Three for one

The other morning I arrived in my office exhausted.  Who am I kidding, most every morning I arrive exhausted, flop down into my desk chair with a cup of coffee and let out a big sigh of relief.  Relief that I have survived the first of my three-in-one days.  See, I, like most working mothers, manage to fit the work of three days into a single 24 hour period.  It's like magic except that it isn't a trick and it just takes every bit of energy I can muster.  And then, instead of applause at the end of the amazing feat, my grand accomplishment is celebrated with me flopping into bed and breathing a sigh of relief for having survived the third of my three-in-one day.  Let me explain.

Until the other morning, I didn't have a concept of a three-in-one day.  I just thought of it as, well, being really really tired.  So that morning, having flopped into my office chair with my cup of coffee and my second conference call already in progress, let out my sigh of relief,  I logged into Facebook and posted this. "by the time I get to work, I usually feel like I have already done a full day of chores."  And pretty much immediately my mom friends responded.  The one that resonated was from geekymummy, she wrote "Because you have. I feel the same. I have three days every day."  Thus was born the idea of a three-in-one.

Here's how mine works.  I start my morning with my good wife/mother day.  I wake up.  I start the coffee and unload the dishwasher.  I then pack lunches for the boys and, if I'm being particularly efficient, I'll pack lunches for Mr. Dog and myself too.  Once the coffee is made, I fix a cup for me and bring a cup into the bedroom to wake Mr. Dog.  I take the veggie and fruit trimmings from making the lunches out to the chickens, and if the dogs aren't too settled in front of the heaters, I take the dogs out with me for them to do what dogs do first thing in the morning (and yes, we all know what it is).  If I'm making good time, I'll throw a load of laundry into the washer, cold wash only so I don't use up the hot water for my shower.  Once lunches are safely stowed in the boys' backpacks, I swing by the bed to remind Mr. Dog that he does actually have to get out of bed in order for it to qualify as getting up and then I jump in the shower.  If I'm lucky, and I usually am, Mr. Dog gets up and wakes the boys.  One of us makes breakfast for the kids, we get their clothes out and nag them until they are dressed, fed and ready to head to school.  Frequently, I have will call into my first conference call of the day before we leave the house. Getting them to the car takes a fair amount of cajoling, but if I see the kids at the corner waiting for the school bus, I know we are not running too late.  My boys don't go to our neighborhood school, so the bus is not an option for us.  I drive the boys to school, picking up late passes in the office if our morning routine was running behind, deliver Little Dog to his classroom then make the drive to the office.  Once I'm in my office, probably still in a conference call on my mobile, I flop into my office chair and day one ends.


Day two is my day of being a successful manager at a large software company.  I make sure my projects are on schedule, my staff is happy and well directed, I put out many urgent but purely metaphorical fires and help our business run smoothly.  I'm good at this.  It is not always paradise, but it is fulfilling and I enjoy the work that I do, which is good because it is usually pretty hectic and I spend a lot of time running from meeting to meeting dealing with a seemingly non-stop parade of things that need to be done right now despite the fact that other things were scheduled to be done in the time I am now using to solve this new crop of problems.  Depending on the day of the week, I leave the office in time to either pick the boys up from their after school programs or get to my Pilates class on time.  Once I slide into the driver's seat of my station wagon, I breath a second sigh of relief for surviving my second day of my three-in-one (though frequently I bring work home with me in the evening because working in an international company means co-workers working round the clock in other time zones).  I flip on the radio and listen to the news on NPR as I begin my third.


My third day begins with either with the escape of Pilates or the bustling of children from after school program into the car and then home.  This day is the one dedicated to family togetherness. Once safely home, the kitchen is re-tidied from the breakfast making to clear space for evening meal preparation.  With the boys in the living room, I make dinner.  We eat, make sure homework is complete then there is a short time for relaxation with the family.  Bedtime for the boys is preceded by tooth brushing, bathing if it happens to be bath night, glasses of water and reminders to use the toilet before they get into bed because they like to stall the actual process of going to sleep with demands for beverages and trips to the bathroom.  On alternating nights, Mr. Dog or I am responsible for actually getting the kids to bed and to sleep.  This starts with reading time (where they read to us) then story time (where we read to them) and then finally sleep.  While one parent tends to the children, the other is allowed some quiet time though frequently this becomes time used to clean the kitchen and then take the dogs out for the last time in the evening.  By the time this is done, there is usually about enough time for me to stick the last few dishes into the dishwasher and set it to run as I head off to sleep.  I flop into bed after my own nightly face washing and tooth brushing routine, giving my third sigh of the evening.  And then there is just barely enough sleep to get me set up to do it again tomorrow.

Before & After

I while back I bought "I Was A Really Good Mom Before I Had Kids".  I loved the title.  Unfortunately I hated the book.  Just a couple of chapters in I was depressed.  I remember thinking that if this is what I had to look forward to, I might as well give up.  I expected something else.  What I was looking for was more along the lines of what I've discovered through the experience of motherhood.  I learned humility and learned that it is easy to judge, but oh so hard to live up to those standards.

