The mom I want to be.

It's fall now, in that strange not-winter, but not-summer sort of way that fall has. We bundle the kids up to take them out in the mornings, their noses red and cheeks bright from the biting wind. And we find ourselves shedding layer after layer in the warm afternoon sun, basking in the warmth of the rays on our bare arms. It's the time of year to start drinking cider and baking bread, the time of year to stand on the heater vents in fuzzy socks and flannel pajamas. It's the time of year that brings peace and rest, quiet in the warmth of dark rooms with fireplaces crackling.

And yet the peacefulness that I'm waiting for so expectantly continues to escape me. Our days are crazy and our nights are late, there is no rest and no quiet. There are screaming kids fighting over noisy toys, there are corn dogs for dinner instead of steaming bowls of homemade soup. Instead of cozy nights blanketed with fleece and curled on the couch reading Horton Hatches the Egg, we spend our nights in a busy frenzy filled with arguing and scolding, crying and sharp words. And when the kids are asleep and the house is at rest, there is too much to do and not enough time.

This is maybe the way these years are, I guess. For us, anyway. These clingy, tear soaked years of angst and sadness, of frustration at having to share the toys, share the attention, share the love. These are the years of corn dogs and peanut butter sandwiches, of noise and sleeplessness. And I realize I am not the mom I want to be.


I love these boys more each day, more than I ever thought possible, yet my expectations cloud the picture. I long to spend cold winter evenings listenting to Dean Martin and stringing popcorn for the Chistmas tree, the smell of cinammon surrounding us. And instead I am a referee, a judge and jury to determine the just punishment for throwing a toy train at somebody's head. I corral boys in for dinner, in for a bath, in for story and bed, and it's all such a struggle somehow. By the time I have wrestled both kids into pajamas, I am exhausted and snippy, just hoping that Joshua will pick a short book so that I can check my email and get on with the night. I am not the mom I want to be.


And these days, these corn dog days, will end at some point, probably without my even realizing it. We'll be sitting around the fireplace one cold winter evening and I will wonder where my babies went, and maybe I won't remember that I wasn't the mom I wanted to be.

9/27/08 - Word Up

What, your kids don't swim naked in the rain? And they don't insist through blue lips and chattering teeth that no, they aren't cold, and no they don't want to come in yet? Yeah, neither do ours . . .


It's official now that Joshua is going to be WordGirl for Halloween. Have you heard of WordGirl? No? It's a new show on PBS where WordGirl is kind of a superhero who flies through the air and defeats bad guys - like the Chuck the Sandwich Making Guy and other villians of equally malicious character.

I've always thought that I am a fairly easygoing (you know, in my neurotic worrying kind of way) parent. I mean, I was totally okay with Joshua's Dora the Explorer stage. Tim was the one trying to talk him out of the pink Dora scooter at Target. We came home with a Diego scooter. I don't think that Joshua will be destined to a life of femininity, or decide to wear hairbows or pink tights . . . Although he really used to like when I pretended to put makeup on him while I was doing my own, but that's a story for another time.

And so I've started gathering items needed to make the best WordGirl costume Joshua could possibly have. And at the same time? I'm thinking of ways to make it as un-girly as possible. Is that a sort of salmony pink color that WordGirl wears? Well, maybe Joshua would like it better if his was actually red. And yellow. With some, say, windpants in lieu of tights?

But I am totally okay with this. Really :-) By the time Halloween comes around I won't even have to wink at you in my oh, kids will be kids sort of way when you ask what he is and I tell you. Tim, on the other hand . . .

Of course, Joshua will need a trusty sidekick, will he not? And so Jonah's fate this year is to be Captain HuggyFace, faithful companion of WordGirl. He has no opinion on it, really, except that he would really rather not wear anything like the lion or monkey costume that we already have. In fact he might freak out if somebody simply wanted to test the costumes to see if they even fit him, howling in anguish at the torture he's being put through. I mean, he might. I'm just saying.

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9/1/08 - A Joyful Time

"It's such a joyful time, isn't it?"

Those were Tim's exact words to me over the phone this evening, listening to me recount the ups and downs of our evening. Have you ever had one of those days where everything is just a little off-kilter? Mealtime doesn't happen at quite the right time, naps are skewed . . . Joshua doesn't take one most days, and Jonah is in that strange land of inbetween. He no longer needs two naps, but one just doesn't quite cut it. Where is the middle ground in that situation? We're not sure yet.

