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

You know that scene in the movies where the parents go to the toy store and their child is having so much fun but when it comes time to leave said child throws an intense tantrum? Welcome to my Thursday night at Toy ‘r’ Us. As we joyfully walked down the aisles of the newly renovated Redwood City store my daughter found the 4-wheel drive 12volt battery operated trucks and cars, She loves them! She climbs into each and everyone and declares “this is my favorite.” (She doesn’t know yet but apparently Santa Claus is bringing her one for Christmas…he told me!) As in everywhere you go there is ultimately the time to which you need to leave. As if she can read my mind or body language she beats me to the punch. Actual conversation 8/30/12:

Me: “Okay Sweet……”

Avery: “But I don;t want to leave yet!”

Me: “How did you know I was going to say we needed to leave?”

Avery: “But I don’t want too…..

Me: “I know sweetie but you need to eat and the store is closing now! (White Lie)

Avery: Tears……Tantrum

Us parents need to stick to our guns though because the slightest moment of weakness and they pounce. I’ve realized the art of manipulation begins at the age of 2. While it was ultimately a little struggle we ended up getting out of the store, my wife got what she needed and we cried all the way to dinner. It doesn;t mean I don’t feel bad though…….I just can’t give in. And boy it is frustrating to have a screaming child crying while strange men and woman stare at me light I’m a car and they are deer in headlights! Tell me I’m not the only one!!!!

Til next time

Alright, lets stick with the pet theme…

This summer has been a mix of highs and lows, of ups and downs, of pain and joy.

For one thing, we just had a million guests, and an awesome camp trip and through it all I was looking for ice to put on my back because I hurt lower back (bulging disc at L-5) and now have chronic pain that makes leaning over to put on my socks one of the most difficult tasks of the day.

We  have had some extra sweet family reunion time, cousin snuggle time and super sweet meals with friends, yet, at each of those things I feel a bit sad as I’ve imagined that we’d have one extra little Hall there with us. In fact, this last week has left me extra down because I wanted “adopted child” to be able to meet family and now they have all come and gone.  Also, I was hoping for some down time with our new one, but now we are back into school schedules and whatnot.

But, the biggest up/down was walking into a quiet house after a long drive- quiet because we couldn’t find our dog. We came home on Sunday night and the gate was closed, but the yard was empty.  We drove around, we whistled and called, and I made up “Lost Dog” signs with this little picture:

Sproutie is our “first” child- we got her our first year of marriage and have enjoyed many-a-good snuggle and long walk together.  I know one day she will die and we will all cry like babies, but I’m not ready for that yet.  The SPCA shelter did not open until 11 on Monday…and we were anxious. I didn’t even want to call, I wanted to be the first one there to look.  We walked down the hallway with cute little doggies all crowded in little cage rooms.  No Sprout.  We walked through the next hallway, out the outside hallway, in the next hall and through the far door.  At the end of this last walkway, in the very last enclosure on the left, there she was.  Looking anxious and excited and I may have even been crying before we even got to her!

We are thankful she is home again, and we are currently cuddled up and cozy.

Adopting has been a bunch of ups and downs and we are still “technically” in the PRE-adoption phase.  We are at the top of the roller coaster  hill: we’ve received another phone call about another possible placement.  And now we are just waiting for our corkscrew “twist.”

We are just waiting to be found. Matched. Placed. We are waiting to be cuddled up and cozy as a family of FIVE (plus one dog and two lizards.)

About five years ago, my husband and I were at the Foster City Art & Wine Festival.  At that time, we were just dating and still having a blast trying to impress one another.  So, we made our way toward the Carnival tables and started dropping way more money on stupid games than one should ever spend.  Our last stop was the toss-the-penny-in-the-bowl-and-win-a-goldfish game.  My husband was up first.  Missed.  I was up next.  CLINK!  My penny made a solid landing right inside a glass bowl.  Yay!  We won ourselves a disease-infested goldfish!

