Momma, We Are Sooo in London.

We made it! The wonderful people at Virgin Atlantic gave us an upgrade. I will be eternally grateful. The fifty or so business men in our cabin are probably writing their complaint letters as we speak.

Upgrade or no, ten hours in a tin can at 35,000 feet is not my favorite experience. For a start, changing a diaper in a two foot square box they laughingly refer to as a bathroom is a feat of gymnastics I'm not built for.
Then trying to get an intrigued ten month old to sleep in a vinyl box, poetically named a 'skycot' is something we have yet to master.

The perky staff and their cocktail cart made it all a little easier to manage and the personal entertainment system ensured we did not hear from the six year old until the wheels touched down.

London. Bloody marvelous. Pubs, fish and chips and the worlds best chocolate. (I know that generally the credit for that goes to Switzerland - but I beg to differ.)
At least I think that's what London is about. Personally I'm so bleary eyed from lack of sleep - I could be in my Texas and I wouldn't know the difference.
Babies, as it turns out, don't deal well with jetlag.

The ten month old and I have not slept for more than two consecutive hours in six days. On the upside, we do know each other much better now. The downside is we're thinking of a trial seperation. I really think there should be Baby Ambien.

The smiles between child and grandparents make it all worthwhile though. It's a wonderful thing to watch your kids being spoiled rotten by Grandma, the six year old can't believe her luck. I can see her looking at me expecting me to stop the candy avalanche at any moment but fatigue makes you lazy, so she's safe for now.

We're off to Scotland next - I wonder if a Haggis avalance will be as appealing?

Planes, Trains and Automobiles

We're taking the kids to visit Grandma.
This involves a ten hour international flight. Then a four hour train ride.
The bad news is - I don't know when I can next post.
The good news - a ten hour international flight is bound to give me enough material to post all year!
Keep checking in, I'll be here as soon as I can.

All We Are Saying...

Can we call a truce?
I have been reading lots of mommy blogs and online chats forums. God knows I understand sleep deprivation. I also have an intimate and personal relationship with my hormones - so I know their potential to cause havoc. But come on people, stop being so mean!

When a parent posts with a rant, they are actually looking for a little love. They're fishing - for support, or a cyber hug. Someone to tell them it'll all be OK. We all know how hard it can be. Did we loose the ability to be compassionate?
Did our supportive, sympathetic gene leave with the placenta?

I know that when you give every last ounce of patience you have to your little one - you may genuinely have none left. So, don't play with the other parents until you have some more built up.

Some of the stuff I read was downright hateful. I find it sad. I know that I have started to lean towards tree hugging but I still have a 'Hard Hearted Hannah' side. If I think it's mean - it's bad.

If you're so angry, frustrated or bored that you tell a stranger all their shortcomings, perhaps it's time to look in the mirror. (Oh no, now I have that Michael Jackson song stuck in my head.)

Even if you vehemently disagree with what's been said, try replying with a kindness or try stepping away from the computer.
It gives me a fluffy bunny and flowers image - that's, quite frankly, very appealing.

This John Lennon moment was brought to you by eight hours of sleep and two, finally well, and happy kids.

What's a Mommy Blogger To Do?

It's official - I'm knackered. Tuckered. Pooped.
The kids have won. I assume they were trying to reduce me to a shadow of my former self.
I'm so tired I can't blog. OK - I am blogging now but I doubt the quality.
I have mommy block. I can't think of anything to write about.

As my day went on (and on and on.) Several topics popped into my head.
I thought about discussing how frustrating it is when you bathe your baby to a squeaky clean shine. Get her in her pajamas and she fills her diaper. Didn't she get the memo about how nice it is to sleep in clean skin, in clean jammies and in a freshly changed crib? Now, of course - I changed the diaper but the shine is definitely tarnished. It seemed to diminish my good work. I took it personally. Did I mention, I'm tired?

I thought about blogging about how sometimes I'm so sleep deprived, I get to my destination and don't remember driving there at all. Very scary - especially since the kids are in the car. But who wants to admit to that?

