I hope my second chances never run out

I'm a Monday person. Everything starts over on Monday. It's a new week, a new chance to do better and be better. Why wait for the new year to make resolutions? I make them at the beginning of every week.

I'm going to exercise. 
I'm going to drink a green smoothie every day.
I'm going to be more organized. 
I'm going to be a better mom and a better wife.
I'm going to cook more meals.
I'm going to go to sleep at a decent hour.
I'm going to have a plan for writing. 

I'M BASICALLY GOING TO DO ALL THE THINGS AND ROCK THEM!

And then the week gets going and, well, "the best laid plans" and all that garbage . . .

One huge plan I had was "no yelling in the new house." That was for all of us. We'd been yelling a lot before the move.

Guess who was the first person to yell in the new house? The Mommy who brought her stress with her, that's who.

But as I unpack one box after another, I'm doing better and my stress is dissipating. I'm taking the second chance that has come to me. I believe in second chances, even though I'm a stubborn, bull-headed Taurus.

As a teacher and as a mom, I've always given kids second chances. It's inevitable that they are going to make impulsive or even uninformed decisions that lead to poor choices. They are still learning, and it's my job to teach them.

But what about myself? Shouldn't I know better? Shouldn't I know that when I stay up late with the intention of writing or searching Pinterest for new recipes that I am so tired I just end up either falling asleep on the couch or zoning out on HGTV? And then the next day I am so crabby that I snap at everyone?

Shouldn't I know by now that when I exercise I feel great and energized, and when I binge eat Oreos my digestive system is really pissed off at me the next day? Shouldn't I know that anyone can get cancer and other illnesses - especially at my age, and that sleeping well and exercising regularly and having a good diet can help prevent all that?

Shouldn't I know with more clarity than most that anything can happen at any time to anyone I love? Shouldn't I know not to take my family and friends for granted, to enjoy every moment, to hug more, yell less, be generous with the 'I love yous,' and document everything that happens for memory sake?

But yet, I don't do all those things. I know. I know it all, but that doesn't mean I do it all perfectly every time. I can't help thinking that a person's inherent worth shouldn't be based on their ability to be perfect. We are all flawed. I should give myself the same breaks that I give to my children, but hold myself to the same expectations. If I expect them to learn from their mistakes, I should expect to learn from my mistakes, too. A huge part of life is growth, constantly making small changes to be better, do better, and live better. Even if it is week to week, day to day, hour to hour, or even minute by minute.

I know life can change in an instant. But I also know that life is about second chances, and I hope mine never run out. I hope I never run out of chances to be a better person. It may be fatalistic to say that, but I'm saying it anyway.

So that's why, instead of making grand resolutions, I'm grabbing every second chance I can get at any moment I can get it.

Your Kid's Behavior at the Pool Makes Me Like You Less

This post originally appeared on kissing the frog on July 30, 2012. Due to a bratty little girl at the pool and little time to blog this summer, I thought of this post and decided I'd pull it out again. Enjoy!

The other day we went to the pool for the first time in a long time.  The triple digit heat has finally broken here in the Midwest, and I forced the boys to return to the pool.

Slim was floating lazily around the pool in a floaty, Knox and Lil' C were - shockingly - playing together with squirty kick board things, and Baby E was happily splashing in the shallow end by the stairs.

The pool was uncrowded, and I was actually enjoying myself.

Until...that kid came by.  We all know the one.  The kid whose parent is MIA.  The kid whose parent did not bring him any toys, so he bugs you to play with the toys you hauled to the pool for your kids.  The kid who has no one to play with, so he bugs you and your kids.  The kid who splashes you and your baby and thinks it's funny.

Yeah, that one.

A while earlier, Lil' C had bonked this kid on the head with his kick board.  It was an accident, but still, I sought out his mother to make sure he was okay.

"Oh, he's fine," she assured me. "It gets him back for what he does to his brother," she laughed and gestured toward a toddler in a stroller.

I smiled and walked away thinking, This is a mom I could be friends with.

But later, as her kid continually splashed my kids, squirted them in the face, took their toys, and teased them, she was nowhere to be found.

Meanwhile, I was jumping down my kids' backs with every little move they made.

"Knox, stop squirting him!"

"Lil' C, talk nicely to him!"

And disciplining the kid himself.

"Please let my son have his kick board back."

My fury boiled at this mom who, it turns out, was sitting in the shade while her toddler was strapped in his stroller.  Awake.

I didn't get it.  It made me mad.  It irritated me.  It definitely made me rethink a budding friendship with her.

But, in the spirit of understanding other moms and ending the Mommy Wars and all that, I decided to just let it go and enjoy my boys and our time at the pool.

Friday night, we invited some friends and their kids to the pool with us.  And again, I sat in judgement of people's kids.

In particular was a little girl with a huge squirt gun who was getting every adult wet.  After being talked to several times by her mother, the gun was taken away, and I thought, Finally!

It was only upon observation that I realized that my kid was being that kid.  Two of them were, in fact!

Lil' C had found the ginormous squirt gun, had taken it without asking, and was joyously getting everyone wet in and out of the pool.  Slim was joining him in a water gun fight that had him squirting other kids in the face.

And as I opened my mouth to discipline them, I wondered how many other parents were judging me because of my kids' behavior.

I truly believe that a child's behavior is about 5% in born and 95% how they are raised.  Children learn and mimic their parents' words, actions, attitudes, feelings and moods.  I see it all of the time in my own children.

Hubby and I yell a lot, unfortunately, so the boys yell a lot.  We are impatient and tired.  Our attention is all over the place.  Our children's behavior reflects this. 

When we are calm and loving and give them attention and patience, their attitudes and behavior reflect this.

A perfect example is how they all treat Baby E.  I hear them say things to him in the same gentle and loving tone that I use.

Hubby and I have a tendency to be impatient and frustrated by Slim's ADHD behaviors, and that is reflected in how we talk to him.  It is also reflected in how the other boys talk to him.

So to me, a child's behavior is a double-edged sword that leaves me wondering, How much of this kid's brattiness is due to his parents, and how much is just his true personality?

Maybe a child's natural personality is to be bold or shy, brazen or anxious.  But how does the parent nurture that and react to that?

Every child throws tantrums, but how patient is his parent and how well does she redirect the behavior?

You would think I'd have learned not to throw stones, because my glass house contains more than a crack or two.

So, I promise not to judge you for your kid's behavior, if you don't judge me for my kid's.  Deal?


What's your take on nature versus nurture?  How much of a child's personality has to do with his parents?

How to Sleep-Train A Toddler in 30 Easy Steps

I absolutely adore this little kid! He is, as the world's greatest supernanny said, "practically perfect in every way." He is sweet, loving, friendly, smart, curious, fun, happy, and gives the best hugs.

