All My Beans In One Jar

I often imagine my life as a series of jellybean filled jars.

Stay with me while I explain: Imagine a row of jars, all of them labeled. The labels might include quality time with kids, housework, personal time, relationships, friendships, etc. Are you with me? Now imagine that you have only 100 jellybeans. Those 100 jellybeans represent your time, energy, blood, sweat and tears. You only have 100 of them, that's your 100 percent. You can try to evenly distribute your jelly beans, sure. But sometimes, without a doubt, some of the jars have more than others. And it changes, constantly. The trick is that if one of your jars needs more jellybeans, you have to take some away from another jar.

Do you know what happens to these jars if they go too long without enough jellybeans? They crack.

Right now, I have too many beans in one jar. My Parenting Jar is overfilling and my Housework Jar is suffering, albeit more full than most others. My Personal Time jar? It's been completely empty for a very, very long time. And yeah, it's about shattered.

You hear a lot that being a parent has a lot to do with balance but I'm convinced that total balance is impossible. Can I really play with my kids, keep my house under control, get myself dressed (for hell's sake, DRESSED), plan dinner with friends and then treat myself to a pedicure that night? It probably sounds doable, right?

I have to tell myself that no one can do this. There is just no one on the planet who really has all of their jars filled respectively and can keep them that way. When my Parenting Jar is filled, as it has been, I feel good. I feel needed and loved and my kids are certainly happy. But when my Housework Jar is lacking some beans, I'm frazzled and frustrated. I like waking up and having room in the sink to start a pot of coffee. I don't like washing a coffee cup. Sometimes, it's the opposite. Sometimes, I spend the entire day scrubbing, organizing and clearing clutter. But usually, I have to sacrifice time with my boys to accomplish that. Usually, I have to tell Kade, not right now, I've got to get this cleaned up. So even though I wake up the next morning to a shiny kitchen and clean socks (hallelujah), I'm feeling guilty for not spending enough one on one time with my kids and feel that I have to make up for it.

Just like that, beans from one jar are tossed into another. Back and forth, back and forth. I think my problem is my all-or-nothing attitude. Instead of transferring maybe, one or two beans, I dump all the contents of one jar straight into another.

When it comes to other jars, say my Personal Time Jar, I'm utterly and completely shattering that glass. I realized when Ian got home from work yesterday that I hadn't gotten dressed. I was in my pajamas from the night before. The kids were extremely happy, clean and cared. They had long bubble baths and extra stories and I breathed them in until they were settled for the night. The house was (mostly) straightened. But seriously, I haven't painted my nails, gone for a run, or worn makeup in weeks. In fact, I realized the other day that I'm out of makeup. When did that happen? None of my clothes fit and I'm feeling generally sloppy.

 This bothers me for two reasons. One, I used to pride myself on taking care of the way I looked. It made me happy to wear nice clothes and take the time to feel put together. For some, this doesn't matter. But though I'm comfortable in my own skin, I feel good when I do those things. My self-esteem is taking a very serious, direct blow. And two, I know I could be an even better mom if I took the time to take care of myself. The jellybeans need to spend some time in that jar, sweeten it up. When they hop back into the Parenting Jar, they'll be more shiny and colorful than before (this is becoming a seriously cheesy metaphor).

It's time to do some rearranging. This weekend, I'm dumping some beans into my Personal Time Jar. I'm going to go for a walk, paint my finger nails, wash my hair, shave my legs (oh gross). And maybe I'll start paying closer attention, aspire more to evenly distribute some of my time, energy, attention.

But maybe not. There's a good chance that a week from now, that jar will be empty again, cracking. I'm okay with that. This is all a learning curve. 

We have to remember that we are somebody, even apart from our kids. We were somebody before our kids. We have to remember to take care of that person. Because this person, matters.

What's What Wednesday; on a Sick Day with some nitty gritty

Around midnight last night Kade woke up with a cough and was impossible to get back to sleep. Daddy got up with him, met his intense demands and coaxed him back to sleep while I snoozed. I can only tell you this story because it was relayed to me this morning. Daddy's are sort of awesome that way.