For example:
Before I was a mother I thought any woman who didn't exclusively breastfeed was selfish or lazy.  After My sons were born and I struggled with low milk supply and had to supplement with formula despite my strident pro-breastfeeding stance, I realized that it isn't that simple.  Sometimes despite our desires, our bodies, our jobs or other factors may make it impossible and there is no way to know what is happening behind the scenes for that mom you see giving her newborn a bottle.

Before I was a mother I thought I would never let my children be loud and disruptive in public, no matter what the setting.  After having kids, I realized that children have minds of their own and if you ever plan on being out in pubic with them, you have to accept that at some point they are going to misbehave spectacularly.  How you react to it is up to you, but I no longer judge the mom carrying her tantruming toddler out of the grocery store abandoning a full cart of groceries in the aisle as she fights back her own tears.  Yeah, I've been her.

Before I was mother I used to think that moms who dressed their kids in matching or identical outfits were being cruel or overly cutsie.  After having kids, I now understand that often the safest choice is to give them matching everything.  It limits the bickering.  It really becomes a matter of maternal survival. I guess I should have known this based on my own childhood where I tried to look just like my sister whenever possible.  It even got to the point where my mom took my sister out to buy her Christmas dress on a solo shopping trip and told me I could not see what she bought until I had picked my own dress.  Kathleen and I snuck into the closet so I could see her choice and went to the store and picked the exact same dress in a different color.  What can I say, kids are strange.

Before I was a mother I used to believe that it was only controlling parents who slipped into the "Because I'm your mother, that's why" trap.  After having kids I now understand that sometimes that is the only reason they'll understand and that really, you don't always need to explain, you just need compliance.  I've learned that I can give them the best reason in the world "Don't do that, you could get badly hurt"  and they'll come back with "But I didn't!"  and they really think that is a valid counterpoint.  They are not fully logical beings yet, and while I try to give them an explanation whenever I can, sometimes I just don't have the time and don't want to hear their counter argument.

Before I was a mother I was horrified that any mother would let their child out of the house with dirty clothes or a runny nose.  After having kids I marvel that any mother can keep their child free of goo for more than 5 minutes.  I swear if I don't keep them under a tarp my kids attract all kinds of food and dirt. In fact, my children seem to believe their shirts and pants serve dual functions as both clothing and napkins.

See, before I was a mother, I was a hideously judgmental bitch.  I thought I knew it all.  Now that I've been in the trenches, I know the truth.  It is a hard job.  Yes it has some pretty awesome benefits, but the work never stops.  I also know that there are still way too many sets of judging eyes watching me operating under my newly lowered standards for parenting perfection.  But I have a little secret.  I don't give a shit what they think, I'm doing it right.  And guess what, you probably are too.

Mother's Day

We are not big on the Hallmark celebrations in our family.  Valentine's day passes with almost no notice.  Mother's day is similarly not a big deal.  I don't expect much, but I do expect to sleep in.  This is my gift each year from Mr. Dog.  Instead of being climbed upon, poked and viciously snuggled by our boys, as is the case most every other morning, Mother's day is celebrated by me sprawling out on the expanse of our king-size bed sleeping until a shameful hour of the morning.

This was the plan this year as well.  And I was ready for it.  In fact, last night, when Mr. Dog put the boys to bed, Big Dog reminded Little Dog that he needed to try really hard not to get up and crawl in bed with us in the morning since it was my day to sleep in.  Funnily enough, Big Dog decided 7:30 am was a good time to move from his bed to our bed but had the good sense to climb into Mr. Dog's side of the bed so as not to disturb my slumber.  It was all going well until I was shocked into instant alertness by a blood-curdling scream from Little Dog.  It turns out that his Mother's day gift to me was that of a near coronary.  Ok, in fact he awoke in his room and thought for whatever reason that he was alone at home.  It scared him, he screamed and any chance of sleeping in was blown out the window as my heart rate hit dangerous levels.

As I tried to spring from the bed to rush to Little Dog, Big Dog climbed over to me, patted my head and stroked my cheek.  Soothingly he whispered, "Just calm down, mama.  Go back to sleep.  Papa will get him." 

Unfortunately I was unable to get back to sleep but I let Mr. Dog lead the kids upstairs, demanded he make coffee and settled in to read in my bed all alone.  A while later, Mr. Dog told me that the Little Dog had a plan to make me something in the kitchen when I was ready for them to come downstairs.  Not breakfast, he warned.  Curious, and unsure what they were going to get up to, I told him now was as good a time as any.

Moments later, I was nearly mauled by two boys who had exhibited the ultimate in control not waking me up or getting in my bed.  In between the short snuggle visits they sprinted off to the kitchen to help Mr. Dog with the work.  At one point Little Dog said to Mr. Dog "It's strawberry lemonade!" then realizing his mistake, ran into my bedroom to ask if I heard anyone say "strawberry lemonade."  I denied that I had and he rushed off happy.