That said, he does have one flaw . . .he is a horrible sleeper.

It may have something to do with the fact that he has no idea how to self-soothe and that he thinks my nipples are his own personal sucking candies. When he wakes up and they are not there in his face, he has no idea what to do, but cry (I'm sorry ladies, but does this not sound like a typical man or what?).

Anyway, as he is almost 19 months old, and the quality of my own sleep has been so poor for the last, oh, 28 months, I think it's time to lay down the law and do some sleep training. So I present to you, my 30-step plan for sleep training my toddler:

1. Put him to sleep at his normal bedtime, via the normal routine (rocking and nursing - hey, if he's all cozy and satisfied, maybe he will stay asleep all night this time).

2. Go about my normal routine, which involves getting into bed at about 2:00 a.m.

3. Get all snuggled up in bed, wiggling and tossing and turning until my body is right in that comfortable groove in my bed.

4. Drift off and just barely enter REM.

5. Is that a baby crying? Hmmm . . .a baby is crying. I wonder where it is.

6. Get kicked in the shin by Hubby, "The baby is crying."

7. Unwrap from warm cocoon and prepare to get out of bed as Hubby says, "Just let him cry."

8. Cover back up and stare at the ceiling, listening to baby cry.

9. Twenty minutes later, lay fuming as Hubby is solidly snoring away and baby is now yelling, "Mommy! Moooooommmmmmy!"

10. Uncover again, get out of bed, and close door to bedroom so Hubby doesn't hear. 

11. Close all bedroom doors so no other little children wake up.

12. Stand with hand on door handle to baby's room, willing baby to stop crying.

13. After almost falling asleep standing up, decide it would be best to lay in hallway and listen to baby cry. Maybe being so close to the door, I will absorb all the sound and no one else will hear.

14. Start drifting off, only to be awakened by a shooting pain in my hip from laying on the floor.

15. Realize baby is now all out sobbing.

16. Think, screw it, and go in his room.

17. Have every intention of just shushing him, giving him a pat, and leaving, but instead, melt and give in when he smiles, reaches his arms out and says, "Mommy!"

18. Pick him up and sink into his tight little hug and toddler sweetness.

19. Stand with him, swaying back and forth until his little head drops on my shoulder.

20. Convinced he is asleep, gently lay him back down in his crib.

21. Yell, "CRAP!" and run out of the room when he immediately pops back up.

22. Go back down the hall, close the door, get back in bed and cover head with several blankets and pillows.

23. Realize I can still hear baby yelling, "MOMMY!!"

24. Hear 9 year old in the hall, and realize baby is in danger of waking everyone up.

25. Throw off covers, sighing audibly.

26. Meet 9 year old in hall, who says, "Mom, the baby wants you."

27. Curse fertile uterus.

28. Completely give in by picking toddler up, getting comfy in rocking chair, and nursing him until he's sound asleep, and I have a cramp in my butt.

29. Resign myself to this routine until baby is in kindergarten, I have enough money to hire the baby whisperer, I make the cover of Time Magazine baby's ear infection is all cleared up.

30. Put baby down, sound asleep, and creep out of room as sun is rising while thinking to myself, He's only little for a short time. Who cares? Not me. Not really.



Do you struggle with any poor sleepers at your house? What is your plan for fixing it?

Tuesday

It's Tuesday again. Tuesday is my Nemesis, my Groundhog Day.

Yes, this would be my toilet.

 

 

 

You see, my cleaning lady comes every Tuesday. Now, before you go thinking 'Kathy is too highfalutin' for me,' just know that I don't pay her very much. She's not that good. And I'm okay with that because 3.2 seconds after she walks out the door, someone spills their full glass of milk all over the kitchen floor or pees all over the bathroom wall or smudges up the glass on the front door with their fingerprints.

 

So each Tuesday, after she leaves, I inevitably have to use the toilet in the master bathroom at some point in the day. And each time I use it, I have to scoot the toilet paper keeper - thingy back up next to the toilet because she has scooted it all the way back in the corner.

 

Why is my toilet paper not on a toilet paper holder, you ask? Because the same little humans that mess up the house in 3.2 seconds managed to break it off the wall, that's why.

 

Anyway, each Tuesday, as I am sitting on the toilet and scooting the toilet paper back up next to me - again - I am thinking, 'It's Tuesday again? What did I do last week?'

 

In fact, I'm kind of feeling like my life lately has been this endless series of Tuesdays that leave me scratching my head and wondering what I am doing with my life.

 

One glance at my already full January calendar tells me what I've been spending most of my time on.

 

Everyone has their own color.

 

Sometimes I long for the early days when the boys were little, and we had nowhere to be. An outing for us was the grocery store or the library for story time. I never got bored because I always had someone to play with.

 

But my boys are growing up, and unlike the lazy days my older boys experienced, Baby E's schedule is determined by the older boys' or how many errands Mommy thinks she can run before nap time. That's just the life of a family, I guess.

 

Not that I mind (most days), but as the new year is beginning - ironically on a Tuesday - I can't help but reflect on one nagging thought: What the hell did I do last year?

 

And more importantly: What will I do this year?

 

No, this isn't going to be a New Year's Resolution post. I've done that before. And I think it's safe to tell you because we're all friends here - I didn't do any of those five things I said I was going to do, with the exception of writing more. In 2011, I posted 23 times. In 2012, I posted 116 times.

 

In April, I was asked to be part of a new website called Her View From Home, which highlights the many wonderful aspects of my home state, Nebraska. (No seriously, Nebraska rocks! It's a great place to live.) I am currently writing two family posts and one gluten-free post a month, which post on Wednesday mornings. Even if you live nowhere near Nebraska, I promise you, the site has something you will enjoy.

 

Lately, I have also been featured on other sites. Mamapedia was the first to post something of mine. I really wanted to see my own name on my daily e-mail from them. After submitting about eight times, I was ready to give up. I had a post that had gotten a good response from people, so I said 'What the hell - one more time.' And that's the one that did it. You always hear that many famous people were rejected several times before they found success. But, rejection sucks - for real. I guess my takeaway there is that the more I submit, the more likely someone will grab something they like.

 

I've had success on other sites, too, like The Huffington Post. From there, I have gained new followers for whom I'm so grateful. I may not have thousands of followers, but I know the ones who are here are here because they really want to be and want to hear what I have to say. And that's humbling, but also inspiring.

 

As far as those getting healthier and exercising goals - holy crap, you guys! This has not been a good year for that. I have neglected myself big time. That fact glared back at me a few times from pictures I saw of myself. Here I am on my 40th birthday:

Not bad, right?