I thought about admitting that I lied to the six year old about the time so I could put her to bed early. I figured she'll be telling the time soon, so I can only get away with it for a little while longer. Which to my mind makes it OK.

Then I decided that this all may be true but maybe it's not a very entertaining read. So I'm just going to admit - I'm too tired. Too tired to blog. Too tired to do any of the twenty things I needed to do tonight.
Thankfully, because I am a second time around mom. I know this tiredness is temporary. I know that I'll get more sleep one night - hopefully soon. I know my brain will wake up and I'll be able to write a blog worth reading again - just not today.

'Happy' St. Patrick's Day!

I am very grumpy. The six year olds sympathy pains turned out to be stomach flu. Oh the guilt. (Anyone who wants to refer me to my own post about guilt, might want to re-read my first sentence.)
Combine that with the ten month olds erupting gums and you can imagine how sleepless I am.

I was feeling at my limit when one of the six year olds sweet little friends called to see how she was. They had a very cute conversation which made my kid much brighter until the friend asked a seemingly benign question.
"Have you made your Leprechaun house?"

For those of you who don't know - I am Scottish. Born and raised. This makes me a Celt. Kin to the Irish.
I have never made (or even heard of) a Leprechaun house.

Don't get me wrong - I'm not a party pooper. It's fun to wear green, drink green beer and I would never turn down a good plate of corn beef and cabbage. Celebrations make life more fun.

Except for when you didn't know about them. Except when it's 4pm the night before and you need to build and decorate a Leprechaun house, fill it with treats for the Leprechaun and then supply said Leprechaun with a treat to leave for your kid.
Except when you can't get to the shops because your kid is sick.
I've said it before - I'll say it again.
ARE YOU KIDDING ME?

Of course, because disappointing your child is one of the hardest things a parent's heart will ever have to bear.
A house was made, a treat was found and the clever little Leprechaun left something which delighted the six year old.
I just might need a few of those green beers to make it through the day.

Can someone clue me in on the next celebration now please.


p.s. For those of you with British mums. It's Mother's Day in the UK this coming Sunday.

Aliens Among Us

Someone has stolen my kids. Not literally - no need to call 911.
There are two children in my house - I'm just not sure they're mine.

My children are sweet and jolly. Sometimes naughty but not every day.
My children sleep at least some of the time. They eat with hearty appetites and even although one of them is only 10 months old, tears are not a regular feature. So who are the two kids here today?

The six year old is grumpy and super sassy. The 10 month old is either crying or screaming and crying.
Neither have eaten much of anything and I think we have a grand tally of 4 hours sleep between us in the last 24 hours.

OK, so the 10 month old is teething and the six year old is having sympathy pains - in her tummy, head, ankle or toe - depending on when you ask her. Quite frankly, I think it's no excuse.
Especially as it's the weekend. We had plans - they included sleep.

I know from past experience that MY children will return eventually - I'm just wondering if I have enough Xanax.

Stunt Baby

I'm wondering if kids take your casual, passing statements as a personal challenge?
I was on the phone with Grandma the other day chatting about our upcoming visit.
Grandma was concerned that their house is not childproofed. No problem, I say. The baby has just learned to crawl and really shows very little interest in going too far. She does not open cupboard doors and doesn't show any interest in the stairs.

Guess what? That very afternoon, the baby purposefully strides into the kitchen and starts opening every door there is.
Several finger trapping traumas later, I resolve to put those little baby proof, clip thingies on this weekend.

Later, that same day, I run upstairs to put some folded laundry on the six year old's bed. It's about a 30 second return trip.
We sometimes call the baby Imelda because of her love for shoes. She likes to sit in the hallway and pull out all our shoes for some building, throwing and chewing fun. As I head upstairs I make mental note that she is happily engrossed in her favorite shoe game. Laundry deposited I head back downstairs and there she is perched half way up the stairs. Just sitting on the eighth step with a big, self accomplished, grin on her face.

