to re-emphasize again and again that we can/ should/ will love learning, we have been doing some fun little science projects.  Most have worked, some have not.  (Awww, she said the raisins were supposed to dance…sadly, ours did not.)

We have been trying some of these little experiments I found here.  And, I googled (one of my hobbies) an old magic trick of sorts that I rememered from high school: You start by having a clear glass container about 1/2 full of water, and add a few drops of food coloring (blue works great)  and you will see the color spreads (you know, like gossip spreads). However will you get it clean again?

Pour about 1cup of bleach directly into the water, and in a few minutes the water will turn clear! (Yes, I let my kid play with harsh chemicals.)

Well, this works because of some sort of chemical bonding…but, lately, I have been thinking more about relational bonding.  And the “science” of attachment.  It is one of the biggest concerns people have about adopting and I know that bonding with our child will take time and a gradual building of trust.  But, really, like these science projects I don’t fully know what to expect.

Adoption.com describes BONDING as the process that a child goes through in developing lasting emotional ties with it’s immediate caregivers, which is seen as the first and most significant developmental task of a human being, and is central to that person’s ability to relate properly to others throughout its life.

Not a small task and not something I think will be easy.  Just considering the different personalities, needs and fears represented alone in our family, I know it is often hard for my kids whom I birthed.  And they have not had significant trust bonds broken. We did a haunting “homework assignment” when we were taking our adoption classes.

Step 1. We had to list all our plans for tomorrow, the people who we plan to have with us, our professional plans, the goals we seek and the people we know/ want beside us sharing those accomplishments.  Step 2. Tear the paper up.  Step 3. Re-answer those questions without repeating any of the same people or places from step 1. Basically, we are asking a child (from foster care or a previous living situation) to come into our family and imagine a new life with us and then to “hurry up and bond”.  Obviously, as this exercise shows, it is a bit of a complex equation.  It is no simple a + b = c.  It is more of a quadratic equation, or a chemistry proof (which I never really could do very well.)

I can sit here and hypothesize all day about what it will be like when we get “the call”.  And how it will be to welcome a child into our family.  But, in reality, I don’t have all the variables and we are not talking about something like science, we are talking about a little person.  So, as for the “science of bonding”…I am just reading up on it and we will have to take things one day at a time (and attempt to lay aside any expectations.)

Parenting. Sometimes it’s collaborative, sometimes it’s competitive.  There are times when we compare our children to others’, and still other times when we commiserate with other parents.  At times we feel really well supported, and times when we feel utterly alone.

Unfortunately, it seems that we feel most alone in our biggest fears, our greatest concerns.  Sometimes we obsess over one particular haunting thought – and that obsession alone convinces us that we’re kinda crazy and that no other parent could possibly have the same thought.  So, we stuff it down each time it surfaces, and incidentally, we alienate ourselves because we decide that we’re somehow in the minority. We allow those intimate “Do you ever?” conversations with other parents come to an end before we have the courage to address our “silly” obsession.

I have decided that 1) this shouldn’t happen because we’re all in this parenting thing together – and we should absolutely feel safe in the company of others trying to navigate through it all, too.  Just like anything else in life (which any therapist will agree), the sooner we say out loud the things that haunt us most, the sooner they miniaturize and begin to dissolve. And 2) I can guarantee that at least one other parent (if not, all parents) can totally relate to our “strange” feelings, thoughts, fears, etc.

I decided to post a challenge on Facebook to help me address this topic (which was originally going to be a long list of my weird obsession-confessions). I decided to give other parents a place to air their “questions.” It is my hope that these type of authentic “conversations” will continue – and that we can all finally release the thoughts that keep us awake at night, the thoughts that surely no one else can relate to, and finally hear those freeing words, “Me too!”