A formal Sick Day commenced at our place, starting with an embarrassing amount of screen time. I think it's important to bring up days like this on the blog. It's too easy now to only show the pearly whites of your life. I've read a lot of blogs- seen a lot of moms- with happy, clean kids smiling and baking and doing crafts. What they're not showing us, things that I'm sure are there, are the yoga pants, the messy house, the fussy clingy babies demanding to be held while those blog posts are written (mine is sitting in my lap, watching me type this). Those blogs are inspiring and I read a lot of them, but it's important to remember that they're people too. They have messy closets, spit up on their shoulders,

After the house was destroyed, the pony tail was pulled by the infant for the umpteenth time and Kade passed out watching cartoons, I was ready to crawl back into bed and start over.

When Kade woke up, he smiled coyly and requested homemade crackers. "I almost feel better Mama. I just reallllly need homemade crackers."

The house is a wreck, the sink is already full, but the baby is sleeping so let's take advantage. Anything to get my big boy feeling better and this sick day over. Operation Ritz Crackers, GO!

What's Cooking?

Homemade Ritz Crackers

The first day I made these, Ian came home for work and I popped one in his mouth. I was super excited after spending the day perfecting them. I said, "Tastes like a Ritz cracker, RIGHT?!" He said, "Yes... only better!" Good man. That's what I like to hear.

1 stick unsalted butter (8 Tablespoons)
2 Cups all-purpose flour
1 teaspoon sea salt
3 teaspoons baking powder
1 Tablespoon sugar
2 Tablespoons vegetable oil
1/2 cup water

1. Combine the flour, 1/2 teaspoon of the salt, baking powder and sugar in a mixing bowl.

2. Add 6 Tablespoons of the butter to the flour mixture, a small pat at a time.

3. Combine with your hands until the mixture resembles a coarse meal.

4. Add the vegetable oil and combine.


5. Add water, a little at a time. I usually pour with my right hand while mixing with my left hand. It's a messy job.

6. Once the dough forms, roll it out onto a lightly floured surface. It's important to roll out the dough as thin as possible to get the perfect crunchy cracker.

7. Cut shapes with cookie cutters and transfer onto a parchment lined cookie sheet. Poke some holes into the crackers- this is an important part of what makes them crunchy! You can use a fork or a chop stick.

8. Bake for about ten minutes but don't leave the kitchen! Depending on the thickness of your crackers, they could burn very quickly. Keep an eye on them!

9. Melt the remaining 2 Tablespoons of butter and add the other 1/2 teaspoon of salt.

10. When crackers are out of the oven, brush on the butter "sauce" and sprinkle crackers with a little bit more sea salt.

***

I think it's important to touch down on some "Nitty Gritty." The fact that no, no one is perfect and we should totally stop beating ourselves up. I also think that we need to stop judging each other. We're on the SAME TEAM, mamas! Sometimes days don't go like we planned so we just have to run with what we have. So, I'm just going to put it out there: 

Here you go, my baby sometimes sits in his bumbo on the table. I know, he could fall. But I like to think I watch him very closely. 

Or, how about this one? 

CO-SLEEPING. I know, dangerous. Bad Mom. 

Last one, okay? That's my boob, on my blog. You're welcome.

No one is the perfect mother! Remember that even those pearly whites sometimes have hidden cavities. 

Until next time, friends. 

Great Expectations

I set a timer for Kade to clean up his toys. "Okay bud. I set your timer for 10 minutes. You need to have your blocks cleaned up before it goes off or it will be straight to bed." He asks why and I start to wonder if he's too young to understand. No, I give myself a pep talk, he can learn anything. "If your toys aren't picked up, we won't have time to read books. It will be straight to bed." I sat down and watched him as he picked up the toys and played with them. He started building with the blocks and ran to the closet to find his Thomas train. Five minutes later, I gently reminded him of the rule; "You only have five minutes to be all cleaned up." He threw a handful of blocks in the basket and got distracted again. He was back to making train whistle noises. I winced when the alarm went off and the room remained a mess. His face was utter, sheer panic. He grabbed his toy shovel and started at the blocks, tears welling.