The goldfish was given to us in a tiny little plastic tank.  My animal-loving heart started aching and I begged my then boyfriend to make a stop at Petco for a bigger “home” for the little dude (whom we named “Carney Cruiser,” or “CeCe” for short). My husband made me a deal, “If CeCe lives for a week, we can upgrade him.”

And, almost three years ago, CeCe became one of DJ’s pets.  In fact, he’d been living in her room for the past several weeks.  She spent many a night staying up late talking with him.  She always reminded us to feed him, and alerted us to when it was time to clean his tank.  She really cared for him, which is why is was pretty devastating when I found him at the bottom of his tank on Friday night.

I quietly alerted my husband and we agreed to hold off on telling DJ until the morning.  My stomach was in a knot all night because I’d never been through this as a mom before.  I’ve never been the one to have to tell my child that her pet died.  We talked through our options: Remove CeCe from his tank while DJ was sleeping and tell her that he died (leading her to believe that things disappear when they die), not tell her at all and just replace CeCe with another goldfish, or tell her the truth and allow her to help guide us in how we handle the rest.

We opted for the honest route.  After our pancakes on Saturday morning, I said, “DJ, so something kind of sad happened.  CeCe died.”  The conversation lasted much longer than we expected, as DJ had a ton of questions about why he died, where he went, why God took him, etc.  She wanted to see him, so we were really glad we hadn’t flushed him in the middle of the night.  She broke down in tears, which broke our hearts in two.  I felt her pain pierce through every fiber of my body.  My daughter had lost something she truly cherished.  CeCe wasn’t coming back.  She had to face death.

We suggested we bury CeCe so that DJ could visit him whenever she wanted.  We allowed her to choose a special place in our backyard, and we made a little box to lay him to rest in.  We invited DJ to place special objects in this box that would stay with CeCe. So, she chose a tiny apple from our backyard tree:

And, drew him a special picture, which we folded up and put in his box:

Then, we dug a hole in the special spot that DJ chose underneath our apple tree.  While it looks kind of creepy now, in the moment, it felt right – necessary, even – to have DJ help break the dirt:

We then talked a long, long time about why we were burying CeCe because suddenly the idea of parting with him and leaving him in the ground was very upsetting to her.  We told her that he had gotten so old that he couldn’t swim anymore, and that he needed a special place to rest.  We let her know that he’d be safe in the ground, and that laying him there would give us a place to visit whenever we really missed him.  After answering all of her questions to her satisfaction, she decided she was ready to let him go (Her sad face here just breaks my heart):

We then concluded CeCe’s burial by placing DJ’s special windmills on top of his site, along with some Gerber daisies from the vase on our kitchen table.  We said a prayer, and asked God to take good care of CeCe as he swam in heaven’s biggest tank. “He was a good fish.” (It was really cool, too, as we stepped back and looked at CeCe’s plot, the windmills started spinning and DJ gasped with wonder.  We told her that it was CeCe thanking her for such a comfortable resting spot, and she seemed really proud):

DJ seemed to have found some peace – or, at least, came full circle in her understanding of the event.  It was so interesting to watch her go through the process of mourning. Her questions eventually stopped, and she just made comments here and there, like, “I miss CeCe,” or “I hope the racoons won’t get CeCe.”  She even confided in a friend of ours by blurting out, “My fishy died.”

By the end of the weekend, Daddy was buying new fish:

We welcomed “Lemon,” “Grape,” and “Peach” into our home, and watched as DJ smiled from ear to ear once her dresser top again had life:

While there’s really no manual on how to explain death to children, we opted for the route that we hoped would serve DJ well as she surely faces this challenge again and again and again in her lifetime.  We wanted to give her a safe place to explore her emotions regarding loss.  It was important for us to remember that while CeCe was just a Carnival fish to us, he was a very loved pet of DJ’s – and we needed to handle his loss with love, compassion and the patience that she needed to process it all.

Now, if Lemon, Grape or Peach kick the bucket any time soon – we’ll just do the ol’ switcharoo.