So, here’s how it started on my Facebook page:

Attn all parents – for my next Parenting on the Peninsula blog, I want to address the ways parenthood alters our thinking. I want to do a post called “I Need to Know,” in which I address all the weird and random thoughts/questions/feelings, etc that you need to know other parents wonder about, too. I’ll go first “I need to know that other parents worry about their kid getting kidnapped from their own bedroom at night.” “I need to know that other parents obsessively worry about their own death because they fear no one could ever take care of, or love, their children as they do.” And, on a lighter note, “I need to know that other parents feel a deep sense of satisfaction after clearing the boogers out of their kid’s nose.”

And here’s how you answered (the number of responses just further confirmed that there’s such a huge need for this kind of open sharing):

I need to know other parents feel defeated at mealtime due to the fact their kids are picky eaters? Can my kid really survive on yogurt mixed with bananas?

I need to know that its okay that I love my son and being a mom more than anything in this world, but miss a piece of “pre-mommy” me at moments.

Do other parents have certain news stories singed into their brains like I do? Stories of moms who just reach the end of it, and are truly suffering from a psychiatric condition. I think I worry that I could somehow get there or do that, even though I know in my heart that wouldn’t happen. I worry incessantly about it.

I need to know how other single parents handle the emerging consciousness of their young ones when they tell you they are sad that you and daddy don’t live together and love each other.

I need to know other moms, at the end of each day, go through in their mind the days events and how they could have done so much better or more for their kids.

I need to know that I am not a terrible mom for only being able to spend 1 hour with my kids at the end of each work day before their bedtime…yet I look forward to their bedtime so I can then have some time to myself (even though I didn’t see them all day). I mean, I only get 1 hour and I can’t wait for them to go to bed? What is that? And am I alone in feeling that way?

I need to know that it is ok that the laundry doesn’t get folded or the fridge doesn’t get cleaned, the dry cleaning doesn’t get picked up and the appointments aren’t kept. If my kid is needing attention that day, the day will be better if I cater to her needs and that’s ok.

I worry every time I go down the stairs with him in my arms that I am going to fall and hurt him somehow. Also, I obsessively count and keep track of each ounce he’s eaten and worry incessantly about it. Ugh

I need to know if other moms are total control freaks, like myself and want everything done their way.

“Am I over parenting?” when do u just step back and relax? Also do other parents worry that they are being judged about their parenting.

I need to know that other parents, while always loving their children, don’t always like them when they are acting like little demons. <—– the first time I had a moment where I realized I didn’t like my kid was horrifying! But then I realized that it happens with all other people, so why not your own biting, sand throwing progeny?

I need to know that the state of the world our children are growing up in scares the living day lights out of others.

I need to know that other people sometimes feel like they don’t know what they did for God to give them such an amazing gift.

I need to know that other parents alternate between being in awe of and so proud of their little blessing, to being mortified that they’ve raised a child that can act like THAT in public!

If I’ll be able to financially support them through college.

That they won’t appreciate things in general.

I pray he doesn’t grow up to be that bratty child that no one wants to be around.

Is my child really cute, or are people just telling me that to be nice? – lol / no joke I look at my kid and think he’s cute, but then sometimes think it might just be me and my hubby being biased.

I’m not a parent but I teach preschool and have for the last 8years….I can say that many parents come to me when they have more than one child…close in age..and they feel like they cant handle it when their husband or wife is constantly working leaving them with all the parental responsibilities…..I also find parents who are so busy that they feel guilty that they leave their child at day care all day…leaving them not wanting to enforce too many rules or restrictions on the kids when they get home….causing more damage than good in the long run….I thought I would send these thoughts your way….

What do you Need to Know?

The first 8 months were a piece of cake. Go out to dinner with the combined car seat/carrier, place on a chair/cushion, order food and calmly eat and periodically take my little beauty out to see the world. From months 9 (started walking) to about 17 months it was about control and chasing  down the little kid with a loose diaper, one pigtail who was screaming “I’m free!” From 18 months until now ( 2 1/2)  it’s been a combination of the following:

1) Sit down, look over the menu and she throws her napkin and say’s “I’m dunnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn!”