After the blending and the pouring, I was treated to a newly mixed beverage.  Turns out that in the previous week, Mr. Dog had asked the boys what they wanted to do for Mother's day.  Big Dog told him that he had all kinds of stuff he'd made at school for me.  Little Dog told him very specifically that he wanted to make me lemonade.  He also required that it have strawberries in it to make it pink.  Mr. Dog decided to run with that plan.

After the lemonade was consumed, we got dressed and went to a local breakfast spot.  Mellow, familiar and low key.  All good things in a mother's day.  As I sat with my boys, one in wearing a cape, one climbing under the table, I took stock of my sweet life.  Happy Mother's day indeed!

Perspective shift

Many years ago, back when I was young, REM had a pretty big hit with "It's the End of the World As We Know It (And I Feel Fine)"  Since then I've probably heard that song about a million times.  At the peak of its popularity I knew the words by heart, and could keep up with Michael Stipe's rapidfire delivery.  Not that's this is any special accomplishment, anyone listening to "Alternative" radio at the time got this song on a steady stream since it was in such heavy rotation.  At the time it just fit.  We were at the end of the Reagan administration.  The end of the cold war was not too far off, but we didn't know that.  I spent my high school years living in fear of a large scale nuclear war. The Russians were the enemy and they were very well armed, our arms race made sure of that.  Who really knew what the future would hold?  Thinking back now, a lot has changed.  Granted, maybe the players have only shifted a bit and the overwhelming feeling of waiting for the other shoe to drop remains the same, but that's not the point here.  That song summed up that feeling for me, for many, perfectly.

Since then this song has become a classic.  It is used in movies, and tv shows.  It was aired by many tv stations when they switched from analog to digital.  It played on Fox when the Red Sox won the World Series in 2004.  It is used, used and overused.  Despite this, it's still a great song.

The other morning on the way to work, I heard that song again on the radio.  As I listened to the words, it suddenly dawned on me.  Not only does this song perfectly sum up the great fear of the unknown in the world, it also sounds a lot like every freakin' day at my house.  The clincher was when, at the end of the song, Stipe repeats, "It's time I had some time alone."  I think every mom can identify with that feeling.

Just in case you're a little younger than me, or maybe you were really into late 80s power pop at the time, I've copied the lyrics below.  Read it and you'll agree.  This is a lot like being the mother of two small boys.  And really, for the most part, I do feel fine.

It's the End of the World As We Know It (And I Feel Fine)
That's great, it starts with an earthquake, birds and snakes,
an aeroplane - Lenny Bruce is not afraid.
Eye of a hurricane, listen to yourself churn,
world serves its own needs, regardless of your own needs.
Feed it off a knock speed, grunt no, strength no
The ladder starts to clatter with fear of height down height.
Wire in a fire, representing seven games, a government for hire and a combat site.
Left her, wasn't coming in a hurry with the furies breathing down your neck.
Team by team reporters baffled, trumped, tethered cropped.
Look at that low plane!
Fine, then.
Uh oh, overflow, population, common group, but it'll do.
Save yourself, serve yourself. World serves its own needs, listen to your heart bleed. Tell me with the rapture and the revered and the right - right.
You vitriolic, patriotic, slam, fight, bright light, feeling pretty psyched.

It's the end of the world as we know it.
It's the end of the world as we know it.
It's the end of the world as we know it and I feel fine.

Six o'clock - TV hour. Don't get caught in foreign towers.
Slash and burn, return, listen to yourself churn.
Lock him in uniform, book burning, blood letting.
Every motive escalate. Automotive incinerate.
Light a candle, light a motive. Step down, step down.
Watch your heel crush, crush. Uh-oh, this means no fear cavalier.
Renegade and steer clear! A tournament, a tournament, a tournament of lies.
Offer me solutions, offer me alternatives and I decline.

It's the end of the world as we know it.
It's the end of the world as we know it. (It's time I had some time alone)
It's the end of the world as we know it (It's time I had some time alone) and I feel fine.
(I feel fine)

It's the end of the world as we know it. (It's time I had some time alone)
It's the end of the world as we know it. (It's time I had some time alone)
It's the end of the world as we know it (It's time I had some time alone) and I feel fine.

The other night I tripped a nice continental drift divide. Mount St. Edelite
Leonard Bernstein. Leonid Brezhnev. Lenny Bruce and Lester Bangs.
Birthday party, cheesecake, jelly bean, boom!
You symbiotic, patriotic, slam but neck, right? Right.

It's the end of the world as we know it. (It's time I had some time alone)
It's the end of the world as we know it. (It's time I had some time alone)
It's the end of the world as we know it (It's time I had some time alone) and I feel fine.

It's the end of the world as we know it.
It's the end of the world as we know it.
It's the end of the world as we know it (It's time I had some time alone) and I feel fine.

It's the end of the world as we know it. (It's time I had some time alone)
It's the end of the world as we know it. (It's time I had some time alone)
It's the end of the world as we know it (It's time I had some time alone) and I feel fine.

