Running Away.

I have come to realize that parenting is like running a marathon I didn't train for.
I'm only on mile five and I feel like giving up.
I am in significant discomfort and the finish line is inconceivably far away.
My willingness to continue varies moment to moment.

The baby has finally given up her attachment to her fever. Two steps forward.
She has eaten a total of 5 raspberries, 2 yogurts and one croissant in the past four days. Twenty five steps back. I know very well that what you focus your attention on gets bigger and bigger, but she is so obviously losing weight it's hard not to hover over her with food.
Yesterday she even refused milkshake and ice cream. If I didn't vividly remember pushing her out I would seriously question her genetics.

In contrast the six year old is thriving and vibrant. She has been in summer camp.
She was supposed to be learning to swim and play tennis. Instead she and her camp mates seem to be focused on bodily functions and naughty words. Sigh.
I find it very hard to keep my face set in motherly disapproval while she is cracking herself up with a song about poop and boogers.

Maybe that's where I'm going wrong. Maybe if I spent more time seeing how far I can get my feet into my mouth (the baby) or if putting glue on the toilet seat really makes you stuck (the six year old) I might just make it to mile six.

Jail break.

I have pink eye. I. Have. Pink. Eye.
Not the kids - me.
One of the little cherubs must have given it to me but failed to develop it themselves.
I know that a mother should be happy about that - I am not.

It's one thing to get it because of the loving care you've administered to your poor goopy-eyed child but to be the only one to have it - plain unfair.

I look gorgeous. I will not spare you the details. My eye is a glorious fuschia pink and completely blood shot.
The upper lid looks like it went 3 rounds with Rocky and the lower lid is puffy and swollen to half way down my cheek. Lovely.

After a very difficult week with the baby and her unrelenting fever it's the final straw.
At least I'm not in a wedding today. (I have a history of developing some temporary facial disfigurement just before a big day with cameras involved.)
I did however have a night out with the girls last night. I maybe shouldn't have gone - the baby is still quite unwell - but I needed to get some space. Literally. The baby has been attached to me for 36 hours. I do love the snuggles but it's been hard to pee, eat or move around and she's very hot. It's 80 degrees outside. It's like taking a hot water bottle to the beach.

The 'girls' in question are particularly gorgeous beings. It's hard not to feel a little trollish in their company at the best of times. They are both moms so at least they are familiar with pink eye and didn't ask me to sit at another table.
I did notice a few involuntary winces when they looked directly at me though.

It was so good to be out. It was a beautiful night. The restaurant was really good and the company a tonic. When we left I didn't want to go home. I shouldn't have.
I think I now have an inclination of what it's like to blow your parole.
The baby had declined to sleep since I'd been gone. The husband's dinner was cold and worse, his beer warm. The baby was wired and hot.

Who's idea was it to have kids?

Spending A Penny.

I think I have may have bad mummy karma to pay off.
I can't catch a break. The baby has another fever.
I though it was just her second tooth breaking but she's clearly not well - congested, floopy (still wondering if I made that word up?) not her bright eyed, jolly self.
I clocked about 50 mins of sleep last night. The six year old never likes to miss out on the fun so she got up in the one post tylenol period of baby sleeping. She had some dramatic malady to report. It's amazing that a band aid applied anywhere can make a child feel better. I'm considering two over her eyes and one for her mouth......

I like to try and see the comedy of the situation. I don't live in Iran so I try to keep some perspective. It's just hard to be amused sometimes. I tried to think back to when the six year old was little and sick and how things always got better.
It reminded me of when the six year old was three. She had been quite ill for some time and we were supposed to quarantine her. No parks, no play dates etc.
It was really difficult to keep her occupied - so we went to Target for the day.

We spent an hour or so trying on accessories, then moved to clothes. We were in the middle of toilet training so we made regular pit stops. We then went to have lunch. After lunch we moved to the toy dept. Then I remembered she wasn't really supposed to be around kids and things kids touch so we moved to the gardening dept.
As you can imagine this was a tough sell. Toys have so much more appeal than gardening gloves. I was trying so hard to make it fun but the three year old was unimpressed. Then I saw these cute little kid cabana's for the garden. I put one on the floor and she crawled right in.