2) Sit down, look over the menu and after five minutes she says “I’m dunnnnnnnnnnnnn” followed with “I want ice cream daddy!”

3) Select a restaraunt, call in a pre-order of kid’s grilled cheese and fruit and tell the host/hostess “We’re coming in hot!”

4) Sit down, order food, start eating and stop to apologize to the guy behind me for the spaghetti my daughter just threw on his head.

Tonight we had what I considered a small milestone. We sat down for dinner at San Remo’s Pizza in San Carlos and my daughter sat with her crayons, nook and her mom’s phone for 20 minutes without issue. 20 whole minutes! It’s a miracle. You can see that her patience is growing little by little and understanding the overall process. (It helped that we had a large group of kids behind us sitting nice and quiet). Again it goes back to what my expectations are. I need to keep telling myself “she’s only 2 1/2 you big jerk.” Little kids aren’t meant to sit still……their minds are racing a mile a minute and want to see, touch and throw everything they come in contact with. It’s their nature! (And sometimes mine as an adult)

 Before having my daughter I would become easily annoyed with continuous crying or kid’s wailing on the ground throwing a tantrum. (Let’s be honest parents….a crying baby or toddler on an airplane stretches the nerves right?) But since she has blessed my life with her presence I understand what those parents were going thru. (Every parent has that non-verbal look to other parents of “I’ve been there and done that!) You know what I’m talking about…..

What it comes down to is patience. Some days we have more then others. (My wife would say I was born with none…) I will admit that she has taught me so much about who I was and what I need to be….and that’s a man with a lot more patience! Love you A-Rae!

My twin girls just finished 4th grade. Here they are back in late August 2011 on the first day of school, ready and excited to get started.

In many ways it was a great year. I loved their teachers, they learned a ton, grew in leaps and bounds, were much more independent in getting their homework done and developed confidence in themselves. But in many ways, I couldn’t wait for 4th grade to be over. There were days I had to literally wipe the tears away as I dropped them off at school and watched them walk onto the playground. I felt like I was throwing them to the wolves.

Let me back up a bit… while my girls are twins and definitely have similar traits, they are not identical. They are very different in many ways and experience school in very different ways.  Since kindergarten we’ve had them in separate classes and this has worked very well for our family.

Third grade was a rough year for Macy. There was a new girl in class and a girl Macy considered her BFF was suddenly much more interested in playing with the new girl. They made up a secret handshake and wouldn’t teach it to Macy.  It was clear things had changed and she was experiencing something like a break-up with her friend.  This is all very normal, I know this. But those tears were so painful for me to wipe away. I felt like I was experiencing the whole thing with her. I encouraged her to write a note to her friend and tell her how she felt.  The note she got back (which I still have) was signed by three different girls and said, “we like you, but we are not going to teach you our handshake. It’s OURS, so stop talking about it.” Ouch.

It was hard, so hard, to watch Macy go through this. But Macy is a talker. She has no problem talking to me about what is going on at school.  She would come home, sit with me on the couch and we would cry together. She would listen to my advice and was willing to talk to her teacher and the school counselor.  She didn’t wish ill will on these girls, she wanted to be included with them, and she still does. I’ll spare you all the details, but it got more complicated and then better and then more complicated again.  Many tears were shed, and many lessons were learned by both of us. She came out of third grade with just a little bit more maturity. She definitely learned that what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.

During this whole time, I never once worried about Avery. She was the kid who had zero interest in girl drama. Where Macy’s playdates were spent in her bedroom flipping through American Girl magazines and making up dances to Selena Gomez songs, Avery’s were spent in the backyard kicking a soccer ball, climbing trees or feeding carrots to the bunny. All she wanted to do at recess was find a kickball or four square game. Her friends were whoever was playing freeze tag that day. Her classroom didn’t seem to have the same relational aggression going on.  At least not that I could see.  She supported her sister and even called a couple of these girls out once for making her sister cry on the playground. Other than that, Avery didn’t really get involved.

Then 4th grade started.

