Love the Mothers!

My son, Tuck, throwing a fit at 2 years old.

I visited Prescott National Forest in Arizona this weekend. No hiking. No sniffing trees (well, deep in the forest anyway). I was on a bigger mission, you see. I was there to snuggle some babies.

My friend, Mary, invited me out for a visit because her husband was going to be out of town for the weekend. While a few years ago, this might have meant late nights and karaoke, maybe even a crazy adventure, these days it is all about family. And survival. With a new baby only a few weeks old, plus an active two-year-old, I was there to be an extra pair of hands and feet.  

I felt honored to be asked. It made me feel like a seasoned pro since I know what it's like to be a mother of two boys, though mine are 10 and (almost) eight now. I should have known my inflated sense of self, and mothering, would be taught a valuable lesson. It happened. This weekend. Big time. 

Here is what I learned from my time in Arizona:

1. I like my sleep. Newborns don't sleep. I've become selfish about sleep now that my kids are older. #SELFISH.

2. The energy of two-year-olds is incredible. I wish I could bottle that shit. I mean, seriously, how do you they not tucker out after hours of jumping, talking, laughing, and running from you? I'm getting exhausted just writing this.

3. Poop and spit up. All the time. Plus, someone always needs milk (out of your breast or out of the fridge). You are a helper every minute from dawn until dusk. Unfortunately, you can't even pass out after that because you're on for the night shift, too.

4. Time makes you forget the overwhelmingness of new babies. This may be so you'll eventually have more babies one day. Sadly, it also makes you forget and become a little less empathetic to those mothers, and your dear friends, working the day, evening, and night shift. Hug them tight. They really do need it.

5. Becoming a mother is one of the most bonding experiences you'll ever have with your girlfriends. No one can explain the happiness, tiredness, love, fear, and exhaustion that consumes you every minute those first few weeks. Well, your whole life really. Only a mother knows.

When I returned home, I hugged my own boys tight, who looked gigantic from those sweet babies in Arizona. I cried, too. I was reminded how fast the years have passed without my consent and how I've moved on to an entirely different phase in my life. A good one, just different. I am now the mother who spends hours at the table doing homework versus rocking her babies to sleep in the nursery. It was a humbling and heartfelt experience.

I then took a three-hour power nap. Parenting is exhausting.

The Lost Parent

Tuck, age 6, and Cooper, age (almost) 9

Before I had kids, I had a passion for things. I wrote poetry. I embroidered tea towels. I sipped coffee slowly. I even sang power ballads in the shower that could make a grown man cry. All this interestingness...gone, gone, gone.

In its place is this new me. The professional yeller. The impatient multi-tasker. The sock matcher. The grocer-store shopper. The pocket cleaner outer. The bill payer. This grown up (and I use this term loosely, folks) in charge of the whole wide world. Time is no longer mine. I am owned by everything else around me.

In an act of rebellion tonight, I walked upstairs to my computer room after plating up their dinners and shut the door to write. All by myself. The kids are officially fending for themselves while I try to write something grand or grandiose, but it's not been an easy go.

I had to give a tribal yell to get their attention downstairs when it sounded like elephants were tearing up the place. We're dancing, they shouted back, give us a break! I'm pretty sure a few things fell off the wall.

There's been biting and someone got kicked in the balls.

There's been a surprise attack outside my computer-room door with swim goggles and a sling shot. I think I might know what it feels like to have a heart attack and a panic attack at the same time.

One kid has asked for cheese. The other one wants to play the Nintendo DS. No and no.

Lots of laughter. This must mean they are doing something I will discover later and be very angry about, or a tickle war has begun. You lose the tickle war when you pee your pants or vomit. Your choice.

Finally, we now have silence. This is the worst news yet. It means I need to wrap up this crazy endeavor of writing by myself, so I can jump back into the world of parenting. So, here's the quick ending, the short and sweet of it.

Despite the fact I've lost some of myself along the way, raising sons is the greatest adventure I've ever been on. I might get lost. Feel crazy. Have absolutely no idea what I'm doing. So what? It will always be a more interesting story than tea towels and shower singing. It's a life in progress, imperfect and beautiful. Enjoy it.

{An Imperfect Adventure}

Every kid needs an adventure. Parents, too. So, after school today, instead of going straight home to do homework and start dinner, we fled to the hiking trails of a nearby state park.    

We bounced along trails. We climbed over huge logs. We shimmied closer to ponds to see frogs and fish and floating leaves. We found walking sticks, then picked up even big walking sticks. We hiked and hiked, letting the colors tagged on trees guide our way.

Sound perfect? How about I share a few conversations on the trail and you can be the  judge if it was a perfect day (or if I am even fit for parenting)? Okay, go.

