120 minutes ago

Me: Two more minutes and then we need to head home.
K: Um, how bout three minutes?
Me: Okay, three minutes.

The thing is, you don't know how to tell time and I'm terrible at managing it, so I'll end up letting you play for five minutes and you'll still end up crying when it's time to leave. But we're laying communication groundwork, right?

Week Tired Time Taffy

Is it really only Wednesday? Really? Does anyone else feel like the month is just crawling toward Thanksgiving? I know I shouldn't complain, because the holidays usually move so fast , but I can only get up before 5am so many days in a row before I start getting cranky.* You'd think, then, when things move so slowly, that I'd be getting so much more done, right? But no. It just feels like it takes me longer to do everything, like time has become a piece of pulled taffy. And I don't even like taffy. Although maybe if I had some taffy, we could at least do a fun project about it's miraculous stretching properties. You know, to kill some time. Did I mention that being tired also messes with my focus?

*In case it wasn't clear already, today was my tipping point. A few more days of this and my posts are going to become as random as this one's title.

Tonight only: Every card counts twice!

You know you've sunk to a new low when, while restacking the cards for Candyland, you start thinking how you might arrange them to make the game go as quickly as possible. In my defense: it was 6:47pm after a long day and we (mostly) let the cards fall as they may.

Pencil in this

This is one of those "I just realized, at 11pm, that I failed to post today" posts. Go ahead and lower your expectations accordingly. It's been a tumultuous week: school lunch! gardens! babysitting! driving! visiting! burglary! police! repetitive fire truck video! more driving! picnicking! wine! conference! dreaded public speaking! exclamation points! I feel a bit like a wrung rag. The worst part is that I'm only in the middle, with more engagements to stumble over on the downhill side, and my whole being already exhausted.

I'm can't complain, because I'm the one who makes my schedule. I spend a lot of time lately looking at that schedule and scratching my head. Whatever made me think that it was a good idea to fill in every single open spot I can find? Ah, well they all sound fun, in theory. They are all great things to do with great people. And I hate when I'm trying to do these great things with great people to have to say, "Gee, I think the best time is really three weeks from now." I don't want to be one of those people, who make others feel like you simply don't have time for another friendship. So I squash them in wherever I can, becoming the person who is all burned out and over scheduled. I don't want to be that person either. I just want to be me, enjoying my kids and the people we love and the beautiful place we live. It's just that there's a lot of enjoying to be had there, and apparently not nearly enough time.

For the Record

It is officially too bright to be only 5:53am. It does not make me feel chipper and cheery. It makes me feel like this is going to be the longest day in the world. Again.

Time for NaBloPoMo

I realized today, to my horror, that NaBloPoMo had already begun! How could I be behind already? What kind of person skips the very first day?

Except that I didn't skip. I posted yesterday. Was it really just yesterday? See, this daylight savings time business messes with my whole world. You know why? Because I insist on going around telling myself what the "real" time is. For example, it's one forty. Which is really two forty. The kids should be up from their nap soon, and I haven't even put one of them down.

It gets worse. Last night I went to bed at ten, which was really eleven. Very late. Woke up to the sound of a small child in the bathroom at five thirty, which was really four thirty. Talk about a short night.

You're all scratching your heads right now, I can practically hear it. No, it wasn't really four thirty. It was really six thirty. Only it was really five thirty. Can it really just be nine thirty already? I clearly need some sleep.

Seasonal shifts

So it's truly fall in our house: the garden has been almost completely dismantled, the kids are back in their respective preschool and swim classes, and we all have our first cold. While I'm preferring to focus on falling leaves, apple pie, and Halloween candy, they all still seem a long way away, and the cold is, well, very present. So long summer!

Back to School

Yesterday was M's first day back at preschool. I gave him extra hugs in the morning, then took K to the park with her little girlfriends, where I promptly announced that I was thoroughly depressed about the whole thing.

"Um," said very concerned friend, clearly trying to understand my emotional outburst, "this isn't his first year, you know."

No, it's not his first year. But it is the beginning of another year. I feel the passage of time as though it were traffic on the interstate, and I'm standing right in the middle. This was the one and only summer when the kids were two and four, when they had those little tiny sweaty hands in mine nearly constantly and the best entertainment chalked up to lazy afternoons in the pool and cleverly spotted work trucks.

I was at dinner with friends the other night when this topic came up, and I silenced the table with my (slightly white wine induced) monologue about time, how precious this time is and how quickly it's passing, how I try to enjoy every last minute because I know in the end I will never, ever have time to enjoy it enough.