I hate this part of parenting. The truth is, we did have plenty of time for books. There is always time for books and I want to read to him. It's my favorite part of the entire day. Smelling his hair, nursing Ezra and reciting A Fly Went By is my calm. Some people do yoga, I do story time. 

At the same time though, I know he has to learn boundaries and expectations. When mommy asks him to please pick up the toys, he has to learn to do it. I wish I could do it for him forever, really. That's the catch 22 of parenting: you plead with them to stay little while simultaneously wanting and needing them to get big. 

It's hard to do the big things sometimes. Unfortunately, Kade's room is a mess of toys and he went straight to his bed without a story. I think it was just as hard for me as it was for him. Kade is a lover of books. If I obliged, he would have me reading for all hours of the day. Seeing him nurture this love, helping him to nurture it, is such an exhilarating part of parenting him. It's my favorite part. Taking that away from him, even for a night, is pure torture.

I beat myself up about these moments. Now that he's asleep, I feel guilty. I start battering myself with questions: Was it fair? Was I mean? I read to Ezra, was that just rubbing it in? What else could I take away from him that would work?  

At the end of the day though, I have to be confident in my choice as his Mama. Tomorrow we'll try again. I can bet he'll be more willing to clean before that timer goes off- my baby wants his books. 

***

We did big and little things today. Little walks to the mailbox turned hour long walks through the woods. Long walks through the woods turned painting sticks, turned funky art project. A second walk, close to dinner, turned a two hour stroll and a quick jar of chicken noodle. Sometimes, you have to throw out the timer, too. 

Take your time, baby.

Expression Vs. Protection

Kade is growing like a weed. New clothes are lasting a few months, sometimes weeks and with preschool starting, it was time for a new wardrobe. His summer clothes are worn from play- knees faded, shirts unraveling, socks missing and black on the bottom.

We took a long bus trek to Target and things started out great. We got pizza, chatted about our week. Ezra slept while Daddy wore him. Mama leaned in for lots of Kade kisses and we all bustled to the kid section in search of some new duds. Everything was going swimmingly well.

That is, until, we chose underwear. The underwear section is divided into two very distinct sections. To the left, bright pinks, hearts, sparkles. To the right, blue and cars and superheros. Kade was immediately drawn to the sparkles because hello, who doesn't like sparkles? He chose a package of pink, sparkly Minnie Mouse underwear. Then, his eyes caught the Elmo ones. They were even more pink, more sparkly and were embellished with hearts and a loopy lace-like waist band. His face lit with excitement as he held them up to us. "I want these ones."

Daddy and I just stared at each other. We work hard to let Kade just be whoever he is. I don't think it's right to tell him he can or can't do something because it doesn't meet his gender typicality. I won't ever tell him what boys play with or that a certain color is "just for girls." It's not fair to snuff out his joy when he comes to me proudly pretending to breastfeed his baby dolls. It's not fair to be more excited when he plays with cars for hours on end (which he does daily). Both instances make him happy and proud and so they do the same for me. I don't feel uneasy when he sometimes chooses what society considers "Girl Stuff."  And I certainly don't feel more proud when he often chooses "Boy Stuff."

For the last four years, this has worked for us. We let him be his own little self; a perfect little being who loves cars, kissing babies, painting and baking. He's a spectacular dancer, has one hell of an arm and insists on cuddles and singing before bed. If life had a "Boy Section" and a "Girl Section," Kade would be right in the middle.

Now, with preschool starting, we're feeling raw and confused. Because yes, we wanted to let him have the pink Elmo underwear. But no, we don't want the kids at school teasing him. Where does the line of expression end and the line of protection begin? We got down on his level and tried to explain: "Baby, I know you want those. But some kids don't understand that. They think those are for girls and we don't want them to tease you. They just don't understand..." My heart broke, literally ached in my chest. This was absolutely not fair. Steam might have been coming out of my ears as I thought, Fuck Society. My baby loves Elmo and they don't have them in the "Boy Section." Why should I make him settle?

"But I want them."