..........

Tuck: This walking stick is giving my penis a massage.

Mom: Excuse me?

Tuck: A penis massage.

Mom: Quit riding it like a broom. It's a walking stick. USE IT RIGHT!

..........

Cooper: We've been walking for a long time. We might be lost.

Mom: We're not lost. These trails are just long and we've been changing trails. We have to keep going forward to get back.

Cooper: I think we're lost.

Mom: We're fine. Just keep walking.

Cooper: WE'RE GOING TO DIE OUT HERE! (He starts crying).

........

Mom: Stop hitting me with your walking stick, Tuck.

Tuck: Oh, sorry, Mom. (Hits me again).

Mom: If that walking stick hits me one more time, I am going to get very angry.

Tuck: Okay, okay. Jeez! You're going to have to get a lot tougher if you want to stay on this adventure.

.......

Cooper: We made it off the trail. Finally! Hey, I don't see our car.

Mom: Oh, crap. We must have come out on a different trail in a different parking lot. I wonder where our parking lot is?

Cooper: Do you even know where we are? (very accusing tone). It's almost dark. 

Mom: Hey, I see a car at the top of the parking lot. It looks like someone is in there. Let's go see if she can help.

Cooper: Tell me we're not getting a car with a stranger. 

..........

Mom: Thanks so much for giving us a ride. Sorry to interrupt your evening.

Nancy (the stranger): No problem. It's a great day for a hike. You're a few miles from your parking lot though. Glad I was here. It's almost dark.

Cooper: Hey, Mom, look at this. It's a vibrating back massager and it works.

Mom: (in an aggressive whisper) Cooper, put that down right now. I mean it!

Cooper: It's got three speeds. It can fly like a spaceship.

Mom: Thanks again for the ride. Did I mention how much we appreciate it?

...........

So, that's it. The adventure. Tomorrow we might go back to doing homework and getting dinner ready, but for today we just enjoyed the sunshine and each other. I'm thankful.

{The Toilet Writer}

It's only been a few short weeks since I officially declared myself a writer. I love being a writer! The tricky part is I haven't written anything since my bold declaration. Not so writer like, I admit, but I have some pretty creative procrastination excuses.

For example, a few short minutes before I sat down to write this post, I hear screaming and crying from my sons downstairs. Apparently, someone has their hand stuck in the toilet. I'm pretty sure this isn't possible, so I casually walk down the stairs feeling extremely huffy that my moment of inspiration is being disrupted. 

It's true. You can get a five-year-old hand stuck in the toilet all the way up to his wrist. It took me 15 minutes to get it unstuck through lots of crying, my other son yelling "Call 911! Call 911!," and the dog trying to drink out of the toilet during the extraction. I didn't even ask what he was digging for when it was over. I just shouted for him to pull up his pants and wash his hands. Toilet diving is disgusting. DISGUSTING!

I also threw out my lower back last weekend on a float trip. I wasn't even drinking, friends. I'm just old. I had finished an extremely aggressive slippery log balancing duel (yes, people do this on the river!) and, as I rested on the raft after my victory, I reached out to grab my hat and BAM. Lower back spasm. I can't sit very well or roll over in bed, but I can still fish out a fat hand from the toilet. My muscles are starting to cramp as I write this, but I'm a tough writer, crazy mom, log-dueling champion. Tough as dirty rusted nails, I am.

I will also be unplugging in a few short hours at a lovely cabin by the water. Technology is too much sometimes. I've spent my morning gearing up for the relaxation---downloading new songs to my iPod and books to my Kindle, posting yummy recipes on Pinterest, and commenting on every one's posts and pictures on Facebook. I didn't tweet because I still don't get it. I'm also updating my blog in case I get so relaxed I don't write for another month. It happens. I don't always relax well, but I'm bound and determined to give it another shot.

My mantra for this summer is to not take myself so seriously. I'm going to suck at something, sometimes, some days. Writing, parenting, wife-ing, relaxing, working, friending. I'm up as much as I'm down on these things. Life still moves on. It's a much better ride if I can just enjoy it.

The Parenting Wilderness

It's been a good day. I can't say that's true of all my days in this parenting wilderness, but today I felt like I gave something great of myself---quality time. As Alana Chernila said, "I may not always be the mother I want to be, but I am theirs, and that is enough." Oh, how I hope that's true. Here was our morning adventure:

Pappaw Feeler showing us how to look for mushrooms in the forest. Kind of tricky, but we learned that mushrooms love ash trees. We didn't find any mushrooms, unfortunately, but we did learn how to pick off lots of ticks on our clothes.