It's the end of the world as we know it. (It's time I had some time alone)
It's the end of the world as we know it. (It's time I had some time alone)
It's the end of the world as we know it (It's time I had some time alone) and I feel fine...

I want my mommy

Last week was exhausting. Between two kids home sick with some kind of cold or flu, a stressful week at work, working a busy schedule and humiliating myself while working from home all while trying to be a perfect wife, mother and employee, I was fairly wiped out. My parents were coming to visit this weekend, but since my dad has a propensity to pick up any illness my boys are carrying, I called them on Thursday evening to fill them in on the status of our sick house.

As soon as I started talking to my mom, I think she could sense all was not well. Her voice gets softer and calming and then she asks the big question, "How are you doing?" I'm not sure what my verbal answer was, but I do know the weight of the week was crushing down on me, my non-stop schedule that had been turned upside down by the boys not feeling well, my own exhaustion from not sleeping well and Mr. Dog's own announcement that he felt a sore throat coming on presented themselves as me bursting into tears. I've said it before and I'll say it again, motherhood is no place for the weak, and I'd met my breaking point.

After a brief discussion, my mom told me if I needed her, she'd come up on Friday. All I had to do was ask. And I hesitated. Sometimes I have a hard time asking for what I need. I don't want to take advantage of her. I don't want to ask her to come help me with the boys and end up with her getting sick too. But really, I have a hard time admitting I just don't have it under control. We had a back and forth and finally I admitted I needed her. I really needed her. And not just to help with the boys. I needed my mommy. We agreed she'd drive up on Friday and immediately I felt a huge weight lifted off my shoulders.

I should point out here that my mom is amazing. I model my own parenting after her. Even when I was a miserable moody teenager, she didn't strangle me. She has always been supportive but never smothering. She is also a fantastic grandma. The boys adore her almost as much as I do.

She arrived the next afternoon, just before my two most important meetings of the day. I almost melted with relief. She watched the boys while I finished up my work day, then we just hung out. She's cool like that.

On Saturday she told me to take some time for myself. I used it to run errands without having to drag the boys around town. When I got home, Mr. Dog and I shingled the roof on the chicken coop together. And even after all of that, she told Mr. Dog and me to go out to dinner while she took care of the boys. Like a real date. Amazing.

We walked down to a local restaurant and had a nice dinner. We talked and ate and shared a bottle of wine. And it was as much like a date as a married couple with kids can probably have. We got home refreshed and relaxed (and maybe a little bit drunk).

As the boys took a bath, I got to hang out with my mom. I think I have thanked her about a million times this weekend, but really, her intervention was a lifesaver. There are times when I feel a like I can't keep up with the pace of my life, and a couple days of relief can really turn my attitude around.

She left today after I had a bit of time with her on my own. We talked a lot. It's easy with my mom. I always feel better after talking to her, she makes me feel like I'm normal. And she always passes along a lot of wisdom.

In the end I have a few things I need to remember.

1. There are no perfect moms, so I need to quit killing myself trying to be the first.

2. Even that "perfect" mom down the street can be downright shriek-y when she thinks no one is listening.

3. I need to take time to take care of my marriage and Mr. Dog flat out rocks.

4. Even if I'm 37, I'm still my mom's baby.

5. Occasionally, even "SuperWoman" needs her mommy.

Evidence that I'm a terrible mother

I joke about it, but honestly if you are on the outside looking in, you might get the wrong idea. I love these kids to the moon and back, but I am not as perfect a mother as they might deserve.

1. I let them watch TV. In fact, I love TV. I went to college to study how to make TV and work for a company that makes video editing software, for TV. I'm all about the TV. All of these studies try to show it rots their brains, but if that's true, I have to say I'm glad. They are too smart as it is. If they were any smarter, they'd be too much for me.

2. They don't really listen to me. Sometimes they do, for example, if I whisper really quietly "I have cookies" they'd come running from any corner of the house to take them from me, but when I say "Please quit climbing on me" it falls on completely deaf ears. I'm sure it's something I'm doing that makes them this way.

3. I love working. I will never in a million years have stay-at-home-mom fantasies. As much as I love the boys, I think being home with them all of the time would be my undoing. I'd probably love long stretches of it, but there would be enough frustration and anxiety that I'd lose my mind. Or at least I think I would. Plus, I love my job. I think I'm a better mom as a working mom. I hope they do too.

4. Sometimes, even when they really want to tag along or help me out, I do things without them. I feed the chickens before they can get their shoes on. I run to the store and leave them with Mr. Dog. I even bake things without their help. I know I could turn these daily activities into learning experiences, but it's just faster if I do them on my own. Sometimes speed is more important to me than the teaching.

5. I bribe them. I know, I know. You shouldn't use bribes to get the behaviors you want, but it works. And if you think about it, we're all bribed as adults right? I mean, I go to work because they pay me. If they quit paying me, I'd stop going. It's essentially a bribe. I don't bribe my kids all of the time. Generally they're pretty cooperative, but when it come time for action, I know the power of a well placed bribe. And I have no qualms about using that power.