Now what? The relaxing, birthday party free, weekend I planned is evaporating before me. Now we will be outlet blocking, gate installing and generally baby fun stopping, all weekend.

Just imagine how much fun a ten hour flight will be with our newly adventurous one.....

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I'm Under Attack!

The kids are tag teaming me. I think the full moon might also be in on the game. The ten month old really has never enjoyed the whole 10 hour, nights sleep thing. She prefers to do it in 3-4 hour bursts, punctuated with an hour (or more) of play or a bottle or anything she can think of. The six year old usually sleeps soundly for eleven hours.

I've noticed a new trend. If the baby does decide that mummy is beginning to look like a bag lady, she might decide to sleep for an 8-10 hour stretch. Guess what? The six year old picks that night to have a bad dream, need water or want to sleep in my bed.

Now I know they are little and still have a lot of needs and a lot to learn but really?
It isn't rocket science to work out that a tired, cranky mummy is NOT the kind of mummy you want.

Do they discuss it over dinner in some secret kid language? Are they drawing straws to see who should get up?

Last night they took the game to a whole new level and tag teamed throughout the night. I would just get one settled and the other would get up. Needless to say I was not a well rested, nice mummy this morning.

Here's the rub - the ten month old greets me in the morning with a completely disarming, gummy smile and the six year old told me "You are a beautiful mummy and I will have lovely thoughts in my heart for you all day."
I don't stand a chance.....

Daylight Savings is Evil

OK, that's an exaggeration but if you are a parent to children under five - you know what I'm talking about.
It's very nice to have the lighter nights I agree. However, this year they did it so early we have simply traded for dark mornings.
My six year old has grumpily greeted me every morning so far.
"Mum, we don't go to school in the night - stop being silly."

Monday morning I was up packing the lunch while the six year old and the 10 month old were still asleep. It is very hard not to wonder, if the baby isn't even up yet - what the hell am I doing up?

The baby is so mad about it she has stopped sleeping altogether. She simply stares at me with red-rimmed eyes as if to say - what's your deal lady and why are you putting me in my pajamas in the middle of the day?

Yesterday we woke up five minutes before we needed to leave for the school bus. I am both proud and ashamed to admit that we caught that bus. You can only imagine how well groomed the six year old was! Two gummies and a granola bar are a nutritional breakfast right?

The husband and I are trying to opt out. We have left most of our clocks on the old time and a few in reality so that we can comply with the little things, like the start of school and work. I think that should work out well.

Just for added fun, I spoke to Grandma yesterday. She lives in the UK and we visiting her soon. I was lamenting the fact that we would just recover from this and then have to deal with jet lag and an eight hour time difference. She gently tells me the clocks will 'spring forward' while we are there. ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!
They aren't doing it at the same time - is it a conspiracy?

I am not amused. A friend of mine summed it up beautifully in her facebook post:
Jessie had trouble explaining why her 6 year-old had to "go to bed in the day" last night. "It has something to do with farmers. Like back in the '50's, honey."

Post Party

We survived. Seven very excited kids, pass the parcel, tiara shaped sandwiches and cupcakes. Done deal.
When you can write it in a sentence like that - it seems simple. Only a parent would know the real truth.

The need to get just the right color of balloons, how everything must match exactly so no-one feels left out.
How there must be enough activity to keep them busy and enough playtime to let them burn off the cupcake sugar high.
It's exhausting but here in print it just doesn't seem so.

It reminds me of a great letter I read in a magazine. A 'Miss Manners' type column.
A woman was complaining that since her best friend had kids she no longer had time for her. She was at pains to point out that she too had a full-time job. She too had to shop, clean and do laundry. Her point was that she still had time to make phone calls, return emails and make plans to see friends.

What she failed to understand is that being a parent is actually like living in a parallel universe.
You seem like a normal person going about daily life but actually, you are not.
You live in a place where your life is lived for someone (or two or three) else. You often are operating on less than a viable amount of sleep. Your brain is often not where it should be. (Mine is still lying on that lounger somewhere, cocktail in hand.)
You have the needs of several people bouncing around in your head (at least the brain vacancy creates lots of space.)
You are multi-tasking beyond all reasonable limits and that's just a typical day.
Throw in a sick kid and things really get exciting.