Cooper and Tuck were all smiles on our outdoor adventure. I know how much nature lights up my spirit. I forget it does the same for my boys.

Another morning lesson---some plants are edible and taste like bitter lemons. Kids find this fascinating and will eat them until they feel sick. I call this photo "Tuck and his edible bouquet."

Next on the agenda was fishing in Pappaw's pond, except you have to find worms first. A dream come true for kids. We found lots of worms and then we even caught lots of fish! I was giddy, especially since I've never caught a fish before. For a moment, with all my new outdoor skills, I thought about making that commune idea a reality, but it was short lived. Turns out, cleaning fish is not my cup of tea. It's done and tomorrow we will have a fish fry for Easter. What a celebration!

I hope that each day with your kids can be a celebration. It's tough in this stressful world. I'm trying to let go of some of my guilt of not being the perfect parent and just rejoice that I'm present with my kids, even the big ole' bumbling mess that I am. I'm here and I love them. Good enough.

P.S. Plus, now I'm a super fisher woman. I think that adds a little something to my parenting prowess, don't you think? Yeah, me, too. Go me, go me, go me!!

{Jaws, the Jumping Turtle}

I live in a crazy house. It's full of noise and mess and pure chaos. Those are just the good days, my friends. Mostly, it's a whirlwind. Boys, 5 (including the turtle). Girls, 1 (me).

Of all the boys, our African side-neck turtle, Jaws, is the most well behaved. He lives in a large tank in the kid's room, complete with lots of water to swim and big rocks to sun himself by his heat lamp. He is always smiling (well, it's also the type of turtle he is, but I like to think it's because he is really happy). He is safe behind the glass walls of his tank.

Not anymore. Jaws has been tank jumping, all the way down to the hard wooden floor. Twice this week in fact. He's survived both times, I'm elated to say, but I'm wondering how he finds the power to push through his lid and then take a flying leap. This last time, I started to wonder if maybe our house is just too much for the little guy. Could it be, well, too chaotic?

I felt that way tonight. I got home late from a work meeting to find things in usual disarray--dishes piled high, the dog chewing tiny soldiers, homework spread everywhere (but not done), dirty socks under the coffee table and on TOP of the kitchen table, and everybody needing help with something immediately. A hundred things in a hundred different directions. It's a struggle. A struggle for patience, for getting it all done. A struggle to slow down and enjoy it like everyone says you should. Mainly, I'm just struggling to stay on top of being a good mom. I feel like I'm failing. Miserably.

I snuck upstairs tonight, almost an hour before bedtime, because I couldn't take anymore. Yes, I did. I hid from my kids....in my own house. And although I didn't carry up the bottle of wine (which crossed my mind, believe me!), I did leave the "wild man" zoo downstairs for calm alone time. I sacrificed quality time with my kids for quiet time with myself. Slight guilt, but I can also feel the rational me starting to come back in to focus.

To make amends, I squeezed my kids extra tight at bedtime and smacked lots of kisses on their sweet faces. I hope, I really hope, my suffocating love can make up for all my mistakes, including hiding away tonight. Do you think there's lots of wiggle room in parenting for all the imperfection? Please let the answer be yes.

Oh, and the turtle? Well, I checked on him tonight before turning out their light. He wouldn't even look my way, the sneaky bastard. I know he's planning another escape, but I can hardly blame him, I guess. I know exactly how he feels in all this chaos.

{Crazy Roller Coaster Monkeys}

I blog when I'm happy. I also blog only once a month. Mmmm. Interesting correlation.

It's been a tough week and, I note with an exaggerated sigh, that it's only Tuesday. I've been a single mom for the past few days and being in charge of the universe, or even our small household, is not a job title I relish. It sucks actually.

Our boys have been acting like crazy monkeys, the dog has eaten more silly bands then I can count (and two bananas this morning), and we have no running water, thanks to a lovely leak in our 100-year-old pipe somewhere in the back yard. Presents are begging to be wrapped and I haven't even thought about food dishes I need to prepare. Plus, there is more work at work than I know how to get done this week. Dang it, I'm tearing up just writing this stupid list.

Here's the thing. I feel like a silly girl for all these minor frustrations I let set the direction of my day. I have a great life, full of wonderful people that I love and that love me, but here I am writing down a list of complaints in my week. The biggest one may be that I'm overwhelmed by the pace of my life. The lack of control, or perception thereof, sets me spinning. As much as I try, I haven't figured out how to change that yet.

When my kids are arguing or complaining, I always make them say one thing they are grateful for at that moment. Expressing gratitude can change everything. So here it is....my gratitude turnaround for this exact moment. I'm thankful for this roller coaster that is my life because, even when I'm screaming and holding on for dear life, the view is pretty darn amazing. If I get to have someone next to me in the seat, or perhaps puking in front of me, well, I'll count myself even luckier because the journey is richer with others.