Macy seemed to be having a much better year. She still had the same little group of friends, but she made some new ones too. She knew there would be drama, but she also knew that she could deal with it and it was normal. It was Avery who seemed to be having a hard time.  The transformation was slow and subtle. I would wait for them on the playground after school and Avery would come out by herself, shoulders slumped and head down.  I could tell by the look on her face it had been a bad day. She would lean her whole body in to mine as if she wanted to disappear into me, or shift the weight of whatever pain she was carrying onto my shoulders. She would start to tell me about something that happened and I would brush her off and tell her we would talk about it later. There was always another parent I needed to talk to, or we were late for softball, lacrosse, chorus, soccer, art class or whatever. Big mistake on my part.

Avery is not a talker. She never wanted to talk about it later. I had no idea how bad things were getting for her. You see, Avery is fiercely competitive. This is a trait that serves her well on the soccer field and sometimes even in the classroom. She wants to be the fastest, the smartest, the first one finished. This is not a trait that serves her well on the 4th grade playground. Like any relationship, friendship is give and take and learning acquiese sometimes.  I knew in my gut, this was a lesson that would be hard for Avery to learn. Both of my girls have watched other girls in their class form these tight, one-on-one friendships that sometimes last for a couple of years, sometimes maybe only one school year, and sometimes only for a few weeks or months.  I’ve never encouraged this with any of my kids.  But that doesn’t mean that my kids didn’t watch these BFF friendships with envy.  Avery wanted to be someones number one BFF and she made some mistakes along the way.

Early on in the year, Macy was invited to a friend’s house to spend the night so I had Avery invite a classmate to spend the night here. That Friday at pick up, I could tell that it had not been a good day for Avery. The whole way home from school she could not stop talking about how Cathy (not her real name), the girl coming to spend the night that very night, had got three prizes from the drawbox and Avery had not got any.  There had been other signs that Avery was jealous of Cathy for many other reasons too, but this prize thing seemed to really get under her skin. We talked about it and I thought she seemed OK before Cathy arrived at our house.  Later, as the girls were going to bed, I stood just outside the door and listened to their conversation.  Avery kept saying how lucky she was to have gotten three prizes that day. Cathy kept insisting that she really only got two, and yes, she felt lucky. It was getting tense and Avery would not let it go and Cathy was getting visibly uncomfortable. I finally walked in and told Avery she had to drop it, it’s not her fault that her name got pulled twice. Let it go. Things didn’t really improve. My daughter spent the rest of sleepover with a chip on her shoulder and in a very sullen mood. It was hard to watch.

Shortly after this, Avery’s teacher called me in to talk.  I had a pit in my stomach since I knew things with Avery were just not right.  My happy, sporty daughter was morphing into a withdrawn, unhappy girl. Her teacher showed me some notes that she had found and I was floored. They were notes written by my daughter and they were not nice.  I didn’t recognize the girl who wrote those notes and yet, I did recognize her.  I didn’t eat or sleep for days.  I wanted desperately to help her, to tell her that this is not how you make friends, by hurting those that hurt you.  I have to say here that her teacher was so great about the whole situation, she clearly wanted to help Avery and help me understand what was going on. She told her teacher that she sometimes can’t help herself when she acts “mean” to other kids.

I carved out some time to spend alone with Avery and confronted her about the notes and everything else that was going on at school. She was embarrassed that I had seen them, and had zero interest in talking to me about it. She just kept saying, “I know I’m a mean person.”  Let me just say, that is so very hard to hear your nine year old daughter say. It was even harder for me to accept that she didn’t want to hear my advice. It was not like with Macy, where she wanted nothing more than to talk to me about things and get my advice.

