Three Years

Our girls are 20 days shy of being exactly three years apart.

In March 2012, this is my baby. Stinkus, just a few months shy of her third birthday.

In March 2009, this was my "baby." Sassy, just a few months shy of her third birthday. (Can you tell they're sisters?)

And in March 2009, this was my soon-to-be baby. Just a few months shy of her BIRTH day. :)

It's crazy to me that when Sassy was Stinkus's age, she was getting ready to be a big sister. My little Stinkus still seems too young to have a baby on the way (She's NOT expecting to be a big sister, in case you're wondering!!!) Maybe it's because she's STILL in diapers (BIG SIGH), or because I want to keep her "little," or because she's just different from her big sister, but I just can't help but see her as my baby. And maybe I always will. On the way to school today, Sassy was reading a book to Stinkus: I'm A Big Sister. The book ends with: "And I'm special in another way because now I'm a big sister," and Sassy turned to Stinkus and said, "And I'm still your big sister!" A little voice answered back, "But I still wittle, Sassy!" Yes, you are, honey. Feel free to stay that way a wittle wonger. Because in another three years, you'll be the one finishing up kindergarten. Can we PLEASE be out of diapers by then?

Miss Popularity

I wasn't popular in high school.  I was the scrawny, smart "goody-goody" girl.  I remember going for my driver's license at age 16 and telling the woman at the DMV my weight.  103.  I was mortified when my license came out of the machine reading 130.  Ironically, almost twenty years later, 130 is still wrong--but this time it's too LOW. . . haha!  I finally grew in college--filling out AND gaining several inches.  I remember running into an old prom date and his first words:  "Whoa.  You grew boobs."  Thanks, buddy.   Lucky for me, I was in a class of great kids so we were all "unpopular" together.  Boob-challenged band brainiacs.  :)  And note to hubby:  when your high school has 120 kids and 100 are in the band, band IS cool!

I feel like I'm getting better with age.  I grew boobs. . . then had two children and lost them somewhere. . .  teeth are straighter, hair. . .   let's be honest:  anything is better than the feathered mullet I rocked way back in the day. . . and clothes from the early 90s are GONE.  Eighteen years after graduation, I'm FINALLY the most popular girl around.  With my two year old.

That child.  I told R the other day that our children might be bi-polar.  I can't figure them out.  Spunky, spirited Stinkus is the biggest Mama's girl.  She will get up at bedtime (which could totally be a stall tactic that I'm falling for) to cuddle with me and I get the heart-wrenching plea:  "I just want yooooooouuuuu, Maaaaaamaaaaaa. . . ."  Drop-off at daycare is getting better, but heaven forbid, I take off and leave her with Daddy and Sassy for a night.  For being as independent and hard-headed as she is, that girl needs her mommy.  And most of the time, I'll admit--it's pretty awesome.  But there are other times when I've had enough.  Like last week when she wouldn't let me put her down so I could cook dinner and unload the dishwasher.  Or when she won't let Daddy brush her teeth like he's been doing every night for years because he's not Mama.  And Mama HAS to do everything.        

I have to remind myself that this is the same baby who couldn't fall asleep those first few weeks at home without laying next to me on the couch.  And as exhausted and frustrated as I was, it was pretty sweet to doze off and find that she had curled up toward me--her little heart against mine, peaceful and asleep--at last.  

And once again, I have to remind myself that these days are numbered.  Someday she'll come home from school and make a beeline for her bedroom and slam the door because of something that happened that day.  And she'll think that there's no way her mom would understand.  She WON'T want me.  She won't want to hear my advice:  that high school (thank goodness) doesn't last forever, boobs are totally overrated until you can use them to feed your babies for the first year of their lives, and nothing beats being the most popular girl. . . in the eyes of your two year old.                  

Nice Mom

The other night, during a particularly extra-crabby "Crabby Mommy evening," I was rinsing Sassy's hair in the tub when she pulled out the dreaded:  "Someday when I'M a mom, I'M gonna be NICE to MY kids."  Ouch.  It hurt for a moment but I was seriously so crabby that it hardly phased me.  All I could get out was a rather tired, "Oh yeah?"  And then I thought--Man, am I so horrible that even my five year old is planning how to be different?  My thoughts were short-lived though because she then rattled off her plan for Perfect Mommyhood:  "Yeah! I'm gonna let them eat whatever they want for dinner, and they can watch whatever they want on TV and not brush their teeth, and never do Five Minute Clean-Up."  Whew.  So in a five year old's mind, THAT'S what it means to be "nice."  I have to remind myself that she won't see everything we do for them until they're long gone--parenthood isn't a job where you're held in high esteem or appreciated.  Yet.  And honestly, it would be easier to be the "nice" mom who lets them eat cheese quesadillas every night or watch Spongebob.  But I have to remember that I'm not here to win a popularity contest.  Sometimes it IS hard to be the mean mommy.  Especially when Grandmas and aunties are SO fun.  (A special shout out to our kids' wonderful extended families.  We're SO blessed!)  But I'm not here to be fun 24/7.  I'm here to raise two little people and teach them about this thing called life.