So our day was off-kilter. Jonah's one and only nap started when he fell asleep in the car around 11:30 this morning, and he woke about an hour after that. We ended up not eating lunch until almost 1:00, and both boys were ready for dinner by 4:30. I felt a little like Alice falling down the rabbit hole, where everything is somewhat peculiar, and doesn't quite make sense like you'd like for it to. We had biscuits for dinner, which we never do, but the boys like them so much . . . with the butter dripping down their arms, and the strawberry jelly oozing out, plopping down onto the table, and their clothes, and the floor. Jonah looked at me and asked, "Own-ee?" because he really wanted honey for his biscuits. It's so hard to tell him no to anything, but we're on honey rationing for the next week or so (in order to be able to take peanut butter and honey sandwiches to school).

Come to think of it, our conversations are a little Alice in Wonderland-ish lately too.

"Reech, reech, wat-ee, wash," (Wat-ee, of course is water. What, you didn't get that?)

"He wants to wash his hands, mama! Don't call me Joshua, I'm WORDGIRL."

"Tim, does Jonah need his hands washed? Yes, wordgirl, I hear you, and no you may not have your lightsaber back right now."

"But mama, I'm WORDGIRL and I need my light-saver to kill the bad guys. Mama, mama, mama, you be the Riddler and I'll be Spiderman!"

Jonah points the lightsaber at me, "P-shoo."

My head spins from the sheer amount of words being said at any given time in one room. Many of Jonah's words, of course, are still unintelligible. Which makes him try that much harder to be understood. Many end in "ee" . . . there's "op-ee" for open, of course the "wat-ee" that I've already mentioned. "Do-ee" is door. Are you sensing a pattern? Don't get too comfortable, because just as you think you've got it down he'll ask for Di-buh.

Play-do.

And yes, the kids are going to school. Two days a week. It's called First Learning, and it's the preschool at our church. I have definite mixed feelings about this . . . on one hand it's so good for both of them to be stretched, and challenged in so many ways. Socially, emotionally and intellectually they are really having to adapt and conform at so many levels. The hardest part for me is that I don't get to know everything that goes on throughout the day. Every sparkle of their eyes is there for somebody else to see. Every laugh or new thought. Sadness at not being included, fright at something new and unknown. I worry, as is my way, that the wonder of my children is going unseen because of the busy-ness of the day. Does Jonah laugh for his teachers like he laughs for me? And if he does, do they really see him? Do Joshua's eyes twinkle at an idea he's just had there at school? Will he be able to explore his ideas, and stretch his imaginiation to new lengths, or will he be squashed because it's not time for imagining, instead he has to stand in line to go to the bathroom?

And yet I do get to be there a little. I'm also teaching this year, in the "Kid Fit" position. It's like gym class for 3 year olds . . . so I get to have Joshua in my class for 20 minutes. I have to physically restrain myself from holding his face in my hands and looking into his eyes, searching him to see what's been going on that I've been missing. From kissing his head and holding him tight. Because, you know, he's around his friends, and that just wouldn't do.

But I don't think I'm ready yet to give my kids to somebody else. Somebody who would miss the gleaming smiles, or the mischevious side-glances. Somebody who won't know that Jonah is asking for a drink when he says, "Ngk, ngk, ngk." Somebody who has more kids in class than time in the day, and won't let Joshua be WordGirl. Yes, this First Learning experience is good for us all, and someday I will have to let go. But not quite yet, okay? Because these really are joyful times.

Winning and . . . yikes . . . losing.

At this time last year we had a two year old and a four month old and I could not imagine what the light at the end of the tunnel might look like. I know I've said it before, but the baby part of raising kids is not my favorite part, and I'm not actually that good at it. I stumble through my days in a sleep-deprived stupor and barely manage to shower and get dressed most of the time. Makeup is out of the question, as is doing anything with my hair. Which is why I've spent the last year or so with it in a ponytail every day.

Don't get me wrong, I'm still not great at the everyday things. You know, like cleaning the house. Doing the dishes. Scrubbing the toilets. In fact, if you were to come to my house on any given day you would find 1) a large number of dishes in the sink - s0 much so that they may have spilled over onto the countertops. Which leads to 2) a foul and mysterious odor coming from either the sink, or from the trash that Tim hasn't yet emptied, and 3) a toilet that you use, but kindly don't mention how badly it needs to be scrubbed. And later I lift the lid and see what you must have seen when you were in here earlier, and am flooded with embarassment. Yet surely my husband is not the only one who leaves streaks in the toilet?

When we're invited to friends' homes for playdates, I am always amazed by how clean and generally uncluttered their lives seem to be, especially in regard to the kitchen. As I wade through the clutter in our own kitchen, yelling "Joshua if I step on this speed-racer one more time, it is going in the trash, and I mean it!" I wonder how in the world these other moms manage to keep their homes so spotless, and fix meals, and play with the kids . . . it eludes me. I'd rather lay on the living room floor with both boys blowing raspberries on my belly, than sweep the fallen food from beneath the table. I'd much rather watch the birds with Jonah, or watch Joshua color, than do the laundry. How is there enough time in one day for all of these things?