The options were to let him get the pink ones or insist on the "Boy" section. We thought about getting him the pink to wear at home and buying Cars for school. What would that teach him though? That he has to hide? I felt so helpless.

The thing that really just gets me is that it doesn't have to be this way. We have this fresh little generation- eager and incredibly smart. They could end the line drawn in the gender sand. But it has to start with us as parents- We have to stop deflating their self-esteem when we don't agree with their preference. We have to let them choose what they want and most of all, we have to teach them to be accepting of others. Kade doesn't notice if a girl plays sports or has short hair. He won't notice if a boy wears pink. He just wants to play, laugh and especially learn.

I want a society in which we focus on education, charity, growth and faith more than the color of our underwear.

In the end, Kade chose the Cars underwear. It took some serious talking and none of us felt great afterwards. We didn't tell them they were only for girls- we told him that some people don't understand that they can be for boys too.  We felt, as parents, that we needed to protect him. Kids are mean and I don't trust his teachers to protect him. At his last doctors appointment, the nurse let Kade pick a sticker. She pulled out Jake and the Neverland Pirates. She stated, "I have princess ones too but you don't want those. Those are for girls." Turns out, Kade wanted the princess ones. Who was she to say what he wanted?  This is obviously deep rooted- generation after generation being told what's acceptable. I think other things matter substantially more.

No, society isn't ready for our Kade yet. That's so hard and frustrating.
But my baby will change the world, I know.

A re-do

A few days ago I started a blog post about what a difficult day I'd been having. It was a long, dramatic play by play of tantrums, colic, hair pulling and kitchen messes. It was full of complaining and admitting that I wasn't having my best Mom Moments. I admitted to yelling and being short with Kade and crying, arms full of grocery bags.

I deleted that post.  It's not the type of energy I want in this space and complaining doesn't change anything. We all know parenting is hard. There are days when you sit on the couch, half asleep, with a mess around you and you wonder why on earth did I choose this? Not to say that it isn't the most amazing and beautiful experience on the planet- parenting- but it is extremely difficult. We all have those days.

So what can we do? Instead of writing a post about how hard it is and how I wasn't at my best, I'd rather write about what I can do different. What kind of parent do I want to be? A huge part of this is sharing it- if you share your goals with friends, you're more likely to hold up to them. A support system is like gold. So, I'm choosing five things. And I'm sharing them with all of you in the hopes that you'll share your goals and hopes with someone close to you- a friend, your spouse, your teenager. If we can build each other up, offer support and advice, we can raise children to change the world. Kids who are kind, endearing, determined and smart.

1. I want to be a teacher.

I want my boys to bake, get lost in books, be able to fix a car. When they ask questions, I want to answer thoughtfully. I don't want to ignore them or become frustrated with their questions; no matter how many times they ask 'why.'  I want to look for learning opportunities in all the simple things we do- going on walks, building blocks, riding the bus. I want to show them what a stable relationship looks like. I want to teach them how to trust and be trusted, how to be thoughtful and always send thank you notes.

2. I want to be patient.

I don't want to lose my temper or become exasperated. I want to get down on their level and really listen to what my boys have to say. I want to hold back when they are trying something new- letting them work at it for a while and only jumping in when they ask. I want to be understanding when they wake at night and need a snuggle. I don't want to respond in an impatient, cranky or tired manner. I want to let them learn at their own pace. I want to have patience with myself- to call for a re-do when I'm being negative, to recognize and admit my mistakes.

3. I want to let them take charge of their own little lives.

I want to let them choose their own clothes. I don't want to argue about matching. I want to choose my battles wisely and let some things slide. I want to let them choose from healthy options at lunch. I want them to choose their books at bedtime. I want them to get creative with a planned art project. I don't want to be controlling or bossy. I don't want to cage in their imaginations.

4. I want to say "yes" more than "no," within reason.

Play blocks? Yes. Facebook can wait. Go to the park? Yes. It will only be summer for a little while. Play on the patio in your underwear? Yes. It's hot, that's cool. I want to stop saying, In a minute, hold on, maybe later, we'll see. Sometimes the dishes can wait, the laundry can wait, IT CAN WAIT.