A co-worker declared me his hero the other day for doing this parent thing.  I laughed.  A lot.  I'm hardly a hero and I'm not doing anything that other parents don't do.  But it got me thinking.  It's been said a million times:  kids don't come with instruction manuals.  I'm not sure how we've known what to do.  You just do it.  And I know I've made lots of mistakes along the way.  But I look at my girls and I think: we've done a lot of things right too.  At the end of the day, they will eat what we made for dinner (or wait until breakfast), turn the TV off when I say "Enough," brush their teeth, and clean up their rooms--for at least five minutes.  And if that makes me "Mean Mom," I'll wear the title with pride.    

Tough February

Stinkus is ready for March.  In the words of Sassy:  "She's had a tough February."  Indeed she has--poor girl.  In the past, I've worried about Sassy achieving all of the "firsts" in our house.  Well, I'm sorry/glad to say that Stinkus is fighting for her fair share of the glory.  In the past two weeks alone, she's managed to accomplish a few firsts around here:
1.  Crack her head open on a doorway and send us scrambling to the nearest emergency room.  (I'm guessing with the way she resumed running laps when we got home that this won't be our last visit. . . )
2.  Get her fingers shut in the car door (though we can blame this on a very remorseful big sister.  Sassy boo-hooed long after Stinkus had forgetten that her fingers hurt.)
3.  Lock herself in a room (AGAIN.)  At least this time, I could pop a paper clip in the little hole and unlock it--last time required busting the door frame apart.  Note to hubby--you still need to fix the door frame. . .  It's still amazing to me that we've had the same doors now for eight years and THIS child figures out how to lock them.

She's also sprouted a big goose egg from falling at Grandma's AND continued to exasperate me with potty training.  Though today she only had one accident (right after I put real panties on her. . .  Great timing there. . . )  On top of all of this, she's started a new daycare center and mornings have been a bit traumatic.  She's figured out that I'm a teacher and I think since this is her first "school" environment, she's decided that I need to stay and be HER teacher.  (Heaven help those children if I had to deal with multiple kiddos under the age of 12. . . )  I know that the meltdown only lasts for five minutes--it's good to have friends who drop off right after me--but man, it's tough getting out the door when her arms and legs are wrapped around me and she's crying, "I just want yooooouuuuu, Mama!"  A teacher peels her off and then the blood-curdling screaming begins as I try to get out without a meltdown of my own.  Bleh.  Tough February indeed.

But once again, I get a little dose of perspective from a friend whose son is going to Children's Mercy.  And no matter how "bad" of a February we seemed to have, it doesn't come close to what S is going through.  And I'm reminded how fragile these days are.  I'm not thrilled about the ER glue that will us cost hundreds of dollars but it's ok.  Stinkus is ok.  And she didn't do too much damage to the wall.  :)  The morning meltdowns will end and I know that she loves her school and they love her, and as a working mama, that's all that matters.  You want someone loving your baby when you can't be there.  I just have to remind myself that most of the "problems" we have are as fleeting as the months.  This too shall pass.  Although I have to wonder if life with Stinkus will ALWAYS keep me on my toes. . .   :)                

Daily Life

My life is boring.  I can usually tell you what any given day will involve.  I'll get up and work out (well, most days anyway. . .), eat two pieces of toast for breakfast, have a turkey sandwich and a bag of Sunchips for lunch (but I won't complain too much because I have a husband who packs it every morning for me. . . ) and head home from work.  Our evenings are dinner, baths, books, prayers, and bed.  Followed by me collapsing on the couch exhausted.  Some nights, it's the first chance I've had to sit down.  If I'm lucky, we get the dishwasher loaded or some laundry washed.  And that's my life.  Some days, the routine is mind-numbing.  The clothes are laid out, the bags are packed by the back door. . . we're ready to do it all again the next morning.  Sigh.

But then sometimes, a typical, boring day soon becomes something else.  You have a teacher come into your classroom and tell you that a plane just hit the World Trade Center.  You turn on the TV and watch with a room of eighth graders as another plane hits the second tower.  Or you get a phone call that you could never prepare for, a phone call that the person on the other end never dreamed they'd have to make.  We had a situation last week that I never thought I'd have to face as a mama.  And for a moment, it rocked our little world and I longed for my plain, old boring life.  I wanted everything to be right.  I needed the comfort of our "mind-numbing" routine: stickers for peeing on the potty (yes, I started another chart), Curious George during breakfast, and a certain little person repeatedly stealing food out of my refrigerator.  (Please don't expect an apple or tortilla from our house without teeth marks.)