Just like everything with pre-teen age girls, it’s all much more complicated than I can write about here. It was clear that Avery was getting a reputation as a “mean girl.”  Once she had that label, it’s been a struggle to over come it… a struggle for both of us. It’s fractured my friendships with some of the other mom’s in 4th grade and left me desperate to get in to Avery’s head and help her turn things around, while still maintaining her trust and letting her be who she is. In my head, I know that the most powerful thing I can do is show her by example how to be a good friend and let her learn the hard lessons on her own.  I was also the kid that didn’t want to talk to my mom about anything school or friend related.  I am much more comfortable typing out my feelings from behind my computer screen than actually saying the words out loud.  For Avery, she communicates with notes.  Notes that I find under her pillows and hidden in the pockets of her backpack.

So what have I learned from all this? I’ve learned that 4th grade is hard. I’ve learned that none of these girls are “mean” and none of them deserve that label. Even the girls who made up a secret handshake and wouldn’t teach it to Macy are not “mean girls.”  They are simply nine and ten year olds trying to find their way, making mistakes and growing up. Avery and Macy will continue to make mistakes and I will too. I’ve learned little ways to let Avery know that I love her no matter what. I’ve learned that occasionally, she is in the mood to talk and I need to stop and listen even if that means we will be late to soccer practice or skip it all together. I’ve learned that you really have no control over the essence of who your children are and how they relate to the world, but it’s your responsibility to guide them and let them know that you will always be there to pick up the pieces when they feel broken.

Even if she rolls her eyes, I will continue to leave notes with song lyrics in Avery’s lunch box and under her pillow.  I want this girl back.

We will soldier on together, because I have a feeling this is just the very beginning of this roller coaster. Please send wine.

Lately, every time I go to answer my phone and it is an unknown number, my heart starts to beat faster.  What if it is a social worker? our agency? a family has been found who wants us to adopt their child? …what’s that, “Today!” you say?…

But, alas it turns out to be the dentist reminding me of my appointment (joy) or the local pizza place offering a coupon (okay), or just a friend whose number I do not have programmed and I have to try and not sound disappointed. We are at the “they could call any day” phase of our adoption…but its also the “they could call 3 months or 6 months or whatever” phase, too.

I get my hopes up, even though we are not in a hurry.  I am expecting a child, even though I have to continue to plan things in our life.  It could be a big window of time; we could get many more unknown calls. We probably will even receive calls that we do know are from our agency and the details just don’t work out.  So…waiting, not ranting, is what I need to learn to do.

I hear things move slower in the summer.  We are totally ready, and yet I cannot jump every time the phone rings or continue to NOT make plans when it really could be awhile.  It’s strange to be expecting someone who will be part of your family forever and whom you will love wholeheartedly, but not know when he/ she is coming.

Somehow I (we, but mostly me) have to learn to keep living life, keep making plans and stop cursing at the phone when the unknown number is not who I was hoping it would be.

I got dressed up for our Father’s Day brunch.  Makeup, a dress, heels, jewelry – the works.  It did wonders for my confidence.  I felt like a beautiful woman – an attractive wife, a good-lookin mom.  I wasn’t hiding behind the fear of bumping into anyone I knew for fear they’d wonder if I had gone homeless because of my greased over hair and dirty clothes.  DJ even responded differently to me – she seemed proud.  It was sweet, and  eye-opening.  I needed to start putting some effort back into my appearance.  It made me, and apparently our whole family, feel better:

So, I spent four hours at the mall yesterday.  Four hours.  With two kids. I thought I was being brave, but I now realize that such an expedition falls more accurately into the category of “stupid.”  However, desperate times call for desperate measures.  And I was desperate.  Am desperate.

My 13 weeks postpartum body is wreaking havoc on my psyche.  Father’s Day not withstanding, I am still in my maternity jeans (is that even normal at the stage in the game?), only have 2 hideous nursing bras, and a plethora of tops that no longer fit properly. There are a few cotton dresses (the black one pictured above, for one) that are seemingly flattering, but they’re literally hanging on by a thread from over-wear.  Rather than continuing on with the daily defeat of a dozen wardrobe changes only to settle on sweatpants, I decided it was time to grab a few new outfits to keep my Father’s Day self-esteem elevated.