Here is a professional photograph I had taken this summer that is now following me around the interwebs as my gravitar:

 

 

 

This picture is horrible! Holy moley, I look godawful! I think you can still see the old me in my smile and eyes, but the bags under my eyes and the bloated face tell onlookers what's been going on - way too much crappy food and way too little sleep. My mom keeps telling me, 'Well you are 42, you know.' Yes, thank you, Mom, I can count. I'm not denying aging, but looking the way I do in the second picture is preventable and - hopefully - fixable.

 

And there's the aging body. Yes, again, I'm in my 40's, metabolism is slowing down, blah, blah, blah. But friends, I have gained a serious amount of weight his year. Which obviously is not acceptable. I know I am probably never going to have my honeymoon, pre-baby bikini body back - like, ever - but, I did promise Hubby I would consider wearing a bikini on our tropical vacation later this year. Instead of airbrushed magazine models, I'm using me as inspiration.

 

 

I used to think I was fat. It was the thighs. I've always

had, er - ample - thighs.

 

 

 

We joined a new family-friendly gym, and I just have to go. Or do something at home most days. There's really no excuse. One of my sons is getting a little chubby, too. I feel like I've been setting a horrible example - failing as a mom. I need to do better.

 

So that's the thing. I need to do better. I know I can do better. I told someone today, I've had too many of those Why bother? moments this year. And I shouldn't have. Despite the fact that yes, I am still grieving the loss of my beautiful boy and I will be for the rest of my life, I do have the rest of my life ahead of me. And Hubby's and my sons. I want to be the best me I can be. I want to at least be trying harder.

 

We've heard all the sayings - Happy wife, happy life. - If Mama ain't happy, ain't nobody happy.

 

Seriously, these are true. And the wife and mama hasn't been too happy for a while now. Really happy.

 

But you know what? I think I've finally come to a place where I know what makes me happy - what used to make me happy anyway. And all I can do is say I will try. No resolutions, no goals. Just maybe a few dreams in mind, maybe some things I want to do. I'm not going to spell them all out here. I'll keep them close to me for now, but I promise I will share if I meet with success.

 

I have spent way too much time this past year feeling sorry for myself, thinking nothing I do matters anyway. I know that is simply not true. It matters. I matter. I don't want to feel tired and hopeless. I want to feel invigorated and hopeful.

 

There are things I want to do.

 

All I can do is try.

 

It is Tuesday after all.

 

 

 

 

Do you have a New Year plan?

 



 

 





 

 



 

Simply Having a Wonderful Christmas

It was Christmas Eve. The eleventh hour. And I was still scrambling to get everything done.

Presents wrapped, house cleaned, food made.

We were hosting Christmas this year for my side of the family. Hubby kept reminding me that it was just family. Just 18 people.

Who were family, by the way, so why did it matter what the house looked like? There would be enough food, and everyone would have a wonderful time, he kept assuring me.

I knew this. I knew it. But Christmas always stresses me out, almost to the point that I dread it. With the snowstorm on Thursday and the boys being off school, there were a few things I didn't get done - namely, getting Hubby's special gluten-free cookies. Which makes me feel really awful since he always makes Christmas special for me (he actually did all the shopping for the boys this year!).

And I forgot to get the ingredients to make cinnamon rolls for Christmas morning. I always make cinnamon rolls.

I'd been snapping at the boys. Making demands. Pick this up! Clean this mess! Put this away! Everyone has to help!

I was feeling horrible. Why do I get so stressed? Why do I wait until the last minute to get everything finished? What makes me forget so many of our special things?

What's wrong with me?

The boys were invited over to their cousins' house to play Christmas Eve morning. I think it was to keep all the boys occupied so my sister-in-law and I both could finish Christmas preparations. I planted myself in the basement with my wrapping supplies, and I wrapped like a mad woman.

I was listening to Pandora, and for some reason, there was a heavy volume of children's songs being played. Each time I heard their sweet little voices singing carols, my eyes welled with tears.

It made me think of Joey.

But I pressed on and kept wrapping, thinking to myself how lucky it was that I had told the boys that elves are messy creatures. And how lucky it was that my boys wouldn't care about bows or ribbons.

I was all done by 11:30 that evening, and morning came quickly, before 7:00 a.m.

6:50, actually, and it was all said and done by 7:06 a.m.

The boys tore open each present in a matter of seconds with shouts of, "COOL!" "IT'S JUST WHAT I WANTED!" quickly moving on to the next gift.

And as I sat on the couch, still in a sleepy haze contemplating coffee or tea, I realized that no one had expressed disappointment. No one had simply said, "Oh," and moved on.

In fact, I heard seven-year-old Knox exclaim, "This has been the best Christmas ever!"

We had celebrated with Hubby's side of the family on Sunday. Hubby's huge, chaotic, loud, wonderful family which is now made up of 57 people! All but eight were there.

This isn't even half of his family. There are more somewhere!!

I have always wanted to be a part of a big family. The dynamics among the cousins and in-laws are warm and sweet and sometimes simply hilarious. It's truly a gift that everyone gets along so well. And even though I sit and observe the chaos with no gift in hand (Hubby opts us out of the gift exchange, and I am no one's godmother), I never feel left out. But rather, blessed.

And then there was that moment yesterday, as I was standing in the kitchen. I was still dressed up from Christmas mass - heels and a pencil skirt and a cute peplum top. I had my apron on and Hubby was next to me chopping onions for soup. The boys were playing with their new toys in the family room and someone yelled into the kitchen, "Mom, what's 8 times 8?"

As I answered quickly and kept stirring whatever it was I was stirring, I felt a wave of gratitude and happiness wash over me.

For this.

This is what I had always wanted in my life - this "kiss-your-frog-marry-your-prince-and-live-happily-ever-after" life.

I have it. Standing all dressed up in my kitchen with an apron on making Christmas food for my family while my children play. This.

However, this life may not be perfect because we are grieving the loss of someone.

This Christmas may not be perfect because Mommy kept forgetting to move the elf and she forgot the cookies and the cinnamon rolls and wrapped the presents hastily and snapped at people.

But no one really noticed that except for me. So it didn't really matter after all.

And Slim has made sure that Joey has been with us all Christmas season. He brought Joey's beloved stuffed animal, Stripey Kitten, downstairs to "help" us decorate the tree Thanksgiving weekend. And even though I keep telling him to put her back, he keeps bringing her out every time we do something Christmassy. So I know he's thinking of Joey, too, and giving us a little reminder of his presence.

So in the end, I didn't really screw anything up too badly - not that anyone noticed anyway. My small family all said they had a lovely time celebrating at our house, and there was even food left over.

 Hmm, maybe if I'm still hungry, I can lick
some of the frosting off that adorable face.