She starting peeking through the windows and was delighted. I added some kiddie tools and some kiddie shoes and gloves so she could garden at her new house. They had plastic plates and cups so we added those for a tea party. Brilliant! She was so happy, I was sure we could stretch an hour out of this. Then she peed. In the cabana.
Pee being pee ran everywhere soaking the cute little gloves and shoes. Coating the tools and tea set. I had no idea what to do. I grabbed a towel from the adjoining beach section and mopped it all up.

It slowly dawned on me that I would have to buy everything.
It was a $170 pee.
It was money we didn't have to I cleaned the floor of that Cabana with clorox and returned it. Maybe that's why I have bad karma.......

Green Eyed Monster.

A friend and I were commiserating over the whole parenting thing yesterday.
How endless it seems, how much of ourselves we give, how tired and cranky we often feel.
Of course, we love our babies fiercely and we wouldn't change our lives for anything.
Except.....

I'll speak for myself now. I am jealous of my friends with 'single' lives. I'm on Facebook and there I read about friends taking wonderful trips to far away and exotic places. Some people have lazy weekends. Imagine! They sleep late, eat inappropriately and watch movies in the afternoon whilst drinking beer. They lounge by the pool or at the beach. They do not have to be buried up to their necks in sand or watch Barney.

They don't get up at 6am and spend their whole day serving someone else with endless needs. They don't have to negotiate to get 15 minutes to have an uninterrupted shower. They get to pee alone.
I miss it. I miss doing whatever I want, when I want to.
I miss booking flights to somewhere and just going. No hotel reservations, no specific plans - just possibilities. I miss traveling without a bag full of snacks, crayons and toys. I miss strolling off a plane with only carry on bags.

I would like to get up in the morning and remain whole for a day. Instead of splitting myself into pieces for each child and the husband.

I don't want my old life back. I'm aware the grass is always greener. I remember the longing I felt when I looked at people with their babies. I remember feeling bored because I didn't have purpose or enough to do. I know when I was struggling with my fertility, I felt those people playing with their babies were being brazen and insensitive with theirs. I know that some of my friends would trade their endless freedom for six kids if they could.

I just want some balance.

This morning while I was in the bathroom the six year old came in. She helpfully brought the baby with her.
"Mama can you watch my show?"
"Not right now honey, I'm busy."
"Awww - you never watch my shows."
"That's not true swaetpea, yesterday I watched your ballet show, your banging blocks show, your piano show and your skipping show."
"But that was yesterday..."
All that while I try to pee.

Happy Father's Day!

The husband is a keeper. He works hard so I can stay at home with our gorgeous girls. He can fix anything - even invisible little girl owies. He is a story teller, a musician and all around funster.
We're lucky to have him.

The six year old came up with her own plan to honor him today. I am still a little teary at the cuteness of it.
"Mama, on Daddy's day I want to cycle with Daddy to the coffee shop and you'll give me money and I want to buy him his coffee, OK?"
The image of her proudly ordering his coffee and paying for it is just so delicious.
The one year old and I are going to take the car down there and hide in a corner to watch it transpire. (We have permission from the six year old as long as I don't interfere with the ordering!)

I'm just hoping she'll also want to cook the Father's Day dinner and do the Father's Day dishes.

To all the Dad's - I'm wishing a beautiful day for you and yours.

Live Your Grail!

I am either a really selfish mother or a really wise mother. I think you could look at it both ways. I'm going to choose to look through the wise tinted glasses.
As I think I have previously said (many, many times) I've been feeling worn out.

I do love to complain but I also know that complaining has an expiration date so I decided it was time for action. I'll also admit that I was given more than a gentle shove by some lovely friends. They offered help, in the form of free babysitting. God bless them, I would have said yes anyway but FREE - I'm Scottish - it's my favorite word.