6. I sometimes call the kids by the dogs' names and vice-versa. I don't mean to, but it happens. I can try and claim it is some kind of family tradition, because I clearly remember being reprimanded by my mother on multiple occasions. In her fed up mother voice she'd start "Frisky! Rascal!" (Yep, we had a dog named Frisky. Get over it.) In our house it seems to happen a lot. They get the gist of what I'm saying, so I play it off.

7. I'm a pottymouth. No matter how hard I try, I can't help it. Ok, I don't try that hard, but still. And they've picked up some choice words. Fortunately they seem to have the common sense I lack in knowing when to use it and when to keep it to themselves. It's all about audience, right? But I hold my breath every day I send them off to preschool waiting for the call telling me tales of my boys' salty language.

8. I forget stuff. I forget lunches for preschool. I forget to bring dinner on the brain plate. I forget to pick up bananas at the store. And once, just once, I forgot pajama day at school. I will never forget it again because every so often, out of the blue, Big Dog asks, "Mama, do you remember when you forgot pajama day?" And I have to relive the horror of showing up to school in street clothes. Forget the fact I took him to the store and bought brand new jammies as soon as it became an issue. I'm not allowed to forget. But I do.

9. Sometimes I laugh when they do stupid shit. Never when they get seriously hurt, but sometimes when a better mommy might not giggle, I'm there covering up my chuckle. I can't help it. Sometimes it is funny.

10. I know the job of a good mother is to raise self-sufficient people, but I don't want them to grow up. If I could keep them small forever, I would. In a heartbeat. Because they are just too awesome.

Want to make me feel better? Tell me how terrible you are.

Moments

I think the best part of motherhood are those snuggly moments when your kid hugs you and nuzzles his face into your shoulder.  In those quick moments, I feel so connected and loved by these little people I've made and watched grow.  Something about those moments makes my whole being melt into a puddle of happy. 

The next moment when you look down and realize they weren't nuzzling you as much as wiping their nose on your shirt is significantly less sweet.

I love you, but...

I do, I love being a mom. My kids are amazing little people. They're funny, smart and full of love. I like to read to them. I like to cook with them, play games with them, sing songs with them. I like being mommy. I love the snuggles, the hugs, the little-bit-too-wet kisses. I love seeing myself in the boys, and seeing Mr. Dog in the boys. And I love seeing the pieces of the boys that are completely their own.

They overwhelm me with emotion. I am left spinning, completely in awe of how altered my life is and how much I have changed from who I used to be. And even with that much change, I am equally impressed by how little I miss the way things were pre-kids.

Let me just say this...Boys, I love you. But mommy wants to watch Lost. Shhhhh.

Weaning: The Good, The Bad and The Ugly

Just last week I took the final step in weaning Little Dog. Sure, for some people I nursed too long, he's over 2. He gets plenty of nutrition from other sources and he really didn't need to nurse anymore. That's all well and good, but for us it was working. Until it wasn't. And then I decided it would be a good time to wean.
Frankly, I'd planned to wean at 2, he was just a bit more stubborn about hanging on than I'd expected. As much as he didn't need the nutrition, he seemed to really need the comfort and closeness of our nightly ritual. And to be completely honest, I did too. There is something that can't even be described about the connection between a mother and a child who have a solid compatible nursing relationship. No, it doesn't work for every mom, and I respect that, but for those of us who are fortunate (or stubborn) enough to work through the kinks, it can be strangely addictive and reassuring.
Well, it has been about a week since he last nursed. He has asked, and bristled at my refusal. I just plainly say that "mama's milk is all gone" and offer a drink of some other source. He's mostly been ok with that, but he still asks. And every time he does my heart breaks a little bit.
Little Dog is likely my last baby. As much as my heart cries for another one, Mr. Dog seems to have decided that our baby-making partnership has been fruitful enough. I may disagree, but this is a partnership, so I may just have to resign myself to carrying this little heartache. sniffle
It has been slightly freeing to no longer have nursing as one of my set duties. It has given some flexibility to our nighttime routine. Mr. Dog is now slightly more acceptable as the good night go-to guy. I will no longer be forced to grill the doctor and the pharmacist about the safety of every prescribed medication and compatibility with breastfeeding. That will be nice.
Eventually my breasts will hopefully return to a more practical size and I will no longer be forced to size up in shirts to keep the girls from straining at the buttons! That will be nice too.
Now if only they'd return to their formerly firm and pert selves, you know back when they high up on my chest even without a bra. Unfortunately, I think that would require some professional assistance. Anyone wanna sponsor a boob lift? No, then I guess I'll have to get some really good bras.

Two's a Charm.

Our friends Her Bad Mother, Mrs. Chicky, and Mrs. Chicken are expanding their families from child to children and we're here to honour that transition from pseudo-sanity to total and utter madness with a virtual baby shower.

I made the jump from one to two shortly after we moved to Seattle. I got lots of advice. Some of it good some of it really really terrible. Only a few things really seemed to apply.

1. When someone offers help, take it. Don't be shy, don't second guess it and think they are just trying to be nice, if help is offered, take it. Even if they were just saying it to be nice, you'll be teaching them a valuable lesson about only saying what you really mean.