It's clear to me as I sit and reflect on how the holiday went for us all, despite my perceived failures and foibles, it was a pretty great Christmas after all. I think it's safe to say that everyone had a simply wonderful Christmas.

I know I did.



The Power of Small Forgiveness

source

My mom loves to tell a story about a vacation my family took when I was younger. I couldn't have been more than four or five at the time. We were touring South Dakota or Wyoming or some vast Midwestern state. I was tired of getting out of the car, so when my family all got out again, I went around, locked all the doors of the car (this was old school, people - push and lock) and declared, "I'm NOT getting out!"

My parents, of course, had the key, and my grandma, who was also tired of walking, agreed to stay by the car and watch me.

My mom uses this story to illustrate how stubborn I was. And I still am. Sometimes it is to my benefit, like when I had to spend 14 and a half weeks on bed rest with my twins.

Sometimes it is to my detriment, like when I hold stupid grudges against people and ideas. I lost about eight years' worth of time with two of my very best friends being upset over petty stuff that we could have talked out. Thankfully, I am friends again with these amazing women, but I feel sad about the big holes in our relationships.

 

That brings to mind how powerful forgiveness can be. Even if the words aren't said, the feelings are there. And even if it's not necessarily "forgive and forget" (remember, I said I was stubborn), the forgiveness part can still heal us enough to allow forward movement.

I've had a tough week. I wrote about the 8 ways I'm trying to deal with parenting stress. One way was to go into the bathroom, away from my kids, and yell. I don't want them to think of me as the psycho unbalanced mom who always yelled.

 

But that's what I did Monday. And then because I needed my two hours of time the other day, I let Baby E cry in his crib for an hour. The whole time I am doing either of these things, I think to myself, "My goodness, I'm an awful mother. I'm evil. My sons are going to hate me."

 

And while that may be true someday (hello teenage years), it's certainly not true now. Thankfully, little people have the ability to forgive - and forget - in big ways.

 

I can see that at least two of my boys have my stubborn streak; but regardless, by Monday night, they were wanting hugs and stories. And short of brushing my hair, they were doing everything they could to make the night easier for me.

 

And the crying baby? By the time I went to get him from his crib, he was all smiles and hugs and happy to see me.

 

I can't help but think I'm doing damage to my boys every time I yell and scream at them.

 

But every time I cuddle and read a story, make someone a special lunch, spend some time playing, well, maybe I'm turning on that power. The power of forgiveness. The non-stubborn let's-just-forget-about-it-ness.

 

Wouldn't it be nice if it were that easy for adults?

 

 

Are you a forgive and forget type person, or do you hold grudges?

8 Ways I'm Dealing with Parenting Stress

I wrote in my last post about starting each day with new, fresh eyes and a happy heart. The sun will rise and that stuff.

Yeah, didn't work so great for me yesterday.

It doesn't help that I really hate Mondays. For me, instead of being a time to start fresh and begin a new week, they always seem to be packed with things I forgot I had to do until an e-mail, a bing-bong on my phone, or an actual live person reminded me.

Yesterday was no different. I had promised to work the book fair at school for two hours, and I still have no babysitter, so I had to ask my parents to watch Baby E and Lil' C.

I had to call the orthodontist because one of Slim's spacers fell out already. Then, while I was at school, I had to run down to his classroom to look and see which one it was, then call the orthodontist back to make the appointment that he had to have THAT DAY so it could be replaced.

I had to go to Knox's classroom to tell his teacher to tell him that he had Cub Scouts after school because that had slipped my mind until I read a reminder e-mail.

I had to pick Lil' C and Slim up early from school to take Slim to his appointment, and I had just enough time to stop at the store for Baby E's special milk and one needed ingredient for dinner before I had to pick up Knox from Cub Scouts.

Typical day for most moms, right?

But there was still the behavior I had to deal with. The boy who told Grandma that he didn't like her. The boy who wouldn't wear the Cub Scout shirt I brought up especially for him. The fighting over who would get to play a game on my phone in the car. The boy who wandered off three times during the ten minute grocery store trip. The backpacks and shoes and coats all over the laundry room floor for the gazillionth time this school year. The fighting, the talking back, the disrespect.

I. Had. Had. Enough!

I suppose it also didn't help that a little monthly visitor had also arrived that day, but I lost it. I yelled and screamed and told the boys under no uncertain terms was I doing anything for anyone anymore. By the time I was done with my tirade, the two older boys were in tears, and the younger ones were avoiding me.

Oh, this is not the mom I want to be. This is not the mom I want my boys to have. I felt like things were spiralling out of control and the pressure was building and building and building until the lid blew right off the boiling pot.

I could have handled it better. I should have handled it better.

Hubby would say, "Coulda, shoulda . . . now what are you going to do about it?"

Good question. I've been thinking a lot about that today, and I've thought of some ways I can deal with my parenting stress:

1. Don't sweat the small stuff. Also called, pick your battles. One forgotten paper, misplaced shoe, spilled drink is not the end of the world. It happens. I need to take a deep breath and remember we've been through much worse.

2. Put more energy into the big stuff. I have not been consistent enough with some of the life lessons I want my boys to learn, like consistently following the same routines about chores, rewards, consequences, prayer, thankfulness, service to others, respect, patience, kindness, tolerance. I need to think about what I want them to learn, and rather than continuously harping, I need to model the behavior.

3. Do my screaming and yelling in private. I always tell my boys that feelings are okay. You have a right to your feelings. But your responsibility lies in what you do with those feelings. It's okay for me to be mad and frustrated - holy hell, please tell me we all get this way, right? But it's my responsibility not to verbally abuse my children. If I feel like screaming and yelling, I can go in my room or my bathroom, shut the door, and have a good scream or cuss session. Done. Let's move on.

4. Vent to friends. I have some amazing friends, and by now I know exactly which ones I can say which things to. It's like eating my favorite chocolate or drinking my favorite wine. It's a comfortable treat that makes me feel better when I'm done.

5. Have something for myself. I love being a mom - I really, really do. But the trap I fall into is when that's ALL I do. It puts too much pressure on me to define myself only in that way. Since I've been writing, I realize that I have something else I can contribute to those outside my family. And I earn praise for being something other than a mom. I earn praise for being me.

6. Savour my downtime. I have two hours to myself in the afternoon. I am usually running around like a chicken with my head cut off trying to get as much done as possible. When 3:00 rolls around and I didn't get as much done as I wanted, I beat myself up about it. I can't do that. I need set realistic expectations for myself. I also need to realize that after everyone goes to bed, it's okay for me to watch t.v. and read blogs - I deserve it. It's not okay for me to stay up late and be crabby the next day though.