With my husband’s (eager) blessing, and debit card in hand – I packed up the kids and felt pretty stoked about the transformation that lie ahead.  Homely stay-at-home-mom would be better known as Hot Mama in just a few hours. Or so I thought.  Things didn’t quite go that way.

When I pulled into the mall’s parking garage at exactly 9:55 am (5 minutes before the stores opened), here’s what I saw:

Mom-mobiles everywhere.  In fact, a fellow mom was lugging her double stroller out of her SUV and started chatting with me as if we were long lost friends.  And, in a sense, we were.  Both moms, with two kids, trying to do something for ourselves.  “Same idea!  Too hot to be outside, so great to let the kids run around here.  Part of the stroller brigade!” OK, we weren’t in same tribe.  This trip was so not about my kids.

My first stop was at H&M.  I’d never really shopped there before, but it seems like all the cool kids do – so, naturally, it made sense for me to begin Operation Retire Mom-Jeans there.  I was only slightly put off by the sea of fluorescent lighting, and heart-thumping beats.  With DJ in tow, and Bitzy staring at me with wide eyes from her stroller – I began grabbing.  Man, didn’t even know what size to get….which was slightly depressing.  So weird to feel so disconnected from myself. Anyhow, tried on something like these:

But, I looked like more like this in them:

My breasts just aren’t what they used to be.  This realization greatly limits my options. No spaghetti straps, no strapless tube dresses, nothing that shows cleavage – and for the love of God…NO STRIPES.  Awesome – whittled down to mom-dresses:

OK, maybe I just needed a cute pair of pants.  Maybe if I just ditched the maternity jeans and traded them in for something a little more “current,” then I could get away with the ill-fitting tops in my closet.  White pants.  White pants seem to be the thing of the season.  Trouble is – let me repeat: I just had my second baby 13 weeks ago. And um, I never really lost the weight from my first.  So, I looked less like this:

And more like this:

Alright, so not ready to give up the elastic waist.   No problem.  I get it.

Did I mention that once I had a dressing room full of clothes, Bitzy decided she was famished and started screaming at the top of her lungs?  Oh, and that DJ stripped down naked within 3 seconds of pulling the dressing room drape closed, and insisted on also trying on clothes?  So yeah, you guessed it – I had to nurse Bitzy while also ensuring DJ didn’t go streaking. It was at that moment that I realized I wasn’t brave. I was stupid.  Really stupid.

Of course I could only take 7 items into the dressing room at once.  So, after I emerged from the room 30 minutes later – the dressing room attendant looked at my pitifully and asked if I wanted the second set of 7 items.  After shooting her an “Are you kidding me?” look, she sheepishly muttered, “Maybe next time?”  Maybe not.  I think I gave her a lesson in birth control, actually.  School of hard knocks, sister.

Alright, lunch.  Which really meant watching DJ shake parmesan cheese into her mouth while (again) nursing Bitzy, all the while shoveling bites of salad into my mouth in between retrieving forkfuls of marinara stained fusilli from the table and booth. Totally relaxing.

This was followed by returning an adorable orange and white chevron-striped summer dress that I had purchased the day before (only to get home and try it on again and have that “What on earth was I thinking?” moment…remember, stripes?).  DJ took it upon herself to grab every last piece of jewelry off the racks and adorn the mannequins while I was settling my transaction.  It was past nap time, and she was totally breaking down.  Her listening skills were all but gone, and she was entering that Tasmanian Devil phase of exhaustion….tempting her fate at the top of the escalator.  And Bitzy, well, hungry again – naturally.

We ended up in the Ladies’ Lounge at Nordstrom.  As I watched beautifully groomed, impeccably clothed women saunter in and out of the restroom, I began feeling more and more sorry for myself.  The wall of mirrors opposite my chair weren’t helping the cause. Oh, and DJ?  Um yeah – she totally lost her marbles.  This is what she was doing while I was nursing Bitzy:

Notice the shoes are off?  Yeah, she made herself right at home – and I call this her “Shop Till You Drop” look.

Good times.