When my daughter was about 9 months old we took a small trip down to San Diego. It was her first real flight and overall weekend away from home. That was almost two years ago! This coming December, as an early 3 year old birthday present, we are taking her to Disneyland for a week. When we told her last month that we were going she put on her backpack and said “Let’s go, I’m ready!” In hindsight we probably shouldn’t have spilled the beans because explaining to her that it was still a little “way’s a way” didn’t quite register in her 2 1/2 year old mind. That was my fault and wasn’t fair! A lot of crying occurred that night here in this household.

I see Disneyland as some what of a mini milestone. She knows all the characters and knows that there are roller coasters and rides there…or as she put it “Is it like the fair daddy?” I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t stoked to go too. I don’t trust people who say they don’t like disneyland (the same people who don’t smile at a baby!) What I am very curious about is how much we’ll realistically get thru on the first day! We recently went to the Academy of Sciences in San Francisco and lasted about 45 minutes…..we saw everything in 45 minutes because our speed demon raced thru every exhibit and simply didn’t have the time (except for the baby ostrich’s…she like those!) I guess that’s why we are going for a week! One day we can go to toon town…the next on it’s a small world…etc.etc.

I’m excited to go because I remember how much fun it was when I was little. My parents would get up early in the morning, open the blinds and just off in the distance we could see the peak of the matterhorn ride. Back then we didn’t undrstand the concept that places opened at a certain time….”We want to go NOW!!!!” I’m assuming the same will hold true for my daughter when we go….”I want to go RIGHT NOW!” It will be interesting because it will be the first time we go without being able to enjoy the rides ourselves. I might have to look at my wife and say “Can I go on Space Mountain….PLEASE! I want to go RIGHT NOW!

Can’t wait………

Some people say faith is a childish game. Well, play on, children, like it’s Christmas day

Last weekend we got to enjoy a family camp and heard some beautiful songs by Drew and Ellie Holcomb, and the above words stuck with me from their song, entitled “Live forever”.  It’s a song that makes me think of children running through a big field of flowers. Here’s another line:

Take courage when the road is long…

Yes, that is where we are now: on a loooooong road of adopting and it truly takes a bit of faith.  and patience. and more faith. and hope.

When I was eight, I started attending summer camp for one week each summer. I would count down the days starting in February (or whenever my mom signed me up) and look forward to the day I’d arrive in Wolf Mountain and get to spend my days riding horses, singing around the campfire, playing capture the flag and floating down the stream on an inner tube. I had faith that the day would arrive.  I didn’t doubt it. I celebrated greatly when we had counted down until the day right before, then I’d barely sleep from all the excitement.

When I was eleven, I got to go to my first Young Life camp- Trail West- in Colorado with my Aunt Mary Jane.  I loved square dancing, the morning trail rides, meeting new pen pals (yes, we actually wrote real letters with paper- imagine!) and eating the best desserts ever.

When I was still 13, before I even started high school, my friend Shannon and I went to Woodleaf.  We were the littlest, so we were just the perfect size to hang out all day at the blob and be skyrocketed by the biggest people we could find to launch us. We never second- guessed a thing. We had faith that we would be okay. We had fun!

I went to this camp each year  and then, I went to other fun camps as a leader from the time I was 16 and on. The best summer EVAH was when I was 19 and  joyfully  (perhaps, childishly?!) played in the mud as a Ridgerunner Wrangler on summer staff. I truly met lifelong friends, discovered a bit about myself, enjoyed being outdoors from sunup till sundown and the laughter that comes from living in-the-moment.

Have you heard it said:

It is about the journey, not the destination

Yes, our end “goal” is to have another child in our home, but part of me writing about this season of our lives is that I don’t want to miss the lessons in the journey.

Thankful to be back at Woodleaf last week again, and can just imagine one more little face to join these kids in “jail” next time we come back.  So, if faith is a childish game, then bring it on! I want more of it!

It seems like we just got back from our spontaneous trip to Disneyland – but that was already two weeks ago.  Time flies, huh?  Anyhow, seems as though we just unpacked our suitcases, and decided to do it all over again.  Not the Disneyland part – but the weekend away part.