It also happened to be our wedding anniversary. (Fifteen years - where did the time go?) The husband who clearly borrowed my wise tinted glasses bought tickets to a Broadway show. We arranged for the kids to go for a sleepover. I was beyond excited at the thought of a night out with a long lie in the morning.

Cue drama. The baby spiked a 103 degree fever. She was miserable, floopy (is that a word?) and refusing to eat.
The right thing to do is cancel the night out and give the tickets to my friends without kids who can go out with an hours notice.
You guessed it - we went anyway. We dumped our kids on the world's best (and bravest) friend and ran.
I had to. Really. I needed that night off.

It turned out to be the right decision. The baby cut a tooth. I would have missed Spamalot and 10 hours of blissful, uninterrupted sleep for a teeny tiny tooth.
For now - I'm looking on the bright side of life. (Dee dum dee dum dee dum dee dum)

Weighty Issues.

The baby is a picky eater. Actually, she's more like an intermittent eater. Some days she eats adult sized portions and I marvel at how she's fitting it all in to that tiny body. Other days she tosses everything I offer directly on the floor. I know this is normal, incredibly annoying, but normal.
What's my point? The baby gains weight very sloooowly.

I am unconcerned - she is thriving and developing right on milestone schedule. She's happy, full of energy and has a bright twinkle in her eyes.
Her pediatrician is concerned. Here's the tricky bit. She's only concerned because she's not following a good curve on the percentile chart. She is now 'required' to start testing the baby for underlying reasons for slow weight gain. How do you test for pickyness? What procedure do you use to see if inherited eating habits might be a factor? The husband is a skinny, intermittent eater. The tests they have in mind are invasive.
I object.

The six year old was exactly the same at this age but she managed to stick to that all important curve by the skin of her teeth. Perhaps because she never crawled. She sat and sat and sat. She never moved from one spot for hours at a time. (It was great!)
The baby is not skinny or lethargic. She just NEVER stops moving. Even in sleep she thrashes around her crib. Why can't we use that as the reason for her slower weight gain. She does gain weight but then she gets a cold and loses it or she has a big jump in height so her weight ratio is off again.

Like all parents I Googled the topic - guess what, pages and pages of parents frustrated that those damn charts seem to ignore the fact that we are all different. I don't know about you but my friends are all different heights and weights and perfectly healthy. Wouldn't it make sense that kids are too?

My pediatrician has delicately explained that she sees my point but if I won't agree to the testing - I'll need a new pediatrician. Why? The practice doesn't want to get sued if later some underlying cause is found that they failed to identify.
AAAAARGH.
I like my practice - we've been with them for six years, I like all the doctors. They take my insurance.
I am going to the next weight check with my lawyer and a detailed report on the flaws of the percentile charts. You think I'm kidding.
You realize of course that if I do the baby will have gained 3 pounds and will be in the 90th percentile.
I need a donut.

It's Time To Vote!

Did I mention you can VOTE once a day?!

Help Me Obi Wan.

My good friend at Mosey Along is always pointing me in the direction of fascinating blogs.
She blogs for community while I shamelessly blog for your votes and your advertising clicks.

Mosey Along told me about a mom with a story that is so difficult to comprehend I didn't actually finish reading it. The great thing about giving through blogging is, you can give and see where your dollars are going. You can find a person whose story touches your heart and directly help.
I'm sharing it with you today because they have a Silent Auction going on, starting today, to help with medical bills.
Let's face it giving and then getting is an added bonus. I thought the stuff on offer was really cute. Go see for yourself at Auction For Carol

And now for something completely different....

Yesterday the six year old had a birthday party to attend. It was Star Wars themed and she went as Princess Leia. If I do say so myself, I made a spectacular costume out of a pillow case and two bagels stuffed on a headband. Brilliant. The Waldorf community would be proud - sort of.