How do you explain to your poor friend that your biggest pleasure is going to the market alone? That having the time to vacuum your house actually makes you happy. How do you politely point out that after being asked "mommy?", 13,472 times in one day your ears just want to rest and the thought of making a phone call actually makes you feel nauseous.
How to explain that meeting for a quick drink and catch up is about tenth on your wish list and that numbers one through nine are 'Go to bed early with a good book.'

You will listen patiently as she tells you - she understands - she after all has a cat. She knows what it is like to have a dependent. You will listen to her flippantly say 'just get a sitter.' As we all know - a good one is so easy to find.

You will promise to meet her soon - very soon and she will be placated for a while.
Now, if only the husband was so easily satisfied.......

The Five Year Old is Six!

How is it possible?
The five year old turns six today.
I am knee deep in cupcakes, pink balloons and princess dresses.
I will report later on the carnage, erm I mean fun.

Is it Wrong?

To use your greater understanding of the world to trick your kid?


The five year old loves to negotiate.
If I ask her to eat three pieces of broccoli, I know we are in for several minutes of debate.
Same thing at the park when it's time to leave.

Sadly, she has grown out of her request to have 'one hundredy seven eleven' more minutes.
I thought it was the cutest thing and she did not seem to care if one hundredy seven eleven minutes was actually five or twenty.

Now, however, we are into specifics.
She must name the number and it must be different from the one I gave.
So, back to my first question. If I say five minutes and she says, "No mummy, three more pleeeaase."
Is it wrong to take the deal? Am I obligated to point out what I hope, to you, is obvious? (Well we are sleep deprived.)

I ask because at the park the other day I heard a mommy explaining that the number of minutes her kid was asking for, was lower than what she had offered.
It took all my strength not to yell "Are you CRAZY?!"
Actually, that's not true. All my strength was being put to good use throwing my hands over the five year olds ears.

Surely, these little 'misunderstandings' are given to us to make life easier.
The five year old will learn to tell the time soon enough - don't look at me I'm not teaching her.
I have this little window that allows me to get vegetables in and end play-dates with a minimum of fuss.
It's justified right?

Kindergarten

Translation: Children's garden.
Doesn't it conjure sweet images of kids playing in the sunshine?
Don't you see a set of eager little faces smiling at the teacher whilst learning their times table?
Why is then, that registration for Kindergarten was one of the most painful experiences of parenthood I've had so far?
I am prone to exaggeration but truly this process made me lose my mind.

I toured the schools that were an option with great hope and expectation.
I gathered all the info. Made notes on the calendar for application deadlines. Made appointments for a medical and dental check up and then checked into crazytown.

The enormity of the decision kept me up at night. What if I chose the wrong school? What if the five year old doesn't like it?
If we go private how do we pay for it? What if the teacher isn't nice?
Ok, so these are normal worries, but If you ask complete strangers in the supermarket their opinion you might be going off track.

I worried about the shade in the play yard. The cleanliness of the bathrooms. The number of books in the library.
I fretted that this decision would affect her for her entire life. I cried. I bored my friends to tears. My friends without children stop taking my calls.

In case you were wondering, I had my child in a pre-pre school at age two for a couple of mornings a week and in pre school from age three for 18 hours a week. I am not new to this process.
I felt foolish, neurotic and scared. I felt ashamed of my mental state.

Then at a party with a few glasses of wine tucked safely in my system - I blurted my trauma.
In an instant I had a crowd of mothers around me sharing their mania.
Apparently, I was not alone in crazytown. It was such a relief.
I am a normal, if slightly hysterical, parent after all.

The five year old loves the kindergarten we chose. The teacher is fabulous and the bathrooms are clean.
As I drive through town I see banners advertising it's registration time again.
So, if you are in this process and losing your mind, just know you are not alone and as the time tested mantra says - everything will be ok.

Time to start looking at summer camps........