2. Let your standards for personal hygiene and household cleanliness slide. Yeah, it is great to be up and dressed when you have guests, but hell, you've just pushed a little person our of a part of your body that will continue to remind you of that for quite some time. I liked to dress in PJs that didn't look like PJs. Yoga pants are your friend. As are oversized knit tops. I also had to become much more OK with a messy kitchen and, unfolded laundry. Sure some people may say I've taken it too far by continuing to allow my laundry to pile up clean but heaped in a messy pile for the past two years. I say bah, I'm a mother of two. We're still just happy to have clean clothes!

3. Make time for your 1st child. Even if it is a short few minutes of one on one mommy time, they need it. You need it too. I also went a little more lax on discipline for the first few weeks. Ok, maybe that was because I was too damn tired to stay really on top of things, but I think it was a good, if not completely planned, method to help Big Dog adjust. A little more leniency isn't going to turn a normal child into the anti-Christ in a few weeks, but it may save you all a lot of drama.

4. No matter how hard it is, you are going to be ok. Big dog had a hard adjustment. I frequently thought I was going to die of sleep deprivation. I never thought I'd want to have sex again. And the diapers....oh man those hourly diapers. Well, I look back now and it has more than paid off. My kids rock. watching them play together is both funny and heart warming. Sure they fight, but they also give each other long hugs after they finish beating one another to a pulp. And I get to be the mother of the two most adorable children on the planet.

5. A serious bit of advice. If you suspect PPD is an issue, RUN to your doctor and get help. I wallowed for 3 months before I took action then I put off taking medication for another month because I felt like I was a bad person and a weak failure as a mother if I had to get help. Now I realize all I did was cheat myself out of the first 3 months with my second son because I was too busy beating myself up for every little mistake or frustration.

6. Coffee, chocolate and red wine. Yes. All of them. Every day. Coffee in the morning. If you aren't sleeping, this is the next best thing. Chocolate. Do I need to explain? Red wine. You've been booze free for 9 months. Even our first pediatrician told me to have 1 or 2 glasses of wine every night with dinner to help me with my milk supply when I was struggling with Big Dog. If I needed it then, boy did I ever need it once I had two little people I had to care for. Man did I love that doctor, such a wise man.

7. Laugh. Laugh a lot. Things are going to take some adjustment. It isn't always going to be smooth and easy. There are times you are going to wonder what the hell happened to make you think having a second child was a good idea, but those times pass. And they pass more quickly if you focus on the good, the goofy and the downright funny side of parenting. And with two, you'll have twice as many jesters in your life.

8. Don't get too busy to live in the moment. Life with two moves fast. Much faster than it did with one, or at least it did for me. It felt like mere weeks after Little Dog was born, he was walking. Now he's talking, running and generally hamming it up. Sometimes I feel as though he's aged a month by the time I get home from work. I'm sure next time I go away for a weekend, I'll come back and he'll be driving! They grow so fast, they're only small once and those other cliches really apply here. So...take time and smell the roses, or the soft baby heads, hell, even the diapers from time to time.

9. Finally, feel free to ignore any or all advice. Heck, you've gone from 0 to 1 kid and survived it. Adding the second isn't all that hard by comparison. Once you have the hang of that, it is like adding more weight to your normal workout routine, it is hard, even painful at first but your muscles adjust and soon you're stronger and it feels like anything less was child's play.

Congratulations, and best of luck!

My Super Powers

Becoming a mother has changed a lot of things for me. New goals, new interests, even a new set of tools. In addition to the new padding on my ass and middle section, my blossoming appreciation of singing rodents and clue seeking dogs and a newfound compulsion to be the "coolest" mom in the preschool (yes, burgeoning Alpha-mom tendencies I struggle to keep in check), my hearing has become a finely honed tool. I can be sound asleep yet if I hear the kind of gagging and coughing that usually precedes vomit, I will wake up and move at lightening speed right to the side of the ailing child, ready, willing and able to take on the contents of the little stomach vying to make an appearance while simultaneously comforting the nauseated child. There was a time in my life that these same sounds were considered warning signs, a signal to jump back and avoid splatter on your "going out" shoes. Granted, that type of regurgitation was usually the result of over-indulgence of one kind or another. That kind of retch usually came at the end of a long night out with the girls, frequently involving tequila. What an interesting transformation. Not only do I hear and respond like some kind of puke seeking SWAT team, my previously hair-trigger gag response has been modified to tolerate the stench of my own children's output. Handy, especially when one of my responses to vomit is to reach out and catch this spew in my own two hands. I'm still trying to figure out why that is part of this new "gift", what is to be gained if I do manage to catch it? Nothing, just a big handful of puke. And precisely what am I supposed to do with that?