The intended shopping spree wasn’t a total waste, though.  I did come home with this:

Which I am certain will make my butt look smaller.

Needless to say, I didn’t morph into Hot Mama quite as easily as I had intended.  On the drive home, I reflected on the new drop waist dresses that are all the rage – and how they make me look like I am smuggling a keg on my chest (totally unflattering to the nursing mom), and I had a moment of “but these giant, saggy breasts have given life to DJ and are doing the same for Bitzy.”

While I might feel like a foreigner in my own skin, I know that this is just a temporary state-of-being, and one that is a privilege to be experiencing.  Having a stretched out body means I was blessed enough to carry and birth two healthy daughters.  The rest will come.  The halter top dresses, and the white linen pants, bras that don’t unsnap with fold-down cups…those will all be in my future.  I will be Hot Mama, likely mourning for the sweet days of wearing mom-jeans because they represent my babies being….babies.

When I got the girls home and in bed for their naps, I slipped these on and snuggled in between my girls.

Life is good.

It’s funny what kids pick up on. I guess by nature they can read body language and non-verbal communication well enough to know when we are either upset and or happy. Lately my daughter has gotten into the cute habit of looking at us when we are unhappy (usually when she doesn’t listen or slaps the cats in the head) and saying “Are you happy mama?….Are you happy daddy?” And she just doesn’t look at us from across the room, she get’s in real close and stares at us with her gorgeous blue eyes, lights up a smile and melts our hearts. How can I not be happy with this little blessing?

Recently I’ve noticed significant changes in my daughters “listening” behavior. If her mom and I are with her at the same time she tends to act out, throw little tantrums and basically run from authority. If it’s her and I alone she is a completely different kid. Doesn’t act out, listens and doesn’t run from authority. My wife and I have both read about similar types of behavior and have found published articles where research shows that kid’s are the hardest on the person they’re with the most…in our case Mommy. “I want mommy to do it!”…..”I want mommy to change me!”……..”I want mommy to put me in my chair!”….etc. But when my wife is at a girl’s night my daughter doesn’t say or do these things. Does anyone else have similar type of behavior with their kids? Trying to explain to her that “mommy needs a break sometimes” is like telling someone at starbucks you want a “large” coffee instead of a “venti” coffee….just doesn’t register. We are making strides though and I feel like we are on the uphill climb…..

If aliens descended on our planet on Father’s Day morning, they would wonder what kind of strange civilization honors it’s patriarchs with automated tie racks, golf ball washers and valet charging stations.

Every year when I start to feel guilty that I have no idea what to get for Father’s Day, I simply take one look at a sales circular from any retailer to know that I am not alone. It’s the saddest gift selection since Lincoln’s birthday.

At least on Mother’s Day, our traditional gifts range from bath salts to a gift certificate for a pedicure. I feel sorry for all of the men out there who don’t particularly like rolling their own quarters or embossing golf balls.

Logic should have it the opposite way, wouldn’t it? We women who traditionally like to shop should be really good at choosing the perfect gifts for our male mates. And yet we continue to choose from the same stocking stuffer table that didn’t sell at Christmas. Tired gadgets that no one —  including men — care about.

Never once has by husband wanted to separate his sock drawer with an organizer, yet it’s on sale this week. The words, “you know, I do like the convenience and relative low cost of beer available at the grocery store, but it sure would be great to try a really expense, horrible-tasting, potentially lethal home brew with a package of yeast and a plastic barrel shaped like a football on the weekend,” have never been uttered in our home. And yet these are at the top of the Father’s Day gift guides every year.

At this point in the game, I feel like when my husband needs a new razor, he should just be able to go out and buy that item for himself and not wait until the next holiday. So on these parental gift occasions my husband and I exchange simply for the benefit of the kids because nothing says “You’re a Great Dad!” better than a metal detector or a monogrammed money clip.

So aliens standing at the windowsill laughing, could we perhaps import some curios from your side of the universe? Because I honestly have no earthly idea what to get for Father’s Day.