One of our best friends turned 40 on Friday, and his amazing wife arranged for a weekend-long surprise party for him at the Seascape Resort in Aptos.  We were lucky enough to be included on the guest list amongst family and other close friends.  We were really thrilled about a beach getaway, especially one so close to home.  I mean, if we could survive a 10 hour road trip home from Anaheim – surely a jaunt to Santa Cruz would be a piece of cake.

But, here’s the thing. Traveling with kids is never a piece of cake – in fact, it’s more like a root canal from eating too much cake.  It’s the packing….clothes, diapers, food, toys, medicine (just in case), sunscreen, blankets, strollers, car-seats, etc. that gets you.  It’s imagining a quick getaway, and then being faced with hours of organizing the car to ensure it all fits, that sucks the life right out of you.  And then there’s the “My belly hurts” from the back seat, peppered with the “Are we there yet’s?” along with baby cries (wails) along the way that really enrich the experience. Needless to say, nothing is quite as sweet as reaching your final destination when kids are in tow.

When we checked into our hotel and unpacked the car, both my husband and I breathed a huge sigh of relief as DJ jumped from bed to bed and Bitzy rolled around on the couch.  Our first night there was great – until bedtime of course. I spent the night listening to my husband snore while I kept a watchful eye on DJ, who almost rolled out of her bed a dozen times.  When the clock struck morning, I was already counting down the hours till nap-time.

And then, when the clock struck nap-time, DJ completely revolted (I can only hope she carries this much conviction into her future – I’m sure it will serve her well, when it’s not directly affecting me). I laid down in between her and Bitzy (who fell right to sleep), and tried ever so sweetly to calm her down.  I stroked DJ’s hair, gently tickled her face, rubbed her back, covered the flashing clock with my husband’s t-shirt, played white noise from my iPhone, sang to her, left her alone completely – ignoring her wiggling body and made-up songs. Nothing was working. Hours were passing.

I started to get mad.  I was losing patience very quickly.  Not only was I exhausted, but I was super stressed out anticipating her future meltdown – likely to occur as we reconnected with the broader group and sat down for dinner. With each movement of her overtired body, my skin crawled more.  I felt the tears surfacing and I felt the words climbing up my throat, “FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, GO TO SLEEP!” Nothing like a calm mother to evoke a deep sense of serenity, right? My husband, who was wisely keeping quiet, sat up quickly, and looking like a deer in headlights. He glared at me, and I knew I had lost it.  My cool, that is.  I handed Bitzy over to him and marched toward the bathroom.  I said “I’m going to take a shower.  I HAVE to have some time alone.” I know that he would’ve said it if I didn’t first.

I slammed the bathroom door and stripped out of my clothes.  The tears began to well up inside, and in a split second, I realized that my kids were going to think of their Mom acting like a complete lunatic on their first beach getaway.  That made my tears fall even heavier.  In an instant, I knew I had to pull it together.

I opened up the bathroom door, peered right at DJ and asked, “Who wants to go swimming?” My husband looked suspicious of my quick change of heart, but DJ jumped with joy!  The four of us quickly got suited up and played in the pool for an hour before meeting up with our friends.  While the water play definitely compounded our exhaustion, it was a memory that we’ll never forget – Bitzy’s first time in a pool. The laughter from both of our kids was well worth the 9:00pm meltdown later that evening.

That’s what vacation is all about, and what memories are made of….insane Moms who begrudgingly lead their families down the path of least resistance.

We have had the Olympics on our minds, and we have been hearing a lot about reaching for our dreams.  It takes time, effort and a lot of hard work to reach those dreams.  Well, I have some dreams, and sometimes my heart aches because it is going to take all of us to make these dreams come true.  I say HOW? HOW?, but I know the answer:  through taking one step that I can do today, and by through making our priorities the things that matter most.

I have a dream:

that all kids would have clean water.

Across the globe, more than 3,000 children die each day from unsafe water and lack of basic sanitation facilities.  (www.unicefusa.org)

that all kids would have some food in their bellies when they go to sleep at night.