At any rate, it is good that I have been selected for these new powers since Big Dog has a ridiculously sensitive gag response. In our house a coughing fit at bedtime is almost always followed by dinner revisited, a change of pjs, a change of bedsheets and a mom with puke in her hair. Little Dog is less susceptible, but not completely immune. Since he is currently battling the same cold/flu that kept me housebound for two days, I decided to saline spray his nose last night. Much gagging ensued, followed by a lot of screaming, crying and yes, finally a gooey splash of vomit. Mr. Dog finally managed to calm him down and get him to bed. When the adult faction of the family finally settled under the blankets and snuggled down to sleep, my thoughts drifting to dreams my radar got a little blip. A cough. Two coughs, a gag and I was bolt upright. Shooting out of bed in perfect coordination with my trusty sidekick "Puke Dad", this "Vomit Mama" was back in action. Puke Dad hoisted Big Dog out of his bed and carried him into the bathroom, Vomit Mama retrieved towels, clean jammies and gathered up sheets and remade the bed. In less than 30 minutes from first gag to post-spew tuck in, we were back in bed. The term "well oiled machine" springs to mind.

Sure I'd have much preferred the power to use mind control to will my children into an early bedtime, or the ability to seek out the source of those odd and lingering smells in my car, but I'll take what I'm given. Even if it involves hands that inexplicably rush to function as emesis basins. With every blessing comes a curse, right?

Top Ten Reaons to be a Mother of Two!

10. Nothing sweeter than seeing your kids play together
9. Younger child develops language skills quickly to communicate with the older child, although they also pick up on potty words quickly too
8. Can we say "hand me downs"?
7. Easy to blame the messy house of "two boys" instead of a slacker mom
6. Get to keep on diapering for that many more years! Woo Hoo!
5. If one of them won't eat something, there is a good chance you can feed it to the other.
4. Peer pressure "Well, I guess your brother is going to have the fun in the bath ALL TO HIMSELF!"
3. Twice the snuggles, twice the fun!
2. My body wasn't quite ruined enough after the first one.

And the number one reason for having two kids...

1. It brings down the odds that the one who gets spattered when the baby blows juicy raspberries from 1 in 3 to 1 in 4!

the life of a rock star

I used to think it might be kind of cool to be famous. To have the eyes and ears of everyone in the public. To be too well known to go out without causing a stir. As strange as it may seem, motherhood has changed that for me. I now feel for the stars as they hide behind over-sized shades and baseball caps trying to get a simple errand run, or enjoy a cup of coffee without incident. I have pangs of sympathy as they are busted by the paparazzi without make up, out walking the dog. I cringe when they are photographed in unflattering clothing doing things that every person does, but when done by a star, knocks them down closer to "our level".
Why has motherhood changed my sympathies? Why do I no longer think they should just have to deal with the downside of their own chosen career? I think it boils down to having the slightest taste of their total lack of privacy. Since having children I think I could count on one hand the number of times I have been able to finish a simple task without at least one interruption. It is difficult to find any time to manage basic housekeeping, cooking, internet surfing. Books? No, I don't read much now, unless that reading involves rhyming cats or typing cows. My public won't allow me that distraction.
I can't leave a room without a chorus of tears or desperate "bye bye"s despite my reassurances that I'll be right back. They'll just miss me too much for those few moments I'm away.
In the morning as I get ready for work, my audience tracks my every action. I am followed from room to room as I prepare my coffee, get dressed and put on make up. When I shower I fully expect at least one visit from a "fan" to make sure the bathtub has not turned into some kind of portal to another world. Yes, I'm still here. Wet, naked and soapy, but here. Thanks for checking.
When I use the restroom, the masses crowd the hall, crying and banging on the door until I surrender my privacy in favor of quiet. Well, not real quiet, but a relative quiet that I have learned to appreciate as a mother of two young boys.
It is only at work that I can resume my anonymous life as an average Joe. I can sip my coffee and read my email without sticky little hands working to grab the laptop. I can leave my office and return at my own pace, no one minds when I get lunch or even go to the bathroom. The vibe is different, more adult, unfrenzied by chaotic demands of children.
In the evening, when I return to my adoring masses, I am ready for the adoration. I feel like John Lennon stepping onto the tarmac with his fellow Beatles as soon as I walk in the door at daycare. It is intoxicating, and in a way it is as close to fame as I ever hope to come. Fame on a larger scale has lost its appeal. I'll take my own little fan club over international acclaim any day.

The secret life of toddler food

How is it even possible that this morning, I was in clean freshly washed clothes, even after I got the boys dressed and ready for daycare but by the I got to my car I was covered in smashed banana (at least I *hope* it was smashed banana)? And we didn't even have bananas at breakfast? Is there banana lurking in my house just waiting to foil my attempts to make it out of the house in clean clothes? There must be, I can think of no other explanation.

I guess this is just part of being a mommy, you have to decide what is an acceptable ammount of crap on your clothes. I decided it was hardly noticeable if I wiped it off with a baby wipe. In my pre-kid days I would have changed clothes. Well, I also wouldn't have been covered in smashed bananas. How life changes.