Thank you for listening tonight, friends. I do feel some happiness pouring in.

Lots of love and sweet hugs,

Heather

The Gross Naked Truth

At the dinner table tonight, my 4-year-old announces that I look gross naked. He then erupts into a fit of laughter. My husband doesn't laugh out loud, mainly because he values his life and this is the second time this subject has come up this week, but he does ask him to elaborate.

"Why does Mommy look gross naked?," my husband asks.

I lean in to hear the answer, too. I mean it's not everyday someone feels confident enough to comment on your body at the dinner table.

"The bumps on her stomach are super gross (pronounced GWOS)," he says.

"Belly button?" No. "Mosquito bites?" No. He then points to his nipples. I gasp at the table. He is talking about my boobs.

"Are you talking about my boobs," I shout. "They are NOT bumps, they're boobs, a lot bigger than bumps, and all girls have them!"

"Not little girls, they don't have them," he says confidently.

"No, but big girls have them and they're not gross," I confirm.

"What about sisters? Do sisters have them?" he asks, wide-eyed and, oh, so innocent.

"Is the sister younger or older?" I counter.

"Older sister."

"Yeah, an older sister probably has them," I say.

"My Mommy looks gross naked, my mommy looks gross naked," he chants between laughs, taking the conversation full circle.

"Enough about Mommy being gross naked," my husband finally says, intervening. "Finish your dinner!"

This is our conversation at the dinner table. This is my life. I am defending my body, and its grossness factor, to a 4-year-old (and not very well, I might add). It only affirms the obvious, folks. I have no idea what I'm doing as a parent. Not a clue. Even my explanations about the world and how it works, comes out a little skewed, which leads me to believe therapy in the future is a given.

On the bright side, I do show up every day as a parent (usually dressed, in case you're wondering for the story referenced above) ready to tackle the world for my boys. I might not be perfect, but I am present. There's got to be some good in that, right? I've also still got my sense of humor, which is a good thing, because, apparently, I look really gross naked. Hee. Hee.

Letter to My Sons

Dear Cooper and Tuck:

When I was younger, I used to be a great letter writer. Well, maybe not great, but certainly ambitious. I wrote page after page of the boring details of my life and sealed it with wax, wafer seals or spit. I also immersed myself in the words of prolific letter writers. The weirder, the better, too, which is why JD Salinger always topped my list. While I have a drawer full of beautiful stationery, it's been a while since I've put pen to paper. That saddens me, but I hope this letter to both of you will still be meaningful and lasting.

At this very moment, the two of you are wrestling with each other downstairs, all giggly, fierce and super loud. You are six and almost four years old, respectively. You are my greatest gift and also my scariest adventure. For almost everything in this life (your driver's license, going to college, job certifications), there is a test to ensure you are ready. Parenting, unfortunately, is not one of those things. You just figure it out as you go. I'm pretty sure there is a HUGE margin for error here, but then again I'm no mathematician.

Here are some things I am screwing up everyday as your mom. I'm impatient. I am prone to worrying. I run around the house like a chicken with my head cut off, screaming instructions to you from room to room. I hate cleaning and cooking, but always manage to bake you something to clog your little arteries. I'm competitive. I have really high expectations of myself and others around me. I come from a family of semi-crazy women, which means I'll end up crazy. I've also not mastered the graceful art of forgiveness yet. Oh, I try, but it's meager.

Having said all that, I hope there are a few good qualities you will note about me. I love to laugh. I'm loyal. I am so loving that sometimes I suffocate you. I celebrate differences and hope you will grow up to be a bright color in a sea of sameness. I'm good with adventure, spontaneity, and trying anything once (yes, I jumped out of an airplane, but that is how I finally knew it wasn't for me). I like people and their stories. I also believe learning can come from living in the real world just as easily as it comes from a book. I can dance like the dickens.

I guess I just hope you know how much I love you. If I mess up, and I have and I will continue, it wasn't because of anything you did, it was because I'm human. Nothing in this world can prepare for you for molding individuals into something that will matter. It's hard work and with the lack of any training manual, or big ole' test, I'm just faking it. It could end up bad, but then again it could be a really great adventure that we're on together.

In the interim, I'm saving money for your future. You can use it for college, or traveling, or finding yourself should you get lost along the way. I love you to the next galaxy and beyond. Please don't forget to write to your mom when you get to where you're going. I really would love to hear about all your crazy adventures, if you're stilling talking to me or have time.

Big hug and loud sloppy kisses,

Mom