"Um," said another perplexed friend, directing her words to the rest of the table, "most moms get burned out when they stay home all the time and never get a break." Then they all looked pointedly at me as if to figure out (a) what was wrong with me, or (b) what I was hiding.

Let me be clear: I'm not that mom. If for nothing more than the countless muttered (okay, in total honesty, sometimes clearly shouted for all to hear) curse words, I'd have been gong-ed off the Mom Show a long time ago. Just this week I claimed to have two #1 all-time pet peeves: stepping on my feet and repeating statements. Which really are just minor annoyances in the grand scheme of things. Plus I muddled my way through the following:

M: I'm all done with lunch.
Me: Okay. Do you want to take the rest of that carrot stick with you?
M: (Dramatic sigh) But I'm all done with lunch.
Me: That's fine. I was just asking.
M: But I do want to eat it.
Me: Okay. Go ahead and eat it.
M: Why do I have to eat it?
Me: I never said you had to eat it. I said you could eat it. And hey, I forgot to get your plum out of the freezer. Did you still want it?
M: But I was going to eat the carrot.
Me: You can eat both. Or neither.
M: Why do I have to eat them both?
Me: You don't. I was just offering.
M: But I DO want to eat it.
Me: The carrot stick or the plum?
M: (another dramatic sigh) I don't know.

I still have no earthly idea what was going on there. And seriously, getting through lunch with your four-year-old shouldn't be a Mensa challenge. I feel many times like I'm failing motherhood, in big and little ways.

But the thing is, motherhood isn't a reality show, and it's not a Mensa test. It's just motherhood. There are no gold medals, no prizes, and no right answers with confetti and balloons. In the end, there's nothing at all, aside from, hopefully, a fairly well-adjusted (or well-therapied) adult. All those little mementos--the crayon drawings, the hot glued sea creature, the tiny little newborn socks--won't ever compare to the actual moment. So I try to remember that if I can't take it with me, I might as well enjoy it while it's here: insanity, sentimentality, big and little events, confusing circuitous lunch discussions, hastily glossed over curses, and the simple joy (or, if you were K and didn't see it, raging tantrum) of a plain old garbage truck.

So M had his first day of preschool yesterday. Again. And it was hard to let him go, and joyful to pick him up. To see him playing with new friends, to watch him trying new things, to see his new room and workbook and cubby and move with him through the traffic of life. Maybe if I feel myself moving with it, it won't sound quite so loud.

Suck on this

We spent last weekend in Las Vegas. The answers to your next three questions are: "Yes, with the kids," "106F," and "Fantastic." Really. I didn't know what to expect, since we'd never done the hotel thing with the kids before, but they took to their beds (and their bedroom companions) like champs. And Mom and Dad took to their own room like champs too, just for the record. The bar downstairs helped with that just a little.

So for whatever positive, vacation-induced reason, I decided that we were ready to give up binkies upon our return. K went right along with it, enthusiastically. We took them over to a new baby friend. Leaving them behind, K's smile waned a little. At bedtime, it had waned a lot. And an hour into bedtime, it had turned from "Baby J can have my binkies" to "Baby J has my binkies!"

And so, on this, Day three, I'm listening to K cry her way through another naptime. I feel this is entirely my fault because (A) I introduced said binkies (although to be fair, the NICU started it) and (B) I took said binkies away. But for heaven's sake, she's well over two and perfectly capable of going to sleep on her own. I see her do it all the time.

But on the flip side, my heart is breaking over more than just her sobs. There's a huge part of me that would like to give them back to her, just to see her sleeping peacefully, sucking happily, like a baby. I know she's not a baby. I know this is worse because she's so grown up and used to them and defiant right now. But the binky brings back baby for me. The thought that in a few more days, I will be throwing all binkies in the trash FOREVER makes me want to hold on to her babyhood for as long as possible.

So this is one of those times when being the grown-up sucks. Not only do I have to make the right decisions and stick with them, but I have to do so even when they're not the decision that I want to make. I really never appreciated the time in my life when I could make MY decisions all the time.

Speaking of growing up, we gave M a clock. Now I get an update on the time every 2-3 minutes. So now I know that I have only been tolerating this for 52 minutes, and that I have 20 more updates before naptime is through. It's a good thing that vacation really was fantastic.