Prices for basic food like rice, maize, wheat, oil, sugar and salt are skyrocketing, forcing millions of the world’s poorest children into severe malnourishment and starvation (unicefusa.org)

that all kids would have a chance at education.

In the aftermath of war, often nothing can make a child feel more secure than having a school to go to. After the Rwandan genocide, 800,000 people were dead and 95,000 children were orphaned. Many children had witnessed horrible violence or were forced to commit atrocities. For these children, going back to school meant a return to normalcy. (unicefusa.org)

that all kids would have the delight and support of at least one parent.

According to reports, there were more than 400,500 children in the US foster system in 2011.  (http://faq.acf.hhs.gov)

I’m not the first to have these dreams, and I know I must re-focus myself constantly. Olympic athletes are focused on one goal and they are not distracted, not veering to the left or to the right. These quotes hit the target in the bullseye.

“Our lives begin to end the day we become silent about things that matter.” Martin Luther King Jr.

“It’s the greatest poverty to decide that a child must die so that you may live as you wish.” Mother Teresa

“Every child you encounter is a divine appointment.” Wess Stafford, President, Compassion International (Oh man, his book: Too Small to Ignore, rocked my world!)

“The world is a dangerous place, not because of those who do evil, but because of those who look on and do nothing.” Albert Einstein

Pasta.  Lotsa pasta. The photo above is about as familiar to me as my own hand.  Pasta has been a staple in my life since birth.  In fact, my first food was probably a Parmesan rind.  Well, that mixed with a dab of Brandy on the gums for teething.

I come from an Italian family who used food to celebrate, mourn, welcome, comfort and bond with one another.  We spent more time sitting around the table than anywhere else.  Honestly, I have such warm memories of hours-long meals, where the only thing louder than the conversation was the clinking of our forks on our plates.

So, you can imagine my Noni’s horror the day I held up my bowl and declared, “No pasta, only sauce.” It was blasphemous.  No pasta? No pasta? While she reluctantly respected my request, she spent the rest of the meal eyeing me with suspicion.  This was over 10 years ago – and she spent the following years looking me up and down, always saying “You’re too skinny.”

Oh, what I wouldn’t give for someone to accuse me of being too skinny today!  Alas, I am still trying to shed my baby weight from having Bitzy 5 months ago. I am also struggling to find enough balance in my daily life to schedule in regular exercise.  But, what I have absolutely made time for is eating healthily.

(Once a week, I take a yoga class with both girls. This is not enough, but it’s a start that I feel really good about).

I grew up with a pretty distorted image of myself, and became aware of my food choices pretty early on.  But, like anything, education is a process.  I have refined my diet over the years, and will continue to do so as I learn.  I am now motivated by health, rather than vanity (though I’d be lying if I said my muffin top didn’t bother me! All in time….).  And, I actually really enjoy grocery shopping – another way I get my kids involved in the process of preserving our family’s commitment to health.

My hope and desire is to set a good example of health for my girls.  Several months back, my husband and I realized that we somehow fell into the ugly trap of bribing DJ with treats. “If you get into the car right now, we’ll give you a gummy bear.”  Yikes, I shudder now to think of how much sugar I poured into DJ’s system in the name of cooperation!  One day, I woke up and said “What are we doing?”  We stopped that practice, but definitely do still allow DJ to be a kid.  We do ice cream, candy, cookies, cake, etc – but all within moderation, and not as a reward for good behavior.

I don’t want to be fanatical about it, though.  I don’t want to give the impression that any kind of food is bad.  I just don’t want feelings of good or bad, to be associated with food.  Then you get into all that psyche stuff – and I just don’t wanna go there!  What I do want to do is cook delicious food, while including my girls – teaching them that really yummy stuff does come in green!  (And not that I’m patting myself on the back or anything, but DJ LOVES Swiss chard).

When I was growing up, my favorite seat in the house was on the kitchen counter.  To this day, whenever I go to my dad’s house, I hoist myself up onto the counter while he cooks.  I believe that more than what was served on the table, what sparred my love for cooking was being involved in the process.  It’s such a creative outlet for me, and I am desperate to pass the same impression onto my girls.