Although before I get ahead of myself, I do have to mention that we've actually been cleaning up the toys before bed lately. It happens in the form of a race, usually . . . it's how I manipulate . . . uh, motivate . . . Joshua into action. You see, I have to be the announcer ("Mama, can you be the announcer, and is Chick Hicks catching up to me?") who makes the whole thing a car race. And, of course, Chick Hicks (of Cars fame) is always just one step behind him. Like this:

"And here comes Joshua, around the bend, but oh no, does he see the books that need to be put away? No ladies and gentlemen, I think that Chick Hicks might get those books put away first. Oh, who will win the race?" At which point Joshua, of course, races over and puts the books away while I gush announcer-like at how fast and good he is. And yes, if you were wondering, it does get a little tedious night after night and room after room. It's so worth it after they're in bed, though, walking through a living room that's toy free.

Winning is a big thing, lately, for Joshua. When Tim and I have taken separate cars somewhere, Joshua turns it into a big race each time. He pushes past Jonah so that he can enter a room first, and he often races on his little "yellow car" with the next door neighbor. It's actually a point of contention for both of us, since the neighbor girl is 7 and Joshua's just nearing 4 (but is still the size of a small 3 year old). You see, somewhere along the way, kids learn to cheat. They learn to cut corners to get ahead. So as I'm watching Joshua and Kayla race down the sidewalk, I see that Joshua's actually pretty fast at that part. Then Kayla jumps up early and turns around pushing her car back up the sidewalk. "I won, again" is the usual pronouncement. The thing is? It's so hard on him to lose every time. And the other thing? It's so hard on me for him to lose every time. So I'm working on keeping my mouth shut, and it's difficult to surpress the Well, Kayla is so fast in the 7 year old girls' division, and Joshua wins the 3 year old boys' division! type comments. And I'm trying not to moderate their races (did you ever notice that the onyourmarkgetsetgo person always starts ahead of everybody else?) by setting up touch-points, or lanes, or whatever else. And when Joshua comes over crying, and asking "Why does Kayla want to win every time?" I do my best to soothe him and send him back to the race, as noncommital yet encouraging as possible.

And I thought this parenting thing was supposed to get easier.

Jonah might end up being the large and physical one of the two, you know, since he climbs every possible surface he can wrap his little hands around. "Up, up, up . . . up dere." He's been climbing since before he walked. What a surprise it was to look over and see him on top of the kitchen table. At the top of the bunk bed ladder. On the upper level of the backyard playfort. We've had more than our share of scares with Jonah, and I can't imagine what is yet to come. What happens when he gets really brave? We've never been in that territory before; we're entirely familiar with the quiet carefulness of Joshua. But this exuberance for walking and climbing, and this general feistiness, is something new.

And the yelling. The yelling is new, also. Anytime I leave the room, he's yelling with everything in him "MAAAMAAA!" He and Joshua have yelling wars at the dinner table that they think are the most hilarious thing in their lives. It's all gibberish, and I guess it's actually a little funny . . . they just yell gibberish back and forth, with a little giggling mixed in. I guess by not stopping it, I might be encouraging it? But honestly, I think, whatever keeps them entertained is worth it. I think that until we're in a restaurant, that is. Jonah has no internal censor . . . he's only 16 months . . . what else should I expect? But I've grown complacent with my nice and neat, peaceful and quiet eldest child so I hardly know what to do with the food throwing, spoon banging, banshee child seated next to me. Just when we think we have things under control these little ones surprise us with something new to handle, something different to deal with. It's exciting and fun, but sometimes I'd just like a little lull in the roller coaster ride of raising them. Just to catch my breath before the next thing comes along.

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3/13/08 - A Hand to Hold

We're in the parking lot and I instinctively reach back. A little hand fills mine, and all is right with the world. We're at the store and I reach back again. Once again my empty hand is filled by a much smaller one, and we're on our way. It's ordinary, everyday life for us, this hand-in-hand journey through the aisles of Walmart, through the library parking lot, through the crowded mall.

Joshua's hand has always fit into mine so snugly, so well. In the beginning, it was his whole hand wrapped around my first finger. Then the rest of my hand wrapped around his. Lately it's changed a little, and he puts his whole little hand right into mine. He doesn't notice, but it feels so different to me. My little boy is getting bigger.