7. Rely on Hubby and let him rely on me. This is finally something we're getting better at. I'm not talking about the division of child-rearing chores. We've always done that. I mean when I've had a bad day, he can step in and be the yang to my yin and vice-versa. Previously, if he was in a bad mood, I would be, too. If I was yelling at everyone, so was he. Now we both realize that if we are feeling that way, it's because we've had a long day or we're stressed or we are sick, and the other person needs to step up and be the voice of calm. Hubby did that for me last night, and it helped calm me down, too.

8. Relieve stress in a non-destructive way. Can anyone say binge eating?? I can. It usually involves some sort of carbs or eating ice cream right out of the container. Vacuuming, jumping jacks, yoga stretches, running up and down the stairs can all produce the same result (except around my waistline). I need to care for myself in order to care for my children.

I am so not a perfect mom or woman or person. I make mistakes. But luckily my children are young enough that I can correct those mistakes. If I can do better at "dealing," I think that's half the battle in reducing the stress in the first place.


What strategies do you have for dealing with stress in your daily life as a parent?

It's Time for a Change in Direction

 

We were sitting in the pharmacy drive-thru. My head was half hanging out the window of the van, my eyes closed. I could hear the soft bing bongs and bleep bloops of the boys' video games.

 

I was tired. I felt myself drifting off, and then, "Can I help you?"

 

----------

 

Driving off with prescription in hand my fog continued. We were stopped at a red light when it dawned on me: I can't remember what clothes Joey was buried in.

 

I know they must have been green - his favorite color was green - but I can't remember exactly which ones. I know we didn't put shoes on him. The only shoes that fit his swollen feet were his tennis shoes, and I didn't think it was appropriate to bury him in tennis shoes. Besides, no one would see his feet anyway.

 

I searched my brain for the visual of Joey, but all I could remember was touching him in his coffin and feeling his cold, waxy face. I couldn't see what the shirt looked like, but I remember hearing crinkling when I touched it, like Joey had been wrapped in Press 'n Seal before he was dressed.

 

----------

 

I'm so tired I can't remember what I buried my son in.

 

I'm so tired I can't complete a task without getting distracted.

 

I'm so tired that my brain is having trouble thinking of the words my mouth wants to say.

 

I'm so tired I can't even be patient with my children.

 

I'm so tired I don't want to spend time with my husband.

 

I'm snapping and negative and yelling. And then I wonder why they talk to each other that way. I'm not too tired to realize they are learning it from me.

 

----------

 

I'm tired because my house is a mess. Papers are everywhere. Toys and clothes and junk we don't use anymore have piled up and a house that once seemed big is shrinking from too much stuff.

 

I had a baby a year ago. A year's worth of no time to organize, clean out, start fresh.

 

Now, I have made lists and planned my time and I know what I want to accomplish.

 

But it's not happening and I feel like I am chasing my tail.

 

Chasing it into the wee hours of the night.

 

Falling asleep in a chair.

 

School lunches unmade.

 

Dishes in the sink.

 

The pile of photographs from summer 2011 still sitting unlabeled on the dining room table.

 

-------------

 

I'm heavier than I have ever been in my life. There is a least fifteen pounds of extra weight around my middle that has no business being there.

 

But I'm too tired to do anything about it.

 

And my treadmill broke and my gym membership expired.

 

My husband asked me if we were still married.

 

I need a girls' night out.

 

He wants a date.

 

--------------

 

It's all swirling in my head along with the fact that I am doing nothing that I should be doing.

 

Sleeping.

 

Cardio.

 

Yoga.

 

Nourishing my body with healthy food.

 

Starting my novel.

 

Seeking out paid opportunities to write.

 

Spending time with my family before they are all grown up and gone.

 

What I am doing is getting lost. I'm getting lost along a path that I thought I knew. A path I didn't need a map for. A path that came out in a clearing.

 

But somewhere along the way I got distracted by the scenery, led off course to somewhere I thought I should be going.

 

I'm stumbling. I'm drained. I'm flailing. I'm failing.

 

I'm losing myself.

 

And now I need to find my way back.

 

 

 

 

 



"Busted"

Ahh, the sweet innocence of youth. The cute things they say, the way they sweetly tell you they love you.

The way they give away all of your secrets like it's their job.

Look, up in the sky! It's a bird, it's a plane! No, it's the Secret Spillers!

 

 

It's just what kids do. They have no self-control, no filter.

 

Hubby was out of town last weekend, and I accidentally put a piece of wheat bread in his special gluten free toaster. I quickly removed it, but not before one of the boys saw me.

 

And as soon as Daddy walked in the door from the weekend:

 

"Daddy, Mommy put a piece of our bread in your toaster!" He might as well have said, "Mommy is trying to slowly kill you by giving you gluten contamination."

 

I was going to tell him and offer to buy him a new toaster. Geez, give me a chance, Boy.

 

It's not the first time this has happened.

 

"Daddy, Mommy hit a decorative rock by the bank with the van."

 

"Daddy, Mommy has Oatmeal Creme Pies in the glove compartment of the van." (This was when we were trying to eliminate all gluten from the house. What? A girl's got needs.)

 

"We watched t.v. all day. Mommy was on her computer a lot."

 

Honestly, they get their loose lips from me. I can't keep a secret to save my life. I can't complain, either, because it actually goes both ways.

 

"Mommy, Daddy fed the baby bacon."

 

"We ate chips and snacks for every meal while you were gone, Mom. Dad didn't make us eat a single vegetable."

 

"Mommy, we did not get your Christmas present at the jewelry store."

 

I'm glad I'm not the only one who gets busted.

 

 

Do your kids have loose lips, too? Have they ever ratted you out to your spouse or anyone else? Do you have any other thoughts on this Thursday? If they are a secret, don't tell me 'cause I can't promise I won't tell.

 



Never Say Never

Okay, I admit it. I used to be one of those childless moms who judged you when your kids misbehaved, ate crappy food, and talked back to you.

Now that I am a mom? I so get it! And I'm no longer judging you.

I'm at Her View From Home talking about all the things I said I'd never let my kids do that they are totally doing right now as we speak. You can read it here.

If you haven't already done it, "like" both kissing the frog and Her View From Home on Facebook. I promise I won't judge you if you're just getting around to doing it!

 



Your Kid's Behavior Makes Me Like You a Little Less

source

The other day we went to the pool for the first time in a long time.  The triple digit heat has finally broken here in the Midwest, and I forced the boys to return to the pool.

Slim was floating lazily around the pool in a floaty, Knox and Lil' C were - shockingly - playing together with squirty kick board things, and Baby E was happily splashing in the shallow end by the stairs.

The pool was uncrowded, and I was actually enjoying myself.