5. I want to love without distraction.

I want to put down the phone sometimes- resist taking a picture. I want to take a picture in my mind instead and hold it there forever. I want to note the smell of a new baby, the smoothness of my boys skin, the silly noises they make in their sleep. I don't want to miss out because I'm stuck in a screen. I want them to remember me as attentive, loving and loyal.

What kind of parent do you want to be? 

On the day you were born; Dear Ezra

Our car broke down on a Thursday afternoon, on the way home from my 39 week appointment. It started sputtering and lights were blinking- we were lucky to get off the freeway and making it into the parking lot? An absolute miracle. There has never been worse timing. I was sort of panicked, but keeping my cool. Because Daddy wasn't panicked, he was downright ticked. That silly old Mazda had been giving us troubles since the beginning. I was reassuring him and myself, "If I go into labor, we will just call our friends to drive us. It will be just fine."

Twelve hours later I woke from a deep, comfortable sleep. My stomach cramped tightly and I had enough energy to run around the world twice. My teeth were chattering and I knew immediately that we would be meeting you very soon. I woke up Daddy and warned him, "I think it's time. I'm going to take a bath and I'll let you know." The doctor told me that if I wanted a natural labor, I should stay home as long as possible. She reminded me that the longer I was progressing in the hospital, the more I would be offered intervention. I pulled out my headphones and slipped into a warm bath, assuming I would be home for a few hours before venturing towards the hospital. In the bath, I listened to just three songs. Neither of them on my "birth playlist." By the end of the second song, I had experienced three contractions- the type that made me white-knuckle the side of the tub. I had to remind myself to breathe, in and out, in and out. Suddenly, I realized that if I had three contractions in just three songs they were what? Three minutes apart? I jumped from the tub and went to Daddy in my towel. "Call Penny, like, NOW," I told him sternly. He remarked at how I was shaking. I finished packing, pausing briefly to lean down in agony.

No one was answering. I sat on the bed while we tried our friend but the call wasn't going through. Something was wrong with the connection. We called another friend- a neighbor- but they were all asleep. As the pain became more severe, we decided upon calling 911.

Daddy's hilarious 911 call:

Daddy: Hello, yes, my girlfriend is in labor but we have no ride to the hospital!

Operator: How far apart are her contractions?

Daddy: About five minutes.

Operator: IMMEDIATELY have her take her clothes off, lay down on the bed and spread her legs! Put a towel under her! Do you see any CROWNING?!

Daddy: Um. I don't think I can get her to do anything right now.

We both started laughing, hysterically. I commented on the absolute joke that is the American maternal health system, "like, don't they know that is the worst possible position in which to deliver a baby? Crowning? I think I would know if he was crowning. No thank you, I need to MOVE MY HIPS!"

We would have to bring Kade with us. As exciting as that was, it was scary too. Because that meant that daddy would have to wait outside, with Kade. That meant that mommy was going to be all by herself in there.

When the ambulance arrived, a troop of six paramedics entered our apartment. Six of them, with their eyes wide. It was obvious that they were horrified and probably praying, "God do not make me deliver a baby tonight." I chatted with them, smiling. How on earth was I smiling at this point? They asked if I could walk down the stairs. Sure! Down the stairs I went and into the ambulance, landing on the stretcher in a heave of relief as another contraction began.

They buckled Kade into a seat and gave him a little brown bear. All the way to the hospital he made siren sounds and grinned, ear to ear. "Baby Ezra is going to come out now," he stated. He was so excited to become a big brother. I want to remember this: his bedhead stood on all ends, his sleepy eyes were wide. He wore striped slippers and an over sized t-shirt and he was so, so brave. He set a perfect example for me.

The paramedic began timing my contractions. We didn't even make it around the corner before he said, "Up the priority." The lights flicked on and we zoom, zoomed to the hospital to meet you.