There was a bouncy. I want you to hear that dramatic music they play in movies when something bad is about to happen in your head now. Princess Leia got her front teeth smashed in. Four of them. I know it was an accident but the young man in question was unrepentant and I had to restrain my inner Jabba The Hut.
We managed to wiggle them back into their sockets (oh the humanity) and they are still there this morning but let's face it - their days are numbered.

We've lost teeth before and one of the front teeth was a little wiggly but I am not prepared for the freeway sized gap that will soon appear front and center in the six year old's gorgeous smile. Between one kids teeth falling out and the others coming in we are all toothed out here. I'm not sure I can afford the impending tooth fairy bill either.

Hello Mother, Hello Father.

I need the phone number of the couple I horrified a few weeks back. I was not nearly honest or scary enough. Life in this house is now officially ridiculous.

We have been battling our own version of swine flu for 6 weeks now. In true family style we are passing it around like a plate of cookies. The husband has been sicker than I have ever seen him. I may even have to retract my 'man cold' joke as slander.

The kids are finally well but just to mix it up they decided to try the old tag teaming routine again. I went to bed exhausted after looking after everyone and fell into a blissful deep sleep. Cue six year old who burst through the bedroom door announcing a "bleed nose." This would have been enough drama at 1am but she startled me and I wrenched my neck. I now have about 20% movement and an eye popping amount of pain. Ideal for mopping up a blood splattered child and her bed.

I finally got the 'blood nose' to stop and the six year old settled back in bed.
Exactly 45 minutes later I am woken by a persistent tapping on my arm.
"Mama, I can't get back to sleep. Can I have some sleeping potion?"
Sleeping potion is a genius invention of the husband. It involves cranberry juice and some pretend sprinkling of various magic herbs. It also involves a trip downstairs to the fridge. I dutifully trudge down to make it. I know the six year old well enough to understand that she will not be sleeping without it, no matter what I do. It's also an ideal opportunity to pop some ibuprofen for the hideous neck pain.

Potion consumed the six year old settles back in, as do I.
Cue baby. In honor of the secret code of tag teaming - she waited just enough time for me to fall back asleep before she started crying. I am yet to find a reason for the tears but after 20 mins I got her re-settled. It is now 3am. I look at the clock and think, 3-4 hours sleep coming up - not too bad. Wrong.
The baby got up at 4am for the day.
I'm thinking Summer Camp. They take infants right?

p.s. Did you vote for me today?

BlogLuxe Awards.

Let me be frank - I'd like one.
Accolades don't get handed out for parenting. Yes, yes I know that the kids art and sweet love are accolades but let's be real for a moment. I want recognition for my talents - this is my Oscars.
If you care to indulge me - please visit:
www.socialluxelounge.com
You'll find me under 'Funniest Blog' (Where else?)
You can vote once a day - fun!
There's also a big red button just over here --------------------------------->
if you scroll down a little bit - that will take you where you need to go.
Thank you!

Paying It Forward.

If you are in the Bay Area you may have heard this story.
Maria is a parent just like you and I except last week she drove from her home in a nice area to meet a friend in a troubled area. There, she drove through a gun fight and was killed by a stray bullet. She leaves behind a son.

This story is tragic on every level, not least because Maria was a single parent.
Let's stay with the positive. We have an opportunity to help.
Kenny, her son, is 17 years old and wants to go to college.

I know that many are affected by our economic downturn but if you have anything spare consider helping send a kid to college and a secure future.

You'll find out all you need to know here: www.mariamikell.com

Thanks for reading and please share with anyone you think might be interested.

Little Earthquakes.

I am in the 13 month slump. I had it with my first child too. I've just run out of everything - energy, patience, motivation, enthusiasm. Anyone would. Looking after a baby 24/7 is the hardest thing I've ever done. I chose to live in a different country from family so any help the husband and I get we pay for, either with money or reciprocation.
We worked out last night that we haven't been away overnight without a child for over three years - it's too long. How about that for an understatement.

It's also been a big week. The six year old 'graduated' kindergarten. The Auntie flew in for a brief but shining visit. The husband got sicker than I've seen him in years but still honored his commitment to a big music event and then there's the baby.....