Until...that kid came by.  We all know the one.  The kid whose parent is MIA.  The kid whose parent did not bring him any toys, so he bugs you to play with the toys you hauled to the pool for your kids.  The kid who has no one to play with, so he bugs you and your kids.  The kid who splashes you and your baby and thinks it's funny.

Yeah, that one.

A while earlier, Lil' C had bonked this kid on the head with his kick board.  It was an accident, but still, I sought out his mother to make sure he was okay.

"Oh, he's fine," she assured me. "It gets him back for what he does to his brother," she laughed and gestured toward a toddler in a stroller.

I smiled and walked away thinking, this is a mom I could be friends with.

But later, as her kid continually splashed my kids, squirted them in the face, took their toys, and teased them, she was nowhere to be found.

Meanwhile, I was jumping down my kids' backs with every little move they made.

"Knox, stop squirting him!"

"Lil' C, talk nicely to him!"

And disciplining the kid himself.

"Please let my son have his kick board back."

My fury boiled at this mom who, it turns out, was sitting in the shade while her toddler was strapped in his stroller.  Awake.

I didn't get it.  It made me mad.  It irritated me.  It definitely made me rethink a budding friendship with her.

But, in the spirit of understanding other moms and ending the Mommy Wars and all that, I decided to just let it go and enjoy my boys and our time at the pool.

Friday night, we invited some friends and their kids to the pool with us.  And again, I sat in judgement of people's kids.

In particular was a little girl with a huge squirt gun who was getting every adult wet.  After being talked to several times by her mother, the gun was taken away, and I thought, Finally!

It was only upon observation that I realized that my kid was being that kid.  Two of them were, in fact!

Lil' C had found the ginormous squirt gun, had taken it without asking, and was joyously getting everyone wet in and out of the pool.  Slim was joining him in a water gun fight that had him squirting other kids in the face.

And as I opened my mouth to discipline them, I wondered how many other parents were judging me because of my kids' behavior.

I truly believe that a child's behavior is about 5% in born and 95% how they are raised.  Children learn and mimic their parents' words, actions, attitudes, feelings and moods.  I see it all of the time in my own children.

Hubby and I yell a lot, unfortunately, so the boys yell a lot.  We are impatient and tired.  Our attention is all over the place.  Our children's behavior reflects this. 

When we are calm and loving and give them attention and patience, their attitudes and behavior reflect this.

A perfect example is how they all treat Baby E.  I hear them say things to him in the same gentle and loving tone that I use.

Hubby and I have a tendency to be impatient and frustrated by Slim's ADHD behaviors, and that is reflected in how we talk to him.  It is also reflected in how the other boys talk to him.

So, to me, a child's behavior is a double-edged sword that leaves me wondering, how much of this kid's brattiness is due to his parents, and how much is just his true personality?

Maybe a child's natural personality is to be bold or shy, brazen or anxious.  But how does the parent nurture that and react to that?

Every child throws tantrums, but how patient is his parent and how well does she redirect the behavior?

You would think I'd have learned not to throw stones, because my glass house contains more than a crack or two.

So, I promise not to judge you for your kid's behavior, if you don't judge me for my kid's.  Deal?


What's your take on nature versus nurture?  How much of a child's personality has to do with his parents?

This Mama's Heart

marymeetsdolly.com

The other day was a tough one on this mama's heart.

If someone had told me that being a mom was synonymous with heartache...well, I still would have done it anyway, but maybe searched for a way I could protect my heart, too, while protecting my children's hearts

I've been thinking a lot about bullying lately - let's face it, it's all over the news.  Having my boys home all day this summer, I've observed their behavior and wondered if any of their actions or words could be considered bullying.

And then I saw it happen to my own child.

To say that I lost my shit would be an understatement.

On Saturday night we went to a baseball game as part of a family outing for my husband's office.  At the game, there were bounce houses and a carousel set up for the kids to play.

And on this carousel was a seat that the rider could spin.  It was very popular among the kids, as it was the only exciting thing about this slow-moving carousel.  All the kids wanted that seat.

Slim finally had his chance at it.

I watched as the young girls running the carousel let the children through the gate.  I watched as Slim made a beeline for that seat.  I watched him reach the seat and get in a full three seconds before another kid.

And I watched this kid bully my child until Slim gave up the seat to him.

Now, I can't say exactly how I would have reacted had it happened to one of my other two boys.  I know my bold four-year-old would have yelled back at the kid.  And I probably would have told my six-year-old that those are the breaks and here's how you should handle it next time.

But this happened to Slim, a child who has so many issues that we are dealing with right now - issues that confuse and trouble us.  Issues that I don't even know how to begin to write about.

He's a child that probably gets bullied all the time.

I have seen it at the pool this summer.  I have seen the way some of his classmates speak to him - and it is just plain mean and rude.

And in some cases I have spoken up to the children who do it, telling them their words are not kind.

It's a fact that Slim is a unique child, but does that entitle others to be mean to him?  To bully him?

I think not.

So when this kid at the carousel, who got to the spinny seat well after Slim did, told him to "Get out!" not once, but twice until Slim relented, I went ballistic! 

I shouted at the little punk from behind the gate.  I told him that Slim had that seat first.  And when the kid pretended to ignore me and sit firmly in the seat, I yelled at him some more.  When the ride started, I glared at him every time he came around my way.

I told the girls running the ride that my son had been bullied out of his seat, and that the next time the ride started, he would get that seat!  I wasn't going to stand for someone bullying my child.

I am shaking again even as I am typing about it.

I stood at the front of the line.  I told the other kids who were talking about that seat that my son and I were riding in it the next time.  I told them about the bully.

And what infuriated me even more, was that no one seemed to care, least of all the girls monitoring the ride.  They were more concerned with the fact that Slim stayed inside the gate after the ride was over, and apparently that was a no-no.

Really?

But it was okay for them to allow another child to be a bully.

I sat, seething, with Slim as he joyously spun the seat during the ride.  I imagined what I would say to this punk-ass little kid when I got off.  I imagined calling him a bully, and telling him how NOT cool that was.  I even imagined telling him that karma would come back to bite his little ass, and I was upset that I couldn't be there to see it.

And then I forced myself to calm down and not make a scene, knowing that it wouldn't help anything if I did.

The kid knew what he did.  He heard me yell at him.  He knew his behavior was wrong.  Me calling him names would have turned me into a bully and probably embarrassed my children and Hubby.

And who knows if it would have prevented the kid from ever doing it again.

I thought a lot about a situation that happened when Slim was not even two.  We were at a park, and some older boys were standing in front of him, looking at his cleft-lip scar.  They weren't making fun of him, they were just talking about it.

I confronted them, asking if there was anything they wanted to ask us about him.  They said no and walked away.