All is well now--I hope and pray.  And like many other things I've faced in life, I have to remind myself that God can see something down the road that we can't.  He has a plan for our life, and a reason for the pain and sorrow we experience.  It doesn't make it better, but it's easier to face the next day knowing that He's not only with us, but He knows best.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I have dinner to heat up, a dishwasher to empty, kids to feed and bathe, clothes to lay out, and another day to face.  And I'm so grateful for every boring, mind-numbing moment.  Maybe instead, my life is blessed.            

100 Days

Last week, Sassy celebrated her 100th Day of School.

I don't remember observing this growing up, but apparently it's a BIG deal. They begin the count-"up" on the very first day, and the whole occasion revolves around a "100" theme. Each student took in a Ziploc of 100 items, the first graders dressed like they were 100 years old, and they did all kinds of "100" activities (see Baby Sister pic below.)

Cute stuff. And honestly. . .it's more than just cute. It
IS a big deal. When I sat back and thought about it, my baby girl has changed a LOT in 100 days. She's grown physically of course (Oops, Mom's behind on laundry, these pants aren't too short if you tuck them into your boots. . .) but she's learned SO much in 100 days. And I thought, who better to ask about what she's mastered than Sassy herself. So, in her own words:

What Sassy has learned in 100 days:
to read first grade books (This mama is SO proud!)
to tie my shoes
to get on the bus ("And where to get OFF the bus," she smirked. Very important skill as she got a tour of our entire county on Day 1 after not getting off at her stop.)
blend slides (Again, we didn't call it this when I was in school)
to pump myself on the swings
how to work a computer
how to be good in the library
what popcorn chicken is ("When you first read it to me, I didn't know what that was!")
to try new things in the lunchroom
that kids can have different colors of skin (Wow...)
how to play basketball on your bottom on a scooter. And hockey.
to listen to the teacher so you don't have to turn a card. (She broke her streak just this past month and both card-turns were TRAUMATIC. She came right home and tearfully confessed her guilt--let's hope that continues well into the teenage years.)

I tried to get her to say something about Chicken Boy but she just rolled her eyes at me. Pretty sure THAT will continue into the teenage years as well. . .

I'm so proud of the progress she's made, and the little lady that she's growing into. It's hard to believe that she's more than halfway through her first year. Even better is that this is just the beginning. What will the next 100 days bring?

Sunday Mornings

Once again, I'm starting my blog with a thank you to my parents. EVERY Sunday (unless someone was puking) my parents loaded all of us up and we went to mass. EVERY Sunday. And when I was younger, it was an 8:00 am mass. Did I mention we went EVERY Sunday? I credit them with my faith today. I'm so grateful for growing up in a religious, faith-based home. It's made me who I am, and hopefully, I'm passing that on to my girls. And now, as with other blog posts, after the thank you to Mom and Dad comes: How in the he&$ did you survive?! I can barely make it through our 9:30 mass with a fourth of the children my parents had. It's like a three ring circus every Sunday. I know we regularly provide comic relief for the "lucky" souls who sit behind us. And the things I've learned in mass. . . Stinkus can chuck a crayon three pews ahead of us and manage not to hit anyone. Don't interrupt Sassy when she's feeding her baby: "But Mommy!!!! Da baby's eating from my BOOOOOBIE!" (Extra emphasis and volume on "Boobie.") Tiny bodies can crawl away under pews. The quiet time after Communion is the PERFECT time to break out in a rousing rendition of "Jingle Bells." Telling Daddy, "I take YOU outside and pank YOUR bottom!" makes it really hard for Daddy to keep a straight face.

Someone is always hot, or hungry, or thirsty. Or we've packed the coloring books but no crayons. Someone wants held, or put down, or held again. If nothing else, wrestling little people makes for a good workout. I really don't know how my parents did it.

Sassy's getting easier and more involved now that she can read. She loves to follow along with the readings and boy, can that girl sing. She hasn't quite figured out volume control though and she belts out songs in her loudest voice, oblivious to the grins and chuckles she's getting. Today I had to tell her that it was "people of good WILL," not good health, though that's important too. :) The "Alleluia" response gets both of them competing for a non-existent "Who Can Sing the Loudest" contest; even better is when Stinkus continues after everyone else has stopped.

And despite how worn out, tired, and frustrated I get, it all seems worth it at the end of mass when both are shouting "Father, Son, and Holy Spirit" and doing something that better resembles some crazy baseball signs rather than the Sign of the Cross. But they'll get it. And they ARE getting it. Every Sunday.