I love my baby, of course I do BUT she never stops. The six year old, at 13 months, used to sit happily in a pile of toys and play. This one will toss them around, stuff them in awkward places and then bolt for the stairs, front door, back door, open window, toilet etc etc.

Last night the husband and I were looking forward to a very hard earned evening on the couch, watching a movie. We have been trying to have a date night for weeks and because of the endless illness in our house have not gone. We decided we'd date at home. It was not exactly romantic - the husband has a fever of 101. However, there we were - him under a quilt with a pile of tissues and various half drunk cups of tea, juice and water. Me, at the other end of the couch with an inappropriately large vodka cocktail.

We were just getting into the movie when there was an almighty CRASH from above. I believe I had just been celebrating how great our kids are for going down easily. We bolted - tissues and drinks flying. In my mind I saw the tall boy next to the crib pulled over on the floor. The baby has been throwing everything off the top of it and reaching through the crib slats to pull open the drawers and empty the contents. We had talked about moving it. I cursed myself for just talking and not doing.

We run into the bedroom and there on the floor is the baby. Dazed.
I felt a spontaneous need to vomit, cry, panic and scream.

We spent the next hour lowering the mattress in the crib and checking for signs of concussion - a large egg sized swelling with carpet burn doesn't count right?
The following hour we beat ourselves up emotionally while checking on the baby every 30 seconds or so.
The third hour - we watched the rest of the movie. Which was mediocre at best.

Today I am child proofing. We already have but I'm going all out. I'm thinking wall to wall bubble wrap. I'm an optimistic person - I'll get through this. The fact that the six year old is now on summer break should really help.....

Six versus Forty.

I want just one teeny weeny bit of the six year old's energy.
This morning she tiptoed up to my bedside, fully dressed and bursting to show me her newly tidied room.
It was 6.20am.

I crawled into her room - who can resist a six year old so full of self pride she might burst?
Wow. It was gleaming. All books on the book shelf. Dress up in the box. Furniture in the doll's house. You could see at least 3 feet square of carpet. A miracle!
What time did she get up?

I grew up in a house that had to be tidy at all times so in classic parent backlash, I allow my kids to leave toys where they drop them. Instead we tidy up once a week. Let's face it - the toys will be back out within hours.

Actually, truth be told she's tidying with a purpose. Her Auntie is coming from Australia tomorrow. She's excited. I am too but I don't face the inevitable tidying with one ounce of her energy or enthusiasm.
Where does that childhood energy go? What happens to it? I want it back.

I am becoming more and more interested in the George Costanza life plan. If you're not familiar - it's where you live your life backwards.
You come in old with the most wisdom and wealth. You get younger as your life goes on and you go out on an orgasm. Brilliant.
Let the tidying begin.

Man Cold.

Let me just state for the record, the husband is top quality. He is very hands on, not afraid to get dirty (do diapers) and loves to spend time with his girls.

However. This morning the six year old and I did our usual mad dash for the bus (roll on summer break.) I walk back into the house and nearly fall over from the fumes.

"Holy cow, what is that smell?"
"What smell?" says the husband.

Picture the scenario - baby is playing on the carpet and the husband is sitting on the couch with a cup of coffee. It's a perfect domestic scene. Except for the incredibly foul odor. I immediately check the trash, fridge and sink - nope. Maybe it's outside?
Thinking about it, I could smell it before I came through the door. As I'm walking to the door to check it out, the baby looks sweetly at me and says "Nak!"(snack.) So, I pick her up to put her in the highchair. We don't make it to the highchair. I have sourced the odor.

"Honey you have to be kidding me, it's her diaper, you couldn't smell that?!"

"I have a cold" he pleads.

The infamous Man Cold. Ladies, you all know what I mean. Famous enough to rate it's own comedy sketch http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mz6DktXFvg4

I will spare you the details but there was poop over 90% of her body, and 60% of mine before we were done. But hey, daddy has a man cold.