Hubby said to me, "You should have just explained about his lip.  You know he's going to get teased a lot, and you need to learn how to handle it better - for his sake."

For his sake.

I know I do.  But I hate conflict.  It makes me shake and get a sick stomach and regret what I say in the heat of the moment because later I think of something better to say.

And this is the way that Slim feels, too.  I see it in his eyes and hear it in his voice when we ask him if kids are being nice to him and he says yes.  But there's always something behind that yes that's telling us, 'no, kids are not being nice to me, but I don't want to cause trouble.'

And it breaks my heart every time because I know I can't be with him all the time.  And I know he won't stand up for himself, which makes him an easy target for bullies.

The only thing I can do is continue to teach my children what bullying is and that it is wrong.  I can show them by example how to treat others and how to stand up for myself and them.

And then hope, really hope in my mama heart, that I don't go ballistic on the next kid who bullies my child.


Have you ever encountered someone bullying your child?  How did you handle it?  How do you think I should have handled Slim's bully?

Heartache

Last night Hubby was upstairs getting all of the boys in showers and tubs while I hastily cleaned the kitchen after dinner.  Knox came downstairs, naked, obviously distracted from getting in the shower.

"Mom, have you seen my tooth?"  He had lost his third tooth yesterday at school, and his teacher had placed it in a plastic bag.  "Dad says he put it on the counter after I showed it to him."

"No, I haven't seen it,"  I replied as I hastily dried pots and shook out placemats.

"Well, will you help me look for it?  I have to put it under my pillow or the Tooth Fairy won't come."

"Okay, okay, I will keep my eyes peeled for it," as I cleaned crusty crackers off the baby's high chair.

More searching yielded no tooth bag, but was beginning to produce some tears.

"Maybe you could write her a note," I suggested as I spooned leftover corn into a plastic bowl.

Knox sat his naked bottom on a clean kitchen stool and started to write in his huge kindergarten handwriting: "bear T Fairy, av lost a tooth"

He sighed, "Mom, I'm tired. Can you finish this note?  I want the rest of it to say, 'Please leave me something under my pillow.'

Although I agreed, I was irritated, and not just at the pile of pots I had yet to put away.  Irritated because my children always think they need to get something for everything.  But, we parents have perpetuated this and fed into it and cultivated it, mostly because we have felt that we have no choice.  It's a part of childhood to believe in the Tooth Fairy and the Easter Bunny and Santa Claus and even Leprechauns.  I've seen it debated and lamented over on so many Mommy blogs. "To lie or not to lie; that is the question."  I've often wished that Hubby and I had never started the lies because it's a lot of work.  The sneaking around, finding hiding places, making sure there is a constant stockpile of "stuff", remembering what you've done in the past so the lies remain consistent (the latter being the most difficult for me).

I was almost finished with my post dinner clean-up when Knox came back downstairs, still naked and still not clean.

"Mommy, my tooth was in a plastic baggie.  Did you see one on the counter anywhere?"

Oh shit. 

Yep.  I vaguely recall a plastic baggie being thrown in the garbage during my cleaning frenzy.

"Oh, sorry pal, I think I threw it away..."

Knox peers in the trash can.

"...and Daddy already took out the trash."

Knox disappears and then reappears moments later carrying a trash bag from the garage.  "Can we look for it?"  Tears are glistening in his eyes.

"NO, we cannot dig through the trash for your tooth!  I will finish the note to the Tooth Fairy, and she will stop.  I promise."  There are a lot of things I will do for my kids to make them feel better, but digging through the trash is not one of them.  Certainly not to find a tooth just so he can get something when I know that his getting something is a sure thing because I am the one doing the giving.

After I was done vacuuming all the crumbs, I could hear Knox upstairs full-out crying now.  I pulled on some plastic gloves and headed to the garage.

As I came up the stairs carrying the baggie containing the tooth, a beautiful, gap-toothed smile spread across Knox's precious face.  "Thank you, Mommy," and he gave me the tightest hug.

Yes, there are a lot of things I will do for my children.  Things that I will do because I can.  They are going to experience so much heartbreak in life that I cannot prevent - heartbreak that they've already experienced and heartbreak that I won't even know about.  If I can reverse some of the simple heartbreaks, I think that's worth a dig in the trash every once and a while.

Even if I don't always agree with the reason.



She is Me, I am Her

                                                                                 
Sometimes I think Fate, perhaps God, has a way of showing us what we otherwise wouldn't realize on our own.  What we have been too blind to see, too stubborn to accept, too ignorant to learn.  It takes a chance encounter, and even then, we don't smack ourselves on the head say, "Oh, that's what I was supposed to learn," until way later in the day. Or maybe the next day.  Or maybe in ten years.

I did something today that I try so hard to avoid doing at all costs - I took all four boys with me to the grocery store.  Between the triumph of getting Baby E to actually nap, to cleaning out my filthy mini van, to having a mommy and kids lunch and playdate, I just didn't make it there today.  And I needed something for dinner (damn my family for needing to eat every day).  So, after school we went.

Each of the three older boys wanted their own mini cart to push.  Okay fine...review started about how to appropriately push the cart. Two boys take off running with said mini-carts and go sliding across the polished floor, while third boy runs in circles with his cart.

First warning is given. 

Someone has to go to the bathroom, so we go to the far opposite end of the store from where we need to be to get to the restroom.  While boy is in restroom, two other boys chase each other around a display with the mini carts.

Second warning is given.

Back in the deli section, two boys are playing kamikaze carts and ramming them into one another, almost catching an elderly woman in their crossfire.

Everyone is told to put the carts back, which incredibly they do without arguing.  Of course, they all run at full speed to do so, ducking and dodging through the produce section.

As we make our way through the store, I forget several things, due to the concussion I surely have from smacking my head on the trunk door of my van earlier in the day.  The headache has been building, and now my brain feels like it will explode out of my skull.

And I have three decent-sized boys hanging off the back and sides of the grocery cart as I try to maneuver it through the aisles.

We stop and argue in front of the Lunchables display over whether a certain boy will actually eat the turkey sandwich from the one he has chosen or just drink the juice and eat the Oreos instead. 

And the meat shelves are void of the one item for which I came.

At the check-out, the boys are playing Ninjas and getting in everyone's way as they walk by.  But even though I have had it, I refuse the offer of help to my car (must be the concussion talking), and we make our way to the parking lot.

One boy not paying attention weaves in front of the cart, and I run him over leaving him sprawled in the path of oncoming traffic.  Another runs ahead, not noticing a car backing out.  And still another engages in what can only be described as something out of the final scene of Scarface.

I grab his arm, saying, "I have had it. Get in the frickin' car!"