Jonah used to need two hands to hold on to, in his voyage of non-walking. (Remember, he's only 13 months, and Tim and I don't produce children who will walk before, say, 16 months . . . please, oh please, let him be walking by the time he gets to kindergarden!) Standing behind him, he'd grasp an index finger in each chubby hand, and hold on like there was no tomorrow. Let go of him? Unheard of! Just the idea of not walking around the house with him for hours . . . hunched over in lower-back agony . . . pleading for a significant other to please, just come walk him, would produce wails from the pit of his being. Now he's a great little creeper, and can manage just fine, thank you, with only one index finger to cling to.

I like the hand-holding. I like the security of knowing exactly where Joshua is, wherever we are. Okay, I also like the control of being able to pull him away from the decorative glass orbs placed dangerously on the floor at Kirkland's. That's an added benefit. I like helping Jonah along on his path to independence.

And then the other day I reached back expectantly, knowing that the warmth of a three year old hand would instantly fill mine, and the comfort and the ritual would continue. I waited for the hand to slip seamlessly into mine . . . and I waited some more . . . and no hand ever came. Maybe Joshua was too far away and had yet to catch up, but was hurrying toward my outstretched hand? Maybe he'd stopped to poke at something interesting, a flower, or some dirt, or some really gross old gum dried on the ground? And it was none of these, because the truth of it was that he was walking right along next to me, and when he saw my hand reach for his, he decided not to hold it that day. My hand dropped to my side, feeling as empty as my heart. Truly, life does move on.

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2/4/08 - Whirlwind

I'm going back and forth lately between feelings that either 1) our children are wonderful and I am intensely smitten with them, to 2) thinking that they must be children from another planet, sent to fray my last nerve and turn all my hair gray. Are your lives like this? Do you have saintly, sweet and courageous little ones that you swoon over and love so much that you want to find a way to hug them right into yourself, because that's the only way to keep your heart from exploding? And then do you turn around to find them pushing, or screaming, or being so rottenly rotten that you just can't stand it? I'm hoping it's not just us, but that's what our lives seem to be lately. I'm thinking that it's the good times that help to carry us through the bad ones, but oh how I long for more of the good ones.

My thoughts lately are that it's a little unfair that Jonah has the advantage of being the second born child. We're ever so much more laid back (except that Tim really isn't more laid back, so I guess it's just me), and Jonah has all the giddyness and giggliness of a secondborn, and such a carefree way about life. "What, my brother just pushed me over and took away all my toys? Ha, ha, ha, ha!" "What, my brother is climbing on top of me and I'll have bruises on my back later where his fingers have dug in? Chuckle, chuckle." And all the while I'm scolding and punishing Joshua, I'm grinning dumbly and making silly faces at Jonah, so that he won't think he's the one being scolded.

And I also think (in my neurotic overanalyzing way) that it's a little unfair that Joshua had the advantage of being the firstborn child. He had years of special one-on-one time, reading books, getting homemade baby food and not watching TV. Ever. And I think I can count on one hand the number of books I've read to poor Jonah, as well as giving him the benefit of watching Sesame Street and Curious George daily.

In my obsessive way I know that I've all but ruined both of our kids because of the things that I either have or haven't done. Except.

Except that Joshua truly loves his brother, and during the times he's not yelling, pushing or hitting, he's hugging and laughing with Jonah. "Yes, Jonah, I see that elephant," he says animatedly and repeatedly about the stuffed animal Jonah is showing him. His eyes glitter that he can make his brother laugh so heartily.

Except that Jonah loves life so fully, and so exuberantly. The scarcity of homemade babyfood hasn't seemed to quell his apetite, so chunky and pudgy is he. He's my butterball of joy whose favorite time of the whole day is bathtime.

Aren't things funnier in retrospect? Can you believe that I didn't think it was funny that Jonah was leaning over the edge of the tub as I washed Joshua's hair? That he actually leaned so far that he fell into the tub headfirst, clothes and all? I know, it's hilarious, right? As I tried to peel the clothes off his squirmy, choking self, I realized that I'd gone too far by ripping off the diaper as well. Since there was actually poop in the diaper, I probably should have gone about the whole thing a little more carefully, especially since the poop flew out of the diaper and into the tub. Thankfully Joshua was there to help, crying out passionately, "I'll get it, mama, I'll get it!!" But you know how things are when you're trying to fish them out of the tub . . . they just don't want to be caught.

I guess I need to learn to laugh more about things as they're happening, and not so much after the fact. So the drink gets spilled over the entire table and floor . . . twice . . . at church. So the diaper blows out when we're not around and the nursery workers get stuck with the job. It's just life, happening. And every moment of it is precious and fleeting, and these kids of mine are in the whirlwind of it. I'm going to jump into the whirlwind with them, and hang on for dear life, so that I don't squelch it for them . . . or me.

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