We spend a lot of time in the kitchen at my house, experimenting with different recipes and ingredients.  I hope that my example allows my girls to grow up with a healthy attitude toward food.  I pray that my investment in their health and awareness will save them from future body-image issues because they will feel vibrant and healthy.  I’m hopeful that they’ll do better in school, with a greater ability to concentrate and stay engaged.  And yes, I am hopeful that they’ll form more refined taste-buds and instinctively prefer whole foods to non-foods.

I myself am a die hard giants fan and I love going to the movies. My daughter is a die hard “mover and a shaker” and refuses to sit still….so why wouldn’t I try to take her to a Giants game and to the movies? I’ve been thinking lately that I’m going to give it a shot and see what happens. There are several possibilities:

1) We go to the Giants game and she gets spotted by a cameraman and makes the big screen. Her dad (me) get’s so excited that we’re on the big screen that I spill my coke in my lap and my daughter starts to cry.

2) We go to the Giants game and a foul ball get’s hit right into my lap but I fumble and lose it to a 5 year old sitting two rows down. My daughter starts to cry.

3) We go to the Giants game and we have an awesome time, she becomes a die hard baseball fan and grows up to own the Giants and gives her old man his very own mini dugout down the 3rd baseline. Her dad (me) starts to cry.

We watch a lot of Toy Story 3 and Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs in my house. My daughter is VERY close to sitting still long enough to get thru an entire movie. When she doesn’t sit still it’s because she catches a glimpse of my cat and has to tackle him. If we go to the movies there are several possibilities of things that could occur. As follows:

1) We go to see the newest pixar movie but when the lights start to get dark my daughter gets scared and starts to cry.

2) We go to the movies and I accidentally eat the last “reeses pieces” and my daughter starts to cry.

3) We go to the movies, get some popcorn and sit together and enjoy an awesome cartoon. Her dad (me) starts to cry.

Sooooo…if you happen to be at a S.F. Giants game in the next couple of months, or at the movies, and you see a 33 yr old man shedding a small tear it might be me.

“I can’t believe I’m sending my child to school dressed like a ragamuffin!”

“I am so perturbed right now, Kirsten, I’m going to sell you to the gypsies!”

“Do you know how many hours I have to work to pay for this closet full of clothing that you never wear?”

“Who turned the heat up to frantic!”

“Do not make me pull this car over!!!”

“Were you raised in a barn?”

“Because I said so!”

“You are skating on thin ice!”

“If (insert friends name here) jumped off a bridge, would you do that too?”

“I have had it up to HERE!”

“You cannot go out with wet hair — you will catch a cold!”

–Kirsten’s mom, circa anywhere between 1971 and today.

I always laugh about the go-to Momisms. My mom isn’t just the person who brings me birthday presents in July when my birthday is in January. I wish I was kidding about that.  My mom, the person who gave birth to me on a cold January day, brought me a birthday card and a box of pretty note cards with a fancy cursive K on the front on a hot day in July. But that is a post for another day. She is also the queen of the one-liners.

Apparently, I was the cold-catching wet-haired ragamuffin who was getting sold to the gypsies. Also, I never wore any of my clothes and I was clearly raised in a barn. Sold to the gypsies? Really? Is that a thing? Did people actually get sold to gypsies? I never once took ice skating lessons, so how could I skate on thin ice?

And yet… I found myself sending my daughter to chorus camp this morning in ripped cut-off jean shorts, a purple-flowered tank top under a green t-shirt that she had ripped the bottom third off and also cut up the sleeves, yellow flip flops and a too-large navy blue hoodie. I tend to let my kids have some freedom with their wardrobe, especially during the summer. So I surprised myself when it just poured out of my mouth, “I can’t believe I’m sending my child out dressed like a ragamuffin!”

I guess I better brush up on my on-liners, because, well, apparently I am my mother. Lord help me if I bring my daughters, who were born on a hot August day, birthday presents on a cold, rainy day in February sometime in the future.