Just put your witty goggles on first

(Insert witty story here)

Wait, you mean I'm supposed to insert the witty story? How about this: one week ago yesterday, K came down with a fever. For two whole days I carried her, at 103 degrees Fahrenheit, while trying to entertain the boy without any free hands. For two more days, she griped around the house that, while she no longer had a significant fever and I no longer had any upper body strength remaining, she was no longer being carried everywhere. Then M came down with a fever. For the next two days, M bopped around the house seeming surprisingly un-sick despite the fever that absolutely knocked out his sister, and I tried to keep both kids entertained, indoors, while slowly regaining the use of my hands. For the past two days, resolute M was felled by the addition of a cough, which has kept me up every night this week for 2-4 hours, and keeps him from eating, sleeping, or playing at any activity for more than 2 minutes. K continues to whine because, a week later, we are still around the house. Only now Mom is overtired, overworked, and running seriously low on super-fun at-home activities (Want to make art in the salad spinner? Sure. Want to make art with marbles? Sure. Want to make art with marbles in the salad spinner? Why the heck not! It's not like I have a better idea). And tonight, after crawling to the computer and browsing a little, I've discovered that the world has continued spinning quite contentedly, that it's almost Friday, and that it's the last day of April to boot. Really? That's news to me.

So there. That's my witty story. Wasn't very witty, was it? Wasn't much of a story, either. Well, there's always next week.

Happy Birthday to Me

Today, I turned thirty. Oh yes, I'm only thirty. I get that a lot. I made very good use of my twenties.

I've had a lot of questions about turning thirty, and a bit of teasing too. You know, how it feels, how I feel, etc. Apparently I should feel some way or another, and I do, but it's not quite what people anticipate.

Last week, Easter Sunday, I was singing in the special church choir. The congregation was standing with us, singing along. My eyes fell on an older woman of whom I have grown very fond. I noticed that she was wearing a hearing aid, something she'd never had before. I wondered how she might have felt, and I hoped it was lucky, lucky to have lived to be old enough to need help hearing. Then my eyes shifted forward to a friend of mine. We have known each other since we were both young married women with no kids. We now both have two apiece, very close to the same age. She also has an inoperable brain tumor. I thought then, compared to the older woman, how sad that must be, knowing that you will never be old enough to need a hearing aid, let alone see your kids grown and married and bearing families of their own.

But then, really, as I looked at all the people standing together, I recognized that we are all standing on this earth, and that we will all fall someday. I assume that my friend will fall before me, but it's possible it will be the other way around. We will all fall. It's the one inevitable fact of life. And while I may think that the woman with the hearing aid is lucky to have stood so long, I think that we are all lucky to be standing at all. Life is really such an amazingly complex balance, so fragile, so fraught with peril and risk, that every day we wake to find ourselves still standing, we should consider ourselves triumphant! So to hit a milestone like thirty, to still be standing, is a victory. Bring on forty! Bring on fifty! Bring on one hundred and ten!

But you know, in 80 years. Because today, I'm happy being thirty.

The Time of our Lives

Ever since K was born, I have been truly enjoying every minute of our lives. Okay, not every minute, exactly, but the general moment in which we exist. I can actually remember her being four months and M being two and thinking that I would freeze them right then and there for the rest of our lives, I was so blissfully satisfied. And I still am. I love that I feel this way, because I know that I am concentrating on what we have, without looking forward or back too much, and getting the most out of it as a result.

But you know what sucks? It doesn't make time go any slower. No matter how much I can love this time, absolutely relishing in it like a hot pig in cold mud, it doesn't change the fact that each minute still passes away in sixty unforgiving seconds.

I was driving home with the kids, the car warm in the sun, after having a fun morning with friends and a picnic lunch with B. We pulled into the drive talking about our daily video and nap/rest time, and it struck me, rather sharply, that these days are numbered. M will be in preschool three days come fall, and then, one year later, he will be in kindergarten and K will be in preschool.

M and I have spent so much time together these past three and half years. We have discovered so many new things, including K, and the three of us have made so many great friends and happy memories. I feel lonely already to think of them in school, those days behind us, our lives no longer so flexible and free.

I know that I will have other fun things to look forward to, that each stage brings its own blessings to replace the passing of other joys. But it is sad, too, to realize that no matter how I can enjoy this time, I can never enjoy it enough.

I've been robbed!

Help! I opened up my blog window to find that January has disappeared from under my nose. The calendar says it's the 31st. The 31st!?! The freaking 31st of January!?!

Well, as long as that little thief keeps his hands on my creamer...

Who has a baby in December anyway?

Throwing a baby shower tonight. Been a little crazy, trying to put together this shower, what with all the doll making and card sending and present wrapping and cookie making and regular household stuff getting in the way. Thought it might be helpful to print out a baby shower checklist.

Not helpful if, upon realizing that your shortcomings begin in the "Two Weeks Before the Baby Shower" section, you promptly burst into tears.