And then it happened.  I looked over and saw myself.  The Me from fifteen years ago.  The twenty-something single gal loading her two bags of groceries in her car, looking at me out of the corner of her eye with a smirk on her face.

A look that said, 'Lady, why did you have so many kids if you can't handle them?'  And a smirk that announced, 'I will never let my kids act like that when I am a mom.'

I know this because that was me looking at so many moms who had their kids with them at the store.  Kids who were throwing tantrums and running away and talking back and being too big to ride in the cart.

And I was being judged now as the moms that I judged then.

I was that mom.  That mom who was unable to handle her own kids. With grace, no less.

I wanted to either say to her, "Give me a break.  I have a concussion," or run over, grab her by the shoulders and shout, "This is it.  This is what motherhood really is, and you need to know this so you can avoid this fate of being judged for how you handle their kid-ness."

But instead, I got into my van, took the whole crew home, and let them have the run of the house while I put an ice pack on my head.

Yes, I have learned not to judge "lest ye (me) be judged."  Oddly enough, everything I used to judge moms about before I was a mom, has come back to chomp down on me.

Earlier tonight, as I sat nursing Baby E and crafting this blog in my throbbing head, being assured by Hubby that I did not have a concussion because I was not forgetful and confused (more than usual anyway), I checked a blog I had commented on earlier.  Underneath my comment, another mom had replied to what I had said in a way that really upset me.

The crux of my comment had been how it upsets me when I see moms on social media complaining about their children - their healthy, living children - because I lost a son, and it pains me that they don't seem to be thankful for what they have.

Her response, in short, was to tell me to "ease up on the people that have different challenges" than me.

I was incredulous.  She was telling me that I needed to be okay with listening to her bitch about struggling to parent her three-year-old - - her living three-year-old - - as I sit here mourning a dead child which is surely the biggest parenting challenge of all.  The audacity and ignorance of her comment threatened to cancel the blog post I had been planning in my head.  I considered writing back, emphasizing my point about my dead child, but I didn't want her pity, nor did I want to engage in a written volleyball match of comments either.

Words my sister-in-law has said to me many times swam into my head, don't let this person steal any more moments of joy from your life.  And since writing gives me joy, I set about writing.

But the more I thought about it, the more I realized that I really haven't learned anything.  That I was judging this woman by her one comment without knowing anything more about her.  Maybe she is a single mom.  Maybe her husband is deployed.  Maybe her child has special needs.  Maybe she has special needs.  Maybe there are other things going on in her life, and her child's behavior is just the tip of the iceberg.

Sometimes, when the rage and sorrow over Joey's death build up inside me, I go to that place of entitlement that says, 'My tragedy sucks more than everyone else's,' and I expect everyone else to see it that way, too.

But then, I remind myself that not everyone has lost a child.  Just as I have not ever lost a spouse or been divorced, or fired, or hungry, or in an abusive relationship.  I have never had everything taken away from me and been stripped of my dignity and left completely alone in this world.

Maybe the above are more extreme examples, but everyone has something she is fighting, and hers is no more important than mine, nor is mine more important than hers. They are simply different, but tragic to each in its own way.

Sisterhood aside, we are all in this world together, and bad things - tragic things - happen to us all.  We all have bad days, we all feel inadequate or lonely or heartbroken or overwhelmed at some point in our lives, and to be judged by another person just adds to our feelings of anger, isolation and resentment.  Instead of superiority and judgement, we should be offering empathy and understanding and a helping hand. 

To that mother who is struggling through her day.

To that wife whose husband is overseas.

To that friend whose divorce has been bitter.

And yes, even to that neighbor whose biggest problem seems to be where to spend their two-week vacation this summer.

Because even she could be hiding something.  Maybe it's something that you know all too well about.

Put yourself in someone else's shoes.  Be her.  Understand.  Accept.  Love.  Forgive.  Let go.

And hope.  Hope that she can put herself in your shoes, too.

We Have to Stop Meeting Like This

Dear Baby E,

I hope you know how much I completely adore you.  I love your cute baby nose and chubby cheeks.  I love holding your little baby hands and staring at your darling baby toes.  I love how your soft baby hair is sprouting curls all over your sweet-smelling head.  And I especially love your silly one-toothed smile and your babbling baby talk.

I love nursing you, too.  I love that it's the one thing only I am able to do for you.  I drink in the quiet moments when it's just you and me, and I feel like I can keep you safe and happy forever.  I melt when you stop nursing to look up at me and smile and touch my face as if you have something to say.

But, and I say this with all the love I have in my heart, isn't it time to knock all that off??

I'm not suggesting that we discontinue nursing during the day - a guy's gotta eat right?  But all of this night waking is frankly taking it's toll on Mommy.

I know that you barely wake in the night and root around for the comfort that you find with me; and when I am not there, you get mad!  What I'm suggesting is this: you know those small, colorful, plastic things that are in your crib?  The things you like to bang against the crib slats and toss out onto the floor?  Those are called binkies.  A coupla sucks on one of those puppies will put you right back to sleep, I promise.

And if that's not comforting enough for you, you know that soft, blue fuzzy thing that's also in your crib?  That's a blankie, and it smells like Mommy.  I made sure of that.  Try cuddling up to that.

Or you could just try your good ole' thumb.  I saw you put it in your mouth as I layed you down for your nap just now - how did that work for you?

Look Baby, I know none of these things is as soft and warm as Mommy; but Sweetie, Mommy needs her sleep.  This waking up and looking for me four times a night is killing me.  I'm not getting any sleep or any chores done, and I'm so tired when I write that I repeat myself.

I'm just so tired that I keep repeating myself.

Oh, I know, I suppose it is my fault for picking you up and then falling asleep with you time and time again.  You've gotten used to waking up with my boob right there in your face. 

And it's not even that I mind falling asleep with you sometimes. It's just that when I sleep all night in the rocking chair with you, well, frankly I wake up with a sore ass.  And I really love my bed.  It's so soft and warm and my pillow is so comfortable.  I get to lay flat out on my back and work myself into the perfect grove in my bed.

You are over eight months old now, and we both need to be sleeping through the night.  I know I make you cry sometimes, and then I come in and pick you up anyway.  I know it's confusing, but we need to work on this together.  We don't want to get in trouble at your next well-baby visit, do we?  Believe me, we don't want to get "the talk."

I'm only saying this because when you were tiny, you did sleep through the night.   And I'm not sure what happened along the way, but I need you to do it again. Listen, I'm not saying we can never cuddle at night, but let's keep it to a minimum, shall we?

So to review, it's binkie, blankie, thumb, and then if you're still awake you can call for Mommy, okay?

I love you, Baby, but we really have to stop meeting in the middle of the night like this.

Love,
Mommy