At the hospital, the silly nurse was asking lots of questions. I could barely speak through the pain, coming in waves now, one right on top of another. I barely had time to breathe, let alone answer questions. I almost swore. She finally checked me and reported that I was dilated 7-8 centimeters. I told her, "Get me in that room NOW or you're not going to have time to do anything." She raced out. They moved me into another room and Kade and Daddy wandered down the hall to the waiting room.

I was all by myself. I cried, harder than I have ever cried. Huge, deep sobs escaped me between quick breaths. I asked for my mom who was hundreds of miles away. My doctor wasn't going to be there in time. I was laying on my side when my water broke and I yelled at the nurse, "He is coming out, right now."

There was no doctor in sight. The nurse urged me not to push and I insisted that I wasn't. The doctor, not my doctor, slipped in and started putting gloves on. Before she was finished, there was your head, your shoulders. I wanted to give up. I was between a rock and a hard place. It hurt, so badly, but the only way to make the hurt stop was to keep going. The doctor told me, "You're doing so great, mama! His head and shoulders are out! Just one more push!" I knew I could do just one more. I let out a scream, a scream daddy says could be heard down the hall.

There you were. Right up on my chest, all rosy cheeked and happy. You nuzzled in, warm and comfortable. You certainly knew your mama.

Within moments, Daddy and Kade were standing behind the curtain. You let out a cry and Daddy had a quiver in his voice, "Yes Kade! That's your baby brother. That's Ezra." He tells me that Kade's face was so full of joy and pride upon hearing you that it choked him all up inside. They came in soon after to welcome you and my heart burst open at the seams. It stretched out a bit, a pocket just your size.

We had only been at the hospital for about thirty minutes. I had no IV, had yet to sign consent forms. I laugh now at my big plans. We would take pictures, I thought, and listen to music. I would maybe light a candle and take a bath and ease myself into this. But you, Ezra Elias, had bigger plans. A birth story just as grand and just  as incredible as you are.

Now, you're home with us. It's funny though; it seems you've always been here.

Happy Birthday Ezra Elias.

What's What Wednesday

Today I am thirty nine weeks pregnant. That means a few different things. First of all, it means that in just a few short days I will likely be meeting my second son. It's inevitable within the next three weeks. I wander about the house, cleaning, organizing and playing with Kade and I remind myself that things are about to change. Your life is going to change forever. This is so exciting and also nerve-wracking. We're doing our best to prepare our hearts and our already sleepy brains. Kade has been on a bit of a sleep boycott. Staying up too late, getting up extremely early and rarely napping. Today, by some blessed miracle, he tucked into bed quickly. Being thirty nine weeks pregnant also means that I am extremely uncomfortable. I don't feel like cooking, I don't feel like doing much of anything. Bring on the easiest salsa on the planet!

What's Cooking?

Edamame Salsa

1 Cup shelled, cooked edamame, chopped
1 Cup chopped tomatoes- whatever is good right now
1/2 Cup chopped red onion
juice from 1-2 limes, depending on your preference
1/4 Cup chopped cilantro

Mix ingredients together and serve with your favorite tortilla chip. Salsa keeps in fridge for 3-5 days.

*Note: I suggest buying frozen edamame. It's more affordable and great to keep in the freezer for an anytime snack. Kade loves eating them as frozen little treats and they are so good for him!

What are we learning? 

Besides working hard on our letters, we've been talking about plants a bit at our house. Everything is in bloom and every walk we go on becomes another nature adventure.

Its been fun.. until Kade destroyed a strawberry plant the other day. My neighbors probably thought I was insane- yelling across the house, "Kade! Noooooo! You killed it!" It was a sad catastrophe. But before it was that, we had a lot of fun painting a pot, buying dirt and planting our little strawberry friend. And there will be more strawberry friends in the very near future. Chalk it up to my hormones and general discomfort; I got cranky. But we moved on, I apologized and we promised we'd get another plant soon. Meanwhile, my kitchen herbs are staying far out of his reach.

What's making me happy?

The endless possibilities of fun and bonding that will happen in this room.

There you are friends, a short and sweet What's What Wednesday. I have a baby to make last preparations for and a yummy salsa to chow down on. Hope you're all enjoying your first licks of summer!