Hello, My Name is Laura, and I am a Potty Mouth

Let’s get right to the heart of the issue. I swear. I swear a lot. And I enjoy swearing. It has been years since I embraced my inner sailor and in that time I have become quite skilled at the art of cursing. I mix words in new and unique ways that grab attention, elicit chuckles and sometimes gasps. I know when to switch up my words of choice to maximize their impact and when to drop a classic F-bomb. In the years I have cultivated an extensive vocabulary of profanity and use it like a true scholar of potty talk. While this was well and good when I was childless, my salty language has now become problem. I first recognized this as an issue when Big Dog, at the tender age of 2 began imitating his bad mommy. And I laughed. I know that was the wrong thing to do, really. But when a rather angelic looking child, with his sparkling blue eyes looks up and says “fuck”, the absolute contradiction of word and speaker is hilarious. I try to hide my face so he doesn’t see my amusement, but it is difficult to be the voice of parental authority when giggles invade your stern admonishments.
Earlier this year, one of his daycare teachers took a moment to let me know Big Dog had been using “not for daycare words” on occasion. This particular teacher has a knack for making me feel less like an accomplished career woman and more like a naughty unwed teenage mother. Quite a feat considering I am married and far from teenage (no comment on the "naughty"). I had a momentary panic, oh God, which word? Lists of explicatives rolled through my mind. Turns out his choice was “Damn it.” In my book this is so mild it is almost not swearing. But my world is not a daycare, so I listened. It appears that my little man has picked up mommy’s bad habit of exclaiming “Damn it” when dropping something. I promised the teacher we’d work on it, but at the same time I felt vaguely proud that he was using it in a correct context! Nice one kid, you may have a future in this after all. I have been trying to tone down my propensity for obscenities. I have replaced a few words of my more choice words with their more benign and accepted kin. And even as I do this, I realize profanities are sprinkled liberally thorough out many aspect of my daily life. While many of these word in context slip right past Big Dog’s ears without notice, others are immediately pounced upon. For example, in the car a few months ago we were listening to my current favorite CD. (Lily Allen’s Alright Now) Well, I was listening to it, and it turns out my underage passenger was attentively listening as well. One of the song contains the line “well it’s very funny cos I got your fuckin’ money”. Big Dog immediately repeated back part of that line, and it sure wasn’t the “it’s very funny” part. Being that this happened within days of the daycare incident, I swung into full mommy mode. I told him that wasn’t a nice phrase, and that he shouldn’t repeat it. In fact it was bad that mommy was listening to this while he was in the car. To which he replied “fuckin’ money”, with an impish smile. As futile as my attempts to figuratively wash out my mouth with kid friendly soap may be, I will forge on. If not because it is the “right” thing to do, then out of the fear of being forced to explain my child’s unique and varied vocabulary in many future parent-teacher conferences.

From bar hopping to breastfeeding

How the hell did I end up singing along to Ralph Covert, driving a messy Passat station wagon with two, count em, two carseats? I used to be cool. I used to listen to the best emerging music, watch the latest in independent film, wear the hip new styles, be up on the who’s who and what’s what. Now I count myself lucky if I make it out of the house without spit up in my hair. Ok, it isn’t really that extreme. I do drive a wagon and spend a lot of time, probably too much, shopping for organic kid-friendly foods and mind-expanding play things. I change diapers, call the toilet the “potty”, and shop for pull-ups with Cars on them, not Spiderman. I can whip up a mean Macaroni and Cheese (never called mac and cheese in our house without correction by our little dictator). I plan exciting outings for an informal playgroup of my preschooler’s buddies. I know all of the good kid music, and can sing along without missing a lyric. I can name all of the Teletubbies and most of the Thomas the Tank Engine trains. I know that Curious George band aids are inherently better than Sesame Street band aids, but that a good Nemo band aid trumps them both. I guess that makes me cool in the realm of 3 year-old boys, but it is a world apart from who I used to think I was. To be honest, for most of my adult life I wasn’t all that sure I even wanted kids. I was a rough kid to raise and I wasn’t sure I would be up for that challenge. I still find myself surprised by the total life change I’ve made after picking up these two tiny hitch hikers, trading my Karman Ghia for the trusty Passat. Don’t get me wrong, I like my life very much, it is just a far cry from the girl who knew the bartenders and used to close down the bars. And then again, at the ripe old age of 34, that sort of behavior would be a little depressing and bar fly-ish. I guess part of it is that I have a hard time with the concept of me, Laura, as an adult. A real tax-paying, property-owning, 401K-having, childbearing, responsible-for-the-lives-of-others adult. I don’t know if that will ever really catch up with my sense of self. I still feel like I’m pulling something over on someone when I do the parent-y stuff with the kids. Almost like I’m pretending to be a grown up, hoping the other parents won’t see through my disguise and oust me from the club. And yet there isn’t much about my life I’d change. Sure I’d like to be a bit thinner, a bit more stylishly put together, and it would be nice if my house had central heat, better yet a housekeeper. But I have a family that loves me, two amazing boys, a husband who is my best friend and I think is sexy as all get out. Life is sweet, a bit sticky and covered in fingerprints, but sweet.