Desperation loves company

Are my eyes deceiving me? Is Christmas really little more than two weeks away? Because I still haven't filled the Advent calendar we keep opening every day (but we talk about what fun event we're doing that day. That counts for something, right?), I still haven't ordered Christmas cards (let alone sent them), and I still don't know what to give two-thirds of the people on my list.

Two weeks? Seriously? Anyone up for a December do-over? Anyone?

Another reason why time sucks

Yesterday was Veteran's Day, one of those holidays important enough to leave our trash by the curb for an extra day and let all the kids off from school, but not important enough to have your spouse off from work too. Since it was one of M's usual preschool days, I tried to be extra excited about Veteran's Day this year.

"You have a vacation day today!" I said brightly yesterday morning.
"Is it a preschool day?" M asked slowly.
"Yes, but you have vacation! A holiday!"
He cocked his head a little. "Can I go to preschool?"
The sinking feeling I've been getting a lot lately opened up in the pit of my stomach. "You don't have preschool today. It's vacation!"
M lowered his head and fiddled with his plate. "But I really wanted to go to preschool."

Apparently vacation doesn't mean much for a kid who thinks every preschool day is his "break" from Mommy. I try not to take that personally, although I'm really not sure how you take it any other way.

No matter. I promised him a fun and special lunch, right after we went to K's usual swim class. B stayed with M on the side, brought lots of trucks for him to play with, and pointed out our happy waves and smiles. At the end, he walked up to me, that same longing look on his face, and asked, "Now can I go in?" Repeat this scenario about ten times--compounding guilt exponentially--and you'll get the gist of the next hour.

It made me really feel for M. I know a lot of parents worry so much about not having enough time to spend with their second child, but the thing is, M doesn't remember that I spent a lot of time just with him, so there's not really much difference between the two. He doesn't remember that we did take swim lessons for months before K was born. He also does not remember, apparently, that he hated swim lessons, that they were filled with more screaming than splashing and that he never did learn to kick/paddle/hold his breath the way his sister has already done. This was because he wouldn't actually let go of me the entire lesson. He doesn't remember that we used to take long walks, just the two of us, that we ate lunch together every day, just the two of us, that we were one Mommy-M team against the world.

But it's in there, all the same. And I think it must generate a longing that I don't think I'll ever see in K, that subconscious desire to have that time back. So while parents are so busy worrying about whether they'll be there for the second child the way they were with the first, I think they are also forgetting that they exchange that focus for the one they had originally, the one that still lingers somewhere in the back of their first child's mind. And there's nothing I can do to pull it out, nothing I can do to trade in all those times for the ones he now lacks.

We did have a fun morning, despite the pouting and confusion and guilt. We shopped and the kids played with displays and ran through aisles and then we picked up lunch and took it over for a picnic with Daddy. On the way home, I said brightly, trying to put the morning behind us, "Now wasn't that a fun vacation day?"

"Yeah," M said reluctantly. "Now can I go to preschool?"

I'm a little quick on the uptake, obviously, but I will no longer mention vacation. Ever. Unless we're going to Oma and Opa's. Because that trumps everything--even a break from Mommy.

Daylight Losing Time

Daylight Savings Time ended last night. Which just smacks of irony in our house. See, these two small children have no understanding of the "fall back" principle. And neither does their mother. So we all ran our schedules an hour behind yesterday, went to bed an hour late, and woke up this morning at 5:15 like usual. Er, make that 4:15 today. I'm already feeling frighteningly off rhythm.

This brought up an endless conundrum in our wedded bliss. B is a night person. I am a morning person. Since we usually only get a limited amount of time to spend together--that's in the evening, during that tiny little window after the kids finally fall silent--we stay up late to maximize that time. And in all practicality, if we were to get up early instead of staying up late, the kids would be bound to wake up early too, wondering why we were just hanging out them and how soon we could add pancakes to the mix. So we stay up late. And B sleeps in. And sometimes I sleep in too. But not often enough. My body just doesn't work that way.

So you throw an hour lost in the evening plus the hour lost in the morning, and I'm tired. And cranky. And wondering why the word savings is involved at all. And bitter at all the people raving about getting that extra hour of sleep. And curious at how other couples negotiate the dicey dance between time spent together and time spent getting much needed and long overdue rest. Because I'm feeling like the music runs to the tango and I'm moving to the polka.

And I'm yet to figure out the positives of this whole time shift. Our after-dinner walks are nearly impossible in the pitch black, the kids want to wake up when the sun comes up anyway, and the dark-early days make me want warm and indulgent comfort foods like meatloaf, stews, and apple pies. Which, okay, sound yummy. Score one for daylight losing time.